.? TIlE LIVING AGE: (FouI~DED BY B. LITTELL iN 1844.) SEVENTH SERIES. VOLUME VIII. NO. 2922. JULY 7, 1900. FROM BEonrynre Vol. CCXXVI. THE LAST PALACE INTRIGUE AT PEKiNG. One of the characters in a play that had some vogue in London a dozen or fifteen years ago declared, nightly, that he was at his 37th conspiracy. The Empress-Dowager Tze-hsi-tuan-yu has not yet rivalled that record, but she is getting on. When persons have at- tained to the position of Empress, moreover, they no longer conspire; they make COU~8 dnltat. The Empress Tze-hsi has made several. The first was in 1861, when she combined with Prince Kung and her sister Empress, Tze An, to seize the reins of power after the death of their consort, the Emperor Hien Fung. The next was in 1875. Having grasped the reins in 1861, the two ladies succeeded in hold- ing them and governing, as regents, during the long minority of Hien Fungs son and successor, Tung Che They had to retire for a while when the latter came of age, in 1873; but his death, two years later, gave them an- other opportunity which they were prompt to seize. Tung Che died child- less, but leaving a widow, Ah-lu-t, who might hope to give him a posthu- mous heir. The due procedure, under those circumstances, would have been to await the course of events, and If these failed to meet the exigencies of Salic Law, to select for posthumous adoption to the deceased Emperor a child during whose minority the wid- owed Empress Ah-lu-t~ would become regent in turn. Such women as Tze hsi, howeverfor it is she who has al- ways been credited with the initiative rise superior to rules. The possibilitIes connected with the Empress Ah-lu-t~ were ignored. The obligation to select as heir a child capable of adoption to Tung Che was ignored; the succession was fixed, on the contrary, upon one who had the inestimable qualification, in the Empresss eyes, of being a minor, but had the disqualification of being of the same generation as his predeces- sor and incapable, therefore, of per- forming the ancestral rites. The Em- press Ah-lu-t~s claims were ignored, and shortly obliterated by deathde- clared to be suicidal, but so convenient that it was always spoken of with a shrug. The selection of an Emperor, under such circumstances, devolves really upon the heads of the Imperial Clan. Tsai Tien, as the present Emperor Kwang Su was originally named, seemed an outside chance. He is a lIt may conduce to lucidity to explain at the was not originally an empress at all, but was outset that Tse-An was the Empress proper, but given that honorary rank as the mother of IDes was childless. The present Empress-Dowager Fungs only son, Tong Ohe. 2 The hast Palace Jntrzgue at Peking. SOfl of Yih Hiwan, Prince of Chun, the seventh son of the Emperor Taokwang (who was reigning at the time of the Treaty of Nanking), and brother of Hien Fung (who was reigning at the date of the Treaty of Tientsin). There was nothing in his birth to distinguish him above others; while he labored under a defect which we may estimate by re- calling the supreme importance, in Chinese eyes, of the ancestral rites. His mother was a sister of the Em- press Tze-hsi, who is his aunt, there- fore, by blood as well as by marriage; but considerations other than those of relationship were held to have influ- enced the choice. It was, at any rate, upon Tsai Tien, who was at that time only three and a half years old, that the choice of the Imperial Clan Court fell. The death of the Emperor Tung Che, the selection of a successor and the appointment of the Dowager-Em- presses as regents, are described in a series of edicts possessing curious in- terest, both on account of the insight they give into the customs of the Court and the quaint eloquence of the lan- guage employed. The sequence of thought in Europe is, Ze roi est mort: vive le roi; but the practice, at any rate, in China is diametrically opposite.~ The first thing is to proclaim a new Em- peror; then the latter announces his predecessors death. Tung Che died on the 12th January, 1875; at least, that was the date officially given; and the Peking Gazette of the 13th contained a series of edicts announcing the fact and the choice of a successoror rather the succession and the death. In the first, eight of the Imperial Princes and twenty-one Ministers and Magnates of the Court state that they have received the benign mandate of 2 To perform the ancestral rites one must be a son; but a son must be of a posterior generation. Tsai Tien could, therefore, be introduced into the succession only by adoption to Hien Fung. As their Majesties the Empresses Tse An and Tze-hsi, in the following terms: Let Tsai Tien, son of Yih Hwan, the Prinee of Chun, become adopted as the son of the Emperor Wen Tsung Hien (Hien Fung), and enter upon the in- heritance of the great dynastic line as Emperor by succession. The second edict announces the re- ceipt of another mandate from the Em- presses, as follows: Whereas His Majesty, the Emperor, has ascended upon the Dragon to be ~ guest on high, without offspring born to his inheritance, no course has been open but that of causing Tsai Tien, son of Prince Chun, to become adopted as the son of the Emperor Wen Tsung Hien, and to enter upon the Inheritance of the great dynastic line as Emperor by succession. When a Prince shall have been born to the Emperor, he shall be adopted as inheritor of His Majesty now departed.2 A third decree appoints certain Mag- nates to arrange the obsequlal rites. A fourth degrades the two Imperial physi- cians. The fifth purports to be an ac- knowledgment, by the child Emperor, of the benign mandate of the Em- presses commanding him to enter upon the inheritance of the great succession; grief, eulogy of the late Emperors character, and awe at the magnitude of the trust __ bequeathed are expressed in pathetic language; and the Ministers and ser- vants, high and low, in the ranks of the civil and military administration, are exhorted to strive in uprightness and loyalty to maintain an ever-improving rule. The sixth purports to be a vale- dictory edict by the deceased monarch, penned in recognition of the fact that this left Tung Ohe without an heir, It Is promised that Kwang Cus first son shall be adopted to Tung Che. The Last Palace Intrzg-ue at Peking. 3 for some days past his strength had gradually failed, until the hope of re- covery had passed away; mindful of the graver interests of the dynastic line, he feels that it behooves him to transmit his charge to worthy hands, and states that he has received the be- nign mandate of the Empresses ap- pointing Tsai Tien to succeed him; the latter is exhorted to accept with rever- ence the trust that is bestowed; to exert himself continually, to cheQse his servants wisely, and to cherish filial devotion for the Empresses; while tl~e Ministers and officials are to unite in upright and loyal efforts that they may uphold for him a more and more glo- rious rule. On the 15th January the Empresses formally accept the Regency which they had practically assumed. The formality is accomplished through the medium of a memorial from the various magnates of the Court, which the Em- peror reverently presents for the af- fectionate perusal of their Majesties. The latter reply that it has made them feel with added poignancy the sorrow they are unable to dispel; the institu- tion of a Regency from behind the cur- tain is essentially a temporary expedi- ent; in consideration, however, of the fact that His Majesty, who has suc- ceeded to the throne, is at present of a tender age; and moreover that, in times so filled with trouble, the Princes and Ministers cannot be left without a source to look to for authority, we have no choice but to yield consent to their entreaty until His, Majesty shall have fulfilled the period of his education. A decree of the 16th announced that the designation Kwang Su had been chosen as the style of the new reign. Another, of the 21st, relieved Prince Chun from the embarrassment to which he was subjected as being father to an Emperor, but subject to a son. It is contrary to all Chinese notions of pro- priety that the father should perform S acts of homage to his own child. Prince Chun was excused, therefore, from tak- ing his place in the Tanks of attendance to offer homage on His Majestys en- thronement, but was enjoined still to attend to the ceremonial at the various ancestral temples and the annual sac- rifices at the eastern and western man- solca, and was made a Prince. of the first order with perpetual hereditary succession. Waters which had been so violently disturbed were not likely to subside at once. It was felt that the natural course of succession had been diverted, to serve the ambition of the Dowagers; but they were able to make good their position. The death of the young Em- press Ah-lu-t~, two months after her husband, cleared the way. A distin- guished literate was found with cour- age to denounce the disturbance of the line of descent which left Tung Che without a son to perform the ancestral rites, and to commit suicide by way of emphasizing and expiating his protest. But all passed without external dis- turbance; and the august ladies en- tered upon a second Reg3nLy which lastedin the case of Tze An, till ber death in 1881, and in the case of her still surviving colleague, till Kwang Sn came of age, in 1889. Chinese names are a wearines~ to the European flesh, and the interest of Chinese dynastic episodes to the Euro- pean reader is in inverse ratio to their importance at Peking. The interests of Great Britain in the Far F~ast are, however, considerable; and it is be~ cause these may be considerably af- fected by ambitions wnich disregard every canon of Chinese propriety that I have ventured to recall the leading features of a story which finds its se- quel in the incidents of the last two months. Some may have been puzzled by the stress laid, in recent telegrams from China, on the adoption of an h9ir to the throne who is to rank as heir 4 The Last Palace Intrz~gue at Peking. to Tung Che. Having discovered the key to that riddle, we shall find that we have obtained the key to much else that may have seemed oliscure in re- cent intrigues. The Empress-Dowager retired, avow- edly, from the Regency on Kwang Sns coming of age, in 1889; but her con- finned influence was repeatedly made manifest in edicts which the Emperor admitted having received her instruc- tions to issue or endorse. Dowager- Empresses are traditionally a Power, in Peking. We find, for instance, the Emperor Tao Kwang, who was by no means a fain6 nt, paying extraordinary respect to the lady who occupied that position in his day; and the tradition of prolonged tutelage would combine with the prestige of position to give excep- tional influence to an able, determined and ambitious woman like Tze~hsi. It would be superfluous to recapitulate at length the circumstances of the Em- perors revolt against that influence, and practical supersession, in 1898; nor need we attempt to ascertain the pre- cise measure of his individual capacity and force. What is certain is, that he~ stood for reform, and that the Empress- Dowager stands for reaction. He had surrounded himself with reforming ad- visers, and had issued a number of edicts designed to get the State-carriage out of the ancient ruts into which it had sunk. Such attempts have excited antagonism enough, upon occasion, in the comparatively young countries of the West. They excited something akin to horror among moss~g+own The Empress wu Tsi-tien, who flourished dur- ing the greater part of the seventh century, was originally a concuhine of the Emperor Tai-tsung (A. D. 627-50), one of the most famous sovereigns in Chinese history. It was during his reign that the Nestorians came to China, and were allowed to set up the famous monument which stands to this day at Singan, the capital of Schense. He was succeeded hy a son, Kao-tsung, whose in- dolence and incapacity were more remarkahle hy contrast with the vigor of his predecessor, hut whose reign derived notoriety from the extra- scholars, who saw their venerable cur- riculum in danger of change; among Palace creatures and Placemen, who saw their sinecures in danger; and among the whole host of Permanent Officials, who saw their perquisites and the stereotyped routine of things likely to be thrown into the crucible. The Emperor was backed by thousands of the younger literati, mandarins and merchants in the provinces, and by some of the highest officials in the Em- pire. But the coup dYtat was effected in Peking, where the reactionaries practically held the field. All that they wanted was a leader; and ignorance of the forces really at work combined with personal fears and personal am- bition to throw the Empreas-Dowager into their hands. On the 22nd Septem- ber she openly seized the reins of power, in pursuance of an edict issued in the Emperors name, declaring his lack of capacity and begging her to resume the guidance of affairs. Six of the men who had prominently supported him in his schemes of reform were put to death without form of trial. Kang Yu-wei, the most prominent of all, escaped to Hong-Kong, and thence to Japan; leaving behind him, however, an open letter addressed to the Foreign Ministers, in which certain unamiable characteristics that have been ascribed to the Empress are frankly catalogued. She is compared, more sinicd, to the Empress Wu, who also succeeded in keeping her son in tutelage, and keep- ing hold of power during a long and licentious life.3 She is charged with ordinary career of wu Tsi-tien. wu, who had entered the harem of Tai-tsung at the age of fourteen, is said to have retired to a Buddhish con- vent at his death; hut Kao-tsung, who had seen and heen fascinated hy her, hrought her hack to the Palace, where she soon succeeded in gaining ahsolute control. Aspiring to the position of Empress, she accomplished her purpose hy strangling her own child and charging the crime against the actual Empress, who was tried, de- graded, imprisoned, and eventually died. In- stalled in her stead, wu gradually engrossed the The Last Palewe Intr:gue at Peking. having tried to corrupt the Emperor, and with having poisoned her former colleague, the Empress-Dowager of Hien Fung, and her daughter-in-law, the Empress-Dowager of Tung Che. She is characterized as an Usurper, having deposed an Emperor who was full of brightness and promise; and is told that she is, after all, but a concu- bine-relict of Hien Fung, whom, by her acts, she made die of spleen and indignation. Chang Yin-huan, who had been in England twelve months before as Special Envoy at the Queens Jubilee, was banished to Turkestan, having been hardly saved from death, it is believed, by the interposition of H.B.M. Minister. High provincial ofil- dais, guilty of progressive tendencies, were displaced right and left, and their places filled by Manchus and reaction- aries. It was frankly anticipated, at the time, that a drama which opened with such amenities would be consum- mated by Kwang Sus death; but an explosion of remonstrance from the Provinces combined with representa- tions ~by H.B.M. Minister of the evil impression that would be produced by such an event to arrest the design. He was allowed to live, under close tute- lage and control, and the Empress Tze- hsi has ruled openly in his stead. Having turned the tables on her ad- versaries, and recovered the power which those who have once tasted it are reputed to love, the Empress might have been content; though even she might grow weary of combating the hostility to her r6gime which centres round the personality of Kwang Su. But the reactionary clique was not happy. All was safe for the moment; but their mistress is advanced in years, management of affairs, which she succeeded In re- taining after her husbands death. Kao-tsnng left the throne to his son, Chung-tsung; but wu displaced him in favour of his brother; herself retaining the reins of power till she was dis- placed in her old age hy a Palace conspiracy, dying at last at eighty-one. A bigoted Buddhist, and what would happen at her death? If the Emperor regained power, there would be a fresh era of reform; and not of reform only, but of revenge, perhaps, for wrongs suffered and indignities im- posed. So a fresh combination was devised. The promise of adopting a posthumous son to Tung Che had never been fulfilled, as Kwang Su has not fulfilled his share by providing the child. It was consistent, under these circumstances, to propose that one should be selected from among the younger members of the Imperial Clan. A son (adopted or otherwise) of Tung Che would stand out as heir to the Throne, and a whole vista of possibili- ties was opened up! On the 23rd January, 1900, accordingly, the Peking Gazette contained the following de- cree: The Grand Secretariat is hereby com- manded to transmit our instructions to the following persons :Pu Wei, Prince of Kung, 1st Order; Princes Tsai Lien and Tsai Ying, 3rd Order; and Duke Tsai Lan; also the members of the Grand Secretariat, Lord Cham- berlain, Ministers of the Presence, Grand Council, Board of Comptrollers- General of the Imperial Household De- partment, the Manchu and Chinese Presidents of the Six Boards and Nine Ministries, and the Heads of the Tm- penal Academy and Library. The above-named are hereby commanded to assemble in the Palace to morrow morning, and await further instruc- tions. The object wi~s to chooseor sanc- tion the predetermined choice ofa child, Who should be given as heir to Tung Che; and it is part of the irony of things that the result was announced she allowed Christianity, which Tal-tsung had tolerated, to be slandered and persecuted. Ac- cused of murdering all who opposed her will, and of gratifyi.ng her pride by assuming semi-divine titles, the example of her reign has been held up as striking evidence of the evil of allowing women to meddle In politics. ,~-4 I I 5 The Last Palace Intrz~ue at Peking. (as follows) in the Emperors own name White yet in our infancy we were by grace of the Emperor Tung Che chosen to succeed him in the heavy responsi- bilities of Head of the whole Empire, and when His Majesty died we sought day and night to be deser,ying of such kindness by energy and faithfulness in our duties. We were also indebted to the Empress-Dowager, who taught and cherished us assiduously, and to her we owe our safety to the present day. Now, be it also known, that when we were selected to the Throne it was then agreed fhat if ever we should have a son that son should be proclaimed heir to the Throne. But ever since last year (1898) we have been constantly ill, and it was for this reason that, in the 8th month of that year (the date of the coup detat), the Empress-Dowager gra- ciously acceded to our urgent prayers, and took over the reins of government in order to instruct us in our duties. A year has now passed, and still we find ourselves an invalid; but ever keeping in our mind that we do not belong to the direct line of succession, and that, for the sake of the safety of the Em- pire of our ancestors, a legal heir should be selected to the Throne, we again prayed the Empress-Dowager to carefully choose from amongst the members of the Imperial Clan such an one; and this she has done in the per- son of Pu Chun, son of Tsai Yi, Prince Tuan. We hereby command accordingly (he continues) that Pu Chun,4 the son of Tsai Yi, Prince Tuan, be made heir to the late Emperor Tung Che. Now the bearing of these utterances depends, like those of Captain Bunsby, on the application of them. The mean- ing read into them by all China seems There may he a certain academic interest In noting that the new heir is a great-grandson of the Emperor Tao Kwang. Princ Tnan is a son of Prince Tun, who was a brother of the Emperor Hien Fung and of Prince Chun (the faither of Kwang 5u); he is of the same genera- tion, therefore, as Tung che and Kwang 5u, and any son of his would he eligihie for adoption to either of the two. The reigning family have, to have been that the Empress intended to depose Kwang Su, make Pu Chun Emperor, and constitute herself Regent during the new minority. The antici- pation evoked an outburst of loyalty to Kwang Su which surprised those who had doubted the existence of any public opinion among the Chinese. Kin Lienshan, district manager of the Im- perial Telegraphswhose name seems destined to come into notoriety along with that of Kang Yu-weipromptly despatched, on behalf of 1,231 literatl and gentry of Shanghai and the neigh- borhood, a telegram to the Princes and Ministers of the Tsungli-Yamen, in the following terms: When we received the edict of the 24th inst., in which the Emperor pro- posed to abdicate on account of illness, we were amazed; and the mandarins, gentry and merchants from all the provinces residing in Shanghai became full of anxiety, and discussed the mat- ter everywhere in the streets. We, therefore, wire to you to beg of you to be loyal and faithful, and, on behalf of the nation, to implore the Emperor not to think of abdicating, even though he should be unwell; so that the Em- press-Dowager, at her advanced age, may not have the extra burden of nil- ing a distracted Empire, and so that the spirits of our ancestors may be at rest, and the people live in peace. It was said that a number of the officials and gentry of Hupeh had taken similar action; and that the chief mili- tary officials at Nanking had protested to the Viceroy that they acknowledged only Kwang Su, and offered to take active measures on his behalf. It is significant, at any rate, that a procla- however, a still clearer method of exhibiting the genealogical sequence. The children of a given generation have all the same appellative. The sons of Kiaking, for in ance, were all Mien; the sons of Tao Kwang are all Yih; the sons of these Yih are all Tsai, and the sons of the Tsai are all Pu. Tnng Che and Kwang Sn were both Tsal. Any Pu is, therefore, elighie for adoption by either as son. 6 x The Last Palace Intrz~ue at Peking. 7 mation purporting to emanate from one Hsu, who declares himself to be secretly ordered by the Emperor Kwang Su to call on patriotic men to exterminate evil people, was widely distributed in Hankow. The Emperor had (it is declared), ever since he held the reins of government, done his ut- most to perform his duty, and the people are satisfied. . . . Recently he was forced to abdicate the throne by a number of treasonable men, who fas- cinated the Empress-Dowager. . . . On seeing that the Empress-Dowager is tyrannizing over the people, and giving away the territory to Russia, (Hsu) wished, long ago, to ask the Emperors permission to clear off the evil people near him, but hesitated to do so lest the matter should leak out. Now, however, as all know that the Empress really intends to depose him without ground, it is time to swear that we are not standing under the sun with her and her villains. A committee repre- senting 80,000 Chinese residents in Siam telegraphed from Bangkok: We, the loyal subjects of H.I.M. Kuang Hsu in Siam, learn with sor- rowful surpPise that an attempt is be- ing made by certain traitors at Peking to destroy by poison our beloved Sov- ereign, and we would hereby warn Your Excellencies [i.e., the Ministers of the Tsung ii Yamen], that, should our Emperor be murdered 2r deposed, an Army of Revenge from Siam alone will immediately return to China for the sole purpose of serving out justice to the two lirch traitors, Prince Ching and Kang Yi, whom we deem the: chief au- thors of all the sorrows and troubles of our beloved Emperor. We feel cer- tain that the inhabitants of the length and breadth of the homeland will re- joice to help us in removing these The Chinese at Singapore telegraphed to the Tsungli-Yamen: Urge upon the Empress- Dowager the absolute necessity of sparing the Emperors life, or else the Chinese here will gladly sacrifice their. lives; and to the British, traitors and their partisans forever from the Government. It is less surprising, perhaps, that Chi- nese residing in the Straits Settle- ments,5 in Australia and in California should have protested with equal em- phasis against the deposition of a mon- arch whose only offence had been the advocacy of reforms which they had learned to appreciate and admire. Such an explosion of remonstrance seems to have caused astonishment, as well as alarm and anger, at Peking. But the Empress was shrewd enough to perceive reason for pause. Instead of deposing the Emperor, she requested the Board of Ceremonies to decide upon a fitting manner of observing his birth- day, and acquiesced in a demand by the Foreign Ministers to be allowed to pay him their compliments on Chinese New ~ears Day (Feb. 19). But she turned her rage against the Reform Party, who are held responsible for the op- position. The first victim selected was Kin Lien-shan, whose arrest and execu- tion were orderedwhether for signing, or only for forwarding, the Shanghai message, is not clear. Kin got warn- ing, and fled to Macao. The instruc- tions were passed on~ therefore, to Canton; and the Viceroy, Li Hung- chang, lost no time in formulating a re- quest for his extradition on a charge of embezzling Tis. 38,000! The pretext is ingenious, as a political accusation would have been ignored, whereas the Portuguese could not well refuse to detain him pending the offer of evi- dence on a civil charge. It is by no means unlikely, even, that a man flying suddenly for his life may have left his accounts unsquared. Proof, however, not only of a deficit, but of animus fura~t4i, will, doubtless, be required; American, and Japanese Ministers at Peking, in- dividually: All Chinese communities beg you to use your influence to protect Kwang 5us life. Forty-six protests in all are said to have reached Peking within a few days. 8 The Last Palace Intrz~gue at Peking. there is a general conviction in China that Kin will receive short shrift if he touches Chinese soil, and the Portu- guese will hardly surrender a man to death on a charge which they knew to be merely a cloak. Close upon the denunciation of Kin Lien-shan came a fresh exhortation to the great provincial officers to termi- nate, no matter how, the career of Kang Yu-wei. Ever since the heinous crimes against the dynasty committed by Kang Yu- wel and Liang Chi-ehao, and their con- sequent proscription, we have repeat- edly commanded the Yiceroys and Gov- ernors of the maritime provinces to offer rewards for the capture of these two men, and also to buy the services of men to betray them to the author- ities; but, so far, it seems, without any success. In the meanwhile these two have been inciting the Chinese of the sea coast and islands against us by their writings, and have even pub- lished newspapers to propagate their treason for the success of their nefari- ous designs. Language is insufficient to express our indignation and anger at the conduct of these men. We, therefore, hereby again command the Viceroys ~and Governors of all our Provinces to issue proclamations giv- ing out in clear and plain terms that the Imperial Government guarantees a reward of Tls. 100,000 (about 15,000) to anyone, without distinction of class or social standing, who shall be able to hand over to the Authorities the ac- 6 The ceremony of the 13th instant passed off extremely well. The Empress-Dowager made a most favorable impression by her courtesy and affability. Those who went to the Palace under the idea that they would meet a cold and haughty person of strong, imperious manners, were agree- ably surprised to find Her Imperial Majesty a kind and courteous hostess, who displayed both the tact and softness of a womanly disposition. The ladies were at first received in a hall in the gardens of the Palace, where they found the Empress-Dowager and the Emperor seated on a dais. A short speech of congratulation was read by Lady MacDonald as doyenne, and a brief reply made by the Empress-Dowager. The ladies then ascended the dais, and the Empress-Dowager spoke a few words to each in turn, embraced them, and placed a pearl ring on the finger of tual persons of Kang Yu-wei and Liang Chi-chao; or should these men be slain, it will only be necessary to have their bodies identified to receive the same reward now offered. To show the sincerity of the Imperial Government in its offer of reward, let the said amount of Tis. 100,000 be sent to the Shanghai Taotai, who is to hold the money ready for immediate handing over to the successful men as soon as the formality of identification be over, in order that there may be no unneces- sary delay in giving the reward. Should official rank be desired in preference to this money, we will give high st~hstan- tial rank, far above the usual habit of granting such, which will satisfy the desires of the most ambitious. [Even people found reading their writings are to be punished, and the writings them- selves are to be burnt], in order to vindicate the dignity of the Imperial dynasty and quiet the hearts of the people. Having regard to the theory that Chi~ nese civilization came originally from Babylon, we may be pardoned, perhaps, for recalling how Nebuchadnezzar, in his rage and fury, commanded to bring Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego be- fore him because they refused to wor- ship the image which he had set up; but how the punishment designed for them miscarried, and the King fell, soon after, on evil days. The ladies of the Legations who were so impressed, sixteen months ago, by the Empresss affability8 may be surprised by the con- each. Her Majesty subsequently sent to each lady handsome presents of silk, a picture painted by herself, & c. The Emperor shook each lady by the hand. The ladies were afterwards entertained at a banquet in another hall by the ladies of the Court. The Empress-Dowager again appeared and drank a loving cup of tea with her guests. A letter of thanks for Her Majestys gracIous receptIon and presents was afterwards sent by Lady MacDonald to the Empress-Dowager on be. half of the foreign ladies attending the audience. The appreciation of the Empress-Dowager of this step on the part of the ladies was to-day conveyed to each Legation concerned by two of the sec- retaries of the Tsungli-Yamen, who were charged by PrInce (Thing to communicate Her Imperial Majestys pleasure.(Ohina, No. 1 of 1900, p. 15.) The Last Palace Intri~gue at Peking. 9 trast. But if Hell hold no fury like a woman scorned, What may we not ex- pect from one whose position of power and personal liberty have been men- aced, as well as her reputation fhltrie? These major proscriptions were fol- lowed by a decree sentencing three dis- tinguished members of the Hanlin Col- lege (including one who was chiefly in- strumental in negotiating the Peking Syndicate concessions) to imprisonment for life, a fourth to surveillance, and handing over a fifth for penalties to be subsequently determinedavowedly for arrogant and boastful speech, trea- sonable ideas, extraordinary and crazy charges against the Empresss chief advisers, etc., but really for pro- gressive tendencies. Fifty more are said to have been since impeached, on a hint from the Empress that she did not believe those five could represent all the iniquity in such a nest. Orders were, it is alleged, received by the local AuthoritIes to arrest certain prominent Reformers who reside in the Foreign Settlement at Shanghai; but the Taotai was more than unwilling to incur the friction which he knew the attempt would entail. They might be seized on chance opportunities, or obtained, per- hiaps, on trumped-up charges, but the Foreign Municipal Authorities would shield them, certainly, to the utmost of their power; and the Viceroy authorized him, apparently, to stay hIs hand pend- ing further reference to Peking. Cases might be cited, also, of pressure on the families and kindred of men who are living abroad. There has been a gen- eral recrudescence of persecution, in fact, against persons suspected of lean- ings to reform; and a decree published In the Peking Gazette of the 20th Feb- ruary orders all the Provincial Mag- nates throughout the Empire to care- fully nourish the scholars and students within their jurisdictions, to provide ~ Spheres of Interest and the Open Door. Dy R. B. Gundry. Fortnightly Review, 3uly, orthodox books and classics for schools and colleges, to promote and recom- mend to the Throne really deserving scholars, but to summarily suppress all who try to become boasting demagogues after the manner of such~ men as Kang Yu-wei and~ Liang Ohi-chao. I was permitted, last year,7 to depict in these pages the political situation which appeared to me to have been created by the combined effects of the Japanese War, of foreign encroach- ments and pressure, and of a domestic policy hostile to reform. The only change I would now make in that pre- sentment is to deepen the shadows. The Empress~s assurance that she was not antagonistic to reform, but desired to carry it out along lines more con- sistent with Chinese thought, has been discredited. The Reactionary policy of the clique with which she is identified seems, rather, to have been accentuated, and the spirit of enmity towards all who were associated with the reform movement embittered. An evident con- sequence has been to widen the rift be- tween the Capital and the Provinces that was caused by the Emperors su- persession. The Empress thinks, evi- dently, that she c~n crush opposition; but experience has shown that move- ments of the kind are like riverswhich may be guided, as Yii is declared, in Chinese legend, to have guided the great rivers of China, by removing ob- stacles and deepening their channels till the waters flowed peacefully into the Eastern sea; but which are apt to burst through injudiciously constructed barriers and overwhelm everything in their course. The pressure to which the Imperial Government had been subjected from without is somewhat relaxed. Having ear-marked their re- spective spheres of interest, and ob- tained concessions of various privileges, the great European Powers chiefly in- 1599. The Yangtze Region. By B. S. Gundry. September, 1899. 10 The Last Palace Intrigue at P~king~ terested have been content to await developments and events. But the autonomy of the eighteen Provinces appears to be in less danger from un- provoked aggression than from the ig- norance, corruption and incapacity of the Chinese Government itself. The removal of the Emperor from power, the reversal of his decrees and the en- venomed persecution of his advisers have caused widespread dissatisfac- tion, which is only restrained from dangerous expression by want of cohe- sion and leadership. There is unrest from Shantung in the north to the great Kwang Viceroyalty in the south. The risk that some new freak of the Reac- tionaries may consolidate this fluent matter is, at least, not negligible; nor can the risk that certain foreign Pow- ers might be led to step in to maintain order, and gradually, perhaps, to as- sume administrative responsibility in certain districts, in given contingencies, be ignored. We have heard, quite recently, for instance, of grave warnings addressed to the Imperial Government regarding the condition of affairs in the North, where an association, calling itself I Ho Chuan (lit. Righteous Harmony Fists), familiarly known as The Boxers, has been distinguishing itself by assault- ing, pillaging and generally persecuting Christian converts. I have endeavored, upon former occasions,8 to explain some of the underlying causes of the peren- nial antagonism to missionaries, espe- cially Roman missionaries and their converts in China. The remedy may be difficult to find, but it certainly does not lie in persecution; and it has always been believed that the trouble, anxiety and diplomatic emliarrassment which riots superinduce must render the higher authorities, at least, unwilling to see them occur. The tacit complic- 5 chapters x. and XI., China, Present and Past. Ohapman & Hail, 1895. V. also, Missionaries in Obina, by Alex. Michie: Stanford, 1891. ity of the late Governor of Shantung in the proceedings of The Boxers seems, however, beyond doubt; so much so that when their misdeeds culminated lately in the murder of an English mis- sionary, H.BJM. Minister demanded and obtained his recall. Yet the Em- press has bestowed upon him the char- acter Fu, signifying happinessa well- recognized mark of favor, which was recorded in the Court Gazette~and has named him Governor of Shanse, where he will be able to thwart the operations of the Peking Syndicate by various methods, overt and covert, which a Mandarin in high position can always employ. The appointment of the pres- ent Governor, Yuan Shikai, was thought to herald better things; for he not only ranks among the Empresss allies, but is credited with having at his disposal the most efficient body of troops in the north. He appears to have done little, however, towards sup- pressing the movement; and popular report explains his inaction by affirming that the Empress told him he would be held responsible if any disturbance en- sued. It is scarcely surprising, under such circumstances, that the tacit sym- pathy, at least, of the Empress and her allies should be claimed for a Society whose program is avowedly anti-for- eign. Placards frankly claiming this sympathy are said, indeed, to have been posted at Peking; and, though placards be ever so fallible, placards claiming to express the sympathies of the Empress are strong evidence, at least, of popular belief; for we may guess from the cases of Kang Yu-wei and Kin Lien-shan what might happen to people who interpreted them awry. Gentlemen who have heard the Chi- nese Minister descant pleasantly at our great industrial centres, on the enlight- ened purposes of his government, hardly conceived it possible, no doubt, that it should be so strangely engaged; but it is as well to realize that there are Tue Last Palace Intri~gue at Peking. 11 quoting somewhat freely from Imperial decrees; but a tone of thought which is altogether peculiar can be best exhib- ited, at times, in the thinkers words. Remembering how directly the Em- press can speak when she wishes, let the reader place himself in the position of a Governor, and try to draw from the following edict a conclusion as to the category in which the Society that is disturbing Shantung should be en- rolled. two sides to the picture. I have laid When they have law cases between the myself open, I fear, to the charge of ChristIans and the people, they should isettie them justly and wIthout any par- tiality~ If at ordinary times they have the peoples confidence, when unusual circumfstances occur they will natu- rally have the confidence of the public, and turn great matters into small and deeds into no deeds. The strength of the country depends upon this, and the amicable relations of all rest on this. The Viceroys and Governors instructions to the local officials should be precise, that in all cases of this kind they should only inquire whether the men are rebels or not, and whether they have created riots or not; and not consider whether they belong to a society or religious sect. The people also ought to have no thought beyond the protection of their villages, and not to commence hostilities and create a disturbance, or be agitated by rumors. They should not presume on their influence to oppress their neigh- bors. We trust the different districts will become quiet and relieve our anxiety. A later edict declared, certainly in less ambiguous terms, the illegality of organizations which conduct themselves as The Boxers have done, and author- ized the Governors of Shantung and Pechili to issue a plain proclamation and give clear notice of prohibition, in order that they may cease their habits and become law-abiding and loyal. If they persist in their foolish ways without reform they ought to be strictly punished, and no leniency should be shown them. In regard to the divisions between the converts and common people, all are alike Our sub- jects, and when there are law disputes the local authorities should adjust them carefully, and irrespective of class or religion, seeking only to dis- cover who is really in the wrong, and showing no partIality, in order that the people may realize the fatherly sym- pathy of the Throne. Recently cases of robbery and vlo- lence have been becoming daily more frequent in various provinces, and mis- sionary cases are of frequent occur- rence. These are all regarded as the work of seditious societies, and it is de- manded that they be severely punilsihed. But there is a distinction in these so- cieties. Those reckless fellows who band together and create riots are without excuse under our law. But if submissive and loyal subjects learn gymnastic drill for the protection of their families, or unite the villages in tneir districts for mutual protection, their object is merely mutual assist- ance, and quite right. But the local authorities sometimes make no distinc- tion, and, mistakenly listening to groundless rumors, treat them all as se- ditious subjects, and recklessly put them to death, so that there is no dis- tinction drawn between the good and the bad, and the people become excited with fear. This is like trying to stop a pot boiling by adding more fuel; or making a pool to drive out fish. It is not that the people are not quiet, but that the officials action is to blame. The government of Our Dynasty is known to be kind and generous, and has cherished the people more than two hundred years. The food of the people and the ground on which they tread are the gifts of Heaven. How can they be ready to turn rebels and court pun- ishment? It depends entirely on the Viceroys and ~overnors to engage worthy officials to govern lihe country rightly, and to secure the people rest 12 The Last Palace Intrzgue at Peking. But either the words have failed to carry conviction, or the movement has gained too much headway to be easily stopped; for it is spreading, evidently, In Pechili, and we hear of outrage and massacre within fifty miles of Peking. If the North has its own form of un- rest, it is peculiar only in that respect. The Yangtze Valley is seething with discontent, born partly of Imperial ex- actions and partly of loyalty to Kwang Su and antagonism to the Empresss r~gime. The Kwang provinces, always turbulent, are a prey to brigandage ashore and piracy afloat. The dangers indicated last year appear to have grown greater, therefore, rather than less. The anti-foreign attitude, which the Empress and her advisers are adopting, may encourage an outbreak of anti-foreign feeling that would occa- sion intervention; or their domestic policy may excite disaffection leading to insurrection on an extensive scale. The only road of escape from the two- fold danger seems to lie in reverting to a poli~y of reform; whereas the only thought of the clique which has usurped power, at Peking, seems to be to accu- mulate soldiers to protect itself against the consequences of the dissatisfaction it inspires. One consideration might in- duce the Empress to desert the Reac- tionary cause and throw her influence into the opposite scale. It has been suggested that she is being carried far- ther than she intended, having had no conception of the forces that are at work~ The last thing she desires is to endanger the dynasty. If it could The Fortnlghtiy Review. be brought home to her that the present Reactionary policy constitutes a danger for the dynasty and the Empire, she might be induced, yet, to change her course and support the Emperor in a policy of Reform. Her halt on the threshold of what was intended, clearly, to be a fresh coup ct,~ltctt two months ago, goes to prove that she is not im- pervious to manifestations of popular sentiment; but many well qualified to form an opinion are persuaded that she is kept in ignorance of the real impoii and magnitude of the crisis by~ which the Empire is assailed. She is impressed, for the moment, by the volume of remonstrance her project has evoked; although she wreaks, woman- like, her spite on those whom she sin- gles out as opposing her will. The present advice of the Emperors friends at Peking to their partizans in the Provinces is said to be not to press her too hard, but to let her escape, if she will, by the loophole which the protests have left her in laying the blame on her advisers. The primary object is to save Kwang Su. The great fear of the Reform party is that he may be made away with. So long as he is alive they are contending for their rightful sovereign; but his death would undermine that standpoint of objection to the Empresss r6gime. To oppose her if she were ruli~ig legally as Regent for a new Emperor would be to rebel; and rebellion is as the sin of witch- craft; the Chinese have it in supersti- tious dread. R. S. Gundry. On the Merits and Demerits of Thr~ft. 13 ON THE MERITS AND DEMERITS OF THRIFT. There are plentiful maxims in refer- ence to this subject scattered broad- cast through the pages of the moral- ists, and dwelt upon constantly in the greatest book of all. In every form of precept, allegory and illustration we have all learnt, we have all been taught that it is wicked to be rich. I am not quite sure whether we all believe it, judging by the unflinching determina- tion with which the attainment of that supreme wickedness is set before us as a potent factor in choosing a career, a given line of conduct. While with one tongue, so to speak, we tell our youths it is wicked to be rich, with an- other we dissuade them with all our might from the callings, the marriage, which might prevent them from being so. On one day in the seven we listen to the solemn .words which assure us that the wealthy will eventually lie vis- ited by so horrible a fate that, if there were any listening who actually and literally believed it, it is inconceivable that they should ever keep a spare six- pence in their pockets again. And yet, miracle of miracles! the very people who, on the first day of the week, ap- pear to acquiesce in the idea that the rich man shall be eternally damned, can forget during the rest of it their con- ception of what those tremendous words may mean, and go on gaily qual- ifying themselves during five and a-half sevenths of their lives (I am assum- ing the Saturday half-holiday) to be forever lost. It is an unnecessary com- plication of the difficult problems of existence, to have to solve them alter- nately by two diametrically opposite codes. It is as though on one day in the week we committed to memory tables of arithmetic that inculcated that twice two are three, and three times two are seven; and then, having those maxims absolutely by rote, we had, when it came to practical working, to admit that twice two come to four and thrce times two to six, in order to square them with the practical duties of life. Solomon says A good name is better than riches; and he almost invariably assumes, influenced, perhaps, by his nationality, that only one of these two alternatives can be adopted. I am no economist; I do not propose to discuss here why it appears to lie inevitable that, as society is at present constituted, there should be inequalities in possession, and accumu- lations in individual hands. Let us simply recognize that such accumula. tions do take place, and admit that they are not generally, strange though it may seem after recalling the maxims we have been considering, in the hands of the criminal classes. There may be, and no doubt there are, many among the wealthy who use their means in a way unworthy of commendation, but, on the whole, I should imagine that a large proportion of them, whether they have inherited their riches or assembled them themselves, wouldin accordance with the aforesaid weekday moralists, that isnot deserve to be lost at all, but quite the contrary. What, after all, does money mean? merely golden sovereigns? do we, if we have it, sit all the time in our cellar running our skinny hands through the glittering pile? No, that is not what money means. It does not, to be sure, mean, either, the biggest things in life, for only inward grace can give those; but it can supplement the big- gest, in that it may give us the means of using them to the best advantage. Money cannot give the gift of making the friends worth having, or of de- serving those friends; but it means 14 On the Merits and Demerits of Thrift. greater and more agreeable possibili- ties of frequenting them. It cannot give the power of understanding books; but to those who can understand, it gives the power of buying books to read, without stint. It cannot give the heaven-sent rapture in pictorial or musical art, but it gives the possibility of enjoying it more often. It cannot give us good and gifted children, but it may help us to train them to advantage. The best is not to be bought with money, but the setting of the best is. For this reason is the possession of it a crucial test, especially when newly acquired; and for those who have no gentle tastes to gratify a dazzling light suddenly shed on their barren exist- ence, revealing with unsparing con- spicuousness the vulgar channels in which alone It occurs to them that wealth should run. it is, no doubt, good that wealth should be spent and not hoarded; the purpose of any cur- rency is that it should ultimately be exchanged for something that it will buy. That the something should be worth having is, of course, essential. But what people spend their money on generally does, at the moment, appear to themselves to be worth buying. It is other people who feel it is not. What money brings us should add to the adornment, the beauty, the seemliness of life, whether we buy with it things or ideas. That is the thing to grasp. Let us recognize as sanely and wisely as we can that the defects incidental to the possession of wealth need not be inevitable, if we are on our guard against them. The limitations of taste and character which, as we have already said, wealth so unsparingly gives us an opportunity of displaying, are not caused by it, any more than a limelight shed on to an unprepossessing object creates the ugliness it reveals. Let us not fear to say that in itself it is not wicked to be rich, any more than it is estimable to be poor; but let us keep unsparingly before our eyes the deterioration of character that may be brought about by either the lack or the excess of means, and be on our watch against it. This is an insidious and a great danger. For there are two qualities which most of us agree are fine and good, and to be desired, that are liable to be modified and distorted by the variations in our means. One is the large-hearted impulse to part with what we have, not for our own good only, but for that of the community or of individuals; the other is the spirit of a sober self-denial opposed to self- indulgence. This, the spirit of tem- perance; that, the spirit of magnifi- cence. But we cannot, in the perfunc- tory teaching of morals, which is all we have time for in these days, make it clear to ourselves and to others how important it is that these finer impulses should not be at the mercy of our vary- ing conditions. We are apt, in the hurry of material life, to lose sight of this main point at issue; to confuse en- forced, distasteful acts of economy with a noble impulse of sober simplic- ity; we are misled into attributing the constant and cruel necessity, forced on the great majority of mankind, of spending and of buying less than they would like to spend or to buy, to a fine spirit of self-denial, and we gradu- ally grow into considering the mere act of saving as a virtue in itself. But it is not there that virtue lies. There are certain qualities necessary to a complicated social organization Thrift is one of themwhich, encour- aged at first entirely on grounds of expediency, become through the ages so indispensable to the state of society which calls them forth, that they are erected into virtues necessary to the ideal character, and taught to one gen- eration after another, indelibly im- pressed on them. And that quite in- discriminately; for we are obliged to embody our teaching of morals in a On tke Merits and Demerits of Thra2. 15 series of rough-and-ready uncompro- mising maxims, that we impart to all alike, whatever the circumstances of the learner. There is no leisure, in the evil days we have fallen upon, to ex- pound with care to reverent disciples how infinitely varying are the canons and, obligations of what we may call the lesser virtuesto point out and to distinguish, in a dignified, exhaustive and philosophical fashion. The result is that we attempt to guide the whole of our kind by precepts fitted for one portion of them and absolutely unfitted for another. The terse and pithy max- ims in which the experience of gener- ations finds its final form, although they may serve crudely enough as a working basis of conduct, are unavoid- ably apt to lead us astray by not pre- senting alternatives. It is obvious that there must be a want of half-tones, so to speak, about such definite utterances; for if a proverb were to attempt to qualify its own authority by pointing out the cases in which it may be modi- fied, it would cease to be so portable a piece of wisdom, and would more re- semble a speech or a sermon. We are, therefore, driven into the constant and immense mistake of inflicting the same ordinances on every one alike. And in the particular subject we are discuss- ing, we commit the absurdity of laying down for rich and for poor the same rule; and instead of admitting that there is a certain line of conduct, not wicked, but only highly inexpedient and unadvisable for those who are poor, and entirely allowable in those who are the reverse, we lay down. the same precept for all indis- criminately, and call it a virtue. Since, therefore, there are more people, unfortunately, in the world with little money than with much, since there are more who are under the obli- gation to provide for their necessaries only, and not for the superfluities, we must needsso we are toldadopt the maxim which should govern the ma- jority; and the minority must hobble through existence cramped by the or- dinances made to fit the narrowly cir- cumstanced, until the minds of the easy become inevitably crippled and nar- rowed, too. A penny saved is a penny gainedTake care of the pence, and the pounds will take care of them- selvesTurn a penny in your pocket before you take it outsuch are some of the stultifying maxims we learn and repeat until, upon my soul, they can never quite be unlearnt again. Penny wise and pound foolish,one of the few utterances on the other side of the questionsometimes arises to stagger and confuse us by confronting us with an admonition entirely opposite to those we have the acquired habit of obeying. I recall a saying I used to hear in my youth~we were expected to allow it reverently to sink into our minds until it became part of our code of moralsWhen you are going to buy a thing, think first if you want it, and secondly, if you can do without it Do without it? Why, all the beautiful and most of the agreeable things of life can be done without in the sense that we do not die of renouncing themwe only become stupidly resigned and lim- ited human beings if we carry that prin- ciple to its extreme limit and never get anything we can do without Here, again, we encounter the absurdity of trying to make such a proposition of universal application, with the mon- strous result that, framed for those who could only afford to buy the neces- saries of life, it has been adopted by many others who could have afforded very much more, and who actually think they are being praiseworthy in keeping their lives as barren and un- adorned as possible. There are char- acters with regard to whom such a system as this combines the evil influ- ences of both poverty and riches, and 16 On the Merits and Demerits of Thrift. brings out the finer results of neither. It is impossible to advance through the world in a stately and seemly fashion if you are forever stumbling .ver little wooden precepts; there cannot be a noble amplitude of moral gesture if every time the hand is extended the ac- tion is accompanied by a corresponding impulse to draw it back. The instinc- tive impulse to save ungracefully, on small occasions, when it is not worth while to make a deliberate effort to overcome it, may exist side by side with an impulse towards equally un- graceful self-indulgence. The latter is not magnificence; the former is not temperance. And the man with many pennies, brought up on the maxims suitable to the man with few, will probably, if he is that way inclined, have the tendency to keep a penny in his pocket when he had better take it out. But let us call things by their proper names. A first-class passenger giving an inadequate tip to a railway porter, or a man in a fur coat refusing a penny to the street loafer who opens the door of his brougham, is not exer- cising self-denial or practising thrift, he is obeying a sedulously implanted instinct of saving; that is all. Those ugly little economies have no relation to the renunciationfine, if exercised in the right spiritof the man who goes on foot because he cannot afford an omnibus, or without his newspaper be- cause his wife and children want the money for their clothes. There is something stern and noble in that form of saving; but there is none when the same action is unnecessary, and is prompted, not by Thrift, but by that half-brother of Thrift whose name is Stinginess. It may sometimes happen that a man who will spend a thousand pounds on a fine picture~and if he can see with his own eyes that it is a fine pic- ture, and can be uplifted by living in its presence, he is incalculably right so to spend itwill think twice before he buys an extra copy of the Times to read on his way home, or before he gives a cabman an extra sixpence on a cold day. And yet, if that rich man wasted pennies and overpaid cabmen to the ex- tent of evena shilling a day, which would seem to most millionaires very extrava- gant, the net result would only amount to 181. 5s. in one year, the pr,ice of one of his wifes cheaper gowns. But to effect that saving in a lump sum by going without the gown, which would be much better than going without the picture, in order to have a small daily margin, supposing that only one of these alternative courses can be adopted, does not appear often to occur to the minds of the people concerned. Why? Because we had persuaded our- selves that we had better take care of the pence than the pounds. What we buy with the pounds, what we save with the pennies, is not really the pic- ture, is not the satisfaction of obeying an impulse of economy; it is the atti- tude of mind that we are buying, that w~ are intensifying, every time we con- solidate it in one direction or another. For this is a terrible danger that may await us; that the doors closed by our own action against fine and noble pos- sibilities become more and more inevi- tably sealed by the action of time, until at last we forget that they ever were open. There are always, unhappily, under all conditions of life, some doors that we close, some possibilities we stifle forever. And it may happen to us as well in poverty as in riches, only the possibilities stifled will be of a different kind. Terrible snares as to the directing of character lie in the way of both. By poverty I do not here mean that absolute poverty of the slums, in which each penny lacked means a corresponding deprivation of actual food and warmth, or shelter; I mean that other poverty, hard also to bear, whose necessities include super- On the Merits and Demerits of Thrift. 17 fluities which have to be renounced by an endless series of efforts of self- denial. There should be different names for these two forms of lack of means, or, at any rate, for the different forms of suffering they inflictwhich, in the one case, is mainly physical, and the other, mentalfor it becomes con- fusing, blurring, and entirely mislead- ing if we try to compare them on actu- ally the same grounds and using the same words. The deprivations and re- nunciations which may fall upon us, going up through the different layers of the sociar order, not infrequently include people of a station and posi- tion obliging them to live, in a measure, according to the standards of the wealthy and distinguished. This is the thing that is difficult to bear with simplicity and dignity, and in those who lack those qualities, and who, whatever their social position or their absolute means, conceive they have not enough, it sometimes gives rise to the most curi- ous manifestations. Is not this, by the way, one of the foxes that ought to be kept under ones cloak? Not, perhaps, from the point of view of the fLuanclal equilibrium of society, but simply from that of making the social relations of human beings with one another seemly, agreeable and dignified. The person who, in a smart drawing-room, laments aloud over her lack of meansI say her advisedly, for this seems to be an error that women are more likely to fall into than men4s hardly less un- pleasant than the one who, on the same occasion, loudly proclaims the fact of having money in superfluity. To be sure, we tolerate one manifestation more readily than the other, because the com- bination of high social claims with in- adequate means is, on the whole, more likely to produce a bearable result than the opposite combination of too ample means with inadequate standards. This is the reason, perhaps, why we do not LIVING AGE. VOL. VIII. 398 protest more loudly against the neigh- bor who, lying necessarily beyond the reach of offers of help, persists in ex- plaining her existence in the terms of pounds, shillings and pence, and so bringing money, in words as well as in deeds, prominently into the foreground as almost the principal factor of life. Such conditions, in natures which are not noble, are apt to engender a con- centration upon the petty details of existence, a habit of selection not gov- erned by high standards, but by an ad- justment to possibilities. This is a possible danger of both limited and un- limited means. In the former case, ideals may fade and standards become blurred by the interposition of ignoble preoccupations; in the latter, from its not being absolutely essential that a wise reflection and weighing of alter- natives should accompany the process of selection, the capacity to select Is again likely to suffer. The finer tastes and discriminations are not necessarily brought to their greatest perfection by being able to afford to get the sec- ond best as well as the best, by being able, without a thought, to make a trial of something that may be inade- quate, in order to discard it afterwards, it may be, for something not more de- sirable. There is a danger in an existence too easy-going and prosperous of los- ing hold on the finer, stronger aspira- tions, on the virtues of sobriety and temperance in the widest sense; a dan- ger of being gradually overlaid by an abundance of detail and ornament, in every order a sign of decadence. In the noble nature, on the other hand, which succeeds in governing its fate instead of being governed with it,. in keeping hold of the ideal in the face of poverty, the finer, stronger virtues are more likely to be engendered than in the case of the prosperous who hold on their satisfied way in an existence sub- ject to the continued encroachment of 18 On the Merits and Demerits of Thr!ft. self-indulgence both of the body and of the spirit. I am not pausing to discuss here the desirability that the affluent should enjoy part of their means in a way which appears to most people so ob- viously right, according to the re ceived doctrines of altruism, that it is needless to spend time in discussing it. I am not going to repeat a thought that occurs in so many wise and foolish forms to most human minds at either end of the social scale, that part of the means of the rich should be consecrated to helping those who deserve help, or even those - who simply need it. In both cases I would say incidentally that it is always possible to find out whether they do either one or the other, though this means a great deal more trouhle than enunciating a general re- luctance to pauperize. It may some- times be allowable to act for the legiti- mate advantage of the individual en lines which would not be practicable if applied to the community. But the welfare of the two appear at first sight so inextricably intertwined that it is, no doubt, more easy to say that the one must not be attempted for fear of en- dangering the other, than carefully and patiently to disentangle, for a given contingency, the threads that bind them together; and take the considerable trouble that it means to arrive at dis- tinguishing. And as for the really, absolutely poor, those in whom every generous impulse, every offer of help, every con- tribution towards the needs of another means, as the French say, paying with their person, depriving themselves of what they have to give to some one else, sitting up themselves at night by a neighbors sick bed and thus practi- cally taking their share of anothers trouble,I would almost go so far as to say that such an attitude of mind engenders certain high virtues which are practically unknown among those who, under similar circumstances, sim- ply draw out their purse, or write a let- ter . . . and send somebody else. It is probably unavoidable. These acts of daily heroism and self-sacrifice, accom- plished as a matter of course at the cost of personal fatigue, suffering and priva- tion, are things that cannot be learnt in theory, and are likely to be practised but very exceptionally by those who can exercise them by proxy. Is it true, then, after allcan it be?that there is a high level of moral achievement which it~may be difficult for the rich to attain? certain qualities, and those of the finest kind, which are bound to lie dormant, if circumstances do not call them forth? If so, let us seek for the remedy in the right place. Thrift is not the virtue we need here. It is not so simple as that. What is needed is to make a vigorous stand against the action of surroundings and circum- stances, lest we should fall a helpless prey to them; to keep alive by constant effort the conviction that it is necessary to resist them. But it is possible that those whose lives are sunny and pros- perous may mistake the content and satisfaction they feel for a condition of moral excellence in which watchful- ness is not so much needed. Plato tells us that it is difficult to be cheerful when you are old and poor; and we may presume, therefore, that it is not difficult when you are old and rich. But even granting that that is so, which it certainly is not invariablyotherwIse we should have a whole class of cheer- ful old rich whose existence would be of the greatest gain to the community that is not the highest form of excel- lence. That is the sort of well-being that comes from repletion; you have had your fill of the good things of life, and can sit down well content. It is not philosophical and spiritual calm, arrived at by effort and aspiration. The obvious and disheartening condition of the people who have had enough is that they do not want more; and, there- fore, do not try to attain it. This it is that may stop the strenuous impulse, both of a moral and mental kind; for the intelligence, as well as the charac- ter, may mistake the satisfactory devel- opment arrived at by helpful circum- stance, for natural endowment. But still this condition, this kind of good- ness, which is what, on the whole, the most favorably situated average human being may hope to attain, is of the kind which is the second best. For, after admitting the value of money in pro- curing the possession, or even in eking out the perception, of the really good things in this world, we must recognize that these are still but joys of the sec- ond order. The chosen know some- thing else. There are, hapPily, some left in the world, who, having but little means, do not care about having more, all their desires and their possibilities being divinely absorbed in the posses- sion of some great and glorious gift or even, failing the gift, the contempla- tion and pursuit of oome lofty ideal. The glowing spark of endeavor stren- uously kept alive by ceaseless effort until it is fanned into an unquenchable flame; the passionate concentration of purpose in the facing of privation; the unconscious effort at readjustment that may inspire the genius in his need with a fury of purpose to poise his balance with destiny more evenly,all this, in its fulness, is inconsistent with riches. There is something in the fact of the luxurious, cushioned existe~ace, flooded without any personal effort with light and warmth, which seems in some terrible way to put out forever the flame from within, or, a1 best, to prevent it from burning with more than a pale flicker. The mere fact of the possession of ample means is likely to induce a greater variety of surround- ings, of occupation, df intercourse, and must break in on the determination to achieve the single-minded purpose, 19 kept before the eyes of him who has nothing- else to look upon. The wealthy man may be a patron of the arts, a connoisseur, an amateur; he may be supported by a deluding inward con- sciousness that had things been other- wise he might still have conquered fame and opulence for himself. It is better that it should be so. Or rather, I would say, that since it is inevitable that it should be so, let him think that it is better. For it is not given to us, happily, to determine in which layer of the social ~strata we should like our lives to be castwhether with those who have more, or have less, or with those who are between, in that middle state which poets and thinkers have assured us is the golden, the happy state of all. Shall we dare, in the face of their utterances, to hint that it is not? And yet... why is it golden? why is it happiest? Because, presum- ably, it is the state which makes for a selfish well-being without responsibility as without incentive? Let us say boldly that the mind that can dare, endure, attempt, would never choose to be seated in the mean if it could have something else. The highest achieve- ment is not being contented with that sent, the highest striving is not com- patible with it. No! in my heart I be- lieve that mediocrity is not golden. It is leadenit weighs down aspiration, it hinders accomplishment, it deadens hope; it lacks alike the spur of poverty and the encouragement of wealth, it stagnates, instead of battling or rush- in~ There lies the danger of the mid- dle course, different, it may be, from that which menaces either riches or poverty, but danger still. But, since these different strata are governed by different conditions, and, as applied to detail, different standards; since for some who are within the iron grasp of necessity the alternatives are few, and for others for whom proclivity and not necessity may decide, more On the Merits and Demerits of Thr!fi. 20 The Swallows. numerous; since all alternatives make demands on character and aptitudes, and since those, therefore, who have many alternatives have a more search- lug test applied to them than those who have fewer, it would be inestimably helpful to us all if we might have a code of life varied in detail according to different circumstances. Such a code would be more pliable, more prac- ticable, more possible than the crude, Inelastic rule intended for one section of society only, by which all the others, nevertheless, attempt to grope their way. It would be possible for us to face, once for all, the fact that we are not necessarily wicked If we are rich, nor good if we are poor; and that it Is not by trying to adopt the methods of dealing with money that are desirable in the poor that the rich will remove the traditional stain attaching to their condition. Florence Befl. The Nineteenth Oentury. THE SWALLOWS. In ancient days when, under cloudless skies, Springs earliest swallows touched the Italian shore, Sad-hearted mothers gazed with yearning eyes, And cried, Our darlings come to us once more. A pretty fancy which our wiser age Has long outgrown. And yetfor England stands Watching the strife in which her sons engage At her behest, in those far Southern lands, A thousand sons she mourns, untimely slain, Like early flowers that fall beneath the scythe. SwalloiwA who seek your English home again, Over their graves your song was loud and blithe A few short weeks ago. Perhaps a gleam Lit heavy eyes that saw you swoop and dart, While memories of some willow-shaded stream Or windy down arose within the heart. Wherefore to us, this spring, your song shall be Fraught with a deeper meaning than of yore, As if, across the leagues of sundering sea, Some whispered message from our dead ye bore. B. Paul Neuman. The Spectator. 21 The Heart of Darkness. THE HEART OF DARKNESS. BY JOSEPH COIUIAD. Iv. One evening, as I was lying flat on the deck of my steamboat, I heard voices approachingand there was the nephew and the uncle strolling along the bank. I laid my head on my arm again, and had nearly lost myself in a doze, when somebody said in my ear, as it were: I am as harmless as a little child, but I dont like to be dic- tated to. Am I a manageror am I not? I was ordered to send him there. Its incredible. . . . I became aware that the two were standing on the shore alongside the forepart of the steamboat, just below my head. I did not move; it did not occur to me to move. I was sleepy. It is unpleas- ant, grunted the uncle. He has asked the administration to be sent there, said the other, with the idea of showing what he could do; and I was instructed accordingly. Look at the influence that man must have. Is it not frigh- ful? They both agreed it was fright- ful, then made several bizarre remarks: Make rain and fine weatherone man the councilby the nosebits of ab- surd sentences that got the better of my drowsiness, so that I had pretty near the whole of my wits about me when the uncle said, The climate may do away with this difficulty for you. Is he alone there? Yes, answered the manager; he sent his assistant down the river with a note to me in these terms: Clear this poor devil out of the country, and dont bother sending more of that sort. I had rather be alone than have the kind of men you can dispose of with me. It was more than a year ago. Can you imagine such impu * Copyright by 5.5. McClure & Co. dence? Anything since then? asked. the other, hoarsely. I~ry, jerked the, nephew; lots of itprime sortlots--- most annoying, from him. And with that? questioned the heavy rumble. Invoice, was the reply, fired out, so to speak. - Then silence. They had been talking about Kurtz. I was broad awake by this time, but lying perfectly at ease, remained still, having no inducement to change my position. How did that ivory come all this way? growled the elder man, who seemed very vexed. The other ex- plained that it had come with a fleet of canoes in charge of an English half- caste clerk Kurtz had with him, that Kurtz had apparently intended to re- turn himself, the station being by that time bare of goods and stores; but after coming 300 miles had suddenly decided to go back, which he started to do alone in a small dugout with four paddlers, leaving the half-caste to continue down the river with the ivory. The two fel- lows there seemed astounded at any- body attempting such a thing. They were at a loss for an adequate motive. As to me, I seemed to see Kurtz for the first time. It was a distinct glimpse. The dugout, four paddling savages and the lone white man turning his back suddenly on the headquarters, on relief, on thoughts of homeperhaps; setting his face toward the depths of the wil- derness, toward his empty and deso- late station. I did not know the mo- tive. Perhaps he was just simply a fine fellow who stuck to his work for its own sake. His name, you under- stand, had not been pronounced once. He was that man. The half-caste who, as far as I could see, had con- ducted a difficult trip with great pm-. 22 The Heart of Darkness. dence and pluck, was invariably alluded to as that scoundrel. The scoundrel had said the. man had been illhad recovered. . . . The two below me moved away then a few paces and strolled back and forth at some little distance. I heard: Military postdoc- tor200 miles2.quite alone nowun- avoidable delaysnine monthsno newsstrange rumors. They ap- proached again just as the manager was saying, Nobody unless a species of wandering tradera pesti~lential fellow, snapping ivory from the natives. Who was it they were talking about now? I gathered in snatches that this was some man supposed to be in Kurtzs district, and of whom the manager did not approve. We will not be free from unfair competition until one of these fellows is hanged for an ex- ample, he said. Certainly, grunted the other; get him hanged! Why not? Any- thinganything can be done in this country. Thats what I say; nobody here, you understand, here, can en- danger your position. And why? You stand the climateyou outlast them all. The danger is in Europe; but there be- fore I left I took care to They moved off and whispered, then their voices rose again. ~The extraordinary series of delays is not my fault. I did my pos- sible. The fat man sighed, Very sad. And the pestiferous absurdity of his talk, continued the other; he bothered me enough when he was here. Each station should be like a beacon on the road towards better things, a centre for trade, of course, but also for hu- manizing, improving, instructing. Con- ceive youthat ass! And he wants to be ntianager! No, its Here he got choked by excessive indignation, and I lifted my head the least bit. I was surprised to see how near they were right under me; I could have spat upon their hats. They were looking on the ground absorbed in thought. The man- ager was switching his leg with a slender twig. His sagacious relative lifted his head. You have been well since you came out this time? he asked. The other gave a start. Who? I? 0, like a charmlike a charm. But the rest0, my goodness! All sick. They die so quick, too, that I havent the time to send them out of the country its incredible! Hh. Just so, grunted the uncle. Ab, my boy, trust to this I say trust to this. I saw him extend his short flipper of an arm for a semi- circular gesture that took in the forest, the creek, the mud, the river, seemed to beckon with a dishonoring flourish before the sunlit face of the land a treacherous appeal to the lurking death, to the hidden evil, to the profound darkness of its heart. It was so start- ling that I leaped to my feet and looked back at the edge of the forest, as though I had expected an answer of some sort to that black display of con- fidence. You know the foolish notions that come to one sometimes. The high stillness confronted these two figures with its ominous patience, waiting for the passing away of a fantastic~ inva- sion. They swore aloud togetherout of sheer fright, I believethen, pretending not to know anything of my existence, turned back to the statIon. The sun was low, and, leaning forward side by side, they seemed to be tugging pain- fully uphill their two ridiculous shad- ows of unequal length, that trailed be- hind them slowly over the tall grass without bending a single blade. In a few days the Eldorado expedi- tion went into the patient wilderness, that closed upon them as the sea closes over a diver. Long afterward the news came that all the donkeys were dead. I know nothing as to the fate of the less valuable animals. They, no doubt, like the rest of us, found what they deserved. I did not inquire. I was then rather excited at the pros- pect of meeting Kurtz very soon. When The Heart of Darkness. 23 I say very soon, I mean comparatively. It was just two months from the day we left the creek when we came to the bank below Kurtzs station. Going up that river was like trav- elling back to the earliest beginnings of the world, when vegetation rioted on the earth, and the big trees were kings. An empty stream, a great si- lence, an impenetrable forest. The air was warm, thick, heavy, sluggish. There was no joy in the brilliance of sunshine. The long stretches of the waterway ran on, deserted, into the gloom of overshadowed distances. On silvery sandbanks hippos and alligators sunned themselves side by side; the broadening waters flowed through a mob of wooded islands. You lost your way on that river as you would in a desert, and butted all day long against shoals, trying to find the channel, till you thought yourself bewitched and cut off forever from everything you had known once~somewherefar awayin another existence, perhaps. There were moments when on& s past came back to one, as it will sometimes when you have not a moment to spare to yourself; but it came in the shape of an unrestful and noisy dream, remembered with wonder among the overwhelming realities of this strange world of plants, water and silence. And this stillness of life did not in the least resemble a peace. It was the stillness of an im- placable force brooding over an inscru- table intention. It looked at you with a vengeful aspect. I got used to it afterward; I did not see it any more; I had no time. I had to keep guessing at the channel; I had to discern, mostly by inspiration, the signs of hidden banks; I watched for sunken stones; I was learning to clap my teeth smartly before my heart flew out, when I shaved, by a fluke, some infernal sly old snag that would have ripped the life out of the tinpot steamboat and drowned all the pilgrims; I had to keep a lookout for the signs of dead wood we could cut up in the night for next days steaming. When you have to attend to things of that sort, to the mere incidents of the surface, the real- itythe reality, I tell youfades. The inner truth is hiddenluckily, luckily. But I felt it all the same; I felt often its mysterious stillness watching me at my monkey tricks, just as it watches you fellows performing on your re- spective tight ropes forwhat is it? Half a crown a tumble Try to be civil, Marlow, growled a voice, and I knew there was at least one listener awake beside myself. I beg your pardon. I forgot the heartache which makes up the rest of the price. And, indeed, what does the price matter if the trick be well done? You do your tricks very well. And I dont do badly, either, since I managed not to sink that steamboat on my first trip. Its a wonder to me yet. Imagine a blindfolded man set to drive a van over a bad road. I sweated and shivered over that business considerably, I can tell you. After all, for a seaman to scrape the bottom of the thing thats supposed to float all the time under his care, is the unpardonable sin. No one may know of it, but you never forget the thumpeh? A blow on the ve~ry heart. You remember it, you dream of it, you wake up at night and think of ityears afterand go hot and cold all over. I dont pretend to say that steam- boat floated all the time. More than once she had to wade for a bit with 20 cannibals splashing around and push- ing. We had enlisted these chaps on the way for a crew. Fine fellowscan- nibalsin their place. They were men one could work with, and I am grate- ful to them. And, after all, they did not eat each other before my face; they had brought along a provision of hippo meat, which went rotten and made the mystery of the wilderness stink In my nostrils. Phoo! I can sniff it now. I 24 Tke Heart oj Darkness. had the manager on board and three or four pilgrims with their stavesall complete. Sometimes we came upon a station close by the bank, clinging to the skirts of the unknown, and the white men, rushing out of a tumble- down hovel with great gestures of joy and surprise and welcome, seemed very strange, had the appearance of be- ing held there captive by a spell. The word ivory would ring in the air for a whileand on we went again into the silence, along empty reaches, round the still bends, between the high walls of our winding way, reverberating in hol- low claps the ponderous beat of the stern wheel. Trees, trees, millions of trees, massive, immense, running up high; and at their foot, hugging the bank against the stream, crept the little be- grimed steamboat, like a sluggish beetle crawling on the floor of a lofty portico. It made you feel very small, very lost, and yet it was not altogether depressing that feeling. After all, if you were small, the grimy beetle crawled onwhich was just what you wanted it to do. Where the pilgrims imagined it crawled to I dont know. To some place where they expected to get something, I bet! For me, it crawled towards Kurtzexclusively, but when the steam-pipes started leaking we crawled very slow. The reaches opened before us and closed behind, as if the forest had stepped leisurely across the water to bar the way for our return. We penetrated deeper and deeper into the heart of darkness. It was very quiet there. At night, sometimes, the roll of drums behind the curtain of trees would run up the river and re- main sustained faintly, as if hovering in the air high over our heads, till the first break of day. Whether it meant war, peace or prayer we could not tell. The dawns were heralded by the de- scent of a chill stillness. The wood- cutters slept, their fires burned low. The snapping of a twig would make you start. We were wanderers on a prehistoric earthon an earth that wore the aspect of an unknown planet. We could fancy ourselves the first of men taking- possession of an accursed in- heritance to be subdued at the cost of profound anguish and of excessive toil. But suddenly, as we struggled round a bend, there would be a glimpse of rush walls, of peaked grass roofs, a burst of yells, a whirl of black limbs, a mass of hands clapping, of feet stamping, of bodies swaying, of eyes rolling, under the droop of heavy and motionless foli- age. The steamer toiled along slowly on the edge of a black and incompre- hensible frenzy. The prehistoric man was cursing us, praying to us, welcom- ing us, who could tell? We were cut off from the comprehension of our sur- roundings; we glided past like phan- toms, wondering and secretly appalled, as sane men would be before an en- thusiastic outbreak in a madhouse. We could not understand, because we were too far, and could not remember, be- cause we w~re travelling in the night of first ages, of those ages that are gone, leaving hardly a sign and no memories. The earth seemed unearthly. We are accustomed to look upon the shackled form of a conquered monster, but there there you could look at a thing mon- strous and free. It was unearthly, and the men were... No, they were not inhuman. Well, you know, that was the worst of it, this suspicion of their not being inhuman. It would come slowly to one. They howled and leaped and spun, and made horrid faces; but what thrilled you was just the thought of their humanitylike yoursthe thought of your remote kinship with this wild and passionate uproar. Ugly. Yes, it was ugly enough, but if you were man enoug~h you would admit to yourself that there was in you just the faintest trace of a response to the ter- rible frankness of that noise, a dim sus The heart of Darkness. 25 picion of there being a meaning In it which youyou so remote from the night of first agescould comprehend. And why not? The mind of man is capable of anythingbecause every- thing is in itall the past as well as all the future. What was there, after all? Joy, fear, sorrow, devotion, valor, rage who can tell?but truthtruth stripped of its cloak of time. Let the fool gape and shudderthe man knows and can look on without a wink. But he must, at least, be as much of a man as these on the shore. He must meet the truth with his own true stuffwith his own inborn strength. Principles? prin- ciples wont do. Acquisitions, clothes, pretty ragsrags that would fly off at the first good shake. No you want a de- liberate belief. An appeal to me in this fiendish rowis there? Very well. I have a voice, too, and for good or evil mine is th.e speech that cannot be si- lenced. Of course a fool, what with sheer fright and fine sentiments, is al- ways safe. Whos that grunting? You wonder I didnt go ashore for a howl and a dance? Well, noI didnt. Fine sentiments, you say? Fine sentiments be hanged! I had no time. I had to mess about with white lead and strips of woollen blanket helping to put ban- dages on those leaky steampipesi tell you. I had to watch the steering and circumvent those snags, and get the tinpot along by hook or by crook. There was surface-truth enough in these things to save a wiser man. And between whiles, I had to look after the savage who w~s fireman. He was an improved specimen. He could fire up a vertical boiler. He was there be- low me, and, upon my word, to look at him was as edifying as seeing a dog in a parody of breeches and a feather hat, walking on its hind legs. A few months of training had done for that really fine chap. He squinted at the steam gauge and at the water gauge with an evident effort at intrepidity and he had filed teeth, too, the poor devil, and the wool of his pate shaved into queer patterns, and three orna- mental weals on each of his cheeks. He ought to have been clapping his hands and stamping his feet on the bank, instead of which he was hard at work, a thrall to strange witchcraft, full of improving knowledge. He was useful because he had been instructed; and what he knew was thisthat, should the water in that transparent thing disappear, the evil spirit inside the boiler would get angry through the greatness of his thirst, and take a ter- rible vengeance. So he sweated and fired up and watched the glass fear- fully (with an impromptu charm, made of rags, tied to his arm, and a piece of polished bone, as big as a watch, stuck flatways through his lower lip), while the wooded banks slipped past us slowly, the short noise was left behind, the interminable miles of silenceand we crept on, toward Kurtz. But the snags were thick, the water was treach- erous and shallow, the boiler seemed, indeed, to have a sulky devil in it, and thus neither fireman nor I had any spare time to peer into our creepy thoughts. Some 50 miles below the inner sta- tion we came upon a hut of reeds, an inclined and melancholy pole, with the unrecognizable tatters of what had been a flag of some sort flying from it, and a neatly stacked woodpile. This was unexpected. We came to the bank, and on the stack of firewood found a flat piece of board with some faded pencil- writing on it. When deciphered, It said: Wood for you. Hurry up. Ap- proach cautiously. There was a sig- nature, but it was illegiblenot Kurtz a much longer word. Hurry up. Where? Up the river? Approach cau- tiously. We had not done so. But the warning could not have been meant fo~ the place where it could be only found after approach. Something was wrong 26 The Heart oj Darkness. above. But whatand how much? That was the question. We com- mented adversely upon the imbecility of that telegraphic style. The bush around said nothing, and would not let us look very far, either. A torn cur- tain of red twill hung in the doorway of the hut and flapped sadly in our faces. The dwelling was dismantled; but we could see a white man had lived there not very long ago. There re- mained a rude tablea plank on two posts; a heap of rubbish reposed in a dark corner, and by the door I picked up a book. It had lost its covers, and the pages had been thumbed into a state of extremely dirty softness; but the back had been lovingly stitched afresh with white cotton thread, which looked clean yet. It was an extraordi- nary find. Its title was An Inquiry into Some Points of Seamanship, by a man Tower, Towsonsome such name master in His Majestys navy. The matter looked dreary reading enough, with illustrative diagrams and repul- sive tables of figures, and the copy was 60 years old. I handled this amazing antiquity with the greatest possible ten- derness, lest it should dissolve in my hands. Within, Towson or Towser was inquiring earnestly into the breaking strain of ships chains and tackle and other such matters. Not a very en- thralling book; but at the first glance you could see there a singleness of in- tention, an honest concern for the right way of going to work, which made these humble pages, though out so many years ago, luminous with another than a professional light. The simple old sailor with his talk of chains and purchases made one forget the jungle and the pilgrims in a delicious sensa- tion of having come upon something unmistakably real. Such a hook being there was wonderful enough, but still more astounding were the notes pen- ciled in the margin and plainly refer- ring to the text. I couldnt believe my eyes. They were in cipher! Yes, it looked like cipher. Fancy a man lug- ging with him a book of that descrip- tion into this nowhere, and studying it and making notesin cipher at that! It was, indeed, an extravagant mys- tery. I had been dimly aware for some time of a worrying noise, and when I lifted my eyes I saw the woodpile was gone, and the manager, aided by all the pilgrims, was shouting at me from the riverside. I slipped the book into my pocket. I assure you to leave off read- ing was like tearing myself away from the shelter of an old and solid friend- ship. I started the lame engine ahead. It must be this miserable traderthis in- truder, exclaimed the manager, look- ing back malevolently at the place we had left. He must he English, I said. It will not save him from getting into trouble if he is not careful, muttered the manager, darkly. I observed with assumed innocence that no man was safe from trouble in this world. The current was more rapid now, the steamer seemed at 4her last gasp, the stern wheel flopped languidly, and I caught myself listening on tiptoe for the next beat of the float, for, in sober truth, I expected the wretched thing to give up every moment. It was like watching the last flickers of a life. But still we crawled. Sometimes I would pick out a tree a little way ahead to measure our progress towards Kurtz by, but I lost it invariably befoxe we got abreast. To keep th~ eyes so long on one thing was too mucb for burnan patience. The manager displayed a beautiful resignation. I fretted and fumed and took to arguing with myself whether or no I would talk openly with Kurtz; hut before I could come to any conclusion it occurred to me that my speech or my silence, indeed any action of mine, would he a mere futility. What did it matter what any one knew or Mimicry and Other ilabits of Crabs. 27 ignored? What did it matter who was affair lay deep under the surface, be- manager? One gets sometimes such a yond my reach and beyond my power flash of insight. The essentials of this of meddling. Blackwoods (To be continued.) MIMICRY AND OTHER HABITS OF CRABS. While standing recently in the vesti- bule of the South Kensington Natural History Museum, in presence of the statue of Darwin, I noticed a statement on a placard to the effect that in reality our knowledge of the actual habits and life history of animals in a state of n~iture is comparatively meagre. This is almost inevitable, since such knowl- edge can be secured only by observa- tion, which in many cases is necessarily deficient and almost impossible. Partic- ularly is this so in the case of marine life; and even more when the special phase of that life is predominantly sub- marine. Here observations become ex- ceedingly difficult, and it is only after much patience that nature is made to yield even a scanty portion of her secret. It may be well to record some new phases I have noted of mimicry and other activities in crabs. For, few though they be, they will help, never- theless, to swell the mass of facts necessary to the final record of life in the sea, which at present seems such a vast realm of mystery. The word mimicry I shall employ here in its broadest sense. Messrs. Bate and Wallace have used it in con- nection with butterflies imitating each other. I shall use it of crabs simula- ting their surroundings. I am not aware that mimicry in any of the higher in- habitants of the sea has been treated by any one before. Some who have glanced at the subject seem to favor the idea that light, acting on the pig- ment cells in the skin, is the involuntary cause of most of the varying colors in these creatures. But I am led to be- lieve that this, in itself, is a slow proc- ess, and would take a considerable time to develop changes, whereas all the cuttles and many other forms of sea life can instantly change from one color to another; and I can scarcely see how this can be done, except by the eye, through the nervous system acting on the will. Hence the question may be asked: How can the crab show these changes, having no skin, and hence no active color sacs, like the cuttles, wherewith to distribute this coloring matter? To this I remark that the carapace, or shell of the crab, in addition to being the bones and framework of the animal, is also its true skin; a thick, massive nrmor, certainly, but possessing all necessary conditions of the skin. Hence the hairs growing on various parts of the body, especially near the head, are in touch with the nervous system; and the means for changing color, though much slower, are provided somewhat on the same lines as in the case of the cuttles. The carapace is mostly composed of carbonate of lime; and the coloring of the shell depends on a pigment which pervades different parts of the sub- stance. rfhis lime and earthy matter is drawn from the sea by an organized membrane, and is at the will of the creature. My first difficulty with this subject, 28 Mimicry and Other Habits of Crabs. after puzzling over the remarks of Pieper, Poulton, Simroth, Cunningham, Newbigin and others, with their nega- tion or approval of protective colora- tion, natural selection, mimicry and color in nature, has been whether the acts I shall describe in these creatures are voluntary or involuntary. In the mimetic coloring of the butterflies given by Wallace it would seem that the latter word represents their case. But, in the face of the facts I shall produce, there will appear a doubt whether this idea can be applied to any of these marine creatures. Hypothetically, this article favors the view that the action of crabs in mimicking their surroundings is volun- tary; but the question whether volun- tary or involuntary is for future de- cision, when more abundant facts have been collected. My first remarks will be on Carcinus mamas, or the common SHORE CRAB. It was long thought Lnat these crea- tures, at the beginning of autumn, left the shallow and tidal harbors of Devon and Cornwall and went into the deep sea; but it has been discovered that they really do not go far out, but sim- ply burrow under the sands, just out- side low water spring tides.2 There they exist through the winter in a semi- torpid condition; and while in this state such of the females as have spawn in them transfer their eggs from the in- ternal shell to the underpart of the flap or tail by a beautiful and involun- tary process. It would seem that be-. fore they leave this sheltered position in May the eggs are cast in the sand, and are alive in about forty-eight hours after being shed. But this is only one side of their 1 For the names of crabs I shall follow Bell; of cuttles, Gosse; of fishes, Cbuch; of seaweeds, Grattano. 2 If the sands are not convenient, the crabs will varied existence; for most of the fe- males which have not spawned in the sands have to pass through the process of exuviation. At a later date, as the summer advances, they retire to the roughest grounds in the neighborhood, generally at extreme low water spring tides; and on the sheltered side, away from the dash of the sea, under the largest stones, they scoop out for them- selves homes, where they pass through this difficult and important change. Here in a few days they sometimes double their size and develop from puny maidens into full-grown crabs, when they are followed by the males, whose first act is to enlarge their dwelling, seeing they are about one-third larger than the females. To the best of their ability the males here protect the weaker sex from their ene- mies in passing through this plastic and hel~Aess condition; and, on the partial hardening of the carapace, continue the final act of congress in their domestic retreats. Here, also, in the late summer, may be found females spawning, which were not ready for this act, in the sands, during the spring. How far into the autumn spawning is continued It is difficult to decide, on account of the tides, but young crabs, in their first forms, may be found on the coasts from June to January. Up to this point I have only been de- scribing the shore crabs on the open coasts; but in our natural deep-water harbors, such as Plymouth and Fowey, where they are sheltered from the win- ter storms which beat upon the shore, their practice varies very much from that of those which live outside. There they never take up the hybern~- ting habit and have a winters rest like their congeners in the open sea, but are be found near in the most sheltered position where stones are pleutiful, just outside low water spring tides. Mimicry and Other Habits of Crabs. 29 forever in waking hours on the alert, and only use the sands or mud for rest, protection and the final acts of procreation. Let us consider again their general habits in the open sea. Beside being scavengers of the shore, they prey upon every living organism near them; and as they can see just as well out of Water as in it, they will sometimes crawl short distances out of the sea to secure some dainty food; and on sea beaches, when hunger presses them hard, they will even come above the waves at high water and hunt after the sand-hoppers there. These anxious business habits are very attractive to the children of the coasts, who often receive their first fishing lessons in the capture of these little sinners,3 with thread and pin hook. It is said that rats fish for them in the same way, using their own tails as lines and bait. Of this, I think, there can be no doubt, the great hunting- ground of the rats throughout the sum- mer and autumn being the coast-line of the sea, and their quarry chiefly these crabs. Mevagissey old pier was built without lime, and it is not un- common to see rats, between high and low water, hunting through this struc- ture for these invertebrata. On one occasion I saw a rat with its hinder parts sodden with water, while the tip of its tail was quite white, as if it had just been used as a bait. These shore crabs, although less than three ounces in weight and their cara- pace seldom stretching to three inches, when cornered in difficulties will face any enemy, however large. Possibly these fighting proclivities may have been intensified by the fact that from the first dawn of existence they have never had any kind of maternal or pa- rental assistance, having had to fightthe battle of life alone. The grip of their On many parts of the coast they are called by this name. nippers is powerful. I have known them hold on to the lifting of over eighty times their own weight. But notwithstanding this strength and courage, they know well the diffi- culty there is in living near the shore, with the sea-birds, man and an army of rats as their inveterate enemies. Moreover, in the great light of our shal- low seas, their chief trouble is in get- ting any kind of living food. Hence the whole race, with more than human tenacity, cling to mimicry as the sheet- anchor of life; and when many of its varied forms of deception fail, they have no hesitation in simulating death, as will be seen as I proceed. On the coasts of Cornwall, near Mevagissey, the powdered white sea-shells mixed with the broken mica-schist rocks give us a brown sand. These are often inter- spersed with white markings from quartz pebbles; hence the first act of many young crabs here in the spring is to color their carapace brown with white spots. On Portmelon beach, where the brown sands and the white shingle mix freely together, I have seen crabs up to an inch and a half across the back with these white markings prominent, where- as the same sized crabs in Mevagissey pier on the black mud assume a dark green, approaching an almost pitchy hue; while on the open coasts in the summer months, between high and or- dinary low water, the principal color is green, because of the preponderance of green sea-weeds there. This, however, is modified into light and dark hues by the presence of dark mud and stones or light sands and shells. In all these shades the crabs imitate their environ- ments, even to giving the white patch on their carapace a greenish tinge, especially in the pools, where it eithe~i, hides them from their enemies or gives them better opportunities of pouncing on living food; whereas at extreme low water, in their chosen retreats un 30 Mimicry and Other Habits of Crabs. der the stones, where coral and worm life give a red hue to their surround- ings, the males and some females dress the whole of their exposed parts in a red color, and even the brown back, which is mostly hidden, has a red tinge. Their feigning death is often seen after a fight or a struggle for life in which they have been badly worsted. This often happens when, after being caught in a shore seine, all their efforts to escape have failed, and they are drawn in on the beach. Then their sim- ulation of the end is almost perfect. This is also seen when they are fight- ing with the human hand and are over- come. Then the assumption of death is their final act; sometimes it takes the form of rigidity of limbs, as if they were dying in a fit, and at other times a rag-like limpness as if life were gone. To show that these creatures have an innate desire for this kind of trick- ery, let me describe half an hour in the life of one of them. Some time ago I was waitin~ for the tide to come into a neighboring harbor, and with its advances I noticed that quantities of young prawns were anx- ious to explore its mud and sea-weed, and that in the long furrow made by the last ships keel, these active creatures came along by the score. Many had not passed in before t2ctrcinus ntwnas came to the front, out of the mud. At once he showed me he had a design on the life of these prawns, for he quietly crept into the keel-mark and stood across their track with extended claws and open nippers; and in his green-gray form, covered with dirt and mud, he could scarcely be seen on the sea bottom. Here he waited to grapple with the first comer. But wariness barely expresses the watchful care of t~iese prawns, for the crab was noted Professor 1~Iilne Edwards regards the inner pair of antennae, in crabs generally, as organs of smell, and the onter and longer pair as organs of hearing. As prawns have three pairs of an- at once, and they came up to him with extended antennie,4 and either touched or smelt his nippers, and quickly passed by on the other side. This was done again and again, but he stood like a statue under their scrutiny. At last one of the prawns seemed to come a little nearer than the others, and the final rush and nip were given, but without effect, for the feelers were quickly withdrawn, and with a flip of the tail the creature was out of reach. But although unsuccessful, the crab was not without further resources. His next move was to look around the track a little, and soon he found some green sea-weeds near. These he touched up lightly, and after moving them a little more to the centre, he quietly got into the middle of them, and again stood up with extended claws and open nip- pers. Here the green crab, in these green garments, was fairly hidden. Quickly but cautiously again came on the prawns. Soon their antennse struck his open nippers in the weeds, and again in cautious haste they moved away. Patience is said to be a virtue, and if it is so, this little crab had a good share of it, for more than a score of these prawns touched his nippers in the weeds, and went their way without coming within gripping distance of the silent watcher. At last his virtuous feelings became exhausted, and he rushed with violenee on his wary neighbors, but without ef- fect, for, with a swift move of their tails, they were out of danger. But the crabs artifice was not yet ended. After taking a little rest (for now his arms must have been as weary as those of the disobedient schoolboy after the punishment of holding out his book) he began to search for a soft place on tennae, we are led to believe from the actions of these creatnres that the third and longer pair are organs of feeling, and, to some extent, answer the porpose of the homan hand. Mimicry and Other Habits of Crabs. 31 the bottom away from the weeds, and, having succeeded, much to my surprise, he began an unexpected caper. After working his claws and tail violently for some time we saw his purpose, for in this clear water he made a thick mud~cloud over six inches high and four or five inches wide. Instantly he got into the middle of it, and there he stood with outstretched arms, hoping and waiting for the coming of the prawns. But they seemed aware of his presence, and appeared to know that tricks like this had been played before for the capture of prawns; for they ap- proached cautiously with extended feelers, and, after probing the cloud for a time, evidently found their enemy, and quickly passed on without entering the trap. Soon the cloud subsided, and the crab again appeared, and dimly seeing the retreating forms of the prawns, darted after them, but again without success. These efforts seemed to be too much for the poor hungry one, who soon re- treated to his old cover. We may next consider Portunus puber, or the kill the great crab, Owneer papurws, a creature which is nearly one hundred times their own weight, and which, if it could get hold of them, would grind them to powder; but theirs is only an- other simile of Man and the Whale, as may be seen at any time under certain conditions. It is customary, when fishing for great crabs, for the fishermen to deliver them to buyers about once in the week. During the interval the crabs are generally kept in a large wicker store at the bottom, of the sea. If it is sandy there, they are safe from most enemies; but if the bottom is rough, these perti- nent rascals are sure to be found there, and woe betide Ca~ncer pagurus, for, when night comes, they will instantly attack him in the eyes, and so active and constant are they that the great crab has no chance with them; finally, they will actually eat his eyes out, and death will ensue. What follows may be easily guessed. A dead lion is not a more welcome treat to the jackal of the desert than a large crab is to this fraternity. When last at Polperro I noticed that the fishermen were forced to float their crab stores in the surface of the sea to avoid these pests. At Mevagissey the fishermen are obliged to do the same. By day the velvet swimming crabs live in the shelter of the rocks and under loose stones, but with night they explore the whole neighborhood, and when the occasion offers, they are vio- lent and savage hunters. If food is scarce they delight in the crab and. lobster pots of the fishermen, where they can have abundance of rough mat- ter for the effort of eating it; but they are sure to be up and away (escaping between the rods) before the morning light, ere the fisherman comes to see the nights results, for they are equal YELY~T SWIMMIxG CRAB. These live in the sea, close on the outside of Uarct~nus rnwnas, and, being night feeders, commit all their depre- dations on their neighbors in the dark. Full-grown specimens are seldom above three ludhes across the back. They are rarely found inside ordinary low water spring tides or beyond half a mile from shore. They are the most fierce and cruel of all the smaller crabs; and, with their red eyes, quick sight and red and blue markings, impress most of the young fisher-folk with the fear that there is poison in their bite. Hence their com- mon name is the stinging crab; but their nip will lacerate delicate hands only. Yet they are desperate eharac- to almost any emergency in fighting ters, and do not hesitate to attack and lifes battle. 32 Mimicry and Other Habits. of Crabs. Gosse kept a specimen of these crea- tures in his aquarium; and describes him as a fit representative of these giants that nursery tradition tells of as infesting Cambria and Cornwall in Good King Arthurs days. Gloomy, grim, strong, ferocious, crafty and cruel, he would squat in his obscure lair watching for the unsuspecting deni- zens of the tank to stray near; or would now and again rush out and seize them with fatal precision. As the Giant Grim of old spared not ordinary-sized men for any sympathy of race, so our giant crab had no respect for lesser crabs, except a taste for their flesh. This was torn off and eaten wita gusto, while the rest of the animal was wrenched limb from limb with savage wantonness, and the fragments scat- tered in front of his cave. Their enemies are probably the nurse- hound of Couch, the Great Northern diver, which I have seen feeding on them for months together, and also the otter. The evidence of the latter being In this list came in rather an indirect manner. I once kept two young otters, and on being fed with ordinary fresh fish they gave me no little anxiety, for they did not thrive nor relish their food satisfactorily. In considering the habits and life history of their parents, it struck me that they must certainly come in contact with our shore crabs, and possibly eat them, or give them as food to their young. In trying the ex- periment with a batch (among them was the Portunus) which I presented to these youngsters, the sight was some- thing to be remembered, for they al- most jumped out of the barrel to secure them and ate them in a few seconds. With this change of food I had no more trouble with my charge, and I think this is fair evidence that the otter is an enemy of Portunus puber. Their mimicry is seen in many forms, See Gosses Aquarium, p. 195; also Whites British Crustacea, p. 48. and is used more as a mask to protect them when resting by day than as a shield in the darkness, for this in their working hours must generally cover them. Its first phase is seen in some of the younger crabs, which sometimes ven- ture a little above low water spring tides in company with Carcinus mrnas. These put on an indefinite brownish hue, blending well with the color of their neighbors; no pink or blue shades are seen, and even their e~stes lack the pertinent red lustre seen in their fel- lows of the same size lying further out, where other hues preponderate. The larger forms, found under the stones at extreme low water, where zoophytes and other life give a pinkish hue to their cover, and where dark pebbles with a blue shade cover the bottom, color all their joints and inter- stices red, and their claws black or blue. The whole body has a plush covering of a velvet consistence which gives the crab its name. This, to suit their en- vironment, can be modified into light drab or brown, and when darker colors are still wanting the plush is often rubbed off the back in places, showing their dark form and giving them a color suitable to their surroundings. But their greatest mimicry seems to be on the first sight of the human form. No doubt they are much frightened at the appearance of this burly, beak- faced, glaring animal, a creature more than a thousand times their size and with incomprehensible strength. A malformed giant visiting the earth from one of the planets could not be more terrifying to us than man seems to be to these creatures. Their first act is to fight him or feign death in his presence. I have more than once watched their actions when a large stone had been quietly lifted off their resting place. Instantly they are either glaring at the intruder with their nip- Mimicry and Other Habits oJ Crabs. 33 pers up for a fight, or they lIe as quiet ~s the pebbles around them without moving a muscle. If taken in the hand they will sometimes allow their claws to be placed in any form without resistance, and even if put on the beach will keep their claws in the same form, for a considerable time, as if -they were really dead among the weeds; hnd yet all the while, from the angle of their eyes, it can be seen that they are intently watching their visitor. The females in this species, unlike most other crabs, are about the same size as the males, and the propagation of the race is continued much on the same lines as that of the shore crab, only in a little deeper water; the males visiting the females in their sheltered homes and protecting them from their enemies when passing through the weakness and utter helplessness of ex- uviation. I will now consider the habits and mimicry of Cancer pagurus, or the GREAT CRAB. Although this creature is found every- where on the rough sea bottom near the British Isles, it is a question if such extremes of matured life can be found connected with any animal forms with- out an apparent cause, for here we have dwarf and colossal life on the broadest lines yearly perpetuated as extremes of the race. I have been led to believe that the finest crabs exist between Dartmouth in Devon and the Lizard headland in Cornwall, where males are often known to reach thirteen and fourteen pounds weight, and where they are only called half-crabs when under eight inches across the back; whereas on most other parts of the British Isles crabs two or three pounds weight and six or seven inches across the back are considered large. It would be interesting to know why this is. It can scarcely be from LIVIKG AGE. VOL. VIII. 399 climatic causes, as the Lands End and Scilly Isles on the one hand and the shores of the English Channel on the other ought to have a water tempera- ture not much unlike this district. Nor can it be from the nature of the sea bottom, for rough grounds suitable for these creatures exist both to the east and the west of this Land of the Giants. The facts point to some kind of food as being the cause of the massive size of these creatures; and, therefore, I think it would be worth while for some county council, or even the Govern- ment, to send an expert to look up this question. If the real tid-bits can- not be discovered, there is the crossing of the breeds to fall back on; and if results come out a~ some other mixing of superior with inferior races has done, an incalculable benefit will be conferred on the crab fisherIes of Brit- am. Like crabs generally, the great crab is fond of secrecy, and, being a night feeder, it Usually hides in caverns and crevices or under the sands by day, and hunts or lies in wait for Its prey by night. Not being nimble in its move- ments, its captures are achieved more by feats of strategy and cunning than by activity. Its powers of smell and eyesight are fairly good, and it prefers fresh, red-colored fish as food, such as the red gurnard, red mullets and bream, or the strongly perfumed flesh of the whitehound shark. Evidently one of i.ts habits when on the war-path is to stand quiet in the night with extended arms and open nippers, in the shadow of some great rock or group of tall sea-weeds, and then grip at all comers. If this scheme fails, it seeks the sands and buries itself there, with the excep- tion of its eyes and the tips of its nip- pers; here it awaits the moving of soles, plaice and other sand-wandering life. That these crabs are apt at this work, may be seen on their first capture by 34 Mimicry and Other Habits of Crabs. man, for they will often stand in this attitude for ten minutes together, awaiting the approach of the human hand. After they have revelled in the food of our summer seas, in the autumn a mass of red matter gathers in the carapace of the females, which is the material for a new shell, or the sub- stance to be used in the formation of eggs if these are not actually in exist- ence. With the first autumn storms the whole family divides into two parts; the maternal or egg-bearing section re- tiring into deep water where they again divide; the younger forms, when some three or four miles from land, going deep under the sands and hybernating there until the spring; while the older members continue the journey to a much greater distance, until they find deep water out of reach of the storms of winter. Here they rest without burying themselves very deep, as the trawler, when fishing by night, often catches numbers of them. Through the winter, by a beautiful process, the - eggs, varying from one to -two millions in number, are drawn out of the body by means of a pouch, and attached to the stems and filaments under the flap or tail. How long they remain in this position it is difficult tJ say. As the bulk of the crabs return unburthened to their old haunts in May and June, it seems cer- tain that their eggs must have been held in situ by the parent until about this date. And it further seems prob- able that, when developed, the larva is left at various depths in the sand, as active larval forms are not plentiful in the surface of the sea off the coasts until July and August. On the other hand the second division of these fe- males, which have red matter in them for a new carapace, and which are the younger forms of the race, retire, pro- tected and guarded by the males, to the rocks and vast reefs, which abound off the coasts, and in their caverns and crevices in the spring pass through the process of exuviation and often congress. It is from this section that the fisher- men draw their early supplies ere the older females return from the deep sea spawning grounds. It may not be out of place to remark here that exuviation is not absolutely a yearly act. In the younger forms it is passed through as often as they can find food to supply natures conditions, which, in some cases, may be several times in a year; neither does congress always takes place at the time of exuvi- ation, as it is often seen in other phases of life. Mimicry in these creatures is an interesting study. Their enemies are all the large skates existing on the coasts, with the Octopu8 igaris and the nursehound sharks; while the sea breams and wrasse de- light in feeding on the remains of their slaughter. The skates hunt them with great energy, and with their tough snouts rout them out of the crevices of tne rocks, and after crushing Acm devour them whole. I have seen as iuany as five of these crabs in the stomach of one skate. The octopus also feeds on them ray- enously, and, but for their sharp nip- pers, would scarcely look for iany other food. I have more than once seen such cuttles with their arms bitten clean off, which, no doubt, was the result of bat- tling with these crabs. The nurse- hound also feeds on the smaller forms. To fight the battle of life unseen by their enemies is the one great purpose of these creatures; hence mimicry of rather a high order is quickly assumed by them. Thus when they are living among the dark olive laminarian sea- weeds, a dark chocolate color is put on, which so quietly blends with these weeds that their forms cannot be dis- tinguished among these dark olive eon- Mimicry and Other Habits of Crabs. 35 dijions; while in deeper water on the low rocks and brown sands they cover themselves with brown hues so that it is difficult even for sharp eyes to dis- tinguish them from their surroundings. Besides this they have another protec- tion; being night feeders, all crabs who, with the morning light, find themselves on the sands, instantly bury themselves. This fact is known to the shore trawl- ers, who, while fishing by day on cer- tain grounds, will scarcely find a crab; yet, when trawling on the same sands by night, will catch them in great num- bers. Then they have the wonderful trick of assuming death in difficulties. Let man or their Qther enemies come upon them, however suddenly, they will in- stantly either fight, or mimic the de- parted; and so persistent are they in this mode of deception that if condi- tions do not change they will continue in this state until death becomes a reality. My next remarks will be on Homarus vulgaris, or the LoBsTERs. These exist on our coasts from the lowest spring tides out to thirty-five and forty fathoms of water, which, in some instances, may be five or more miles from land. Their home is always in sheltered positions. Near the shore by day they live in holes or caverns, or under large stones with a free exit, and are most plentiful where rocks and sands are in close proximity; when this clear, sandy expanse in the twi- light or moonlight can be used as fencing and hunting ground, as pleas- ure or hunger may preponderate, for they are the mos active and warlike of all our large crabs. That fencing is a pastime among lob- sters I have no doubt, from some little experience I have had with them. Once I found a lobster near low water in a pool some nine feet long by six wide, having a rough bottom and eight or ten inches of water on it with a cay- em at each end. Although I was iarmed with a crab-hook or iron gaff about three feet long, the extreme dart- ing and fencing of the lobster were too much for me to grapple with. When in the deeper cavern I found it could see me through the water as plainly as I could see it; so that here the better constructed eyes of the Genus Homo had no advantage over the rough, hard, stalk eyes of the crustacean; and as I could not get to gaff across it, every effort I made was evaded; at last, however, by mere vigorous and ener- getic gaffing, I made the cavern so un- comfortable for the lobster that, like a lightning flash it darted between my legs and into the lesser cavern. Here the same game went on and with like results; for, in a moment, he was again between my legs and back into his old haunt. Finally, becoming tired of gaff- ing and missing (for its fencing was perfect, and could not have been achieved without long practice), I de- clined to be beaten by a mere crusta- cean, and proceede to bail out the pool. It was only by this effort that I eventually conquered it. And here I must confess that throughout the battle so deft, crafty and subtle were its ac- tions that it was like fighting a being endowed with human intelligence. I have further proof that they mani- fest a severe martial spirit in the sea when hunting for food. It is nothing uncommon for fishermen, when draw- ing up their traps in the morning, to find the large claw of another lobster in the pot beside the prisoner; and there have been instances when three large claws have~been found together under the above conditions, and a lobster with one arm, as a prisoner, showing that in a recent fight the victor had lost one, and the vanquished both its arms. But these are only trifles compared with what the late Sir Isaac Coffin saw on 36 Mimicry and Other Rabits of Crabs. the coast of Nova Scotia, for It is given on his authority that he once witnessed a terrible battle between two armies of lobsters, and that they fought with such fury that the shore was strewn with their claws.6 If in the pursuit of food only these bitter battles are fought by these crea- tures, we can imagine the nature of some combats When the females are to the front and the most beautiful claimed by the conquerors. It seldom happens that in these food fights one lobster actually kills another. No fisherman in this neighborhood has ever seen death On these lines; the loss of a limb being the extent of the injury done to the defeated. Is it possible there can be such ideas as those of order and honor among lobsters, and that in this strife for sustenance there is to be no biting or striking below the head or claws; and that the marvellous facility they have of healing a wound in an instant, by casting off the limb at the last joint and throwing a film or cica- trix over the wound, thus preventing bleeding and further injury to the crea- ture,7 is known A the race and is acted upon in these contentions; while strik- ing below the head and fighting to the death is only allowed in their more fierce and violent life battles, when they are contending, perhaps, for the best home caverns and the society of the best females? That this is the case seems probable from the fact that when first brought face to face with that rare monster, Man, they are des- perate, and will instantly kill each other other to escape from his presence and power; so much so that he has to tie their claws, or cut the higher ten- don, which prevents thenl from opening 6 See whites British Orustacen, p. 103. The least prick through the shell of any crustacean will cause It to bleed to death Quickly. I have often seen this happening with- ~ut the creature knowing It, so slight was the wound. Seeing death approaching it so stealthily, I have sometimes frightened the creature by dart- their nippers. Further, this escaping of the conquered from the fishermans pots helps us to realize that lobsters are not the stupid creatures some would have us believe. Evidently they know all the conditions of the trap man has so skilfully made for their capture, and how to get in and out of it when It suits their purpose; and also that their being ensnared by him comes from an undesigned act of theirs, viz., by lifting what appeared to them to be the sea- bottom and themselves gently to the surface by a string, a fact of which they had no conception, for what lob- ster could imagine that what appeared to be the foundations of the great deep could be so quietly moved? Again, another fact connected with their fight- ing habits presents itself to us. I refer to the statement that our fishermen have never known one of these crea- tures attempt to taste the fresh sweet arm of a defeated foe, which clearly shows that lobsters have no cannibal propensities. I will now consider the acts of mimic- ry in lobsters. Their enemies are au the skates, congers and larger cuttles. with possibly the great crab. The former violently hunt for them amongst the rocks, and with their long noses quickly turn them out of the crevices and often swallow them whole. The Octopus vulgaris hunts them in like manner; and with its spider-like arms and strong suckers will drag them out from any fissure; and, when hunger presses, it has been known to force itself between the rods ot tile strong wicker stores of the fisherman, and de- vour them without mercy. To evade these the lobsters can ac- p cording to the grounds they are on Ing a sharp Instrument Into the toe of the In- jured limb. This greater pain has made it quickly throw off the now doubly-Injured limb, when at the same moment It covered the orifice with a film, and In this manner saved Its own life. Mimicry and Other Habits of Crabs. 37 assume all the colors shading between a dark blue, through brown, to a whit ish cream-color, mostly by a mottling process; and as in deep water the bot- tom is mu~h spotted in some places with quantities of dead-white sea-shells and cream-colored corallines,5 the util- ity of these colors in this form, in the lobster, is apparent, as it puts them in harmony with the above conditions. Near the shore the umbrageous, palm- like laminarian forests cover the dark, rocky bottom; under this shade at mid- day it is only twilig~ht, and in the cav- erns and caves it has the darkness of night; here in the day their dark-blue color beautifully blends with their sur- roundings; and in the night we are cer- tain they are safe from the eyes of their pursuers. Bell, in his great work, British Stalk- eyed Crustacea, noted (and his obser- vation was confirmed by Couch) that there is as much difference in the color of lobsters as there is between the white race and the African; and, from it, concluded that lobsters do not wan- der far from certain localities, as each situation impresses its own, shade on the shells.9 This comes very near our idea of mimicry in these creatures, but unfor- tunately it gives the credit of the change to the sea-bottom instead of to the lobster. Here I will look at the Mata squinado, or the SPIDER CRAB. These are found in all our western and southern waters, and are plentiful off the coasts of Devon and Cornwall, where they are often found in crab pots, set for the capture of the great crab, into which they are enticed by the same bait. It was thought that these stilted 8 More especially the Alcyonlum (Linn). This sponge-like coral, in some places on the sea- bottom, is found in vast masses. I have seen as spiders were weak and shaky on their legs, but really it is not. so. They are well adapted for climbing up the long stems of the laminarian sea-weeds and running over and foraging among their tangled leaves. Even the fishermans net is often used in the same manner when hanging from the boat to the sea-bottom; for, when seeking or leaving food they will run over it as easily as a mason will his ladder, or a. spider its web. And when it comes to the getting of the fish from the net, they are the most violent of all the crabs; for with these apparently weak nippers, they will cleave the net as clean as though it were cut with scissors, and carry away portions of it with their stolen food. As a rule they are day feeders, and delight in the warmth of our shallow waters; and during hot summer weather it is nothing uncommon to see them lying in the crown of these palm trees of the sea, basking in the sunshine. They are said to be the sweetest food of all the crabs, but their exterior is so rough with spines and tubereles that when in their finest form neither man nor fish cares to have much to do with them. In the moulting season, how- ever, all this is changed; for when they are in this plastic condition nearly all the predatory fishes are their enemies and are anxious to taste this dainty. The spider crab seems to know this, and when passing through this phase of weakness falls back on a splendid form of mimicry for protection, by covering its exposed parts with sea- weeds. These are entwined among the hairs and spines, and stuck in all the joints and crevices of the creature.. On looking carefully over several of them I have doubted if the decoration were really adjusted by Vhe wearers, because weeds were growing beyond many as sixteen In a square foot of the ocean bed drawn up on a fishermans hook. See Bells British Stalk-eyed Crnstacea, p. 254 38 The Modern Parent. the reach of their claws; hence I have concluded that after congress, knowing their unprotected state, the male had assisted in this important and needful act. When the males troubles in con- nection with exuviation come on, the females perform the same kindness to their friends in danger. The weeds are of many kinds; among them I noted the Zostera marina, Ohorda fttum, Ulva lat~ssima, Porphyra vulgaris, Entero- morpha compressa and intestinatis; and so well is this transformation accom- plished that the ordinary eye cannot distinguish them from the sea-bottom. To the youngsters of the race they must be the veritable Santa Claus of the sea. When in this disguised condition they are so fearless that they will often ven- ture far out on the gray sands in search of soft and suitable food, where they are often caught by the score in ground seines. But when the carapace has hardened through age, these decorations are gen- erally dispensed with; and their spines and color-mimicry are again trusted to for defence. Thus where the olive sea- weed preponderates and its dark shades are thrown on the rocks, the creature assumes a reddish-brown hue which blends well with its surroundings; but The Contemporary Review. in deep water on stony grounds, where a lighter color prevails, a brownish- gray color is assumed throughout on claws and carapace, which harmonizes well with its environment. Again, I have reasons for believing that all the species of spider crabs in British waters more or less mimic their surroundings. Hayes araneus is so fond of this ml- metical state that it always keeps itself fully dressed whatever its per- sonal condition; and various algie are piled on its legs and carapace in such quantities as to make it difficult to know it from a bouquet of weeds; while Pisa Gibbsii, which lives in deeper water, manages so to cover itself with sponges and corals that no one but the initiated would think a crab was under- neath. Again, in the West Indian seas the spider crab, Macropodia occident atis, also acts on these mimetic lines, and imitates the colors and conditions of its vicinity by disfiguring itself with sea-weeds and sponges; and when in this form watches for its prey.0 In closing I may remark that I have not exhausted the subject of mimicry, having reasons for thinking that all th*~ crabs on our coast delight in tricks, and more or less practice deception. Matthias Dunn. THE MODERN PARENT. In the old times it was taken for granted in literature, and presumably also in life, that children were under a considerable obligation to their parents for the bare fact of existence. Many affecting appeals in drama from father to child resolve themselves simply into the following inquiry: But for me where 15 See Linn. Trans., xiv., 335, and Whites British Crusta~ea, p. 13. would you have been? and its corollary. Since you owe everything to me, is it not reasonable that you should display your gratitude by doing what I ask of you? Undoubtedly there was a good deal of logic in the plea, though I can- not recollect that it was ever success- ful. Still, the whole scheme of filial duty was based originaily on the belief that it was very good of parents to 3~9 The Modern Parent. bring their children into the world; and it dates back to an age when people married explicitly in order to have children, and when every man owed it to his family not to die without lin- eage. Gradually, however, that change came to pass which makes the dividing line between the modern world and the ancleiftthe change in the relations between woman and man. The unit of society was no longer the family, but the individual, who sought his own good and his own completion, irrespec- tive of his family connections. The bride assumed a new importance, a value in her own right, since man no longer demanded in marriage a woman, but the woman; and, as romanticism strengthened, the thought of issue in marriage receded further and further into the background. And so it has gone on. Shakespeare, in the Sonnets, utters his magnificent laudation of the marriage of true minds; but you also find him insisting on the notion that of fairest creatures we desire in- crease. In Browning, who is your typical modern poet of love, the man thinks of nothing in heaven or earth but the woman, the woman of nothing but the man. And to come down to prose, I would assert boldly that those of us who marry to please ourselves Which is, upon the whole, the usual proceedingdesire simply the society of a certain person, with whom to live out life, and accept the consequences, with or without enthusiasm. We do not feel that in bringing infants into the world we are fulfilling a sacred duty; we are inclined, perhaps, to look upon them as the inevitable outcome of an arrangement which our lives demand. What is more, our neighbors are inclined to take the same view of the matter. We know exactly the area of the worlds surface, and the statis- tics of population terrify us; we all realize how few places there are and how many seek them; and, by a nat- ural consequence, we deprecate rather than rejoice in what Tennyson called the torrent of babies. Still, there was always the old argu- ment to fall back on: if we did good to no one else, at least our children would thank us for the original benefit of ex- istence; and till this century the argu- ment was never challenged. eiEdipus, Job, or Swift, the famous unhappy, might curse the day when they were born, but mankind regarded their ut- terance as a startling paradox, a final proof of their exceptional infelicity. Now, pessimism has gradually per- vaded the air; and though men and women cling more tenaciously to life than ever they did, and in order to go on breathing will submit to the per- petuity of a German water-cure, the world at large is ready to question whether life really is worth living. I believe the subject has been discussed during the vacant months of one au- tumn by the Daily Telegraph, and that clinches the evidence for the existence of pessimism. That being so, how is a father to say My son, you are in- debted to me for your life, when he knows that his son may retort, Sir, I was never consulted in the matter? The father has brought the child into the world; but suppose the child does not like the world when it gets there, how is he to answer for it? He cannot say that he married in order to confer the blessing of existence upon other creatures; he cannot say that duty im- pelled him to do so; and society will not even applaud him for having given another subject to Her Majesty, Her Majestys subjects heing already too thick upon the ground. The sons re- tort, if it be made, seems to me unan- swerable, and the father can only con- fess that he has taken an unpardonable liberty with another human being. Add to this that the propensity of the human mind to fatalism has flung us into a blind belief in the unlimited / 40 The Modern Parent. consequences of heredity. A childs ancestry, we are taught to believe by our modern preachers, the dramatists and novel writers, determines abso- lutely not only the childs character, but the events in his or her life. Con- sequently, for whatever misfortunes befall the child, for whatever misdeeds he may commit, the parents are respon- sible, who brought him inconsiderately into the world; and especially the father, since with him the business of selection is still held chiefly to lie. Take all these considerations together I believe they exist, though obscurely and half realized, at the back of many mindsand can you wonder at the apologetic attitude which the modern parent assumes to the modern child? It is no longer, My son, I am your father, and your mother is your mother, and if you do not love, honor and obey us you are an ungrateful dog. Rather the poor man has the air of saying: My dear boy, my constitution is not all it ought to be, and my great-grand- father committed suicide; what can I do to atone for the gout which will certainly be your portion, and the he- reditary bias which may probably in- cline you to cut your throat? Take five shillings a week pocket-money, and try to bear up.My dear girl,your mothers great-aunt ran away with the footman; and the worst is that I knew the fact when I married.Do not, I beseech you, let me have to reproach myself more than I already do for having started you in life with this fatal pre- disposition to levity of conduct. Perhaps the state of mind which I have described is rather inculcated than attained; perhaps not even doctors in- quire with any accuracy into the medi- cal pedigree of the young ladies whom they desire to marry; and perhaps the world in general would still approve rather than reprobate the action of a lady who, when her flanctl jwas ordered to South Africa with lung disease, to all appearance a doomed man, refused to break off the engagement, married him and, in a few years, brought him back as strong as the rest of us. How- ever, the fact remains that to-day the morality of her action, as well as its wisdom, would be questioned; half a century ago she would have been hailed as a heroine. I do not know that public opinion on this matter has yet become sufficiently ascertained to affect con- duct, though I believe that in a short time it will be difficult for any man or woman with insanity in the family to get married. But I am sure that the sense of parental responsibility has developed to an extraordinary degree within the century that is just closing. A hundred years ago, or less, if parents saw that their children were in good health, had proper food and dress, and acquired, in addition to their rudiments, the accomplishments necessary to their stationa little French, music and drawing for the girls, a little Latin and Greek for the boysthe parents were held to be amply fulfilling their duty. The duty of children, on the other hand, was equally plain: to learn their lessons, to keep out of the way of their elders when they were not wanted, and to be cheerful, and not noisy, when they were encouraged to appear. Con- sider, for a moment, in this connection the writings of Miss Austen, which I maintain to be, among other things, a series of invaluable documents for the social history of her time. Miss Aus- tenI have it on the authority of the Dictionary of National Biography loved children, and they loved her. But I confess I should never have guessed it from her writings, for in them boys always rhymes to noise, and the most frequent object of her satire is the injudicious mother, who does not keep her children where they ought to be in the nursery. Nowadays we are in a lamentable transition period. We still think our children a nuisancefor the The Modern Parent. modern parent is at heart deplorably unregeneratebut we do not think our- selves entitled to think so. I cannot illustrate the modern mothers frame of mind better than by quoting some verses written by Mrs. Dearmer, a lady whose picture-books are one of the many things which make the child of to-day much luckier than his fore- runners: 1 think the world is really sad, I can do nothing but annoy; For little boys are all born bad, And I am born a little boy. It doesnt matter whats the game, Whether its Indians, trains, or ball; I always know I am to blame If I amuse myself at all. I said one day on mothers knee, If you would send us right away To foreign lands across the sea, You wouldnt see us every day. We shouldnt worry any more In those strange lands with queer new toys; But here we stamp and play and roar, And wear your life out with our noise. The savages would never mind, And youd he glad to have us go; There nobody would be unkind For you dislike your children so. Then mother turned, and looked quite red I do not think she could have heard; She put me off her knee instead Of answering one single word. She went, and did not even nod. ~That had~I said that could annoy2 Mothers are really very odd If you are born a little boy. The mothers contrition, which Mrs. Dearmer indicates in this delicate, roundabout way, is quite true to life nowadays; but the average matron of the early Victorian period would have known nothing of such heartburnings. Mrs. Dearmers lady finds her children troublesome at timeswhich is quite naturalbut she is inclined to think that it is very wrong of her to be so intolerant. Her grandmother would have packed the infants promptly out of the room, and never troubled to justify herself for doing so. To be with their elders was a privilege which chil- dren had to merit by good behavior, and being good meant being quiet. Even Miss Edgeworth, who in many ways anticipated the modern theories, was quite clear about that. To her mind the duty of children not to annoy their parents was much more peremp- tory than the duty of parents to amuse their children; whereas nowadays we are distinctly taught that parents have no right to be annoyed. I should greatly like to call up Miss Edgeworth from the shades and ask her to comment, for instance, on Mrs. Dearmers poem. She would explain, I think, to the parent how, by a judicious mixture of rewards and punishment, even a person who has the misfortune to be born a little boy can be induced to enjoy himself quietly in a corner; and tc the little boy, undoubtedly, she would say, that if he wishes other people to be agree- able to him he must be agreeable to other people, and consequently must not shake the table when his mother is writing (see Little Frank, passim). She certainly would never insist, as a good many people do nowadays, that it is essential to the health of little boys that they should stamp and play and roar, and consequently that grown-up people have just got to put up with it. The case of the Edgeworths is really instructive. It was the lot of Maria Edgeworth, observes Mrs. Oliphant, in a very charming chapter of the Literary Histoi~y of England, to be trained in one of those somewhat ap- palling family seminaries of all the virtues, where nothing escapes the sys p 41 42 The Modern Parent. tem of education, and everything is made subservient to the moral disci- pline of the house. Mr. Edgeworth was a gentleman of independent means and no occupation, who had a turn for natural science and a passion for lec- turing his company; and this passion he indulged for the benefit of his chil- dren. The most exacting Froebelian could not expect any parent to take himself more seriously as a p~rentthan did Mr. Edgeworth, and it is only fair to say that his children adored him. Yet I do not feel the least desire to emulate the virtues of this model father. I do not find that he made any en- deavor to enter into his childrens pleas- ures; he did his best to make them take up his own whims, and to become little patterns of the great exemplar who sat daily at the head of the long break- fast table. The model parent, in short, in this instance, was a prig and a maker of prigs; and that is, in my humble judgment, what the model par- ent is fatally apt to become. Come, now, let us live for our chil- dren. Such, it appears, was the mes- sage which Froebol, the great apostle of modern theories on education, deliv- ered. Let us educate them so that, I suppose, they in their turn may live for their children, and the world be perpetually full of parents sacrificing their own lives to make their children so moral that these in their turn will repeat the sacrifice, and so on ad infin- itum. For if there is one thing about which the modern theorist is more clear than another, it is that character, not instruction, is the object of education. We are to teach our children, not how to be goodfor the assumption is that children are not bad, and that if they do what they ought not to, it is the fault of their education, or of their he- reditary tendenciesbift how to be ob- servant, how to be cheerful, even how to play. In many cases the adoption ~of these theories has an ironical result; the modern mother is so profoundly convinced that this business of edu- cation is a difficult and subtle business, only to be conducted by an expert, that she packs her children out of the house as soon as they can walk, and salves her conscience by paying the bill. In Miss Edgeworths novels you find innumerable complaints of the fashion- able lady who made over her child to a foster-mother, and found the little creature a great nuisance when it re- turned to her. Nowadays those ladies would have no trouble in the matter; they could commit their infants to a system, and explain to the next person who took them into dinner how essen- tial it was that the early training of a human creature should be entrusted to a person who had minutely studied the mental processes of children and under- stood the harmoniously proportionate development of body and mind. Mrs. Rawdon Crawley would have .been an enthusiastic advocate of the Kinder- garten if it had existed in her time, and if she could have found some one to pay the fees for her. Still, the peo- ple who merely find in modern theories an excuse for washing their hands en- tirely of parental duties are rare; the average mother desires her childrens presence; so does the average father in moderation. But the parent who Is theory-bitten is apt to turn a pleasure into a duty and to destroy the whole value of domestic intercourse. The other day a friend of mind was talking to a proud father about his childa delightful little girl, fresh and dainty, as charming as a kitten. What good company she must be for you! said my friend. Yes, the father answered, and how sad to think there will be an end of it all in a year! My friend naturally inquired if there was any reason to be alarmed~any impending separation. It was not that. In a year the little girl would reach the age of three. And, you know, it is recognized The Modern Parent. 43 that when a child comes to three you must never say anything before it with- out thinking of the effect that will be produced on the childs character. This is a true story, and the man was an intelligent man, and quite serious. Can one conceive of anything more lamentable? A person in ordinary society who should never speak or act without weighing the probable moral effect of his word or action would be simply intolerable; but his neighbors would, in all likelihood, never find him out; they would simply put him down as a bore. Now, one of the facts that we all admit is the perfectly appalling insight of the pupil into the teachers mindan insight narrow and unjust, but all the more appalling on that ac- count. If a parent were to assume this attitude in his intercourse with his child, the child would find him out in- stinctively before it was five years old; it would know that it was being con- sciously moulded, and it would resent the fact, as it ought to. And if, instead of ~ child, there were children, they would talk it over among themselves and laugh at the inefficacy of the method. No human being likes to be influ- enced, least of all by some one who is trying to conceal the process; and the modern theory is, I imagine, that chil- dren should not be preached to or ex- horted, but that they should be uncon- sciously guided in a desirable direction. The result would be one of two things: either the child would submit know- ingly to the process, and would thereby lose much of its natural and invaluable instinct of self-assertionwould be trained, in short, to undervalue and diminish its own individuality; or else and this would be, happily, a much more frequent occurrenceit would de- velop character by an instinctive rebel- lion against the directing influence. Character is not a thing that can be given or imposed from without; it can only grow; though it is quite possible to produce a morbid and unhealthy growth, like that of a flower in a greenhouse. The people who talk about developing character are like those who seek to create health by ad- ministering a succession of drugs; for my own part, I believe that both char- acter and health are best promoted by judicious letting alone. There is often worse mischief done by parental inter- ference than by parental neglect; I ap- peal to Mr. George Meredith and the example of Richard Feverel. The best thing that can happen to a boy is to be brought up in a simple and iiatural wayliving, that is to say, for the early part of his life among people who are kind to him, but whose orders he has to obey without questioning, and who are for the most part occupied with their own interestswho live their own lives and let him live his. But if from the moment a child comes into the room the father and mother have to put a constraint upon themselvesto shape their conduct and conversa- tion for the particular end of his moral advantage instantly the conditions become forced and un- natural. The behavior and talk of ordinary decent people have in them nothing that can hurt a child; for the most part, if they go on without refer- ence to him, the child is sublimely un- conscious of them, engrossed in his own concerns; for the rest, they appeal to his curiosity, as they ought to do, and wakens in him that vague specula- tion which is the beginning of inde- pendent thought. His character is forming itself, both by obedience to rules and by collision with them, and it does not need the administration of perpetual moral prescriptionsprescrip- tions of which no doctor can foretell the effect. Nothing can compensate to a child for the loss of a country bring- ing up; not because in the country he learns to observe Nature (one of the things about which the modern theorist 44 The Modern Parent. is stark mad)for the same child who / in the country picks up the names of wild flowers, and can tell you the markings of every birds egg, will get by heart in London all the regimental facings or the list of river steamers, information quite as valuable as the otherbut because in the country he is far more left to himself. He can run about and associate with the farm laborers, learning something of a class whom he may never come across in after life; contract friendships with un- washed and ragged little boys, and in their c6mpany continually get his feet wetphysically and morally, too, if you likewithout the least apprehen- sion of catching cold. In town he is under observation all the time, watched over by some one possessing a theory of what is good for his soul and body. It is in town chiefly that children suffer from that physical and moral coddling which is the deadly vice of the modern parent. A lady was explaining the other day that a certain portrait of her son bad been completed only with great diffi- culty. At every sitting the childs tem- perature went up to such a degree that she almost feared that the portrait must be given up; it was too strong an excitement! Indeed a efrief objection to the plan of living for our children is the tendency of anxious parents to create some occu- pation for their anxiety. An old-fash- ioned mother would have had other things to do than to run about taking her little boys temperature at odd times~ If we are to be continually fussing over our childrens health, there, results a formidable demand upon our actual time, and what is worse, upon the leisure of our thoughts. This is in itself undesirable; but the worst is that we are now in a fair way to bring up a race of valetudinarians. The little boy ~Vho is used to have his temperature taken when he sits for his picture, will certainly injure his health when he comes to be a man by the simple fact of thinking too much about it; and I should greatly fear that the little girl whose father sets a watch upon his lips in her presence from the time she is three years old, will grow up into a moral valetudinarian, who is the worst type of prig. Happily the best meant experiments on character often lead to results as widely different from those that are naturally to be expected as they are from the consummation con- templated by the experimentalist. Nature is too hard for any theory or system. It is quite possible that chil- dren who have been brought up to ex- pect that a reason shall be given them for whatever they are told to do, or even children who have been taught to believe that obedience is not necessary unless they approve of the reasons given, may take their place in life with- out friction or annoyance to themselves or their neighbors. They have inher- ited instincts of self~adaptation, which will guide them a great deal more surely than their own crude reasoni~Igs. But in all probability they will have been a nuisance to themselves while they were growing up, and certainly will have been a nuisance to their par- ents. I believe in the experience of the race as against any individual the ory, and the experience of the race ad- vises that children should be taught to do what they are bid without asking for reasons. They will infallibly rea- son for themselves on the injunctions; they will judge their parents, and if the orders are unreasonable, will judge them adversely; that is the menace which it behooves parents to bear in mind. But a child does not expect to be considered in all things; and it seems to me that if we set out to live for our children, instead of living for our own ideas and work in the world, we shall he putting things on a topsy-turvy ba~is, and sending our children out into life equipped with a terribly undue The Modern Parent. 45 sense of their own importance. The adult mind has other work to do than to concentrate itself exclusively upon the interests of a domestic circle; and I think the best plan is for decent, clean-minded people to go their own way in freedom, not constrained by the presence of their children, nor con- tinually condescending to the undevel- oped intelligence. Depend upon it (as the Spectator says), this continual stooping of the back is good neither for the one who stoops nor for the one who is stooped to. Mr. Edgeworth (to revert to our great example of the model parent) acquired a habit of im- parting instruction which made him in- tolerable in all societies, and while he was teaching to his children (there were nineteen or twenty of them by four or five successive spouses) the theory of soap-bubbles and how to make a model of a water-mill, he left the entire management of his vstate to his eldest daughter; and upon his death the eldest son, imbued with all this valuable mechanical knowledge, proved perfectly incompetent to deal with troublesome tenants, and directly a land crisis came handed the books of the estate back to the much-over- worked Maria. His intelligence had been studiously developed, as Froebel would have dictated, along the line of least resistance; he had not been taught the lesson of doing something that he understood nothing about, just because he had got to do it. That is where the modern theorists seem to me hopelessly in error. Both for the moral and the intellectual part they adopt a system of spoon-feeding. They do not trust nature, which if you provide food, will generally provide the digestion. And the modern parent, so far as I can see, gulps down wholesale what one may call the mud-pie theory of education. Education used to begin with the A B C; but if you send your children to a Kindergarten, the children will be taught to regard the alphabet as a very advanced branch of knowl- edge. They will be taught educational games; a whole class of them lie down on the floor and crawl, pretending to be caterpillars; then they get up and flap their hands about because they have become butterflies; that is a lesson in the life-history of the insect world. They model in clay in order that they may learn that a pig has four legs and a tail; they plait rushes in order that they may con4~ribute to the harmonious development of all their faculties by ac- quiring manual dexterity; they build houses with bricks that they may learn how to carry out a design. I have heard of an instructress of Kindergar- ten teachers who made her pupils de- vote an hour a day to learning how to hop like frogs, that they might be able to impart that accomplishmA~nt. Even if you do not send your children to a Kindergarten, its theories invade your domestic happiness. People give you complicated Kindergarten toys, and the unfortunate parent has first to learn how to work the toys, and then to teach the children how to work them. But as for reading, that is considered to be too great a strain on the budding intelli- gence. By Froebels system even the rudi- ments are expressly prohibited till a child is six, and, so far as I can make out, reading is discouraged afterwards. A very clever parent was explaining to me not long ago that his very clever little son was not taught to read because little boys invariably put them- selves into unhygienic attitudes over ~ book. They read doubled up, and that is bad for their digestion; or they read lying on their stomachs, and that is bad for their eyes. For my own part, I would risk the hygiene for the sake of the education. The only valuable knowledge is the knowledge which we acquire for ourselves; and to teach a child how to read is to 46 The Modern Parent. give him a key to a world inex- pressibly wider than that in which he moves. It is rare for boys to go to school possessing anything that can really be called knowledge; but those who do have, invariably got their knowledge by miscellaneous reading in books which they only half compre- hended. It is not a habit that is ac- quired at school, where every hour has its fixed occupation; that is to say, that the average child has only five or six years, say from six to twelve, in which to form it. And I confess that I should be unwilling to postpone the chance of acquiring this habit even to the most scientific instruction in building bricks or in making mud-pies. In short I would teach a child first of all how to read, because by teaching him to read you put him in possession of the em- ployment. which of all others is the most delightful to many children, and those the most intelligent; because you enable him tQ aujiuse himself quietly, and because you give him the best chance to find out what sort of things really interest him in life. You open the door to that cultivation of his own mind by himself which is the most important of all. The rest of education stands on a different footing. It is not an amuse- ment, and you only do harm by pre- tending that it is. The young teacher nearly always sets out with a theory that his or her business is to teach boys and girls how to think. In every public school you will find young mas- ters who neglect their proper business with the best intentionsin order to pass the time agreeably by discoursing on subjects in which they wish their pupils to take an intelligent interest; and other masters, to whom their pu- pils pass on, have with much bitterness to teach the boys what they ought to have been made to learn in these agree- able half-hours. No human being can teach another how to think, any more than he can teach him how to digest; he can, at the most, indicate the con- ditions of healthy digestion and clear thought. But he can, and he ought to, teach him how to learn, which is a de- liberate conscious effort of the will and the memory; and to make this effort is not an easy nor a comfortable process. You may decoy a child into knowing all the names and the counties and rivers of Englandand he will not be a great deal the better for the knowledge but you cannot cajole him into learn- ing how to learn. I see lesson-books en- titled French without Tears, and so forth, and I distrust those lesson-books. At all events, in the school-room of the best teacher I ever knew there were enough tears shed to fill many buckets, and the pupils were the teachers own children. I do not know exactly what they learnt in that schoolroom, but they learnt how to learn, and they even gained a taste for the business. If they liked what they had to do, so much the better; if they did not they were made to do it all the samedat what a cost of energy and patience only those who have taught can realize. I read in Child Life, which is understood to be the official organ of the most enlight ened Froebelians, the rebuke adminis- tered to a lecturer when she took upon herself to exhort her Kindergarten stu- dents to patience: There was a look of surprise on every face, and at last one student spoke up, and said, But how ca one feel impatient with a little child? The rest of us are not so Froehelian as all that, and I am sure that the teacher of whose success I spoke had such ample cause for impa- tience as no animal in creation but the human child can afford. But when noses had to be kept to the grindstone, they were kept there, and the result was that in the end the reluctant in- telligence made the effort which was demanded of it and learnt. Morally, it learnt that efforts had to be made; The Moderu Parent. 47 intellectually it learnt how to make them. That is the double lessonthe necessity of learning and the way to learnwhich ought to be imparted to every child before it goes to a school, where the pupil takes his or her place in a class of twenty. In such a class the teachers business is to teach a definite thing; but the unfortunate pupil who has not learnt how to learn cannot receive the individual attention necessary to get him over this first step. Under the Kindergarten sys- tem he will have learnt only to expect that every obstacle will be smoothed away, and I suspect that he will be very like a creature who has been taught to swim on dry land and is pitched into the water. The last thing that I should be afraid of is overstrain- ing a childs intelligenee in the initial stages. Once the child has learnt how to learn there is a danger, and the anx- ious parent may easily do a mischief by impressing unduly upon a willing boy the transcendent importance of passing a particular examination. Even if his elders are convinced that a childs whole future is at stake upon a single success, it is both unfair and unwise to make the child share this tremendous anxiety, too heavy a strain for the young nerves. That is an error to which the modern arrangements pre- dispose all of us; but it does not spring from a theory. What I am concerned with hete is the theory which seeks to confound work with play, and to find a royal road to learning in which all the labor shall be transferred from the pupil to the teacher. I have no per- sonal experience of the matter, and I am told, on good authority, that the pupils come from a good Kindergarten knowing what they ought to know, and - knowing it well. But it seems to me that the system is deficient in the most vital point of all; that it does not en- force the lesson of pers~nal effort, and that in laying itself out to make things pleasant for the learner it makes them too easy, and does not make sufficieni demand upon attention. If it does not call forth a conscious and deliberate concentration of memory or reason by an exercise of will in the learner, it falls in its function. The teacher of whom I spoke already had naturally her views upon the art she practisedfor teaching, with all deference to Froebel, is an art and not a sciencebut, like all artists, she could not define her method. The Bible, com- mon-sense and good English poetry were the things which she laid down as a basis for elementary education; but, of course, the word common- sense begs the whole question. Still, there is an element of suggestion in the list. Good English poetry was ruled out by Mr. Edgeworth, on the ground that it was foolish and wrong for children to learn to repeat words of which they did not know the precise meaning; and then there is a very curi- ous passage, in which poor Rosamund is reprimanded when she wants to re- peat the opening of Grays Elegy, because the lines sound so very pretty. Her mother tells her that she does not know what curfew means, nor a knell; Rosamund replies, as one would say, like a very intelligent little girl, that she cannot tell the mean- ing of every word, but she knows the general meaning. It means that the day is going; that it is evening; that it is growing dark. However, this avails nothing, and she is reduced to a better frame of mind, and accepts as the most appropriate poetry for her years, a de- scription in rhymed couplets of a weav- ing machineapparently the work of her condescending father. Mr. Edgeworth, in many ways the type of the modern parent, is not quite in the movement on this point. Every- body admits nowadays that it is well to encourage children to take pleasure in the sound of beautiful words, and 48 The Modern Parent. in the Froebelian system great im- portance is given to learning verses by heart. But the verses are verses spe- cially composed, written down to the infant intelligence, and for that reason scarcely examples of good English poetry. It is again the method of spoon-feeding adopted, instead of let- ting a child learn by heart, as children will do with enthusiasm, the ringing phrases of Macaulays Lays or the songs of Shakespeare, which they re- peat for the mere pleasure of the sound, training their ear and their instinct in- sensibly to the beauties and the uses of language, which is the instrument of all human business and the material body of thought. In education, as in life, a child gains continually by con- tact with the unfamiliar, at whose meaning he guesses. It is from the minds tendency to conjecture that we learn to think. All modern theorists lay great stress, like Mr. Edgeworth, on the importance in elementary education of physical sci- ence. I confess to a prejudice on this matter. The worst educated men among men of high intelligence that I have ever met were mathematicians; and next to them, in order of deficiency, I should put men of science. Nobody disputes the value or the interest of scientific knowledge, but it seems to be an indifferent training for the mind. I can never forget that Darwin, who in his young days loved Shakespeare, when old lost all pleasure in him, but coi~tinued to delight in the common- place novel with a happy ending. It seems as if a mind dwelling perpetually on the tangible and definiteon the thing that can be absolutely proved or disprovedlost its sense of the mystery and fascination which hang about the meaning of life. I think that by early insistence upou physical science you may develop an undue bias for the material fact, a contempt or distaste for the unascertainable; and the busi ness of life does not deal with fixed quantities. Still there is enough In science to stimulate the imagination, heaven knows! and of the value of its study as a kind of gymnastics for the mind I have no experience. Compara- tively few people haye; but no doubt it will be tried. It is an age of science and experiments, and since people have made up their minds that education is a science, experiments will be tried in education. There exists in London a clubthe Sesamewhich provides sitting-rooms, dinners, newspapers in the ordinary way for the ladies and gentlemen who belong to it; but in its inception it was not as other clubs. It began with an association of people for the purpose of studying and spreading knowledge on all matters relating to educational reform; it was, in short, and still is In some degree, a club for the production of the educated mother, and, if pos- sible, of. the educated father also. The Sesame Club, as I understand, issues Child Life, the paper of which I have already spoken, and identifies itself in this way with the Kindergartefi sys- tem. It has even founded an ideal Kindergarten, where students may go to practise Froebelian methods upon children who receive a gratuitous schooling. Young ladies may go there in order to become educated mothers and competent in the theory and prac- tice of such objects as child develop- ment, natural science, hygiene and gen- eral household management, as well as education. If you ask for a more precise definition of the ideals to which the modern parent, as represented by this club, subscribes (in both senses), one is provided by Prof. Earl Barnes; The great work of the Kindergarten is to help the child to integrate his per- sonal, material, social and religious worlds. The definition may not be very comprehensible, but it sounds sufficiently comprehensivetoo much The Modern Parent. 49 so for my liking. I should like to ad- jure the modern parent to ask a little less of education and trust a little more to nature. It seems that the present generation the people whose children are grow- ing upare convinced that they them- selves were extremely ill-educated, and are determined, at all events, to be wiser than their parents. Frankly, I do not think it was so had as all that. My friends appear to me to be very agreeable and well-educated people, and I see no reason to be discontented with the bringing-up which made them what they areif indeed the system had much to say to it. My own opinion is that, in any case, being brought up among the same persons, they would have turned out much the same what- ever method had been adopted. The moral part of education is a thing that can be delegated to no Kindergartcn In the world. Our conduct, In so far as it does not proceed direedy from our innate qualities, is governed by imita- tion, conscious and unconscious. The people who influence us first are our parents, with whom we must live in some degree of intimacy; afterwards we are chiefly affected by the associ- ates whom we choose for ourselves. Admiration is at the root of it, and the natural instinct of a child is to look up to the grown-up people it lives with, and to adopt their ideas, but only on condition that the elders behave natu- rally. Boys do not imitate their school- masters, for they know perfectly well that their masters assume a behavior for their edification; perfect natural- ness is hardly possible in the relation of teacher and pupil, and, the more w~ think about influencing our own chil- dren, the less likely we are to accom- plish it. Lady Isabel Margesson, in a paper read before the Womens Con- The Cornhill Magazine. LIVIWG AGE. VOL. viii. 400 gress (reprinted in Child Life), declares that we ought to learn how to self- express ourselves. I think she is needlessly disquieted about the matter. Children understand their parents very well, and when one human being delib- erately tries to explain himself or her- self to another, the result is nearly al- ways misunderstanding; this is the most fruitful source of the quarrels of lovers. The one thing to be avoided is fearhabitual fear. If you cow a puppy you can do nothing with it, and some children are cowedoftenest by a stinging tongue. I will say this for the modern parentthat this evil is far less common than it would appear to have been even half a century ago; the father is not that awe-inspiring person- age he once was. Human nature being what it is, one need not be seriously afraid of his becoming, in many cases, a sort of amateur schoolmaster, like Mr. Edgeworth, or the model Froebel- ian parent. As for the intellectual side of educa- tion, I merely wish to urge that the simpler and more definite our aims are, the more proliable will be their attain- ment. Exactly what children, boys and girls, ought to learn at school may be matter for discussion, though I can conceive of no more proper basis of study than language, which is to be the vehicle of all our ideas and our means of communicating with our fel- lows. But the essential thing is that they should learn what they are set to learn; and the sooner they learn that they have got to learn, the better. I do not feel convinced that this simple but invaluable knowledge will be ac- quired in a place that aims at integrat- ing the material, moral, social and re- ligious worlds of a child, and teaching him how to play. Stephen Uwynn. 50 For the Credit of His Color. FOR THE CREDIT OF HIS COLOR. One scorching afternoon, in the days before the British Government had been roused to realize that its Gallic neigh- bors were quietly appropriating the West African hinterland, a little worn- out French gunboat came clanking down a broad reach of the muddy Niger. The sky, suffused with heat, was the color of brass overhead, and the yellow river radiated dazzling light as it broke apart in white froth at the rusty bows, giving up a curious sour smell. Ashore, here and there a tall palm hung its green fronds over the river, then giant reed beds, covering festering muds, melted into jungly thickets, which were lost again in a haze of heat. Black smoke rolled from the funnel to hang in horizontal strata over the bubbling wake, because there was not a breath of air to carry it away; and down in the stifling depths under-deck, naked, plague-stricken negroes groaned and sweated before the sulky fires. The wreck of a white man, half frenzied with fever, alternately encouraged them and abused the fate which had sent him there. Here was little glory, only misery, heat and death, while he knew the one hope of saving the last of the company lay in hurrying the vessel down through the reeking delta into the life-giving freshness of open sea. But the boilers were foul with stone and mud, the sealed tubes were leaky, and it was only by desperate efforts he could keep steam at all, while part of the precious vapor was blowing into stokehold and engine-room. The engineer, Marsaut, checked a burst of expletives When a dripping black man flung down his shovel, and its clatter was followed by a choking cry. Wiping the sweat out of his eyes, a Senegali fireman bent over a limp black object, with staring eyes huddled among the coal, and a hoarse voice said: It is the will of Allah! Another of us is dead. How can any man labor without eating in this heat of the pit? yet until an hour ago he toiled at my side. So the white man need speak no more hard words, for we have kept our promise of ser-vice. Where are all the rest who came with me from DakkaP As Marsaut afterwards told Fleming, the English trader, he could find noth- ing to say, and mutely watched two men fasten a firebar to the black an- kles. Then the tackles creaked, and a shape, with limply hanging head, rose slowly towards the gratings, while as- cending after it he heard a splash and saw something cleave apart the muddy river. Meantime under the ragged bridge-awnings, which fluttered with the hot draught the steamer made, Commander Girardi lay huddled in a canvas chair, the perspiration sealed up in his burning skin, and the soiled white uniform hanging loosely about his wasted limbs. His eyes were al- most blinded by the reflected glare, and he blinked uselessly at the shimmering water, which, to his disordered vision, had changed itself to fire, growing steadily brighter as the steamer pan1~ed on. That, like others made about the time, had been a disastrous expedition. It was true sundry agreements with dusky gentlemen, who represented themselves as persons of authority, written in fantastic Arabic, were se- curely locked in a chart-room drawer, but then each petty Moslem chieftain was fond of making treaties, which be- came a source of revenue to him. In return for sufficient presents he would accept European protection from every offerer, and leave the harrassed frontier officials to afterwards settle the matter. For tke Credit of His Color. 51 Also, while Girardi waited for the de- tachment which had marched inland on secret business, Moslem Senegali and white Christian died, because that part of Africa is deadly in a bad season even to colored intruders, and when one of the party came back alone with a tale of suffering he gladly turned the vessels head towards the sea. But the pestilence followed her, and by glaring sandbar or in the shadows of the dim forest little crosses marked the last resting-places of those they left behind, while those who lived grew weaker every day. Now Girardi was straining his eyes to find a buoy he had placed at lower water upon a sandy shoal, not knowing that the tattooed tribesmen, who considered the big iron cylinder, whi~h might be forged into spear heads, was wasting its utility in the river, had prudently removed it. So presently the ebony Senegali, who gripped the steering-wheel in answer to a question said: I see a ripple in the water, but there is no buoy. This is either the work of magic or some accursed heathen has stolen it. Then the treacherous current which slid seawards smooth as oil at over four knots an hour wrinkled ahead, and the wheel-chains rattled, while Girardi stretched out a shaking hand towards the telegraph. A gong clanged below, but there was no slackening of the vibration, perhaps because the man who should have heard it lay laughing foolishly upon the floor-plates of the engine-room. So, with propeller thrash- ing full-speed, and a shouting on the bridge, the steamer drove on until a few minutes later her forefoot struck something with a sickening crash. Over she rolled, lifting one weedy bilge in the air and grinding the other into the sand, while the current drove her sideways across the shoal. Muddy water leapt and spouted along the in- clined deck, the half-immersed propel- ler commenced a horrible uproar as it whirred round in free air, and sickly black men were scrambling every- where. Two leapt out into the river, and were probably speared by the tribesmen, for they never came back again. Then some one stopped the en- gines, and a pulsatory roar of escaping steam drowned all other sound, while a bare-headed officer shouted himself hoarse in an effort to restore order. Presently the grinding and crashing ceased, the rush of steam died away, and the vessel rose more upright as she settled herself in the sand, and lay there hard and fast, with the muddy current gurgling mockingly as it raced past her. Then the sable seamen settled down into the fatalists apathy, and their leader, gazing at the pitiless heavens and flaming river, said: While there was hope we obeyed the white man and worked on. Now the food is spent, and all are sick, so it is doubtless written that we shall die. In the little sweltering chart-room two haggard white men took counsel together, and the Commander watched them stupidly, trying to understand, for the throbbing in his head grew louder and almost deafened him, so he lay still, only plucking at his garments with claw-like hands. One afterwards went down stream to bring back help if he could, and the other tried to set the sickly crew to work heaving the vessel off, but some lay down beside the winches from utter weariness, and the rest dragged themselves about despair- ingly, for, as they said, it was no use fighting against destiny. So day by day the little vessel lay aground under the burning heat, and the striken wretches crouched gasping beneath the awnings, looking for the help that never came, until again the red sun dipped behind the forest, and with the sudden darkness it grew hotter. It was about this time that Fleming, the trader, lounged one night under the 52 For the Credit of His Color. roofed veranda of his lonely factory, which was perched on piles above a muddy creek. The air was hot and heavy with the smell of the river mud, and below him white trains of ghostly mist wreathed themselves along the edge of the surrounding forest. Some- times the whine of a crocodile rose up from the slimy creek, while centipedes, snakes and scorpions strove together, rustling in the thatch above his head. In the dimly lighted room behind him processions of big brown cockroaches crawled across the mildewed walls, and an odor of stale tobacco, rotten wood and kerosene drifted out through the window, while its temperature would have put fear into the hearts of the un- acclimatized. Fleming, however, was used to all this, for he was a big bronzed man who defied the fever, and chiefly by right of personal valor, acted as un- official ruler of a turbulent neighbor- hood. Other white agents had tried it, and either received their dismissal by the malaria, or after living in a state of fear and tension, went back with appalling stories about the place. Then Fleming took the reins and held them in a strong hand, and enjoyed peace be- cause it became apparent that he was a dangerous person to meddle with. Presently a woolly-haired Krooboy, wearing a red tennis-jacket and the primitive waist-cloth, laid a tray on the little table, and the young assistants eyes glistened at the sight of a whisky bottle. Then Fleming, who owed his safety to his knowledge of human na- ture, said, quietly: Benson, in a hole like this, that means cutting your last hope adrift. No, you neednt explain; I havent stewed long years in the tropics with- out learning the feeling, and I also know what it means to give in. Muddy claret isnt wholesome, but too much of that other is deadly. I almost think Im drifting the same way myself now there is nothing to do. Confound it, why cant they settle that inland palaver? idleness in this heat kills more men than fever. So~as a matter of pre- caution. Bad Dollah, you bring in more of them bottle. There was a swing of the brawny shoulders, and a bottle swept out in a parabola across the creek, to crash with a sharp tinkle against a cottonwood, while the next spread destruction among the scaly things which crawled in a festering pooi, and a third burst into frhgments against an advancing canoe. The Krooboy attendant looked on stolidly, for he had learned not to be surprised at anything his master did, while Benson made no comment, for he fancied he understood. Rather rough on the firm, said Fleming, with a laugh. Ali! heres that canoe nigger. I thought I had settled him with the last bottle, and a big river man, wearing very little be- sides designs in blue tattoo, pompously climbed the veranda stairway, holding out his messengers credentials in the shape of an old umbrella stick which some genius had embellished with rings of gold paint. Hallo! said Fleming. Has your master sent you with oil to pay for the cotton piece, or to tief something? My word, its a pity I didnt catch you with that bottle, and ~tie negro grinned ap- provingly, ere, being proud of his pal- aver English, he answered: No, sab, headman Shulane not dun tief enough for pay for them cloth yet, but he send a messagehow much them low trader give me for a team- boat? Teamboat live in his river with white man too much sick, be them other little white man more debbil than you. Shulane say, you give me enough, I dun sell him yam to poison him, then you come and tief him teamboat. Black man and white man they all dun die too much. A most ingenious savage, said For the Credit of His Color. 53 Fleming aside. You cant beat this brand of native for cold-blooded dev- iltry. Its one of the French treaty hunters or sounding parties; theyve been taking an unholy interest of late in this river. Then with a brief Get out, you sable scoundrel, he seized the negro by the shoulders and flung him halfway down the veranda stairway, pitching his insignia of office after him, with the answer, Tell Shulane if he hurts one of those sick men Ill turn out my Krooboys with matchets and come up and burn his place, and he should know by this time I am gener- ally as good as my word. Next he flung himself down in the canvas chair, stretched out one hand towards the tray, and drew it back with a laugh, saying: I, forgot. Of course, from one point of view, they deserve to come to grief, but you cant let white men die off unhelped, if its only for the credit of ones color. Besides Im sick of this killing monotony. Suppose you go down and muster the Krooboys. Presently a swarm of dusky laborers, brawny, good-humored pagans from the distant beaches of Liberia, gath- ered shouting and laughing in the dew- wet compound, and Fleming, leaning over the veranda balustrade, made a speech to them, pointed with the whim- sical sayings which appeal to the negro mind. Next he called up the big head- man and gave him a rifle, with its striker removed as a measure of pre- caution, because the West African loves firearms rather well than wisely, and left him with a picked few in charge of the factory, though he care- fully hid the keys of the store shed. Then four big canoes were thrust off from the miry bank, and, at a short word of command, the long paddles whirled together. Muddy foam flew up behind them, the thud-thud grew sharper, and a wildly musical, chanty ringing far across the misty forest kept time to each sturdy stroke. I suppose Im a fool, said Fleming, and am probably bringing the river pirates down upon our heads. Still, you see, one must do something. Hyah, you Krooboy, every boy in them canoe which first catch them teamboat get two piece of cloth. Now, Benson, I think youll see a circus. He did, for the splash and swirl of water grew yet faster as the canoes swept forward, gurgling through the shadows, until in a shallow reach, where the channel narrowed in and none would give place, they drove crashing into each other. Then the sable pad- diers smote their neighbors with blade and shaft, clawed each others woolly hair, screamed and yelled and laughed, while Fleming lay back shaking with merriment, until soiuehow they drew clear again, and shot out into a broader river. It was the second evening when, spread out in a straggling line, they came sliding down a lake-like reach. The weary men swung slowly with the glistening blades, and the two Euro- peans ached all over from crouching many hours on end in the stern. Ahead, the fever-mist rolled slowly across the waters, and a blue-gray dimness, which seemed charged with heat, hung above, while tall palms ashore rose up like an island out of drifting vapor. The river shimmering oilily was lost in the haze ahead; no sound but the beat of paddles broke the curious stillness, and it seemed to Benson they might have been translated into some forgotten re- gion of fairyland. Then a howl rose up from the bows of the leadIng canoe, and, dimly seen through the vapor, a black patch loomed out. The Krooboys forgot their weariness, only remembering the prom- ised pieces of cloth, and, with a deep- throated roar of challenge to each other, the canoes surged forward. Higher and higher rose the black hulk of the 54 For the Credit of His Color. stranded gunboat, and Fleming, watch- lug her intently, said: What are they doing forward? By George, that looks very like a pivot- gun, and with a wrench of his shoul- ders he swung the canoe off at a tan- gent with the steering paddle. It was well he did so, for a long red flash blazed over the steamers side, a cloud of yellow smoke blotted out half her length, and a whirring something hurled up a fountain of water where they had been. Then Fleming rose in the sternsheets, shouting, Confound you, you lunatics, are you trying to kill your friends? and a hoarse European voice made some unintelligible answer from the stranded vessel. There was a rattle of matchets in the leading canoe, for the Krooboy generally carries with him the stout blade which is equally useful for domestic service and as a weapon of offence, and the paddles splashed furi- ously. Go on like mad, he shouted to his own crew. Benson, we must head them. Those are Cavally fighting men, and they would rather enjoy storming the gunboat. Then shouting mingled warnings and offers of goodwill he stood upright, waving his sun helmet, encouraging the paddlers into a fierce race. With a grinding shock the ca- noes blundered alongside, wild black men climbing like monkeys fell over the rail, and then halted in wonder as a haggard white skeleton who, grimed by powder-fouling, stood sponge in hand beside the gun, flung himself dramatically into their masters arms, who seemed embarrassed by the proc- ess. Ces diables dindig~neshow you say? furious savageshave threaten us, he said. Soit b~ni how you come in time! and starving black wretches in uniform clustered round the big, naked Krooboys, who grinned sym- pathetically as, following their mas ters example, they made friends with them. Then Fleming was led into the little chart-room, where another skele- ton in white uniform lay huddled in a chair, and looked at him with glazed and sunken eyes, as he feebly muttered something which ended with mes pauvres enfants. He thinks all times of the men we lose, the other explained, and he not comprehend much because of the fever, while of the cabin store he give to the sick Senegali, and so he has noth- ing to eat. Yes, I know, said Fleming. I have been nearly starved myself. Here, Benson, see to bringing the food in, and start Bad Dollar cooking a banquet. Now, Lieutenant, I am going to help you heave this vessel off; and I propose to start as soon as you have eaten a S decent meal. So presently, when a simple feast was spread out in the oven- like saloon, Commander Girardi, who was induced to eat a little, seemed to gather his wandering senses, with draughts of lukewarm wine which Fleming had brought with him from his private stock. Afterwards, when the latter, growing impatient, raised his glass aloft, saying, To the honor of France, he lifted himself feebly. The lined face twitched as he answered, I thank you for giving life hack to my men, and the nation you have served will never forget. Then the goblet fell with a splinter of broken glass, and the stricken officer sank forward, choking. Benson, said Fleming, the poor man is played out. You and Bad Dol- lar do your best for him, and after- wards you follow me on deck. Were ready to begin now, Lieutenant. All night the Krooboys worked like fiends in the red light of the smoky lamps, for the Moslem storekeeper had served out to them sundry bottles of forbidden liquor, and some of the Senegalis tried to assist, flinging coal up from the bunk- ers and into the canoes which carried it ashore. All night the thud of pad- dles echoed across the river, while the clatter of shovels and wild bursts of negro melody rose from the stranded ship. Blackened all over, dripping with sweat, Fleming encouraged the rest, working himself harder than any of them, and when morning came, under Marsauts directions, with toil incred- ible, they carried two anchors out and dropped them into the bed of the river. Then, while the canoes carried every- thing movable ashore, he descended into the engine-room, and the clang and clink of hammers rose up through the skylights. Under the burning heat of noon and the midnight damp they labored on, while the dawn found Fleming stripped to the waist, sweat and coal dust streaming from him, as he toiled before the roaring furnaces. Now, nearly every Niger trader, whose highway is always a river, is at home among the engines of a small steamer; so, when the pressure gauges climbed towards the danger limit, panting and breathless he ascended to the deck. Marsaut stood beside the little wind- lass forward, and a line of brawny Krooboys gripped the tackles which led to the cable of the second anchor, while, in reply to a questioning look, Fleming said: Shell blow up unless you start in the next five minutes. So you have got to heave her off before the boiler comes up through the deck; its death or glory now. One piece of cloth each Krooboy if you pull harder than them winch. Marsaut raised one hand and opened the valve, and with a rush of steam the windlass began to clank, hammered viciously and brought up again, while Fleming dropped back suddenly into the engine-room. With a wheeze of the big cylinders the propeller began to throb, and, after sundry tins of kerosene had been flung into the fur- 55 naces, a sheet of yellow flame rushed from the funnel, while a jet of steam roared aloft from the escape pipe. Then, as grimier than ever the big man appeared, again, the whole vessel shook and trembled to the thudding engines stroke, and great sheets of mud and water were hurled up astern, while the smell that ascended with them was in- describable. An African river bottom Is not a nice thing to stir up unadvisedly. Then Fleming howled to the Krooboys, and the Krooboys howled to him as they bent their backs to the rope, and the cable of the second anchor came in a little, for that mass of well-trained muscle was stronger than the leaking windlass. Fetch her home! Sing, oh, con- found you, sing! he cried, and with a shout down the gratings, More steam, Benson, shes moving, he laid his hands on the rope. The stout hemp creaked and strained, drawing out to half its size, the tackle blocks were screaming, and link by link the cable came in, while above the groan of the windlass the roaring chorus of a Kroo- boy chanty rang far out across forest and river. Then the iron hull shivered, stirring in its sandy bed, the grind of the screw grew faster still, and there was mere flame licking about the funnel. A bumping, scraping, sucking sound rose up from somewhere below, and a line of yelling Krooboys sat down with a bang, while all else was drowned in the mad rattle of the windlass as the little steamer slid off the shoal. Stop her before ,~he runs over her anchors, Fleming shouted as, after crawling out from under a mass of greasy, black humanity, he scrambled towards the gratings, and the beat of the propeller slackened as she forged ahead into deeper water. Then a wild roar of triumph went up from every throat. Moslem Senegali and pagan Krooboy, friends for once, clawed each other, and Fleming, saying nothing For the Credit of His Color. 56 o r~ of Little Faith. because he could not find words appro- priate, stood with his hand laid on Marsauts shoulder, while the Com- mander, who had somehow dragged himself there, held on by the rails of the bridge above. Early next morning, when the coal and sundries had been brought on board again, the four white men stood side by side at the steamers gangway, the Commander leaning on Marsauts arm as he said, The nations is not good friendly in this part of Africa, but what you have done in saving the poor Senegali, soldier of France he is, she will not forget. Yes, said Fleming, who was rash The Gentlemans Magazine. in speech, and Im very glad. It gave me something to do. If the nation tries to monopolize too much of this river, well probably meet you another way; but when we find you in a tight place pestilence, poison or savageswell do our very best for youquite unofficially and beside the question, you know. Your papers sometimes are not civil, but were white men all of us. Then there was a grasp of hands all round, and Fleming hurriedly with- drewfor he feared an embracethe canoe paddles splashed, and the little gunboat steamed away down river, while the traders and their Krooboys turned back towards the lonely factory. HaroUZ Bin4~oss. 0 YE OF LITTLE FAiTH. A Sower sowed his seed, with doubts and fears; I dare not hope, he said, for fruitful ears: Poor hath the Harvest been in other years. Yet ere the August moon had waxen old Fair stood his fields, a waving sea of gold: He reaped a thousand-fold! In a dark place one dropt a kindly word; So weak my voice, he sighed, perchance none heard, Or if they did, no answering impulse stirred. Yet in an hour his fortunes were at stake: One put a life in peril for his sake, Because that word he spake! Little I have to give, 0 Lord, one cried, A wayward heart that oft bath Thee denied; Couidst Thou with such a gift be satisfied2 Yet when the soul had ceased its mournful plaint, God took the love that seemed so poor and faint, And from it made a Saint! The Sunday Magazine. C1& ri8t~an Burke. Tinkering the Bible. 57 TINKERING THE BIBLE. There has been a notion abroad in recent years that the language of the Bible, as we have it in the Authorized Version of 1611, needs to be modern- ized in order that it may make a lively appeal to modern minds. But the efforts made in this direction have not been very hopeful. Even the Revised Version was, for most people, a gigantic bubble, which burst as soon as born; and the small private attempts which have been made since, have burst as quietly in its wake. The latest prod- uct of this well-meaning crusade is Dr. Henry Hayrnans work, entitled The Epistles of the New Testament: an Attempt to Present Them in Cur- rent and Popular Idiom. (A. & C. Black.) We propose to examine Dr. Haymans aim and execution with some care, for we believe that such enterprises as his are at least useful in demonstrating the impregnability of a work of literary art like the Author- ized Version; and that they exhibit certain fallacies which it is well to dissipate. Dr. Haymans professed aim in re-wording the Epistles has been to present them in current and popu- lar idiom. That he presents them in no such garb is the first conviction that is forced upon the reader. Dr. Hayman employs neither the words nor the con- structions of everyday life. The mere retention of thou and thee, of art and hast, of couldest and wouldest, is a clear breach of the de- sign, these words forming no part of current and popular idioms. It is quite a common thing for Dr. Hayman to replace clear English by difficult English, and a familiar construction by a rare one. Thus Pauls simple sen- tence, For he that is dead is freed from sin, becomes, in Dr. Haymans version, For the dead to sin is en- franchised from its powera change surely, in the very opposite direction to that proposed in the authors plan. Again, the words in Romans x, 21: All day long I have stretched forth my hands unto a disobedient and gain- saying people, become: All day long I stretch forth myhands towards a people refractory and recusant. Here, again, the change seems to be precisely an- tagonistic to the aim announced. Two adjectives are latinized, and the idiom which, in the Authorized Version, places them before the noun they qual- ify, is exchanged for an idiom, cer- tainly less current and certainly less popular, which places them after that noun. Concerning the purely literary effect of the changes we need say noth- ing. An astonishing example of Dr. Haymans work is afforded by a com- parison of the two versions of a pas- sage in the Epistle to the Philippians, which every one knows by heart: AUTHOIIJZED VERSION. Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, ivhatsoever things are honest, Whatsoever things are just, whatso- ever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any vir- tue, and if there be any praise, think on these things. DR. HAYMAX. Finally, brethren, let every principle of truth, reverenee, rectitude, purity; all that is endearing, all that Is auspi- cious; whatever there be that Is excel- lent and praiseworthy dwell In your thoughts. Here Dr. Hayman substitutes long words for short, and a faulty construc- tion for a good; and he simply under- pins and brings down the rhetorical scheme of the passage which he pro- 58 Tinkering the Bible. fesses to improve. For that Dr. Hay- man hopes to improve every sentence he alters seems clear. Otherwise he would not expressly declare in his Pre- face that some phrases in the Author- ized Version cannot be improved upon, and will, therefore, be retained unal- tered in his own version. However, this admission prepares the reader to witness Dr. Haymans courage rather than his discretion, for there are few passages on which he does not exercise his skill. Even Pauls entreaty to the believers at Corinth, Greet one an- other with an holy kiss, becomes, Ex- change a kiss of sanctity with one an- other, leaving us astonished by the moderation which did not impel him to write: Exchange osculations of sanc- tity with one another. Dr. Haymans handling of the Authorized Version is seen at its boldest when he alters the words encompassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses into en- circled with so vast a cloud of attesting spectators. Encompassed is not necessarily encircled, and wit- nesses means (precisely) attesting spectators, with the obvious advantage that it is a comely English word instead of two words of Latin complexion and little charm. The sacrifice of charm is the unvarying feature oC modernized versions of the Bible. Take this ex- ample: AUTHOBIZED VERSION. Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily pro- voked, thinketh no evil; Rejoiceth not in inhiquity, but re- joiceth in the truth; Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. DR. HAYMAN. Charity is long suffering, is kindly, Is void of envy, is no braggart, is not in- fiated, preserves decorum, avoids self- seeking, is not irritable, imputes not the evil done, has no joy at evil doing, but rejoices on the side of the truth; puts up with all things, gives credit for all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Sometimes the flight is nearly from the sublime to the ridiculous. Thus: AUTHORIzED VERSION. so fight I, not as one that beateth the air: But I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection; lest that by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself should be a castaway. DR. HAYMAN. I accordingly so run as if I meant to win; and so plant my hits not as idly sparring; but I hit home at my own fleshly frame, and tame it into subser- viency; for fear I, who proclaim the contest to others, should come to be re- jected myself. These examples of an effort to mod- ernize the Bible language are so sur- prising, that it may be well to seek further light on Dr. Haymans actual intentions. The most significant sen- tence in his Preface is this: I have striven to answer to myself the ques- tion, How would these fathers of our faith have expressed themselves, If the vernacular English of our own day had been their medium of expression ~ This calls for thought. The vernacular should mean the whole vernacular, or it is nothing. To credit Paul, Peter and James, in imagination, with a knowl- edge of only those English words of to- day which approximately reproduce the meanings of their own words, will be to beg the question. It would be to raise the question of correct trans- lation, whereas the question raised by Dr. Hayman is clearly that of expres- sion in its largest sense. If we really Tinkering the Bible. are to inquire how Paul would have expressed himself in the English ver- nacular of to-day, we must begin by imagining that he possessed as full a knowledge of that vernacular as our- selveshis readers. We must alsoit is inevitableimpute to him a knowl- edge not only of all our words, but of all they stand for; in a word, we must credit him with the same heritage of knowledge as we ourselves enjoy, in- cluding (oh, confusion!) our knowledge of himself derived from the Authorized Version. We might thenpace all ab- surditiesreceive Pauls Epistles from his hand in the English vernacular of to-day, and hear him draw his illustra- tions from such vernacular [acts as the rotundity of the earth, wireless teleg- raphy, forbidden incense and the proselytizing zeal of Mr. Mallock. And a daring writer might conceivably en- deavor to personate this modern St. Paul, and re-think and re-write his Epistles for men and women of to-day. This would be, at any rate, a logical at- tempt to showwhat Dr. Hayman pro- poses to show, but does nothow Paul of Tarsus would have expressed him- self if the vernacular English of to- day had been his medium of expres- sion. But the result would not be the Bible. The Bible was ~ritten in cer- tain periods and in certain languages, and all that can be done is to translate a given portion from the language in which it was first written into the lan- guage in which it is proposed to be read, taking verbal equivalents as we find them, and submitting to the disad- vantages arising from differences in the knowledge, tastes and ideals of the two periods. The Authorized Version was a supremely good example of translation, because it not only did this task work, but took on a rare beauty and energy of its own. Moreover, it carried out Dr. Haymans own plan; it presented the Bible in current and popular idioms. That the need for such presentation was infinitely greater in 1611 than it is in 1900 does not need to be demonstrated to any one ac- quainted, however slightly, with the de- velopment of the English language. Since 1611 the language has grown enormously, but has altered little; and it is certain that Shakespeare, in the Elysian Libraries, reads The Ring and the Book with far greater ease than he reads The Romaunt of the Rose. But granting that the Author- ized Version presents the Bible in an English form which has been devital- ized by the changes that have come over the language in the interval of nearly three centuries, and that these changes justify an attempt to present the Bible in the current and popular idioms of to-day, still the mere sub- stitution of new idioms for old is a very small part of the matter. Lan- guage is inseparable from thought, and the thought of the few is warmed and colored by the thoughts of the many, and things possible in one age are im- possible in another. In 1611 English faith was at its strongest. The lan- guage had passed triumphantly out of its old inflectional stages, and had ful- filled itself in Shakespeares Plays. It had reached, as far as we know, its utmost serviceableness to literature, and literature had reached its utmost power to employ the language. The beauty of words was felt, and verbal melody was a habit rather than a secret. As the child of his age, Shake- speare wrote his plays. As children of their age, the translators of the Bible produced the Authorized Version. They had the perceptions and immunities which belong to a great literary epoch. We cannot wholly account for their success; the wind bloweth where It listeth. But it Is as unwise to tamper with a Bible which our age could not have produced as it is to meddle with cathedrals which our age could not have built. The value of a Version is 60 Waggon Hill. not so muc~h a question of idioms as of idiosyncrasy, and we must not change the one until we can match the other. In a new fervor of the race we may build a new York Minster or a new Bible; butthe wind bloweth where it listeth. This lesson is suffi- ciently enforced by Dr. Haymans book, in which, side by side, we may read: The Academy. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. For partial now is our field of knowl- edge, and partial our scope of inspira- tion. But when our full development shall be reached, all that is partial shall be superseded then. WAGGON HILL. (Ladysmith, January 6th, 1900.) Drake in the North Sea grimly prowling, Treading his dear Revenges deck, Watched, with the sea-dogs round him growling, Galleons drifting wreck by wreck. Fetter and Faith for Englands neck, Faggot and Father, Saint and chain, Yonder the Devil and all go howling, Devon, 0 Devon, in wind and rain! Drake at the last off Nombre lying, Knowing the night that toward him crept, Gave to the sea-dogs round him crying This for a sign before he slept: Pride of the West! What Devon hath kept Devon shall keep on tide or main; Call to the storm and drive them flying, Devon, 0 Devon, in wind and rain! Valor of England gaunt and whitening, Far in a South land brought to bay, Locked in a death-grip all day tightening, Waited the end in twilight gray. Battie and storm and the sea-dogs way! Drake from hi~ long rest turned again, Victory lit thy steel with lightning, Devon, 0 Devon, in wind and rain! The Spectator. Henry Newbolt. The Living Age.Supplernent. JULY 7, %900. READINGS FROM NEW BOOKS. QUITS.* You have come here to-day on pur- pose to tell me this? said Selma. I thought you would be interested to hear that my cousins had recognized me at last. I remember, you thought it strange that they should take so little notice of me. Flossys festive manner had disappeared before the tart recep- tion of her confidences, and her keen wits, baffled in their search for flattery, recalled the suspicions which were only slumbering. She realized that Selma was seriously offended with her, and though she did not choose to acknowl- edge to herself that she knew the cause, she had already guessed it. An encounter at repartee had no terrors for her, if necessary, and the occasion seemed to her opportune for probing the accumulating mysteries of Selmas hostile demeanor. Yet, without wait- ing for a response to her last remark, she changed the subject and said, volu- bly, I hear your husband has refused to build the new Parsons house because Mrs. Parsons insisted on drawing the plans. Selmas pale, tense face flushed. She thought for a moment that she was being taunted. That was Mr. Littletons decision, not mine. I admire his independence. He was quite right. What do Mrs. Parsons or *Tjnleavened Bread. By Robert Grant. Copy- right, 1900, by Charles Scribners Sons. Price, P1.50. her daughter know about architecture? Every body is laughing at them. You know I consider your husband a friend of mine, Selma. And we are friends, too, I believe? Selma exclaimed, ufter a moment of stern silence. Naturally, responded Flossy, with a slightly sardonic air, prompted by the acerbity with which the question was put. Then, if we were friendsare friendswhy have you ceased to asso- ciate with us, simply because you live in another street and a finer house? Flossy gave a gasp. Oh, she said to herself, its true. She is jealous. Why didnt I appre- date it before? Am I not associating with you now by calling on you, Selma? she said aloud. I dont understand what you mean. You are calling on me, and you asked us to dinner to meetto meet just the people we knew already, and didnt care to meet; but you have never asked me to meet your new friends, and you left us out when you gave your dancing party. You do not dance. How do you know? I have never associated you with dancing. I assumed that you did not dance. What grounds had you for such an assumption ? 62 its. Really, Selma, your catechism is most extraordinary. Excuse my smil- ing. And I dont know how to answer your questionsyour fierce questions any better. I didnt ask you to my party because I supposed you and your husband were not interested in that sort of thing, and would not know any of the people. You have often told me that you thought they were frivolous. I consider them so still. Then why do you complain~? Becausebecause you have not acted like a friend. Your idea of a friend- ship has been to pour into my ears, day after day, how you had been asked to dinner by this person and taken up by that person, until I was weary of the very sound of your voice, but it seems not to have occurred to you, as a friend of mine, and a friend and ad- mirer of my husband, to introduce us to people whom you were eager to know, and who might have helped him in his profession. And now, after turning the cold shoulder on us, and omitting us from your party, because you assumed I didnt dance, you have come here this morning, in the name of friendship, to tell me that your cousins, at last, have invited you to dinner. And yet you think it strange that Im not interested. Thats the only reason you cameto let me know that you are a somebody now; and you expected me, as a friend and a nobody, to tell you how glad I am. Flossys eyes opened wide. Free as she was accustomed to be in her own utterances, this flow of bitter speech delivered with seer-like intensity, was a new experience to her. She did not know whether to be angry or amused by the indictment, which caused her to wince, notwithstanding that she deemed it slander. Moreover the insin- uation that she had been a bore was humiliating. I shall not weary you soon again with my confidences, she answered. So it appears that you were envious of me all the timethat while you were preaching to me that fashionable soci- ety was hollow and un-American, you were secretly unhappy because you couldnt do what I was doingbecause you werent invited, too. Oh, I see it all now; its clear as daylight. Ive suspected the truth for some time, but Ive refused to credit it. Now every- thing is explained. I took you at your word; I believed in you and your hus- band and looked up to you as literary peoplepeople who were interested ha fine and ennobling things. I admired you for the very reason that I thought you didnt care, and that you didnt need to care, about society and fashion- able position. I kept saying to you that I envied you your tastes, and let you say that I considered myself your real inferior in my determination to attract attention and oblige society to notice us. I was guileless, and simpleton enough to tell you of my progress things I would have blushed to tell an- other woman like myselfbecause I considered you the embodiment of high aims and spiritual ideas, as far supe- rior to mine as the poetic star is supe- rior to the garish electric light. I thought it might amuse you to listen to my vanities. Instead, it seems you were masquerading and were eating your heart out with envy of mepoor me. You were ambitious to be like me. I wouldnt be like you for anything in the world. You couldnt if you tried. Thats one of the things which this extraordi- nary interview has made plain beyond the shadow of a doubt. You are aching to be a social success. You are not fit to be. I have found that out for certain to-day. It is false, exclaimed Selma, with tragic intonation. You do not under- stand. I have no wish to be a social success. I should abhor to spend my ~Zu its. 63 life after the manner of you and your associates. What I object to, what I complain of, is, that in spite of your fine words and pretended admiration of me, you have preferred these people who are exclusive without a shadow of right, to me who was your friend, and that you have chosen to ignore me for the sake of them, and behaved as if you thought I was not their equal or your equal. That is not friendship, it is snobbinhnessun-American snobbish- ness. She rose, and stood confronting her visitor as though to banish her from the house. Im going, ~said Flossy. Its none of my concern, of course, and Im aware that I appear very rude. Im anxious though, not to lose faith in your husband, and now that Ive begun to understand you my wits are being flooded with light. I was saying that you were not fit to be a social success, and Im going to tell you why. No one else is likely to, and Im just mischiev- ous and frank enough. Youre one of those American womenIve always been curious to meet one in all her glorywho believe that they are born in the complete panoply of flawless womanhood; that they are by birthright consummate housewives, leaders of the worlds thought and ethics, and peer- less society queens. All this by in- stinct, by heritage and without educa- tion. Thats what you believe, isnt it? And now you are offended because you havent been invited to become a leader of New York society. You dont un- derstand, and I dont suppose you ever will understand, that a true ladya genuine society queenrepresents mod- esty and sweetness and self~control, and gentle thoughts and feelings; that she is evolved by gradual processes from generation to generation, not ready made. Oh, you neednt look at me like that. Im quite aware that if I were the genuine article I shouldnt be talking to you in this fashion. But theres hope for me because Im con- scious of my shortcomings and am try- ing to correct them; whereas you are satisfied, and fail to see the difference between yourself and the well-bred women whom you envy and sneer at. Youre pretty and smart and super- ficial, andercommon, and you dont know it Im rather dreadful, but Im learning. I dont believe you will ever learn. There! Now Im going! Go! cried Selma, with a wave of her arm. Yes, I am one tf those women. I am proud to be, and you have insulted by your aspersions, not only me, but the spirit of independent and aspiring American womanhood. You dont understand us; you have noth- ing in common with us. Youthinktokeep us down by your barriers of caste bor- rowed from effete European courts, but weIthe American people, defy you. The time will come when we shall rise in our might and teach you your place. Go! Envy you? I would not become one of your frivolous and purposeless set if you were all on your bended knees before me. Oh, yes you would, exclaimed Pbs- sy, glancing back over her shoulder. And its because youve not been given the chance that we have quarrelled now. 64 Zn the Columbarium. IN THE COLUMBARIUM.* In the brickwork there was a rent of no great magnitude, concealed by the branches, yet allowing a narrow glimpse into the interior of the ruin. I could look, without being detected, at the curious sight within. I called the place a ruin. But though its walls had lost many yards, here and there, of brick or travertine, it still kept its lofty roof; there was a staircase inside all but perfect, nearly opposite us, and a stout column in the centre supported the square edifice. More than half of it was sunk in the ground beneath the accumulated d6bris of centuries. But as I viewed it, with the moonlight making checkers on the floor, and the grayish-white walls ex- hibiting tier upon tier of loculi or pigeon-holes, many of which held dusty patena somewhat resembling fruit- plates, I could have fancied myself in a museum. Such, in truth, it was; but a museum of the dead, where literal ashes, taken from the funeral pyre, had been stowed away in classic urns, with epitaphs, often consisting of the name only, and now for the most part effaced, to indicate the noble Roman family, whose slaves or freedmen these tenants of the shelves had been. It was an immense columbarium or dove- cote, one of several which stood in close neighborhood among the vines and fig-trees skirting the road to the Porta San Sebastiano. All that I took in at a glance, the moon serving yet to enlighten this un- derground hall of burial. But into one corner I could peer more distinctly, for a rude lamp was burning there, of the kind which abounds at Pompeii, and in the circle of its illumination stood a CArden Massitur. By william Barry. Copy- right. 1900, by The Century Co. couple of men, cloaked and hatted, so bent upon their own doings that they never once looked up from the loculus or sideboard, on which one was laying out papers, and the other counting them carefully. My guides hold became a grip. He, too, could see and be aston- ished. The cloaked person smoothing out, with visible reluctance, his small thin papers on the funeral slab, I had never beheld. The other, as I expected, was Tiberio. They spoke hardly at all; the operation went forward as by clock- work, save only that the wheels of the clock seemed rusty, and gave an occa- sional creak or jerk, while the papers mounted into heaps. I had plenty of leisure to scan the countenances, and form my judgment of the character of Sforzas vis-a-vis. There was little fear that we outside should be detected. Certain friendly owls occupied the topmost ledges of the columbarium, and now, troubled by the moon or the lamp, feeble as they were becoming, they flew wildly about, making a wel- come diversion. Carluccio, embold- ened, put a hand before his mouth and whispered in my ear, Santa Fiora! I made the motion with my lips which would have articulated Brig- and? The answer was plain in his eyes. Santa Fiora did not correspond to his sanctified name. If a flower at all, he was a flower of evil, wickedness stamp- ing itself legibly on every one of his petals, as the hyacinth bore a lament for beauty on its tender leaves. Thin, wiry and willowy, the apparition would have served well instead of the painted snake which Romans set up to warn intruders away from tombs and sacred enclosures. His long, lean jaws had a venomous snap in them; his distorted In the Columbarium. 65 nose and a squintiug eye gave one the impression of some unsightly fowl that had met with an accident; his forehead, of which he had a good deal, went up to a narrow crown, resembling a sugar- loaf; and on neck and shoulders fell ringletted black hair, which finished off the illusion of a human serpent. Over against him Tiberlo was fascinating, in spite of his fixed pallor. This malig- nant weed struck one as uncleana toadstool, or other slimy fungus, that dare not be touched, impregnable in its pollution. The thing did not speak much, but occasionally it winced or frowned, as smitten with sudden an- guish. Still it laid out of long fin- gers the pile of notes; evidently money was changing hands. And still Tiberio counted, cool and imperturbable. A scene like that which we were con- templating, if it excites the nerves, has also in it a power to stir the imagina- tion; the spectator may be conscious of a vision within, while losing not a movement of the actors before his eyes. To me, standing silent there, came the vivid reflection of a world all dust and shadowpulvis et umbra sumusfallen so low from its golden glories. Rome Imperial, that built magnificently, even for its dead slaves; built on the royal Appian Way, nor spared its marble entablatures, its delicate paintings, remnants of which I could trace under the setting moon, its yearly returning festivals and libations, with flowers laid on tombs, and all the graceful hom- age which was paid to phantoms, feared, yet still belovedwas it come to this? Here, in the place of the Manes, in- violate and holy, did wretches steeped in murder balance their accounts, ex- chan,,ing blood-money, and only the owl shrieked, no shape arose from the under~world to scourge them hence with scorpions, or terrify them with apparitions into madness. An impotent dead, forgotten universe, over the de LIVING AGE. VIII. 401 caying heaps of which this putres- cence crawled and multiplied! My vision did not hinder me from re- marking that the action of the scene had paused abruptly. Santa Flora counted no more notes on the slab; Ti- berlo pointed down as if requiring a larger tribute. Their voices rose; they were in hot dispute over the business. But they spat out at one another a jar- ,on, brief and horrible, which to me was an unknown tongue. The human serpent hissed; the tiger answered with formidable movements, and a low and thunderous roar. From thieves slang they broke into sentences of demand and refusal. Why no more to you? whistled Santa Flora, in a cracked tenor. I pay down forty thousand lire out of the sixty we got, and your palm itches. Ma baronewhich is, being interpreted, Look here, my lord!you will leave the boys without a balocco. It cannot be, I tell you. His hand clutched the remaining notes. Five thousand more, Santa Flora, said Tiberlo, not heeding the argument, then I will take myself off. The boys are doing well. They know it is for the cause they are laying up this money. What do I spend on my own amuse- ment? Why, not enough to buy sweet parsley. Managgia! whined the human ser- pent, Devil be good to me! A wise man does not flay his own skin. Leave the bees a little honey. What would you have got by the fat old borgese, bad our piciotti, our bravoni, not thrown a rope round his horns? Eh, blood of San Pantaleone! an- swered Tiberlo, with his gay and face- tious accent, and when would the piciotti have caught him, if some one else had not watched where he was feeding? Quick, the five thousand! Remember, it is the cause. Oh, the cause, the cause, Liverno mio! What care I for la politica? I 66 The Lie. love the good old trade. Did Gasperone meddle with State affairs? Yet, who like Gasperone? Send us plenty on the roads that we can skin, and let politics go to the great devil! The live thousand! repeated Ti- berlo. See, the moon is down; why do we stand prating? Eh, mio cuore, know you not the house dog must be fed? Feed meif not This sudden aposiopesis, or rhetorical pause, seemed to have in it the weight of a cavalry charge. Santa Flora groaned like a man whose throat is get- ting cut; and the reckoning began again. Carlucelo, motionless and at- tentive hitherto, signed that we must creep further away, which we did with infinite precautions. There was a choking sense of malaria in my mouth, a nausea that I could hardly keep down. Our clothes were wet with the night dews, our limbs benumbed and heavy. The sky was opening out in small gleams of dawn, spectral above this melancholy region, where masses of irregular and fantastic outline began to appear more solidly through the accursed air. We crouched and waited. In half an hour we saw, leaping out of the ruined columbarium, on the side nearest us, Santa Flora, alone. He seemed to carry no weapon, but as he strode within a yard of our hiding-place I could see a brace ~f pistols showing their noses from under his dark-blue vest. He kept a sharp lookout in front, and soon vanished in the direction of 4jecila Metallas round tomb. XYhere does he prowl mostly ? I inquired of Carluccia. To which the lad answered, Anywhere between Rome and the Montagna del Mattese above Cassinobut when there is nothing doing, the lads stanno a casa; they wait till they get a signal from the capobanda. It is not as in the old days, when once a brigand, always a brigand. Then they lived in the open and enjoyed themselves. Now they must expect the manutengolo to send them business. And TiberloLiverno, as you call himis the manutengolo? But surely! who else? Without him Santa Flora could do no stroke. He says true. Have you seen hew we catch birds with a looking-glass and a net in the fields? Liverno is the man that holds glass and net. So he takes the fat breasts of the birds, and we eat their thin legs. Ma pazienza! Will he always have the breasts? THE LIE.* One day, about three weeks after the announcement of the strike in Mr. Watsons shops, Jeanie Casey came to Agnes, and said: I have been grieving to tell you, and the sinful pride would not let me speak. But now I will. But you mustnt be thinking how that I wouldnt do the same to morrow if it was to do~for I would. The Burden of Christopher. By Florence Con. verse. Copyright, 1900, hy Houghton, Muffin & Oo. Price, $1.50. There is no repentance in me. But I must be telling somebody. I must. Agnes put her into an easy chair and took away her hat and jacket and kissed her. Jeanie had grown thin; the large simplicity of her gaze was gone; she looked at Agnes straight and square, but with sternness, and there was a curious rigidity about her mouth. She is like the .pictures of the old covenanters, thought Agnes, and perhaps I am to blame. Aloud, she The Lie. 67 said: Ive tried to see you, Jeanie, ever since the strike began, but you were always in town, or away some- where getting money; and this week we thought Christopher was going to have the measles, but he didnt. I left little Jean with him in the garden, said Jeanie; and then she folded her hands and sat still in the great chair, and lost herself in her thoughts. Tell me how you ever persuaded them to organize, said Agnes, after a few seconds of silence. It seemed such an impossible task. For a long time Id no hope, Jeanie replied. They were but staring loons in the beginning; but there were some with husbands, and these got into the way of talking with them, and of a sudden, whether I would have it or no, the thing spread; and after a bit it rolled up like a snowball, verra fast too fast. And out of my hand it was; and I, there, feeling it to slip and could not stop it. Here in Kenyon a woman will have a bit time of her own for the thinkingbut there!And if theres no thinking therell be no doing;or there- 11 be just blind, crazy doing.. How do you mean? said Agnes, un- easily; dont you approve of this strike? Ay !of this strike; but thats a verra different matter. I dont understand. There was a cut-down; and the stitchers were fierce to go out for a rise. The terrible thing it is, Mrs. Ken- yen, to feel the people slip out from the power of you, and take their own way. To hold your hand out in a torrent and think to hold the water back, and feel it over-slip the grasp of you, and never stop for you, nor take notice of you that your hand is there. That is it! But the Lord had an eye to His poor. He turned the torrent another way. And to me He showed a mercy that I am not deserving; for it is a verra sinful woman that I amverra sin- ful. She fell into a reverie again, and said nothing for a long while. At last Ag- nes touched het~ hand. You said you were going to tell me, Jeanie. Yes!I must be telling somebody. The voices of the children came up from the garden. There was shouting, and then: Stop, Chrissie!you hurt! Stop! Agnes went to the window and threw it open. Her son was hauling an un- willing little maiden across the un- trodden snow. Chris!Chris!What are you doing? Dont be rude! Remember she is a little girl. Were playing strike, mother, and shes a scab, and Im just giving it to her. Come away, you mean, old traitor you, Ill teach you to take the bread out of my childrens mouths! Dont you think you would better play something that isnt quite so rough? suggested Agnes. I dont want to be ~ cab all the time, protested little Jeanie; its your turn now. Im not going to be a s~b ever, even playing, Christopher cried; and Agnes closed the window and left them to settle the matter as best they could. Jeanie did not seem to have heard the controversy, but when their hostess came and sat down beside her, she gathered her thoughts together with an evident effort, and began: Its neither here nor there with this strike, what Im telling you now; it can mak no difference one way or an- other to that. Its just for my own self, and that Im sore wanting a friend. Agnes felt a sense of relief, for which she reproached herself. She had beeii dreading some revelation which should prejudice the public against the strikers. 68 The Lie. Tell me, dear! she whispered, stroking Jeanies hand. There was a day, some while back, ~and the forewoman that had left the shop earn in again to work. The week before that there was the cut-down. The woman was a meddling body, but she meant it for her duty. She was a cruel woman, but God-fearing. Far be it fra such a weak vessel as I to detract fra her. They lie in that shop, Mrs. Kenyon, and they tak what does not belong to them, and theyre aye at strife one with another. A heart-break- ing place it is. The forewoman took notice of me that day for my good, quick work, and so she saw the other women, how they cam talking to me, for they were angry with the cut-down and she did but rub them on the raw places, so they were mad against her, and crazy for the strike. There was not a woman cam by my chair but did not stop to complain, railing against Annie Curry, the forewoman, and de- manding the strike. Then Annie Curry cam beside me and said, Where is it that Ive seen you? and I said, I dont know;it was trueI didnt know. Then she said to me, Have you ever worked in ~he Kenyon shops? and I said, No, I never have. Jeanie! The Seotchwoman lifted her head and looked sternly for a while at her friend. For four months I had worked among these women, Mrs. Kenyon, early and late, to lead them out of the land of Egypt, to learn them the only way to stand out for their bit bread, when the master cuts and cuts and cuts into the wages. And they were beginning to understand. If Id left them then,all that Id been at would have gone for naught. Theyd have rioted a bit, and been brought low, and crowded under to worse blackness and worse hunger. They werent fit to stand alone,~and do you think Id leave them then, just to the saving of my one soul? Im thinking any way the Lord wouldnt have great need of a soul that could desert his poor, down- trodden ones in their straits. Im think- ing the Lord will not be hard on me for that lie, Mrs. Kenyon. Agnes realized what a pale, untried morality was hers, in her sheltered life. To remonstrate with this burdened sis- ter seined impertinence. But if the people who are trying to help this strike should find that the strikers weredidthat sometimes they said what wasnt quite straight, she faltered, I am afraid they might lose sympathy. And how many times, tell me, Mrs. Kenyon, has that old man lied to his workers, or made his superintendent lie to them, or made Annie Curry lie to them? Ah, if the people be~int brought up on lies by the ones that pretend to be standing for a model to them, do you think they wouldnt be ashamed to lie? But its give a lie and tak a lie, till the truths overlaid so deep, theres no man can come at it even with a pickaxe. I know, it is our fault, said Agnes, sadly. But dont go to fash yourself about this lie, now, Mrs. Kenyon. It has not a thing to do with the strike. The Lord turned the torrent. These women with their overweaning recklessness made Annie Curry suspicious of trade union talk; and youll be knowing as how that Mr. Watson boasts him that he always had a free shop. And he put up the notices,and we all cam out. The women are doing bravely. Theyll stick to it better than the men, now they have come to it. You think, then, that a lie is justi- fiable, sometimes? questioned Agnes. She was troubled. I dont know that. But this I know, that the Lord will be waiting to the Judgment Day to say to me, Jeanie, Books and Authors. 69 wfll He say, Jeanie, I thank you verra kindly for that lie. Agnes gasped. Her friends eyes blazed. If that woman had cam to you,~ she cried, and asked of you in my place the question,and all those poor things with but you to look to, and only half way to knowing how to get out from their slavery, would you have said yes, and let them turn you out? Could you? No, said Agnes, slowly. No,I oh, I know I should have told the lie. But its wrong. We dont know the ways of God, Jeanie; they are not our ways. He could bring success, you know, even if we could not see how it was to come. But if its a mistake Ive made, oh, Mrs. Kenyon! The Lord could have showed me another way, if it had been His will so to do. And if it wasall to be done over again, Id be saying the same words. Theres no helping it. I knowI understand, Agnes whis- pered soothingly. I couldnt tell Jimmie, Mrs. Ken- you. And the nights I lie awake with thinking on it, till my thoughts go a-ring-around dizzy. And its sickened I am to the sight of food. I had to come to speak with you, to share It. But dont be troubled for the strike this strikethere is nothing the lie would have to do with that. I hope not, Agnes said. But she thought of her father, with his passion for accuracy, for moral purity, his in- stinctive distrust of the workiugman, and her heart sank. BOOKS AND AUTHORS. Twelve-and-sixpence a page was all that Thackeray received for his con- tributions to Frasers Magazine. A correspondent of The Academy puts memoirs in three categories: Bi- ographies: Autobiographies: Ought-not- to-be-ographies. There is said to be no certainty that the Tennyson manuscripts recently dis- covered at Sheffield will be published. The early drafts of The Lotus Eaters and ~The Lady of Shalott, which are among them, show many variatidns from the published text. The Century Company is introduc- ing to American readers a son of Dr. George MacDonald, whose novels were once so popular, before the kail- yard school of Scotch novelists arose. Young Mr. MacDonalds first book is an adventure story of the days of James II, and is called The Sword of the King. The industrious press agents who are in the habit of heralding the works of that modest author, Miss Marie Corelli, by a great variety of seductive per- sonal paragraphs, are doing their work with more than usual energy just now, possibly because Miss Corelli has two books in preparation. It is almost im- possible to take up an English literary journal which does not contain one or more paragraphs relating to Miss Cor- elli. A love of gems for their own sake not as mere ornamentsis the domi- nant passion of Lady Caryll Knox, the London beauty who figures as the 70 Books and Authors. heroine of Robert Hichens latest ro- manc~, The Slave. The mysterious influence exercised ever her by an emerald of fabulous value is described with a variety of incident and a bril- liancy of style which leave it to each reader to determine whether the book is a sensational novel or a psychologi- cal study. The sympathetic delineation of life among the young acrobats of the London stage forms a striking con- trast to the rest of the story, and is perhaps its most notable feature. Her- bert S. Stone & Co. The volume by Mr. Macpherson, origi- nally announced as Herbert Spencers Life and Works, has been changed to Spencer and Spencerism. This was at Mr. Spencers wish, as he was appre- hensive that the book would be re- garded as a biography. The book, however, has Mr. Spencers sanction. According to the London Publishers Circular, nothing has recently been more remarkable than the public ne- glect of war-books. The production has far outrun the demand. At the beginning of the war extravagant cal- culations were made. This volume of reprinted letters was said to be worth so many thousands sterling, and others so many thousands more, but in most cases the profits are not to be reckoned even in hundreds sterling. Scores of bright young correspondents, who have counted on a revenue from this source, are doomed to disappointment, as pub- lishers are receiving with coldness their propositions. The anxiety felt by grown-up sons and daughters for the seemly walk and conversation of their parents is enter- tainingly set forth in Katharine Tynan Hinksons Oh, What a Plague is Love, which A. C. McClurg & Co. publish. The story is saved from being pure farce by unexpected touches of sympathy in the character drawing, and the elderly gentleman who is the cause of solicitude in his matrimonial quests proves himself after all to be not only more courtly and winning, but more deeply kind and simple-hearted than his guardian children. There are several pretty love stories in the book, and it is full of brightness and fun. The three young Hungarian noblemen who are the heroes of Maurus Jokals The Barons Sons, are men of strik- ingly unlike temperaments, and their experiences at the time of the revolu- tion of 1848 are followed with interest. But it is the mother of these sons, the dauntless woman who dares to brave her husbands dying wishes, and who bends all her noble energy toward making her boys the diametrical op- posites of what their stony-hearted father planned, who is the most absorb- ingly interesting person in the book. The story is crowded with incident and adventure, is vigorous in style, and gives an exciting account of life at St. Petersburg and Vienna. L. C. Page & Co. An intensely exciting novel, based upon a Mexican uprising of fifty years ago, is A Dream of a Throne, by Charles Fleming Embree, which Little, Brown & Co. publish. The leader of the rising is the last representative of a royal house, and a young American soldier in the employ of the Mexican government is the man who hunts him down. Excellent foils as these two men are for each other, quite as strik- ing a pair are the two girls, Pepa and Clarita, who give unlike allegiance to the two men. It is the equally ardent loyalty or treachery of one of these heroines which harrowingly compli- cates an already dramatic plot. The descriptions of a manner of life wholly foreign to us, the realness of the minor characters, a vigorous picturesqueness, Books and Authors. 71 and, withal, a fine portrayal of two con- trasting race types, make the book a notable one. To make a bridge between the phil- osophies of Carlyle and Toistol is the aim of Mrs. May Alden Wards Prophets of the Nineteenth Century. It contains sympathetic and discern- ing sketches of three lives, Carlyles, Ruskins and Tol~tois, and the signifi- cance of their message, the influence of one man upon another being interest- ingly set forth. Crisp and compact, with a pleasant narrative style and in a convenient pocket size, the timely little volume will find acceptance. Little, Brown & Co. A book to be devoured by the aver- age girl is Memory Street, by Martha Baker Dunn, which L. C. Page & Co. publish. The heroine, who tells the tale herself, first appears as an enter- taining and weirdly intelligent child, with the determination to avoid the evils of matrimony, but her progress is marked by acquaintance with a number of young men who in fiction or out of it would be considered decidedly pleas- ant fellows, and her original intentions undergo a change. An old mansion house, one hero who vibrates between England and America, picnics and par- ties, a delightful fairy godmother and a whole company of well-bred people, make the book a pleasant one; but there is also an earnest note under all the sprightliness which gives it addi- tional worth. A narrative that was new and excit- ing three-quarters of a century ago. and will be almost as new and decid- edly as fascinating to its present-day readers, is the Historical Memoirs of Alexander Ii and the Court of Russia, by the Comtesse de Choiseul-Gouffier. It is fact rendered more entertaining than fiction. The Comtesse, who was an intimate friend of the Emperor, and whose book is the source from which many historians have drawn their per- sonal sketches, wrote with a vivid admiration for the man whom she makes a hero, and with a charm that it is impossible to escape. Many people of note, Russian, Polish or French, figure in these captivating pages, which are interesting in their unconscious revelation of the writer herself as in their deliberate and some- times even amusing hero-worship. The translation, b~y Mary Berenice Patter- son, is excellent. A. C. McClurg & Co. The following graphic description of Toistols literary habits is given by the German journal, Die Woche: Toistol takes the utmost pains with his work. His manuscripts are writ- ten five or six times, and sometimes he writes single chapters ten times over before he is satisfied with them. His corrections are a torture for composi- tors, since he fills page after page with new words and sentences, and also makes numerous erasures and other al- terations. The last proof shows as much evidence of careful study as the first one, and It is not too much to say that every line which he writes is rather wrung from him than voluntar- ily given to the printer. Countess Sophie is the most severe critic of his works, and her judgment has much weight with him. He has thrown aside a completed romance because she did not like it, and nothing will induce him to publish it. He also likes to read his new works, before they are published, to a few intimate friends, and the sug- gestions which he receives on such oc- casions cause him to make several al- terations. Thus, in the hope of obtain- ing some useful suggestions, he read The Power of Darkness to a group of peasants, but he was most painfully surprised to discover that the most startling scenes in the book, scenes Which he himself could not read with- out tears, only evoked loud laughter from them. BOOKS OF THE MONTH. Back to Christ. By Walter Spence. A. C. McClurg & Co. Price, $1.00. Baden-Powell, The Story of. By Har- old Begbie. Grant RichCards. Barons Sons, The. By Maurus Jokai. L. C. Page & Co. Price, $1.50. Birds, Among the, in Northern Shires. By Charles Dixon. Blackie & Sons. Black Homer of Jimlown, The. By Ed. Mott. Grosset & Dunlap. Price, $1.25. Black Terror, The. By John K. Leys. L. C. Page & Co. Price, $1.50. Bride Roses. By W. D. Howells. Houghton, Muffin & Co. Price $0.50. British People, The Origin and Charac- ter of the. By Nottidge Charles Mac- namara. Smith, Elder & Co. Chevalier of The Splendid Crest, The. By Sir Herbert Maxwell. Blackwood & Sons. Colombian and Venezuelan Republics, The. By William L. Scruggs. Little, Brown & Co. Price, $2.50. Crown of Christ, The. By R. E. Hut- ton. Vol. 11, Easter to Advent. Rivingtons. David and His Friends. By Louis Al- bert Banks. Funk & Wagnalls Co. Price, $1.50. Decatur, Stephen. The Beacon Biog- raphies. By Cyrus Townsend Brady. Small, Maynard & Co. Price, $0.75. Diary of a Dreamer, The. By Alice Dew Smith. T. Fisher Unwin. Dread and Fear of Kings, The. By J. Breckenridge Ellis. A. C. McClurg & Co. Price, $1.25. Dream of a Throne, A. By Charles Fleming Embree. Little, Brown & Co. Price, $1.50. Drift Verses. By Horatio F. Brown. Grant Rk~hards. England and America after Independ- ence. By Edward Smith. Archibald Constable & Co. Emperor Alexander I, and the Court of Russia, Historical Memoirs of. By Mine. la Comtesse de Choiseul- Geuffier. Translated by Mary Bere- nice Patterson. A. C. McClurg & Co. Price, $1.50. Fast and Loose. By Major Arthur Gtlffiths. John Macqueen. Geor~ie. By S. E. Kiser. Small, May- nard & Co. Price, $t00. Gifts of Enemies, The. By G. E. Mit- ton. A. & C. Black. Ladysmith, The Siege of. By R. J. McHugh. Chapman & Hall. Little Lady Mary. By Horace G. Hutchinson. Smith, Elder & Co. McLoughlin and Old Oregon. By Eva Emery Dye. A. C. McClurg & Co. Price, $1.50. Memory Street. By Martha Baker Dunn. L. C. Page & Co. Mystery of Muncraig, The. By Robert James Muir. T. Fisher Un- win. Oh, What a Plague is Love. By Kath- arine Tynan. A. C. McCiurg & Co. Price, $0.75. Prophets of the Nineteenth Century. Carlyle, Ruskin, Toistol. By May Alden Ward. Little, Brown & Co. Price, $0.75. Room Forty-five. By W. D. Howells. Houghton, Muffin & Co. Price, $0.50. Ruskin, John. By Mrs. Meynell. Blackwood Sons. Scenery, The Scientific Study of. By John E. Marr. Methuen & Co. To the Healing of the Sea. By Francis H. Hardy. Smith, Elder & Co. Wadham College, Oxford, Sketches of. By Edwin Glasgow. Methuen & Co. War, Side-lights on the. By Lady Sykes. T. Fisher Unwin. Wedge of War, The. By Frances S. Hallowes. Elliot Stock.

THE LIVING AGE: ~ ~1?~h~hIi~ X~a~XU~ Di nt~m~nr~tr~ ~iteratut* au~ (FOUNDEO BY E. LITTELL IN 1844.) SEVENTH SERIES. VOLUME VIII. NO. 2923. JULY i~t, 1900. FROM BEGINRING Vol. CCXXVI. THE COMING AFGHAN CRISIS. Our heavy task in South Africa must not render us blind to the coming crisis in Afghanistan, and we ought to feel grateful to the Ameer Abdurrahman for publicly reminding us that it is a time for action and not for mere talk. The proximity of Russian troops to Herat, however, is not a more pressing cause of anxiety than the difficulty of dis- covering some solid basis for complete confidence and harmonious action be- tween the Afghan ruler and ourselves. The Ameer is very keenly alive to the perils of the hour. No one can say that he underrates them, but, unfortunately, the suggestions made to him by the government of India, with the object of providing against possible contin- gencies, are not acceptable to him, be- cause they hurt his susceptibilities, and seem to detract from the security of his sovereign position. Lord Curzon has, throughout the correspondence, been most anxious to conciliate the Ameer; yet there is no question that our neighbor is at this moment some- what sore with us, or, to say the least, in an irritable mood. It is not that he has any sympathy with Russia, but the first object of his policy throughout his rule has been the maintenance of his independent sovereignty, and that seems to him sometimes to be threat- ened as much by English requests as Russian menaces. The present situation is one when these views are uppermost in the mind of our ally. He has been very much disturbed by Russian movements on his frontier. He has had fears that Russia might make a swoop on Herat during the winter, when it would be difficult to send reinforcements to that quarter. He has several times asked the Indian Government what he should do to meet the danger he anticipates, and the only reply accorded him is to advise him to sit tight and do nothing. That this counsel is not to his fancy is well known. He is convinced that Russia means to advance, and he holds that the only way to check her progress is to roll her back along the track she has traversed. We probably all share his opinion about Russias intentions, but we have not yet brought ourselves to the mood to adopt what he considers the only true remedy. On the contrary, we think that there are several pro- liminary matters in regard to which the Ameer might do very useful work if he would only listen to our advice and our demands. We have suggested to him that it would be prudent to al- low the continuation of our railway to Candahar, and the construction of a telegraph to Herat and other places in his territory. The Ameers reply to these proposals is a fiat refusal, and he goes on to say that his people (which 74 The Coming Afghan Crisis. means himself) look upon railways and telegraphs as a source of ruin. His irritation does not stop here, for he in- sinuates that the suggestion should never have been made, and he pro- nounces it most impolitic. It must be admitted that in all this the Ameer has been quite consistent with his past dec- larations. In his Nasab-i-Namsheh, published in 1886, he said railways were not wanted in Afghanistan, and in replying to the Russians when they suggested continuing the Kushk rail- way to Herat, he declared that our camels and pack-horses suffice for our trade. On the other hand, how is Af- ghanistan to remain outside the Worlds movement by adhering to an exclusive policy which even China has been com- pelled to abandon? The Ameer is a very clever man, and there must surely be some way of inducing him to sanc- tion measures that are intended to benefit his country quite as much as ourselves. The common ground be- tween us must be sought for an iden- tity of interest. He has a dynasty to perpetuate; we have an Empire to pre- serve. The pressing and immediate matter which we have to decide is, what policy do we intend to carry out in Afghanis- tan? Everything hinges on that ques- tion. We cannot expect the Ameer to make sacrifices for us while he is un- certain as to whether we mean to up- hold the unity of his kingdom for him- self and his successors. At present the only assurance he holds is, that we will help Afghanistan to resist un- provoked aggression. But the Ameer is not satisfied with this arrangement, because he sees that Russia is acquir- ing, by means of military camps on his frontier in railway communication with their base on the Caspian, a position which, at the given moment, will enable her to invade his country with a cer- tainty of success, unless England ar- I~ests the Russian advance with a clear and timely intimation that it will be treated as a OLLSU8 befl~. We have not done this because, in the strict sense of the phrase, we have no fixed Afghan policy in our Imperial program. We have constructed, by agreement with Russia, a frontier for Afghanistan on parchment, but the Ameer knows as well as the man in the street that we have never told Russia that its infrac- tion would be instantly followed by a declaration of war. The Russian Gov- ernment is aware of the probability of our doing~ so, but there are circum- stances under which it might be willing to incur the risk, and the result might justify its belief that England would not fight for the possession of Herat. Certainly the only way to prevent Rus- sia falling into the error, if it proved one, would be to make her realize be- forehand that we will oppose with all our power an attack upon that famous fortress. Practically speaking, we have the choice between only two policies in Afghanistan. One is the maintenance of its integrityeven without unity. The other, after some preliminary stages, would result in the division of the country between Russia and our- selves. It is high time for us to make a choice between these two courses, and to begin to apply the measures necessary to ensure the success of the policy that we decide to adopt. I hope to make it clear, before the end of this article, that the maintenance of the in- tegrity of Afghanistan is a far safer and more honorable policy than that of its partition. If we decide for the maintenance of the integrity and independence of Af- ghanistan under the present Ameer, his heir Habibullah and their successors, a clear and unequivocal notification of the fact should be published. The new convention should not be pigeon-holed in a Secret and Political Department, but announced in the light of day as The Coming Afghan Crisis. 75 the principle by which our conduct would be guided, and with which we should expect Russia to conform. In place of the vague and unmeaning promise of support against unprovoked foreign aggression, which is all he has at present, the Ameer would receive a definite guarantee of the preservation of his sovereignty, and of its continu- ance in his dynasty. The ambiguity as to our future policy would be removed in a sense favorable to the aspirations of the Afghan ruler, and on our taking a step from which there could be no go- ing back, the suggestions now made only to be rejected would wear a dif- ferent aspect in his eyes. Having taken this decided step in the direction of per- manently attaching the interests of the two countries together, several conces- sions of a minor character, but much desired by Abdun-ahman, could be made to him. Among these I will only specify the gratification of his long- expressed desire to have a diplomatic agent in London. In view of the greater objects to be attained, the Gov- ernment of India might well waive its old opposition to the scheme on the ground that it enabled the Ameer to go over the head or behind the back of the Viceroy. The advantages of the policy of main- tenance are clear. It conciliates the Ameer and removes his doubts. It cenvinces the people of Afghanistan that we have no designs on their coun- try, and that we are ready to assist them against any Russian invasion. From our own point of view it has the two immense advantages of arrest- ing the Russian advance at the farthest possible points from the Indian frontier and of uniting all the tribes and races of Afghanistan in opposition to it. The stimulating effect of such a decision on the courage and confidence of the Princes and all the Imperial armies of India would be incalculable, and the In- evitable loss of prestige by a tame and unopposed cession of Herat and Balkh would be averted. Turning to the other side of the pic- ture, the drawbacks of the new ar- rangement would chiefly consist in our being compelled to face the facts of the situation, and to announce to the world beforehand that we were prepared to oppose the realization of Russias de- signs on Afghanistan as threatening the security and peace of India. In reality, this plain speaking would not add to the general information except by showing that instead of postponing our measures until the crisis was upon us, we had anticipated it by preparing beforehand a plan of combined action with our allies. There would be n& risk of Russia resenting it, because she is not ready for war; and there would be no legitimate ground of offence in England and the Ameer investing witl~ greater precision their already existing agreements of 1881, 1885 and 1893. If Russia did resent it, we should only learn the truth a little sooner and have to face what we must some day, viz., a struggle for the preservation of India. To take Afghanistan under our protec- tion in the form of a dual alliance, which will be alone agreeable to the Ameer, requires that moral courage which was lacking after Majuba Hill, and for which the country has since had to pay such an enormous penalty in blood and treasure. For the alternative policy of dividing Afghanistan there is not an argument to be advanced of which the writer would not feel secretly ashamed. But it is necessary to show that it would be disadvantageous as well as despic- able, for the Imperial spirit aroused by events in South Africa may again be- come sluggish and induce our rulers to acquiesce in injuries and affronts as some of them have done before. The ever-growing burden of the weary Titan will always provide Little-Eng- landers with an argument in favor of 76 The Coming Afghan Crz~is. timidity and self-effacement. The pol- icy of dividing Afghanistan with Rus- sia is to be opposed on grounds of prin- ciple, as a proceeding unworthy of our rower and reputation; but if it is to ~e discredited among our politicians of ~all shades of opinion, it must be shown that, far from strengthening our posi- tion, it would weaken it, and that our ~anxieties and responsibilities would be Immensely increased by its adoption. -A brief examination of the question will suffice to show that such would be the case. It is necessary, in the first place to consider what the division of Afghanistan would exactly mean in the form in which it would present it- self for solution. No one supposes that there would be a definite arrangement beforehand between the British and Russian Governments for the partition of Afghanistan into provinces or spheres. The probable form in which it would be effected would be by a series of moves and counter-moves, and either Empire might he the first to be- gin the game. But the habit of regarding Afghan- istan as an empty chess-board, on which we and Russia can move our pieces as we wish, is fraught with danger, and for us more so than for Russia. Af- ghanistan is a difficult country for military operations, and much of it is quite impracticable. The Afghans are a brave and warlike people, not to be despised when armed with inferior weapons, and now well equipped with modern rifles and artillery. Their value as an enemy or as an ally, is not to be treated slightingly. They are stalwart, energetic and active warriors, animated by a love of independence and a religious fanati- cism that render them doubly formid- able when fighting on their own terri- tory. The Ameer typifies the national character, and under his iron rule of twenty years it has lost none of its ferocity, while it has acquired greater confidence through increased union and military efficiency in the ability of the country to maintain its national exist- ence. It would be a grave mistake on our part, when natural causes have produced the very union and solidity we most desired, to turn round and assist those who wish to see Afghanis- tan break in pieces. Abdurrahman has shown that a united pacific Af- ghanistan is possible. British support is alone wanting to make it prove cii- during, yet those who urge us to come to an agreement with Russia for the division of Afghanistan would have us wantonly destroy the work to some extent of our own making, and cer- tainly one conducive to our own secu- rity. The most general assumption is that when Russia comes, with or without a prior understanding, to Herat, Eng- land should at once occupy Candahar, and many persons add Cabul as well. This would be an irregular commence- ment for the formal partition of the State between England and Russia. But has any English statesman or pub- lic writer faced the consequences of those steps? Are the essential differ- ences between the two annexations realized by those who represent they could be so dovetailed together as to result in a common Anglo-Russian fron- tier, that would be a guarantee of peace instead of a provocation to war? But what are the hard facts with which we should have to deal? Russias con- quest of Herat would be essentially a military achievement, difficult or easy in proportion to the skill of the Afghan defence, and the strength of the Af- ghan garrison, but once accomplished, no serious difficulties would remain for the new rulers in the Hen Rud valley. The population is too sparse, the tribes are too mixed with Persian and Turko- man races, and the country is too open and accessible, for any formidable op- position to be aroused or organized The Coming Afghan Crisis. 77 against the Russians after the capture of the fortress which dominates the entire district. In plain words, a Rus- sian occupation of Herat, if unopposed by England, would carry with it no penalty, and would add but little to the responsibilities of the Russian ad- ministration across the Caspian. The most admirable base for military oper- ations in the direction of India could thus be obtained without any corre- sponding disadvantages or drawbacks. Far different would be the experi- ence of England when she attempted to appropriate the portions of the coun- try intended to compensate her for the Russian seizure of Herat. The sever- ance of that fortress from the rest of the country would be a blow for the Ameer personally, and also for the prestige of the English in In~1ia, but it would leave the national spirit of the Afghans intact, and also their capacity to fight for their independence. The English advancing on Candahar, and perhaps on Cabul as well, without the Ameers permission and most probably in face of his opposition, would appear once more in the guise of enemies. The Afghans would be certain to regard with hostile eyes any advance that did not partake of a combined offensive move in formal alliance for the expul- sion of the Russians from Herat. Our march on Candahar might not be openly opposed, but it would embroil us with a hostile population and with the Durani tribes in one direction and the Ghilzais in another. That on Cabul would be attended with greater diffi- culties and could not be accomplished without fighting. In both directions we should appear to the Afghans in the light of invaders and enemies, and they would welcome any assistance in expelling us from their country. A false political move would thus undo the advantages of twenty years peace and transfer all the moral weight to the side of Russia, who, by our own act, would be turned from a foe into the friend of Afghan independence. The position may be thus expressed in a form that every one can understand for himself. A Russian seizure of Herat does not, in the eyes of the Afghans, threaten, for the moment, their independence; but a British occu- pation of Candahar and Cabul destroys it. Nor does the comparative disadvan- tage in which we should be ~placed by a policy of partition stop there. Russia would be secure in her sphere by the absence of any deep national or racial sentiment, and also by the absence of inhabitants. We should be embroiled with a warlike, fanatical and numerous population, every man of which is taught to use a gun and a sword from his childhood. Our communications would have to be maintained through the difficult country that every one has heard described, and the battles would have to be fought in regions presenting far greater natural obstacles than those encountered in Natal. We have done it before successfully, some will say, and there is no reason why we should not do it all over again. But the argu- ment is doubly fallacious. We have uever done it with a Russia ready onour flank to take advantage of our errors and to profit by our embarrassments. But there is a still more serious objec- tion to the adoption of a policy of par- tition in Afghanistan. The Afghan people and ruler, notwithstanding his passing fits of irritability at our easy- going way of taking matters that seem to him exceedingly grave, are at pres- ent far more favorably disposed to- wards us than they are to Russia. They are prepared to make a good fight, and perhaps a better one than is generally supposed, for Herat, and after it is lost, if the Russians should prove success- ful, to go on opposing them wherever they could as a national enemy. But if we step into their territory with the 78 The Coming Afghan Crisis. intention of grabbing it, however we may try to disguise the fact, they will deem us as black as the Russians, and transfer all their hatred for both as Christians to us. The Afghan problem will thus be rendered more difficult from our point of view, and in a wilful and short-~sighted manner we shall our- selves have turned allies, that might be invaluable in baffling Russia whenever she advances, into formidable and im- placable enemies. There is one aspect of the question that must not be omitted if the picture is to be complete. The creation of a feeling of enmity in the bosoms of the Afghans would have enduring conse- quences. It is not only that they would become willing to accept the Russians as deliverers and as the less of two evils, inasmuch as they were foreigners on Afghan territory. But their thoughts and ambition would in- evitably revert to what their ancestors accomplished in successive invasions of India from time immemorial down to Nadir Shah and their own great chief Ahmed, of the Durani family. The Afghans have been for Turk, Mogul and Persian, the advanced guard in the invasion of Hindostan, and there is no reason why they should not discharge the same duties for the Russians, if a bungling policy on our part led them to see in our opponents the deliverers from the authority we had too thought- lessly sought to impose upon them. An occupation of Afghan territory as the reply to a Russian seizure of Herat would be a grave and, perhaps, a fatal mistake. It would alienate the Af- ghans, assist the plans of the Russians and land us in many difficulties from which we might not succeed in extri- cating ourselves. Under those circum- stances our only prudent course would be to keep within our present frontier, to leave the Russians to advance through a hostile Afghanistan, and to inform its ruler that we would second his efforts to defend his country, but leave it to him to decide when it would be the right moment for the Anglo-In- dian army to advance to his support. Twenty years ago the conquest of Af- ghailistan was possible, or we might have broken it up into three or four dependent principalities, but it would be madness to make the same attempt to-day. We have been in the interval an important contributing party to the establishment of Abdurrahmans king- dom by our subsidies and moral sup- port. It would be exceedingly foolish to hasten, at Russias first move within the Afghan frontier, to undo the work of our own hands. The policy of divid- ing Afghanistan with Russia is not one that will bear examination. I will say nothing about its inherent baseness, but I hope I have made it clear that it would be entirely in Russias favor, and that it would place us at a very consid- erable disadvantage. Rather than enter upon so risky, a partnership, it would be safer to allow Russia to occupy Herat and the region north of the Hindu Kush without any open opposition, and to wait before deal- ing our blow until her forces had come within our reach, and the Afghans had had time to operate on their lines of communication. The effect on the In- dian public opinion of inaction in face of any fresh advance on the part of Russia must be bad; but to place our armies in a false and perilous position in Afghanistan, from a blind and reck- less desire not to leave Russia alone in the nefarious project of breaking up Afghanistan, would be to invite a more serious peril and a graver shock to our reputation and position. The superior advantages of the policy based on the maintenance of the integ- rity of Afghanistan are established by a consideration -of its only possible al- ternatives. To say to Russia, frankly and plainly, that we will make any in- fraction by her of the Afghan frontier The Coming Afghan Crisis. 79 a casus beth, is to raise a clear and hon- orable issue. Such a step would not only satisfy the Ameer and his people as to the integrity of our pur- pose towards them, but it would inspire the whole of India with a conviction that we were in earnest, and that we felt ourselves to he strong enough to cope with Russia. No doubt the objec- tion will be raised that it would be offering provocation to Russia; but is there provocation in notifying to an- other party that you expect them to ob- serve an agreement concluded between them and yourself? This is precisely what the British Government did in 1870 with regard to Belgium, and it is highly probable that it will have to take the same steps on its behalf again. Russia would have no more ground for taking offence now than Germany and France had or would have in the in- stance cited. She delimited the Afghan frontier in conjunction with us, and she has repeatedly declared that she re- gards Afghanistan as lying outside her sphere of influence. The only omission that has to be supplied is to acquaint Russia with our intention that she shall keep her word on this occasion, and not treat us as she did in the matters of Samarcand, Khiva and Merv. The necessity to take this step is increased by the hold Russia is acquiring over Persia, which renders it all the more necessary that there should be no un- certainty about our rights in Afghanis- tan. Having clearly informed the Russian Government as to the position we took up in regard to Afghanistan, our next step should be to put our house in order with the Ameer. Having made his country and his dynasty secure, we should have far stronger claims on his consideration and gratitude than we possess at present, when, as he well knows, we are hesitating as to the course we should pursue, and even dubious as to his loyalty, because on all matters he does not see eye to eye with ourselves. Under those circumstances it would be reasonable to ask him to do things that he would not think of sanc- tioning under the existing vague and uncertain arrangement. The concession of an Afghan agent in London, and other favors to which Abdurrahman attaches importance, would obviously justify our asking something in return; but perhaps it might be well to defer the suggestion for a railway to Can- dahar until the Ameer began to see for himself that camels and pack-horses did not provide sufficient means of transport for the increasing trade of his country. Telegraphs are not open to the same objection, and a request for permanen or temporary agents at specified points along the frontier we had undertaken to defend could not be deemed unreasonable. At the same time, the defence of that frontier should be left primarily in the hands of the Afghans themselves, and our part on the spot sh ~uld be regulated by. the wishes and judgment of the Ameer himself. Our policy would have com- mitted us to a war all over the world. with our rival, and there would be many more advantageous scenes of combat for us than the passes and plateaux of Afghanistan. But, on the other hand, it should be clearly under- stood that such a war would be of Russias own making. She has re- peatedly admitted that she has no in- terests in Afghanistan, and it is quite true. Her only possible interest there is to work us an injury, and that we are within our rights in sparing no ef- fort to prevent. Having decided on the principle of the policy we shall pursue, our rela- tiQns with Abdurrahman should be placed on a clear footing, and the anxi- ety he has sometimes occasioned the Government of India under the hither- to uncertain arrangement, affords no precedent for the attitude he would 80 The Coming Afghan Crisis. take up as soon as he knew that we had confronted Russia on behalf of his country and his family. He is a man not to be duped by make-beliefs, and one who only respects strength and the manifest consciousness of strength. He knows as well as our officials the hol- lowness of our past intentions with re- gard to his country, and of how so many of our reputed statesmen would veer round at a given moment and ad- vocate sharing his territory with Rus- sia. Is it surprising if, under such cir- cumstances, he should have his doubts about our friendship, and incline to think that the only course of salvation lies in excluding Christians and all their works, such as railways, from his State? The way to win his loyal and lasting attachment is to prove to him that we have as tender a regard for the continued independence of Afghanistan and for the security of his house as he could desire; and when it is realized at Cabul that the British Government has finally abandoned all intention of tak- ing part in any division or breaking up of Afghanistan, and has pinned its in- terest to the maintenance of its integ- rity and to the recognition of Abdurrali- mans heirs, there is no foretelling how this candor and certitude may influ- ence the Afghan Court and people in favor of a more liberal and enlightened policy. My object is attained if I have suc- ceeded in drawing attention to the posi- tion of affairs in Afghanistan, where, at any moment a crisis may be sprung upon us, unless the wisdom, prudence and promptness of our rulers succeed by well-timed and judicious action in averting it. The defence of India is in- timately connected with the satisfac- tory solution of the question, and the The Fortnightly Review. assured safety of India is both more necessary and more difficult In a time of internal trouble for her, such as is the present moment. There are some critics of our Indian rule who declare that the present Famine is the direct outcome of our system of Government, and of the drain an I~nglish civil serv- ice and army impose on the c@untry. But these same critics ignore the fact that the cause of that drain is the Rus- sian menace, which has compelled us to increase our military expenditure, and with it the remittances home to an enormous extent. The Russian men- ace should be warded off by the strong right arm of England supporting a clear and simple policy maintaining the complete integrity of Afghanistan un- der all the possibly varying conditions of its internal domestic history. For the success of that policy without an ufidue strain on our resources, the co- operation of the Afghans themselves and their present able ruler is desirable and even essential. Their resisting power is not to be despised, and, as- sisted by a few engineers and artiller- ists, they would give Russian troops a good deal of employment, while ade- quate forces were being collected to deal with them. The co-operation of this brave and war-like people would mean a certain and complete triumph in the event of war; but it would mean something else, and that is the refusal of Russia to embark upon a war in which the odds would be seriously against her. A policy based on the maintenance of Afghan integrity and independence would, consequently, be one calculated to promote peace and to postpone to some remote date any Rus- sian invasion of India through Afghan- istan. Dernetrius C. Bouig~r. The First Ascent of Aconcagua. 81 THE FIRST ASCENT OF ACONCAGUA. The great mountain called Aconca- gua, the first ascent of which is de- scribed in Mr. FitzGeralds recently published book, The Highest Andes,2 is situated on the frontiers of Chili and the Argentine Republic, about ninety miles to the east of Valparaiso, and 700 miles to the west of Buenos Aires, only a few miles away from and to the north of the pass over the Andes called the Cumbre,3 which is commonly used by persons passing between those two cities. Even its name is not found in geographical books published in the early part of the nineteenth century, and it seems to have been measured first by officers who were engaged in the celebrated surveying expedition under Admiral Fitzroy. Darwin says in Chapter XII of his Journal, the volcano of Aconcagua is particularly magnificent. This huge and irregularly conical mass has an elevation greater than that of Chimborazo; for, from measurements made by officers of the Beagle, its height is no less than 23,000 feet! And in a subsequent passage he speaks of witnessing a considerable eruption of the volcano of Osorno (near the Bay of San Carlos in Chiloc), on January 19, 1835, and says that he was surprised to hear that Aconcagua, 480 miles northwards, was in action on the same night. It is now said that Acon- cagua is not a volcano! Darwin, it will be remarked, only quotes a rumor 1 The name is a Spanish one, and is pronounced something like Ar-kon-kar-goo-whoo-ar. 2 The Highest Andes, by E. A. FitzGerald. Methuen & Co., London, 1899. For the cumbre Pass see the Leisure Hour for 1895, p. 518. This result differs materially from the height telegraphed to the Daily Obronicle, and pub- lished in that paper on january 18 and February 17, 1897. The mountain Is over 24,000 feet high. The barometer at the top fell to 12 and does not speak from personal knowledge. Since the time of Fitz- roys voyage, all sorts of elevations from 15,000 to 25,000 feet have been assigned to Aconcagua, most of them, no doubt, mere guesses, not derived from observations; but the result of the survey of the FitzGerald Expedi- tion shows~ that the officers of the Beagle were right, for the finally de- duced altitude comes out just a little over 23,000 feet. This appears to be the greatest height that any one has hitherto reached upon a mountain. Mr. FitzGerald, the leader of the Ex- pedition, was born at Connecticut, U.S.A., on May 10, 1871, and is known from the journey that he made in New Zealand in 1895, upon which he cx- plored, almost single-handed, some por- tions of the snowy mountains in the south island, and made several ascents.~ Upon the journey in the Andes, he was accompanied by three Englishmen, Messrs. de Trafford, Vines and Gosse; and took out six Swiss and Italians as assistants, namely, Mattias Zurbriggen, the two brothers Pollinger, Jos. Loch- matter, Nicolas Lanti and Fritz Weibel. Zurbriggen, who led the rest, is a roll- ing stone. From a sort of biography of him,0 that was published nearly simultaneously with Mr. FitzGeralds volume, one learns that before he got to the age of thirty he had acted as herd-boy, carpenters boy, stable-help, inches. If the barometer had been a mercurial and in proper order, a fall to 12 inches would have Indicated an altitude, not of 24,000, but of about 25,000 feet. It now appears that the barometer wa.s an aneroid. See the work entitled Climbs in the New Zealand A]ps. From the Alps to the Andes, being the autobiography of a Mountain-Guide, by Mattals Zurbriggen. T. Fisher Unwin, London, 1899. 82 The First Ascent of A concag ua. miners laborer, miner, railway navvy, tassel-maker, diligence-driver or smith. He can shoe ahorse or mend aboot. Since 1886 he has been a Mountain Guide, and in that capacity has been twice in New Zealand, and twice in the Hima- layas, besides the Andes. He made his ~kbut under Sir Martin (then Mr.) Con- way in the Karakoram Mountains, and may be considered to have been discov- ered by him, for, up to that time, he was an unknown man. Unlike many Alpine Guides, he has a taste for for- eign travel, and becomes less homesick than the generality of his fellows. The party left Southampton on Octo- ber 15, 1896, Buenos Aires on Novem- ber 29, and, after travelling over the Argentine Great Western and Trans- andine Railways, descended on Decem- ber 7 at the terminus of the latter line, at Punta de las Vacas (7,858 feet). This station is only twenty miles from the summit of Aconcagua, and one can ride up in a vehicle on the route to the Cumbre Pass, until one is within thtr- teen miles of it, at Puente del Inca (8,948 feet). The way taken after this was up a valley called Horcones, which led round the western side of the moun- tain for about fourteen miles; and when quadrupeds could go no farther, an en- campment was made at the height of 14,000 feet, almost due west of the sum- mit, and distant from it about two and a half miles. Direct approach was im- possible~the intervening cliffs were much too steepand a course was shaped to the northeast, and an upper encampment was made on a ridge to the northwest of the summit, at a height which was estimated at 18,700 feet.7 From this highest camp the sum- mit was ultimately gained, but only at the sixth attempt. Mules were employed between Puente The height is apparently obtained from simple inspection of sn aneroid. This appears to he the case from the two following passages The aneroid gave the height as 19,000 English feet. FitzGeralds Highest Andes, P. 50. Look-, del Inca and the camp at about 14,000 feet, and the experiences of the party with their animals and the drivers were of the usual c~haracter. Mules are mulish, and South American arrieros are almost beyond description. Many of the stories that are related resemble what one has heard before, but this one is quite new. Through scarcity of food the mules got so hungry that they con- sumed that morning two wicker-chairs and a large quantity of the roof of one the rooms, which was composed of bamboo overlaid with mud (p. 245). That was towards the end of the jour- ney; and from the beginning they found that the sure-footed mule stumbles and slides like other quadrupeds, and can survive a good deal of knocking about. When some of the party were crossing a ravine, a mule slipped and fell l5ack on its haunches. I was behind, says Mr. Vines, but the way being too nar- row for me to get at its head I shouted to the arriero, who seized the halter and tried to get it up. But he could not do it, and then with a plunge or two it rolled over on its side, fortunately by this movement unhooking the packs, which I was just able to seize and keep from following the mule, as it went bound ing and rolling down the steep incline. Then, on the verge of the precipice, the poor beast made a desperate strug- gle to regain a footing, while anxious faces watched him from above. With a tremendous plunge, however, he fell backwards and disappeared from view. I sent Lanti down to secure the harness, and shoot the animal if not already dead. Mingled cries of exhor- tation reached us from below, and soon, to our surprise, Lanti appeared leading the mule. It was a sorry look- ing beast by this time, cut and bruised in every part of its body; but it seemed to have sustained no serious ing at my aneroid, I found It registered an eleva- tion of 19000 feet. zurhrlggens Autobiog- raphy, p. 205. The elevation adopted is prob- ably much too high. The First A scent of A concag ua. 83 injury, and, lightly loaded, continued to work for the rest of the day.( Pp. 161, 162.) Both in the Himalayas and in the ~Andes, Zurbriggen has exhibited con- ~iderable ability in tumbling off the animals he rode, or in getting into trouble with them. He has a fixed idea, it is said, that he will die by -drowning, and he came pretty nearly to an end in that way when crossing a stream in the Horcones Valley. He started well, mounted on one of our most powerful mules, but ~vhen he got to the middle of the river I was startled and horrified to see him turn his mules head down stream. This was fatal; the animal at once lost its balance, and rolled over, precipitating him into the raging water. In cross- ing these streams it is necessary to keep the horses heads well up against the current, for should they get side- ways, and the water strike them with full force, they invariably lose their footing. Poor Zurbriggen, the instant his mule rolled over with him, was swept rapidly down the stream, turn- ing over and over with the ai~imal, so that at times he and at times the mule was uppermost. He could not swim, but even had he been able to, I doubt whether it would have availed him much, the force of the water being so great. In another moment they both struck on a great boulder, Zurbriggen underneath. The force of the water held the mule tightly jammed against the rock, effectually pinning his rider underneath. In a moment I was along- side of him, the arriero close behind, invoking all the saints to our assist- ance. I noticed that he was engrossed solely with the welfare of his animal; the fact that a man was rapidly drowning before his eyes was an un- important detail to him. It was neces- sary to move the mule first before we could help Zurbriggen; so we plunged into the torrent, and tried to dislodge the unwieldy beast. Tomas wanted to haul him towards the bank; I, on the contrary, wished to shove him into midstream again, as I saw it was easier to accomplish and would there- fore release Zurbriggen sooner. I seized him by the head, and tried to press him away, while Tomas in a wild frenzy of excitement clung to his tail. (Pp. 68, 69.) He was ultimately fished out, with a damaged shoulder, and prudently ab- stained for a time from riding; but he at length remounted, saying to Mr. PitzGerald, I know I do get killed to- day, and, as luck would have it, we had not gone more than a mile when he and his mule quietly rolled over the edge of a rock precipice. The mule was not hurt, tut Zurbriggen had fallen on his bad shoulder. This was a fin- ishing blow to his nerves. When I ran and picked him up he turned to me and said, slowly, You see, I do get killed to-day. However he revived; and made the first ascent of Aconcagua twelve days afterwards. It would appear that previously to Mr. FitzGeralds expedition only one attempt had been made to ascend Acon- cagua, namely, by Dr. Paul Guessfeldt, of Berlin, who approached the moun- tain from the Chilian side, in 1883. Dr. Guessfeldt is known to be energetic and daring, but his dash at Aconcagua can scarcely be regarded seriously; for, in starting from Europe with only a single assistant (who failed him before he got on the spot), he evidently did not grasp the necessities of the problem which he proposed to solve. Beyond knowing that Dr. Guessfeldt had made his at- tempt somewhere from the North, Mr. FitzGeralds party had no clue as to how the summit was likely to be reached; and it is to the credit of Zur- briggen that he seems to have quickly selected a practicable, and perhaps the only feasible, route. So far as the na- ture of the ground was concerned, the ascent was an easy one. It was not necessary to perform gymnastic feats on rocks, or to cut for hours up riven ice. If such things had been inevitable, it is highly probable that not one of the party would have reached the summit. 84 The mules, it has been said, went to the head of the Horcones Valley. From that point everything had to be trans- ported by men; and they started at once to mount the northwest slopes of the peak, but only got up about a couple of thousand feet when night came on. Although they had a tent, it is said that they simply crawled into their sleeping-bags. No one had the energy even to make for himself a smooth place to lie down on. We sought shelter under a friendly overhanging rock, where we huddled as close to one another as possible for the sake of warmth, and tried to get what rest we could. During the night, one of my Swiss porters, a tall, power- fully built man, Lochmatter by name, fell ill. He suffered terribly from nausea and faintness, which it seemed impossible to check. This is referred to on p. 80 as a ter- rible night. The next morning they went on, and towards mid-day I saw, from my own condition and from that of the men with me, that it would be unwiseif not impossibleto think of climbing higher that night. Lochmatter was growing pale and ill again, so I was obliged to send him down with another man to our lower camp, telling him to remain there un~ til he had perfectly recovered. The faintness and want of energy was not the result of ordinary fatigue. Mr. FitzGerald does not attempt to dis- guise that it was due to the diminution in atmospheric pressure. We were all feeling weak and ill in the morning, he says, and I soon came to the con- clusion that it would be impossible that day to reach the saddle which Zur- briggen had recommended as a camp- ing-ground (p. 55). On December 26 they got up to this place, which is esti- mated to have been 18,700 feet high; and, after one night there, tinding that life was unpleasant at such an elevated position, descended to the lower camp in the valley. Though the temperatures which were experienced were not extraordinarily severe, and not at all lower than might have been expectedthe minimum re- corded being 1 degree F.~ which is a degree of cold that multitudes of people sustain without inconvenienceMr. FitzGerald says that he saw the men actually sit down and cry like children, so discouraged were they by the in- tense cold; and later in the volume it is related that the cold felt so intense that the men sat down and absolutely cried, great tears rolling down their faces, simply because of the cold, which they were powerless to resist (p. 151). On December 30 (Midsummer in these parts) they went up again to the high camp, and on the following morning started with the view of reaching the summit, which looked so very near that they thought it could be got at in five or six hours. An hour had scarcely elapsed When Zurbriggen was found to be in difficulties. Tne morning was cold. Seeing that his face was very white, I asked him if he felt quite well. He answered that he felt perfectly well, but that he was so cold he had no sen- sation whatever left in his feet; for a few moments he tried dancing about, and kicking his feet against the rocks to get back his circulation. I began to get alarmed, for frozen feet are one of the greatest dangers one has to con- tend against in Alpine climbing. The porters who had been lagging behind now came up to us; I at once told Zur- briggen to take his boots off, and we all set to work to rub his feet. To my horror I discovered that the circula- tion had practically stopped. We con- tinued working hard upon him, but he said that he felt nothing. We took off his stockings, and tried rubbing first with snow, and then with brandy; we were getting more and more alarmed, and were even beginning to fear that the case might be hopeless, and might The First Ascent of Aconcagua. The First Ascent of Aconcagua. 85 even necessitate amputation. At last we observed that his face was becom- ing pallid, and slowly and gradually he began to feel a little pain. We hailed this sign with joy, for it meant of course that vitality was returning to the injured parts, and we renewed our efforts; the pain now came on more and more severely; he writhed and shrieked and begged us to stop, as he was well-nigh maddened by suffering. Knowing, however, that this treat- ment was the one hope for him, we continued to rub, in spite of his cries, literally holding him down, for the pain was getting so great that he could no longer control himself, an~1 tried to fight us off. . . We slipped on his boots without lacing them, and, supporting him between two of us, we began slowly to get him down the mountain side. At intervals we stopped to repeat the rubbing operation, he ex- postulating with us vainly the while. After about an hour and a half, we succeeded in getting him back to our tent, where he threw himself down and begged to be allowed to go to sleep. We would not permit this, how- ever, and taking off his boots again, we continued the rubbing operation, during which he sh~uted in agony. (Pp. 61, 62.) There ended the second attempt to ascend Aconcagua. The next day (January 1), Zurbrig- gen, Mr. FitzGerald and Louis Pollinger started again, and got to a greater height. This time Pollinger was the first to go wrong. He turned a sickly, greenish hue. All the color left his lips, and he began to complain of sick- ness and dizziness. They progressed upwards until 2 P.M., when all were done up, and obliged to stop and lie down from sheer exhaustion. The condition of the three seems to have been similar. Even Zurbriggen ad- mitted that he did not think he would be capable of reaching the summit. Coming down was almost worse than going up. Fatigued and numbed as we were, we constantly fell down. a terrible and stunning depres sion had taken bold upon us all, and none of us cared even to speak all ambition to accomplish anything had left us, and our one desire was to get down to our lower camp, and breathe once more like human beings. (Pp. 66, 67.) They went down 10,000 feet, and re- vived themselves at Puente del Inca, and on January 12 another effort was made from the high camp; but in a quarter of an hour, Mr. FitzGerald says, I knew that the attempt would be fruitless. Though he persevered, he had barely reached the height of 20,000 feet, when he was compelled to throw himself on the ground, overcome by acute pains and nausea I remained thus for some time, but as I did not improve I was reluc- tantly forced to turn back . . About noon I crawled down to the camp, and sat waiting there in a helpless and hopeless state, half unconscious - About two oclock the sun had gone round and I was sitting in the shadow, while the wind changed and blew upon me with full force. So feeble was I, both in brain and body, that I had not the wit or energy to move some twenty yards away, though ~ could thus have escaped from the wind, and received what little warmth the sun- light afforded. Zurbriggen did not turn back with the others, but he stopped far short of the summit, and returned after sunset, quite exhausted and speechless with thirst and fatigue. On the following morning (January 13), the result of a further attempt was even more disap- pointing, for the day was the finest they had had; there was little wind and the sun rose in a cloudless sky. After going up some distance, Mr. Fitz- Gerald says, I was again desperately sick. I rested for over an hour, but it was no use, and so they all went down. We now come to the sixth and suc cessful effort to ascend Aconcagna, on 86 The First Ascent of Aconca,gua. January 14. The party on this occasion was composed of Zurbriggen, Mr. Fitz- Gerald, Joseph Pollinger and Lanti who is said to be a miner. They started at 7 A.M., all in excellent spirits, yet by one oclock Mr. FitzGerald found that he felt it was impossible for him to go any farther. Zurbriggen was sent forward, while the others descended. I ahall never forget the descent that followed. I was so weak that my legs seemed to fold up under me at every step, and I kept falling forward and cutting myself on the shattered stones that covered the sides of the mountain. I do not know how long I crawled in this miserable plight, steering for a big patch of snow that lay in a sheltered spot, but I should imagine that it was about an hour and a half. On reaching the snow I lay down, and finally rolled down a great portion of the mountain side. As I got lower my strength re- vived, and the nausea that I had been suffering from so acutely disappeared, leaving me with a splitting headache. Soon after five oclock I reached our tent. My headache was now so bad that it was with great difficulty I could see at all. Zurbriggen arrived at the tent about an hour and a half later. He had suc- ceeded in gaining the summit, and had planted an ice-axe there; but he was so weak and tired that he could scarcely talk, and lay almost stupefied by fatigue. Though naturally and justifiably elated by his triumph, at that moment he did not seem to care what happened to him. (Pp. 82, 83.) A month later (on February 13), Mr. FitzGerald had another try, along with his companion, Mr. Vines, and the This as an expression is quite wrong. Alti- tude in itself produces no effect. It is the dim- inution in atmospheric pressure, which becomes greater the higher one ascends, that affects the system. what Mr. Vines says is unquestionably true. The pace of any given individuals has a con- stant tendency to diminish the higher they as- cend; and it is this fact amongst others, which renders it certain that the highest summits of the earth will only he reached (if they are ever reached) with very great difficulty and at very great cost. miner, Lanti. They left the upper camp at 8.30 A.M., on a fine day, with every prospect of success, and an hour and a half later the leader was compelled to give in, in a state of complete col- lapse, and he went back (p. 103). Mr. Vines and Lanti proceeded. The latter~ had been selected, it is said, because he had felt less the effects of the altitude than the other porters. He is de- scribed as a big-boned man, slightly above medium hei~ht, spare almost to emaciation, and is spoken of favorably in several places in the course of the volume. Lantis opinion was that his constitution had been permanently shattered by living at the upper camp, and, although he was, at the moment, in good condition, took the opportunity to express his views to Mr. Vines in the following way. Sir, the moun- tains of Europe are healthy; these mountains are very unhealthy. Why do we climb these mountains, and why encamp and sleep at these great heights? We who have done so wilIl find our lives wrecked by it (p. 109), and he is by no means the only person who has entertained that opinion. Mr. Vines and Lanti continued up- wards, and ultimately got to the sum- mit. During the first hour the former said, they did not appear to make much progress, and he got anxious about their- rate, as it could not be imagined that that they would go faster as they got higher; on the contrary, there was every reason to expect that their pace~ would decrease.9 I have been curious to work out and compare the respective~ On such ground as has to be traversed in mounting the prinicipal peaks of the Alps, as~ cents are often made at the rate of, or about, 1,000 feet per hour; and upon still lower ground a much more rapid rate can be attained. One of the fastest performances on lower ground was accomplished in August 1898 by Edonard Payot, of Chamonix, aged 28. He started from Ohamonix, 3,445 feet, and ascended the neighboring mountain called the~ ]irevent, 8,284 feet, in 89 mInutes; and descended the 4,839 feet in 31 minutes. This was done in the presence of a large number of The First Ascent o~ Aconcagua. 87 rates of Zurbriggen on the first ascent, and of Mr. Vines and Lanti on the sec- ond ascent of Aconcagua. I find that (including baits) Zurbriggen went up at the rate of 449 feet per hour from the upper camp to the summit, and that the others ascended at the rate of 513 feet per hour. Either of these rates must be considered good, considering the great elevation at which they were attained. They reached the top at 5 P.M., having taken eight hours and a half to ascend from the camp. Mr. Vines states that of the two he was himself the more done up. When they were above 21,000 feet they were in such a condition that the slightest rebuff damped their spirits, and forced them to stop and rest. Our patience and endurance were tried to the utmost. We seemed to stop every ten yards, and, in fact, spent more time in resting than in ad- vancing; and yet we found it impos- sible to sit, or lie down, as inclination dictated. The relaxing of the muscles of the legs on assuming a reclining po- sition acted disastrously as soon as we resumed the ascent, for the lower limbs seemed first to have lost power, and then, after a step or two, were racked with a dull aching. . . Ex- perience soon taught us that there was only one position for rest,to stand with the legs wide apart, the body thrown forward, the hands grasping the head of the ice-axe, and the fore- head resting on the hands. Mr. FitzGerald, who watched them from below, reports that they seemed excessively fatigued, and that he no- ticed that It caused them great efforts to go on, pausing every few moments, leaning on their ice-axes, and that at times they slipped and fell. Yet, upon getting to the summit, Mr. Vines says he felt strongerso soon as we ceased ascending the trouble seemed to leave which, as the barometer must have stood a little lower than 13 inches, shows that he is remarkably well fitted to live at low pressures. They found an ice-axe planted within a cairn which Zurbriggen had erected, and saw that, beyond doubt, he had actually reached the top. On the descent their troubles recommenced directly they got into movementthe breathlessness and weariness continued to the end. Although some felt it more and others less, the universal experience of those who reached the greater heights which were attained upon this expedition was that low atmospheric pressures produce very great inconveniences and acute pains, and that life at high alti- tudes, at least temporarily, has a weakeningeffect. Upon their attemptsto ascend Tupungato, the height of which is put at 21,550 feet, one after another collapsed. Zurbriggan was the first to be affected, nd began to be very sick. He had, no doubt, been feeling ill for some time [during the ascent], but had said nothing about it. Ills voice was full of chagrin as he confessed his condition. He could not understand it. He had never felt like this before. He looked very bad and groaned at every step. Certainly he was in no con- dition to continue the ascent. How- ever, he went on slowly, and tilen an- other mishap occurred. We missed Lochmatterl But look- ing back we saw him shuffling up the gentle sloping debris so slowly that he seemed almost motionless. We shouted to ask what was the matter. He an- swered feebly, and as if ashamed to confess it: Nothings the matter; its my legs, I cant make it out; they wont work any more. It was a ridic- ulous situation. Here was a power- ful young fellow, with a splendid phy- sique, carrying but the lightest of spectators. Edonard Payot was promptly ab- means certain that he would have shown to ad- sorbed in the French Army. Although this vantage on the summit of Aconcagua. young man is exceptionally nimble, it is by no 88 The First Ascent of Aconcagua. loads, and saying that nothing was the matter, but that his legs had given out. (P. 183.) Upon a fourth and successful attempt to ascend Tupungato, Joseph Pollinger (a very active young man and an ex- cellent mountaineer) broke down. Mr. Vines says: Zurbriggen and I turned round and looked at Pollinger, who was lying flat on his face and groaning. He was suffering violent pains in the abdomen, and he declared between his gasps that he felt very sick and ill, and could not go another step higher. We were anxious to take him with us, so I tried to persuade him that he would be all right after a short rest, and proposed that Zurbriggen and I should divide his pack between us, so as to make things as easy as possible for him. But, as he still insisted that he felt far too ill to go on, and seemed to have a great desire to descend as soon as pos- sible, we gave up trying to persuade him. Let me get down lower! For Gods sake let me descend; I shall die if I stop here! was his only answer to us. . . . The only remedy for his illness was to descend with all speed to a lower altitude; he would be well if only he could get down a thousand feet or more. (Pp. 197, 198.) So Joseph turned back, and the two others continued upwards. Mr. Vines remarks that he himself was not in a good state, although the conditions were favorableit was a fine day with a cloudless sky. The air seemed flat to his thirsty lungs. Yet slowly, and with short steps, we tramped on, our eyes turned towards the summit, when suddenly, without a moments warning, Zurbriggen sat down on the ground and exclaimed, Im finishedI go no far- ther! . . . In the greatest anxiety I asked him to tell me his symptoms. Its my legs! he answered, they will not carry mc a step farther (p. 200). This was no great distance below the top. Mr. Vines courageously pressed on alone, and reached the summit in 9 1-4 hours from their camp, having mounted at the rate of 492 feet per hour, which was a shade slower than his pace upon Aconcagua. Zurbriggen joined him some time afterwards. In the Andean regions of South America everybody has heard of the troubles which occur to respiration when one is at great elevations and various specifics are freely recom- mended to correct them. Acting under advice, the members of the FitzGerald expedition tried eating raw onions and a decoction of a herb (chaelui coma), which had been praised as a most wonderful remedy apparently, with the usualthat is to say, with nore- sult. Of the herb, Mr. Vines says that he considered that it would be as well to get the whole party used to it by making a brew several times a day. It has the appearance of a dried-up bramble, bright yellow in color, with a yello*, white flower, somewhat resem- bling edeiweiss. Sticks and leaves were put each morning Into a sauce- pan, boiling water poured on, and the Whole left to soak a minute or two. Sugar was used according to taste. Then calling up the porters, I served half a cup all round. Each one would drink, thank me, and say it was very good. But they never asked for more. Doctors say that a great many patients think nothing of a remedy un- less it has either a striking color, a nasty taste, or a strong smell. If the last two qualities are proof of a medi- cine s value, then ehacha coma must be an excellent remedy. (P. 179.) When the expedition came to an end, most of the staff returned to Europe via the Transandine Railway and Bu- enos Aires, and some of the others crossed the Cumbre Pass into Chili. There does not apear to be much in- ducement to reside at the terminus of the Transandine Railway in Argentina. The town which might be expected to be found at the terminal station of a The First Ascent of Aconcagua. 89 Trans-Continental line is scarcely in embryo. The only building in the place be- sides the station, a small, low, wooden sh~anty, is a little inn or house known as the posada. There were also, it is true, a few sheds belonging to the Villa Longa Express Company, who run the coach service across the Andes. The posada itself is formed of mud huts round a courtyard, the doors of all the rooms opening into the open air. In the wet weather during the winter there is about six inches of water in most of the rooms, and 1 have seen the bar and dining-room with as much as two feet of water in it. For sleeping there are a few straw truckle- beds with blankets thrown over them. The only provision of which a large stock is kept in the, place is Worcester Sauce. There is a carriage road of a rough kind over the Cumbre, and not a few people cross this pass (12,800 feet) in the summer. Traffic is almost sus- pended in the winter, as the summit is snow-covered and storms are frequent. The manner of descending into Chili during the winter is rather original, and the description of the way in which goods are handled will not encourage exporters to send freight to Valparaiso by that route. The way the natives conduct the de- scent is as follows. Ea~h traveller Is provided with a large and stout apron made of sheepskin, Which is fastened on behind, the wool next to his body. He then sits down upon it, gathers his legs togetlier, and pushes himself off. Protected thus against the roughness of the snow, he descends rapidly, guid- ing himself with a pointed staff, and steering In and out among the great and dangerous boulders studding the mountain side. This way of sliding down the snow-slopes is speedy and not unpleasing, but it is impossible to The Leisure Hour. LIVING AGE. VOL. VIII. 403 take the luggage down in one s lap, and it therefore suffers a great deal be- fore the bottom is reached. The men content themselves with rolling the panniers over from the top of the slope, and, in their downward course, they strike against projecting rocks, or occasionally land in a deep drift, from which they have to be rescued. Fi- nally, when they are gathered to- gether, it is plain they have not been improved in strength or shape by the rough usage they have undergone. (Pp. 286, 287.) There are many points of interest in Mr. FitzGeralds volume which cannot be touched upon here; but its chief attraction lies in the frank and clear description of the loftiest ascent which has hitherto been made, and in the can- did avowal of the difficulties which were encountered. He indicates very clearly the troubles which will occur to those who try to reach great eleva- tions. There is not the least doubt that those who may endeavor to scale the highest mountains will have similar experiences at all times, and in every part of the world. Some men, however, suffer more and earlier than others. Mr. Vines and Zurbriggen have shown themselves exceptionally able to with- stand large reductions in atmospheric pressure; while the contrary is mani- fest in Mr. FitzGerald, who speaks re- peatedly of being overcome by nausea, indigestion and other matters. At a comparatively low elevation the rate of his pulse was 130 to 140. He speaks even of spitting blood. It is certainly to be regretted that his enterprise did not meet with better success, and it is to be hoped that the knowledge which he has gained will serve him on future occasions in other mountainous regions equally interesting, though, perhaps, less lofty than the Highest Andes. Edward Whymper. 90 The Heart 01 Darkness. THE HEART OF DARKNESS.* BY JOSEPH CO~EAD. V. Toward the evening of the second day we judged ourselves about eight miles from Kurtzs station. I wanted to push on, but the manager looked grave, and told me the navigation up there was so dangerous that it would be advisable, the sun being very low already, to wait where we were till next morning. Moreover, he pointed out, that if the warning to approach cautiously was to be followed, we must approach in daylightnot at dusk, or in the dark. This was sensible enough. Eight miles meant nearly three hours steaming for us, and I could also see suspicious ripples at the upper end of the reach. Nevertheless, I was annoyed beyond expression at the delay, and most unreasonably, too, since one night more could not matter much after so many months. As we had plenty of wood, and caution was the word, I brought up in the middle of the stream. The reach was narrow, straight, with high sides like a railway cutting. The dusk came gliding into it long before the sun had set. The current ran smooth and swift, but a dumb immobil- ity sat on the banks. The living trees, lashed together by the creepers, and every living bush of the undergrowth, might have been changed into stone, even to the slenderest twig, to the lightest leaf. It was not sleepit seemed unnatural, like a state of trance. Not the faintest sound of any kind could be heard. You looked on amazed, and began to suspect yourself of being deafthen the nig~ht came suddenly, and struck you blind as well. About three in the morning some large fish * Copyright by 5. 5. McClure & Co. leaped and the loud splash made me jump as though a gun had been fired. When the sun rose there was a white fog, very warm and clammy, and more blinding than the night. It did not shift or drive; it was just there, standing all round you, like something solid. At 8 or 9, perhaps, it lifted as a shutter lifts. We had a glimpse of the towering mul- titude of trees, of the immense matted jungle, with the blazing little ball of the sun hanging over itnil perfectly still and then the white shutter came down again, smoothly, as if sliding in greased grooves. I ordered the chain, which we had begun to heave in, to be paid out again. It ran with a muffled rattle, and then a cry, a very loud cry, as of infinite desolation, soared slowly in the opaque air. It ceased. A com- plaining clamor, modulated in savage discord, filled our ears. The sheer un- expectedness of it made my hair stir under my cap. I dont know how It struck the others; to me it seemed as though the mist itself had screamed, so suddenly, and apparenfly from all sides at once did this tumultuous and m& irnful uproar arise. It culminated in a hurried outbreak of almost intol- erably excessive shrieking, which stopped short, leaving us stiffened in a variety of attitudes, and obstinately listening to the nearly as appalling and excessive silence. Good God! What is the meaning? stammered at my elbow one of the pilgrims, a little, fat man, with sandy hair and red whiskers, who wore side-spring boots and pink pajamas tucked into his socks. Tw& others remained open-mouthed a whole minute, then dashed into the little cabin, to rush out incontinently and stand darting scared glances, with The Heart of Darkness. 91 Winchesters at ready in their hands. What we could see was just the steamer we were on, and that blurred as if on the point of dissolving, and a misty strip of water, perhaps two feet broad, around herand that was all. The rest of the world was nowhere, as far as o~ eyes and ears were con- cerned. Just nowhere. Gone, disap- peared; swept off without leaving a whisper or a shadow behind. I went forward and ordered the chain to be hauled in short, so as to be ready to trip the anchor and move the steamboat at once if necessary. Will they attack? w~hispered an awed voice. We will be all butchered in this fog, murmured another. The faces twitched with the strain, the hands trembled slightly, the eyes forgot to wink. It was very curious to see the contrast of expressions of the white men and of the black fellows of our crew, who were as much strangers to that part of the river as we, though their homes were only 800 miles away. The whites, of course, greatly discomposed, had be- sides a curious look of being painfully shocked by such an outrageous row. The others had an alert, naturally in- terested expression; but their faces were essentially quiet, even those of the one or two who grinned as they hauled at the chain. Several exchanged short, grunting phrases, which seemed to settle the matter to their satisfac- tion. Their headman, a young, broad-. chested black, severely draped in dark- blue fringed cloths, with fierce nostrils and his hair all done up artfully in oily ringlets, stood near me. Aha! I said, just for good fellowships sake. Catch im, he snapped, with a bloodshot wid- ening of his eyes, and a flash of sharp teethcatch im. Give im to us. To you, eh?~ I asked; what would you do with them? Eat im! he said, curtly, and, leaning his elbow on the r~iil, looked out into the fog in a dignified and profoundly pensive attitude. I would, no doubt, have been properly horrified, had it not occurred to me that he and his chaps must, be very hungry; that they must have been growing increasingly hungry for at least this month past. They had been engaged for six months (I dont think a single one of them had any clear idea of time as we, at the end of countless ages, have. They still belonged to the beginnings of timehad no inherited experience to teach them, as it were); and of course as long as there was a piece of paper written over in accord- ance with some farcical law or other made down the river, it didnt enter anybodys head to trouble how they would live. Certainly they had brought with them some rotten hippo meat which couldnt have lasted very long, anyway, even if the pilgrims hadnt, in the midst of a shocking hullabaloo. thrown a considerable quantity of it overboard. It looked like a high-handed proceeding; but it was really a case of legitimate self-defence. You cant breathe dead hippo waking, sleeping and eating, and at the same time keep your precarious grip on existence. Be- sides they had given them every week three pieces of brass wire, each about nine inches long; and the theory was they were to buy their provisions with that currency in riverside villages. You can see how that worked. There were either no villages or the people were hostile, or the director, who, like the rest of us, fed out of tins, with an occa- sional old he-goat thrown in, didnt want to stop the steamer for some more or less recondite reason. So, unless they swallowed the wire itself, or made loops of it to snare the fishes with, I dont see what good their extravagant salary could be to them. I must say it was paid with a regularity worthy of a large and honorable trading com- pany. For the rest, the only things to eatthough it didnt look eatable in the leastI saw in their possession were a 92 The Heart of Darkness. few lumps of some stuff like half- cooked dough, of a dirty lavender color, they kept wrapped in leaves, and now and then swallowed a piece of, but so small that it seemed done more for the looks of the thing than for any serious purpose of sustenance. Why, in the name of all the gnawing devils of hun- ger, they didnt go for usthey were 30 to 5and have a good tuck in for once, amazes me now when I think of it. They were big, powerful men, with not much capacity to weigh the conse- quences, with courage, with strength even yet, though their skins were no longer glossy and their muscles no longer hard. And I saw that some- thing restraining, one of those human secrets that baffle probability, had come into play there. I looked at them with a swift quickening of interest. Not be- cause it occurred to me I might be eaten by them before very long, though I own to you that~ just then I perceived in a new light, as it werehow un- wholesome the pilgrims looked, and I hoped, yes, I positively hoped, that my aspect was not so~what shall I say sounappetizing; a touch of fantastic vanity which fitted well with the dream sensation that pervaded all my days at that time. Perhaps I had a little fever, too. One cant live with ones finger everlastingly on ones pulse. I had often a little fever, or a little touch o( other thingsthe playful paw-strokes of the wilderness, the preliminary trifling before the more serious on- slaught which came in due course. Yes; I looked at them as you would on any human being, with a curiosity, of their impulses, motives, capacities, weak- nesses, when brought to the test of an inexorable physical necessity. Re- straint. What possible restraint? Was it superstition, disgust, patience, fear or some kind of primitive honor? No fear can stand up to hunger, no pa- tience can wear it out, disgust simply does not exist where hunger is; and as to superstition, beliefs and what you may call principles, they are less than chaff in a breeze. Dont you know the deviltry of lingering starvation, its ex- asperating torment, its black thoughts, its sombre and brooding ferocity? Well, I do. It takes a man all his inborn strength to fight hunger pro~rly. Its really easier to face bereavement, dis- honor and the perdition of ones soul than this kind of prolonged hunger. Sad but true. And these chaps, too, had no earthly reason for any kind of scruple. Restraint! I would just as soon have expected restraint from a hyena prowl- ing amongst the corpses of a battle- field. But there was the fact facing methe fact dazzling, to be seen, like the foam on the depths of the sea, like a ripple on an unfathomable enigma, a mystery greaterwhen I thought of it than the curious, inexplicable note of desperate grief in this savage clamor that had swept by us on the river bank, behind the blind whiteness of the fog. Two pilgrims were quarreling in hurried whispers as to whh~h hank. Left. No, no; how can you? Right, right, of course. It is very serious, said the managers voice behind me; I would be desolated if anything should happen to Mr. Kurtz before we came up. I looked at him, and had not the slightest doubt he was sincere. He was just the kind of man ~vho would wish to preserve appearances. That was his restraint. But when he mut- tered something about going on at once I did not even take the trouble to an- swer him. I knew, and he knew, that it was impossible. Were we to let go our hold of the bottom we would be ab- solutely in the airin space. We wouldnt be able to tell where we were going towhether up or down stream or acrosstill we fetched against one hank or the otherand then we wouldnt know at first which it was. Of course I made no move. I had no mind for a smash-up. You couldnt The Heart of Darkness. 93 imagine a more deadly place for a ship- wreck. Whether drowned at once or not, we were sure to perish speedily in one way or another. I authorize you to take all the risks, he said, after a short silence. I refuse to take any, I said, shortly, ivhich was just the an- swer he expected, though its tone might have surprised him. Well, I must de- fer to your judgment. You are cap- tain, he said, with marked civility. I turned my shoulder to him in sign of my appreciation, and looked into the fog. How long would it last? It was the most hopeless lookout. The ap- proach to this Kurtz grubbing for ivory in the wretched bush was beset by as many dangers as though he had been an enchanted princess sleeping in a fabulous castle. Will they attack, do you think? asked the manager, in a confidential tone. I did not think they would attack, for several obvious reasons. The thick fog was one. If they left the bank in their canoes they would get lost in it, as we would be if we attempted to move. Still, I had also judged the jungle on both banks quite impene- trableand yet eyes were in it, eyes that had seen us. The riverside bushes were certainly very thick; but the un- dergrowth behind was evidently pene- trable. However, during the short lift, I had seen no canoes anywhere i~ the reachcertainly not abreast of the steamer. But what made the idea of attack inconceivable to me was the na- ture of the noiseof the cries we had heard. They had not the fierce char- acter boding an immediate hostile in- tention. Unexpected, wild and violent as they had been, they had given me an irresistible impression of sorrow. The glimpse of the steamboat had, for some reason, filled those savages with unrestrained grief. The danger, if any, I expounded, was from our proximity to a great human passion let loose. Even extreme grief may ultimately vent itself in violencebut more gen- erally takes the form of apathy. You should have seen the pilgrims stare! They had no heart to grin or even to revile me; but I believe they thought me gone madwith fright, maybe. I delivered a regular lecture. My dear boys, it was no good bother- ing. Keep a lookout? Well, you may guess I watched the fog for the signs of lifting as a cat watches a mouse; but for anything else our eyes were of no more use to us than if we had been buried miles deep in a heap of cotton wool. It felt like it, toochoking, warm, stifling. Besides, all I said, though it sounded extravagant, was absolutely true to fact. What we afterwards al- luded to as an attack was really an attempt at repulse. The action was very far from being aggressiveit was not even defensive, in the usual sense; it was undertaken under the stress of desperation, and in its essence was purely protective. It developed itself, I should say, two hours after the fog lifted, and its commencement was at a spot, roughly speaking, about a mile and a half be- low Kurtzs station. We had just floundered and flopped round a bend, when I saw an islet, a mere grassy hummock of bright green, in the mid- dle of the stream. It was the only thing of the kind; but as we opened the reach more, I perceived it was the head of a long sandbank, or rather of shallow patches stretching in a chain down the middle of the river. They were discolored, just awash, and the whole lot was seen just under the wa- ter, exactly as a mans backbone is seen running down the middle of his back under the skin. Now, as far as I did see, I could go to the right or to the left of this. I didnt know either channel, of course. The banks looked pretty well alike, the depth appeared the same, but, as I had been informed the station was on the west side, I natu 94 The Heart of Darkness. rally headed for the western passage. No sooner had we fairly entered it than I became aware it was much narrower than I had supposed. To the left of us there was the long uninter- rupted shoal, and to the right a steep ban~ heavily overgrown with bushes. Above the bush the trees stood in ser- ned ranks. The twigs overhung the current thickly, and from distance to distance a large limb of some tree projected rigidly over the stream. It was then well on in the afternoon, the face of the forest was gloomy, and a broad strip of shadow had already fallen on the water. In this shadow we steamed upvery slowly, as you may imagine. I sheered her well in- shorethe water being deepest near the bank, as the sounding~pole informed me. One of my hungry and forbearin.g friends was sounding in the bows just below me. This steamboat was exactly liked a decked scow. On the deck there were two little teakwood houses, with doors and windows. The boiler was in the fore end, and the machinery right astern. Over the whole there was a light roof supported by stanchions. The funnel projected through that roof, and in front of the funnel a small cabin built of light planks served for a pilot house. It contained a couch, two camp stools, a loaded Martini-Henry leaning in one corner, a tiny table, and the steering-wheel. It had a wide door in front and a broad shutter at each side. All these were always thrown open, of course. I spent my days perched up there on the extreme fore end of that roof, before the door. At night I slept, or tried to, on the couch. An athletic black belonging to some coast tribe, and educated by my poor predecessor, was the helmsman. He sported a pair of brass earrings, wore a blue cloth wrapper from the waist to the ankles, and thought all the world of himself. He was the most unstable kind of fool I had ever seen. He steered with no end of a swagger while you were by; but if he lost sight of you he became instantly the prey of an abject funk, and would let that cripple of a steamboat get the upper hand of him in a minute. I was looking down at the sounding- pole, and feeling much annoyed to see at each try a little more of it stick out of that river, when I saw my poleman give up the business suddenly, and stretch himself flat on the deck, with- out even taking the trouble to haul his pole in. He kept hold on it, though, and it trailed in the water. At the same time the fireman, whom I could also see below me, sat down abruptly before his furnace and ducked his head. I was amazed. Then I had to look at the river mighty quick, because there was a snag in the fairway. Sticks, little sticks, were flying aboutthick; they were whizzing before my nose, dropping below me, striking behind me against my pilot-house. All this time the river, the shore, the woods, were very quietperfectly quiet. I could only hear the heavy splashing thump of the stern-wheel and the patter of these things. We cleared the snag clumsily. Arrows, by Jove! We were being shot at. I stepped in quickly to close the shutter on the land side. That fool-helmsman, his hands on the spokes, was lifting his knees high, stamping his feet, champing his mouth, like a reined-in horse. bonfound him. And we were staggering within 10 feet of the bank. I had to lean right out to swing the heavy shutter, and I saw a face amongst the leaves on a level with my own, looking at me very fierce and steady; and then suddenly, as though a veil had been removed from my eyes, I made out deep in the tangled gloom, naked breasts, arms, legs, glaring eyes the bush was Swarming with human limbs in movement, glistening, of bronze color. The twigs shook, swayed The Heart of Darkness. 95 and rustled, the arrows flew out of them, and then the shutter came to. Steer her straight, I said to the helms- man. He held his head rigid, face f or- ward.; but his eyes rolled, he kept lift- ing and setting down his feet gently, his mouth foamed a little. Keep quiet, I said, in a fury. I might just as well have ordered a tree not to sway in the wind. I darted out. Below me there was a great scuffle of feet on the iron deck, exclamations; a voice screamed, Can you turn back? I caught sight of a V-shaped ripple on the water ahead. What? Another snag! A fusilade burst out under my feet. The pilgrims had opened fire with their Winchesters, and were simply squirting lead into that bush at a great rate. A deuce of a lot of smoke came up and drove slowly forward. I swore at it. Now, I couldnt see the ripple or the snag either. I stood in the doorway peering, and the arrows came in swarms. They might have been poisoned, but they looked as though they wouldnt kill a cat. The bush began to howl. Our woodcutters raised a warlike whoop; the report of a rifle just at my back deafened me. I glanced over my shoulder, and the pilot-house was yet full of noise and smoke when I made a dash at the wheel. The fool nigger had dropped everything to throw the shutter open and let off that Martini-Henry. He stood before the wide opening, glaring, and I yelled at him to come back while I strajghtened the sudden twist out of that steamboat. There was no room to turn, even if I had wanted to. The. snag was somewhere very near ahead in that confounded smoke; there was no time to lose, so I just crowded her into the bankright into the bank, where I knew the water was deep. We tore slowly along the overhang- ing bushes in a whirl of broken twigs and flying leaves. The fusilade below stopped short, as I had foreseen it would when the squirts got empty. I threw my head back to a glinting whizz that traversed the pilot~house, in at one shutter-hole and out at the other. Looking past that mad helmsman who was shaking the empty rifle and yelling at the shore, I saw vague forms of men running bent double, leaping, gliding, distinct, incomplete, evanes- cent. Something big appeared in the air before the shutter, the rifle weilt overboard, and the man stepped back swiftly, looked at me over his shoulder in an extraordinary, profound, famil- iar manner, and fell upon my feet. The side of his head hit the wheel twice and the end of what appeared a long cane clattered round and knocked over a little campstool. It looked as though after wrenching that thing from some- body ashore, he had lost his balance in the effort. The thin smoke had blown away, we were clear of the snag, and looking ahead I could see that in an- other 100 yards or so I would be free to sheer off, away from the bank; but my feet felt so very warm and wet that I had to look down. The man had rolled on his back and stared straight up at me; both his hands clutched that cane. It was the shaft of a spear that, either thrown or lunged through the opening, had caught him in the side just below the ribs; the blade had gone in out of sight, after making a frightful gash; my shoes were full; a pool of blood lay very still, gleaming dark red under the wheel; his eyes shone with an amazing lustre. ~Phe fusilade burst out again. He looked at me anxiously, gripping the spear like something precious, with an air of being afraid I would try to take it away from him. I had to make an effort to free my eyes from his gaze and attend to the steering. With one hand I felt above my head for the line of the steam whistle and jerked out screech after screech hurriedly. The tumult of angry and warlike yells was checked instantly, and then from the depths of the woods went out such a 96 Tke Heart of Darkness. tremulous and prolonged wail of mournful fear and utter despair as may be imagined to follow the Ilight of the last hope from the earth. There was a great commotion in the bush; the shower of arrows stopped, a few dropping shots rang out sharplythen silence, in which the languid beat of the stern-wheel came plainly to my ears. I put the helm hard a-starboard at the moment when the pilgrim in pink pajamas, very hot and agitated, appeared in the doorway. The man- ager sends me he began in an official tone, and stopped short. Good God! he said, glaring at the wounded man. We two whites stood over him, and his lustrous and inquiring glance en- veloped us both. I declare it looked as though he would presently put to us some question in an understandable language; but he died without uttering a sound, without moving a limb, with- out twitching a muscle. Only in the very last~ moment, as though in re- sponse to some sign we could not see, to some whisper we could not hear, he frowned heavily, and that frown gave to his black deathmask an inconceiv- ably sombre, brooding and menacing expression. The lustre of inquiring glance faded swiftly into vacant glassi- ness. Can you steer? I asked the agent eagerly. He looked very dubi- ous; but I made a grab at his arm, and he understood at once I meant him to steer whether or no. To tell you the truth, I was morbidly anxious to change my shoes and socks. He is dead, murmured the fellow, immensely impressed. No doubt about it, said I, tugging like mad at the shoelaces. And, by the way, I suppose Mr. Kurtz is dead as well by this time. For the moment that was the domi- nant thought. There was a sense of extreme disappointment, as though I had found out I had been striving after something altogether without a sub- stance. I couldnt have been more dis gusted if I had travelled all this way for the sole purpose of talking with Mr. Kurtz. Talking with ... I flung one shoe overboard, and became aware that that was exaetlywhatl had been looking forward toa talk with Kurtz. I made the strange discovery that I had never imagined him as doing, you know, but as discoursing. I didnt say to myself, Now, I will never see him, or Now, I will never shake him by the hand, but Now, I will never hear him. The man presented himself as a voice. Not, of course, that I did not connect him with some sort of action. Hadnt I been told in all the tones of jealousy and admiration that he had collected, bartered, swindled or stolen more ivory than all the other agents together? That was not the point. The point was in his being a gifted creature, and that of all his gifts the one that stood out pre-eminently, that carried with it a sense of real presence, was his ability to talk, his wordsthe gift of expres- sion, the bewildering, the illuminating, the giost exalted and the most contemp- tible, the pulsating stream of light, or the deceitful flow from the heart of an impenetrable darkness. The other shoe went flying unto the devil-god of that river. I thought, By Jove! its all over. We are too late, he has vanishedthe gift has vanished, by means of some spear, arrow or club. I will never hear that chap speak after all, and my sorrow had a startling extravagance of emotion, even such as I had noticed in the howling sorrow of these savages in the bush. I couldnt have felt more of lonely desolation, some- how, had I been robbed of a belief or had missed my destiny in life. . Why do you sigh in this beastly way, somebody? Absurd? Well, absurd. Good Lord, mustnt a man ever Here, give me some tobacco. . . There was a pause of profound still- ness, then a match flared, and Marlows lean face appeared, worn, hollow, with Making Haste~ 97 downward folds and dropped eyelids, with an aspect of concentrated atten- tion, and as he took vigorous draws at his pipe, it seemed to retreat and ad- vance out of the night in the regular flicker of the tiny flame. The match went out Absurd, he cried. This is the worst of trying to tell. . . . Here you all are, each moored with two good ad- dresses, like a hulk with two anchors, a butcher round one corner, a police- man round another, excellent appetites and temperature normalyou hear normal from years end to years end. And you say absurd! Absurd be exploded! Absurd! My dear boys, what can you expect from a man who, out of sheer nervousness, has just flung overboard a pair of new shoes. Now I Blackwoods Magazine. think of it, it is amazing I did not shed tears. I am, upon the whole, proud of my fortitude. I was cut up to the quick at the idea of having lost the in- estimable privilege of listening to the gifted Kurtz. Of course I was wrong. The privilege was waiting for me. 0, yes, I heard more than enough. And I was right, too. A voice. He was little more than a voice. And I heard him itthis voiceother voicesall of them were so little more than voicesand the memory of that time itself lingers around me, impalpable, like a dying vibration of one immense jabber, silly, atrocious, sordid, savage, or simply mean, without any kind of sense. Voices, voiceseven the girl herself now He was silent for a long time. (To be continued.) MAKING HASTE. Soon! says the Snowdrop, and smiles at the motherly earth, Soon!for the Spring with her languors comes stealthily on. Snow was my cradle, and chilly winds sang at my birth; Winter is over,and I must make haste to be gone! Soon! says the Swallow, and dips to the wind-ruffled stream, Grain is all garneredthe summer is over and done; Bleak to the Eastward the icy battalions gleam, Summer is overand I must make haste to be gone! Soonah, too soon! says the Soul, with a desperate gaze, Soon !for I rose like a star, and for aye would have shone, See the pale shuddering dawn, that must wither my rays, Leaps from the mountainand I must make haste to be gone! Arthur C. Benson. The Spectator. The Current Coin of Politicians. THE CURRENT COIN OF POLITICIANS. It is interesting and instructive to trace the origin of our party nomencla- ture and of those effective and pictu- resque phrases and familiar colloquial expressions which are the common property, or the current coin, of all politicians. Most of these striking say- ings are asociated with the names of eminent statesmen. Indeed, it is one of the ironies of parliamentary history that the memory of many a politician, distinguished and powerful in his day, lives mainly in his phrases. In some instances the sayings, or catch-words, were really coined by the speakers who first contributed them to our political currency; but in other cases they were not so much original expres- sions, as apt quotations, from obscure sources, so strikingly applied as to fire the popular imagination. Take, for example, the phrase a leap in the dark, so finely used by Lord Derby in reference to the bill which, in 1867, es- tablished household suffrage in bor- oughs. When Lord Derby was Premier of a Conservative Government for the third and last time, this measure was introduced by his own Administration, but he gave it only a half-hearted sup- port. No doubt, said he, on the third reading of the bill in the House of Lords, no doubt we are making a great experiment and taking a leap in the dark, but I have the greatest confidence in the sound sense of my countrymen. The phrase was used eight years before by Lord Palmerston, in a private letter to Lord John Russell under, curiously enough, somewhat similar circum- stances. Lord John had in contempla- tion certain proposals for electoral re- form which included a 10 county fran- chise. As to our county franchise,~~ wrote Lord Palmerston, we seem to be taking a leap in the dark. But we hear of the phrase having been used two hundred years earlier. Thomas Hobbes, the political writer of the sev- enteenth century, is reported to have said on his death-bed, I am taking a frightful leap in the dark. Meddle and Muddle, one of the most expres- sive terms in our political currency, which is also associated with the name of Lord Derby, was really coined by that statesman. In 1865 Lord John Russell (or rather Earl Russell, for he was then a peer) was Premier and For- eign Secretary. He claimed that the policy of the Liberal Government in foreign affairs was a policy of non- intervention. The foreign policy of the noble Earl, so far as the principle of non-intervention is concerned, may be summed up, said Lord Derby, in two short, homely, but expressive words,meddle and muddle. Cave, the designation of a discon- tented section of a party which breaks away from its allegiance, arose out of a humorous sally made by Mr. John Bright during the debates on Mr. Glad- stones abortive Reform Bill of 1866. The measure was opposed by a strong party of Liberals, including Mr. Hors- man. The Right Honorable gentle- man, said Mr. Bright, in the course of a speech in the House of Commons, is the first of a new party who has expressed his great grief, who has retired into what may be called his political Cave of Adullam, and he has called about him every one who is in distress, and every one who is discon- tented. The phrase caught the popu- lar fancy and was accepted by the malcontents. No improper motive, said Lord Elcho (now Lord Wemyss), has driven us into this cave, where The Current Coin of Politicians. 99 we are a most happy family, dailyI may say hourlyincreasing in number and strength, where we shall remain until we go forth to deliver Israel from oppression. The bill was defeated and the Government resigned, only to be replaced by Lord Derbys Adminis- tration, which pased the Household Suffrage Act. The Ministry, said Lord Granville in the House of Lords, referring to that Administration, have dished the Whigs, thereby making an important contribution to our polit- ical phraseology; and Mr. Robert Lowe (subsequently Lord Sherbrooke), who had joined Mr. Horsman in the Cave of Adullam, invented the happy phrase, We must now, at least, edu- cate our Masters (dpropos of the new electorate) in a speech expressive of his amazement at this surrender of the Conserirative Government on the ques- tion of Reform. The greatest happiness of the great- est number first appeared (according to Jeremy Bentham, in his Liberty of the People) in one of the innumerable pamphlets written by Dr. Joseph Priest- ley, in reply to Edmund Burkes Re- flections on the French Revolution. He rose like a rocket and fell like the stick, was first used by Tom Paine, the notorious Republican writer, in ref- erence to Burke. One half the world knows not how the other lives will be found in Holy Observations, by Dr. Joseph Hall, Bishop of Exeter and of Norwich, in the seventeenth century. The Majesty of the people was coined by Charles Fox. In 1798 a political dinner was given at the Crown and Anchor tavern, in celebration of Foxs birthday, with the Duke of Nor- folk in the chair. Concluding his speech in reply to the toast of his health, the great Whig leader said: Give me leave, liefore I sit down, to call on you to drink our Sovereigns health,the Majesty of the people. For this sentiment Fox was deprived of two offices he held under the Crown, the Lord Lieutenancy of the West Rid- ing of Yorkshire and the command of a Militia regiment, and was also struck off the list of the Privy Council. Car- lyle, on the other hand, thought the people were mostly fools. It has been stated that this declaration occurs in Carlyles appeal (printed in The Spectator) to Lord John Russell, then Premier, to do something for the indus- trial improvement of Ireland. In that appeal, Carlyle merely speaks of his countrymen as twenty-seven millions, many of whom are fools; but in the Latter-Day Pamphlets, in the chap- ter on Parliament, he says: Consider in fact, a body of six hun- dred and fifty-eight miscellaneous per- sons set to consult about business, with twenty-seven millions, mostly fools, assiduously listening to them, and checking and criticising them,wns there ever since the world began, will there ever be till the world ends, any business accomplished in these circum- stances? It is plain that it was from the latter, and not from the former, passage that the celebrated phrase came into popu- lar use. Among the political sayings, for which we are indebted to Disraeli are Reaction is the consequence of a na- tion waking from its illusions (1848), A tu quoque should always be good- humored, for it has nothing else to rec- ommend it (1855),Finality is not the language of politics (1859),To assist progress to resist revolution is the p01- icy of the Conservative party (1859), Party is organized opinion (1864). England does not love coalitions is another saying of that great political phrase-maker. On that night, in 1852, when Lord Derbys first Ministry, In which Disraeli filled the office of Chan- cellor of the Exchequer, was defeated on an amendment by Gladstone to the Budget,an amendment which united 100 The Current Coin of Politicians. Whigs, Radicals and PeelitesDisraeli, in a defiant speech before the fatal di- vision, said: I know that I have to face a coalition. The combination may be successful,combination has before this been successfulbut coalitions, though they may be successful, have always found that their triumphs have been brief. This I know, that England does not love coalitions. That particu- lar coalition under Lord Aberdeen and Lord John Russell was certainly not successful. There is one indisputable element of a Coalition Government, said Sir Edward Buiwer Lytton, and that it is that its members should coa- lesce. In this case they drifted widely apart. But Disraelis most popular phrase was Peace with Honor. The occa- sion on which the words were used is well known. On the return of the two British plenipotentiaries at the Berlin Congress in 1878, Lord Beaconsfield and Lord Salisbury, an enthusiastic re- ception was given them in London; and speaking, on July 16, the former said; Lord Salisbury and myself have brought you back peace, but peace, I hope, with honor, which may satisfy our Sovereign and tend to the welfare of the country. The phrase, however, like so many of his epigrammatic ut- terances, was not Lord Beaconsfields own invention. It had been used before by two eminent statesmen, but it was Lord Beaconsfields fine and apt appli- cation of it on a dramatic occasion that fixed it forever on the public memory and made it a current coin of everyday political speech and writing. Lord John Russell, in the course of a speech at Dundee in 1865, said, As Secretary for Foreign Affairs it has been my ob- ject to preserve peace with honor. The phrase is also to be found in one of the best known of Burkes speeches,that imperishable oration on Conciliation with America, delivered in the House of Commons, March 22nd, 1775. Great and acknowledged force, he said, is not impaired either in effect or in opin- ion by an unwillingness to exert itself. The superior force may offer peace with honor and with safety. Yet it is to poetry and not to politics that we are really indebted for the phrase. Shakespeare uses it in Coriolanus, iii, 2: If it be honor in your wars to seem The same you are not, which, for your best ends~ You adopt your ~pohcy, how is it less, or worse, That it shail hold companionship in peace With honor, as in war, since that to both It stands in like request? An amusing story is told in connec- tion with the phrase. In the course of a political lecture, illustrated with a magic-lantern, in a country village, por- traits of Lord Beaconsfield and Lord Salisbury, with the words Peace w~t1& Honor were thrown upon the screen. An old lady among the audience, whose head was full of recollections of a no- torious criminal, innocently inquired, amid great laughter, Which is peace? Every man has his price; this cyni- cal saying is generally ascribed to Sir Robert Walpole; yet, writes Mr. John Morley, he never delivered himself of that famous slander on mankind. One night in the House of Commons he insisted that self-interest, or family- interest, was at the bottom of the fine and virtuous declamation of the Op- position: All these men, he said, have their price. It was, therefore, not a general, but a political proposi- tion. Mend it or end it, was used by Mr. John Morley in reference to the House of Lords, in a speech made at St. Jamess Hall, on July 30th, 1884. Mr. Morley was much praised by the Radical newspapers for his happy jingle. They did not know, though we may 1c~e sure so staunch a lover of good Tke Current Coin of Politicians. 101 literature as Mr. Morley did not forget, that the speaker was only borrowing a phrase from Sir Walter. My fate calls me elsewhere, says Halbert Glenden- ning, in The Monastery, to scenes where I shall end it or mend it. Property has its duties as well as its rights, first appeared in a public letter addressed by Thomas Drummond, Un- der Secretary for Ireland in the Mel- bourne Administration, to the Tipper- ary landlords in 1838, in reply to their application to the Government for the aid of the military in the collection of their rents. One of the most quoted of all sayings, The schoolmaster is abroad, we owe to Brougham. In a speech on education, delivered in 1820, he used the following eloquent passage: Let the soldier be abroad if he will; he can do nothing in this age. There is another personage abroad, a person less imposing, in the eyes of some, perhaps insignificant. The schoolmas- ter is abroad, and I trust to him, armed with his primer, against the soldier in full military array. Broug- ham was also the originator of the phrase, The pursuit of knowledge un- der difficulties. A revolution by due course of law was Wellingtons happy description of the Reform Act of 1832. Ill un-Whig that gentleman is one of Pitts sayings. During the mental incapacity of George the Third the Whigs maintained that the Prince of Wales had the absolute right to assume the Regency, having every reason to believe that one of his earliest actions in the exercise of the royal prerogative would be the substitution of a Whig for a Tory Administration. When Fox propounded in the House of Commons this theory which, to say the least, was not quite in accord with Whig prin- ciples, Pitt slapped his thigh trium- phantly, and, turning to a colleague who sat beside him on the Treasury Bench, he exclaimed, Ill un-Whig the gentleman for the rest of his life. In recent years, Sir William Harcourt used the phrase in the House of Com- mons in reference to a prominent Lib- eral Unionist. He was comically made, by one reporter, to say, ill un- wig the gentleman for the rest of his life. Sir Francis Burdett began his fifty years of Parliamentary life as a Radical and ended it as a Conservative. In the course of an attack which he made on a bill of the Liberal Govern- ment in his Conservative days, he stig- matized the cant of patriotism; the phrase was happy, but it left its author, the whilom patriot, open to as clever a retort as the House of Commons has ever heard. There is something worse than the cant of patriotism, said Lord John Russell, in reply, and that is the recant or patriotism. The readiness of the retort, and its personal apposite- ness greatly excited the House, which rang with cheers and laughter for sev- eral minutes. Mr. Gladstone is said to have declared that no cleverer retort than this was ever made. Mr. Gladstone himself has enriched our political colloquialisms with such useful and striking phrases as The flowing tide is with us, Political econ- omy is banished to Saturn, It ad- vances by leaps and bounds, Within measurable distance, Within the range of practical politics, Our friends across the seas, The ringing of the Chapel bell (a rather unfortu- nate reference to the attempt of the Fenians to blow up Clerkenwell prison), and a Nation rightly struggling to be free (applied, strange to say, to the Mahdists). His also was the happy phrase, Greater freedom and less re- sponsibility. On being called to ac- count in the Parliament of 1880-85 for some uncomplimentary expressions he had used towards Austria before he came into office, he pleaded in extenu- ation that when he uttered the words he occupied a position of greater free- dom and lees responsibility. The fa 102 The Current Coin of Politicians. mous watchword, the Masses against the Classes, was first uttered by Glad- stone in a speech at Liverpool, on June 28th, 1896. I will venture to say, he cried, that upon one great class of subjects, the largest and most weighty of all, when the determining considera- tions that ought to lead to a conclusion are truth, justice and humanity,upon these, gentlemen, all the world over, I will back the Masses against the Classes. The celebrated phrase an old Parliamentary Hand was happily applied by Mr. Gladstone to himself in the House of Commons, January 22nd, 1886, on the opening of a new Parlia- ment. I stand here, he said, as a member of the House where there are many who have taken their seats for the first time upon these benches, and where there may be some to whom, possibly, I may avail myself of the privilege of old age to offer a recom- mendation. I would tell them of my own intention to keep my counsel and reserve my own freedom, until I see the occasion when there may be a prospect of public benefit in endeavor- ing to make a movement forward, and I will venture to recommend them, as an old Parliamentary hand, to do the same. The authorship of bag and baggage has also been imputed to Mr. Gladstone. But with him, in this case, it was simply the apt application of an old phrase, expressing what his follow- ers wanted to express, with the utmost force and in a way that everybody could understand. He called for the expulsion from Europe of the official Turk bag and baggage, thus giving the phrase an extensive currency in the world of politics. The phrase has, however, been in existence for ages. Touchstone, for instance, says to Corin (As You Like It, iii, 2): Come, shep- herd, let us make an honorable re- treat; though not with bag and bag- gage, yet with scrip and scrippage. The description of Turkey as the Sick Man was first used by the Emperor Nicholas of Russia, When discussing Turkish affairs in January, 1853, with Sir Hamilton Seymour, the English am- bassador. We have on our hands, said Nicholas, a sick man, a very sick man; it will be, I tell you frankly, a great misfortune if, one of these days, he should slip away from us, especially before all necessary arrangements are made. But perhaps the most strik- ing phrase coined in this connection is Carlyles unspeakable Turk. I may say that I have myself been credited with the invention of the phrase Home-Rule, writes the Hon. George Brodrick (Warden of Merton College) in his Memories and Impres- sions: nor is it easy to find author- ity for it earlier than an article of mine speaking of a ~Home-Rule Party, which appeared in The Times on February 9th, 1871, and another article of mine on the past and future relations of Ire- land to Great Britain, which appeared in Macmillans Magazine for the fol- lowing May. Mr. Brodrick, however, does not believe that he coined the phrase, the context of the aforesaid articles showing, indeed, that he was using a term almost current at the time. The phrase has also been attrib- uted to Isaac Butt. It really owes its origin to the Reverend Joseph Allen Gaibraith, a distinguished Fellow of Trinity College, and Professor in the University of Dublin, who was, with Butt, one of the founders of the Irish Home Government association in 1871. Mr. Galbraith used the words at a meeting of that association in Wicklow Street, Dublin, for the first time in 1870. Butt, in a speech at the Home Rule Conference in Dublin, in Novem- ber, 1873, referred to the expression in terms which show that he had no claim to be its inventor. Over a torn and distracted country, he said, a coun- try agitated with dissension, weak- ened by distrust, is raised the banner The Current Coin of Politicians. on which were emblazoned the magic words Home-Rule. Wherever the legend we had emblazoned in its folds was seen the heart of the people moved to its words, and the soul of the nation felt their power and their spell. It is curious that the phrase has now be- come the accepted description of auton- omy all over the world. Found salva- tion was used by Sir Henry Campbell- Bannerman as a humorous explanation ~f his adoption of Mr. Gladstones Home-Rule policy in 1885, on being offered the post of Secretary for War. He is also the author of the happy term Ulsteria as a description of the Orange demonstrations against Home- Rule in the North of Ireland. The term Nonconformist Conscience was first used in the letter of A Wesicyan Minister to The Times, on November 28th, 1890, demanding the uncondi- tional abdication of Mr. ~arnell, and his immediate retirement from Parlia- mentary life. Nothing less will satisfy the Nonconformist Conscience now, said the writer. The Times in the same issue referred in its leading columns to what a correspondent calls the Non- conformist Conscience, and after- wards repeated the phrase on many oc- casions. Other papers followed suit, and the expression soon passed into the list of current political colloquialisms. Another useful phrase, arising out of the Irish Controversy, is the Killing Home-Rule by kindness by Mr. Gerald Balfour. Daniel OConnell used to boast that he would drive a coach and six through any Act of Parliament. The origin of the phrase is in the Me- moirs of Ireland, published anony- mously in 1718, but commonly attrib- uted to Gidmixon. In speaking of Stephen Rice, who was made Chief Baron of the Irish Exchequer by James the Second in 1686, and was removed by William in 1690, Oldmixon says: He distinguished himself by his invet- eracy against the Protestant interest and the settlement of Ireland, having been often heard to say, before he was judge, that he would drive a coach and six horses through the Act of Settle- ment. Popular agitation which was happily described by Peelthe first English statesman to yield to its pres- sureas the marshalling of the con- science of a nation to mould its laws, was the invention of OConnell; and here are three sayings of the great Irish tribune, which contain practically his whole political philosophy as a constitutional agitator: Nothing is po- litically right which is morally wrong, He who commits a crime gives strength to the enemy, No political reform ls worth a drop of human blood. Repeal the Union! Restore the Heptarchy as soon! exclaimed George Canning in the House of Coin mons in 1812, during a speech support- ing Catholic Emancipation. The evolution of the word Jingoism, to express strong, warlike feelings or ultra-patriotic sentiments, for which Chauvinism does duty in France, is in these times peculiarly interesting. The popular derivation, of course, is from a couplet in a song which was a great favorite at the musi& halls in 1877, when some trouble seemed likely to arise with Russia over her war with Turkey. We dont want to fight, but by Jingo~ if we do, We have the men, we have the ships~ we have the money too. But according to an explanatIon in The Times, which appeared while this song was in vogue, Jingo was a direct descendant of the Persian fang, mean- ing war, and the phrase By Jingo an equivalent for By Mars. According to that erudite poet, Thomas Ingoldsby, Jingo is no more than a popular corrup- tion of the name of the worthy saint Genguiphus; but I have also seen It explained as the Basuto for evil. The ioa 104 first political use of the phrase, how- ever, was in a letter, with the heading The Jingoes in the Park, written by Mr. George Jacob Holyoake, and pub- lished in The Daily News of March 13th, 1878, ~Vhile the word Jingoism figured in a leading article in the same journal in 1879. It was George Canning, of course, who, as Foreign Secretary in the Liver- pool Administration by recognizing the South American republics, called in the New World to redress the lialance of the Old, and likewise, of course, though the conjunction may appear strangethree acres and a cow, the Radical panacea for the labor difficulty in agricultural districts, lielongs to Mr. Jesse Collings. But the origin of De- fence not Defiance is not so well known. It was first suggested as the motto of the Manchester Volunteers in 1860 by Mr. John Marsh, a local jour- nalist, and a member of the corps. At this time there was much jealousy in France at the existence of the Volun- teers in England, but the Emperor Na- poleon in a speech on military questions soon afterwards, said: We cannot find fault with a nation which has enrolled her citizens for defence, not defiance. The National Rifle Association after- wards adopted the motto. Peace, Re- tren~hment and Reform is the motto of the Cobden Club. Peace and Re- form was the old Liberal watchword, and to it Joseph Hume, the celebrated economist, added the middle word, retrenchment. It was Mr. John Bright who used the expression, The great bulk of the nation do not live in man- sions, they live in cottages. The phrase masterly inactivity, expres- sive of so much prudence and caution and advantageous inertness in politi- cal affairs, was coined by Sir James Mackintosh. It is the duty of the Opposition to oppose, said Lord Ran- dolph Churchill some twenty years ago; but sixty years before Lord Randolph, The Current Coin of Politicians. Tierney, the Whig leader had said: The duty of an Opposition is threefold, nev~r to oppose, never to propose, and to turn out the Gov- ernmentan excellent piece of ad- vice, indeed, fork the political party which finds itself on the left of Mr. Speaker. Red Tape, as a description of De- partmental pedantry and delay, was brought into circulation by Dickens. It was suggested to him, of course, by the red tape used in tying up packages in Government offices. In Little Dorrit, published in 1855, Dickens refers to the form-filling, corresponding, minut- ing, memorandum-making, signing, counter-signing, counter-counter-sign- ing backwards and forwards, and re- ferring sideways, crosswise and zig- zag business done by the Circumlocu- tion Office. As a result of this an in- genious gentleman connected with the Department made the remarkable dis- covery that the sheets of foolscap it had devoted to the public service would pave the footways on both sides of Ox- ford Street from end to end, and leave nearly a quarter of a mile to spare for the Park (immense cheering and laugh.~ ter), while of tapered tapeit had used enough to stretch in graceful fes- toons from Hyde Park Corner to the General Post-Office. This mention of red tape at the time of a Commission of Inquiry into the mismanagement of the Crimean War immortalized the phrase. Carlyles description of Gov- ernment officials, as doleful creatures in a jungle of red tape, deaf or nearly so to human reason, is well-known. Iron-bound in red tape was an Irish members description of the condition of the Chief Secretary. Platform, as a description of the program of a party or of a candidate, is often thought to be American, but it is really of very ancient and highly respectable English origin. It is a revival of the old verb, platformed, meaning to lay down prin The Current Coin of Politicians. 105 ciples. Milton, in his controversial work, Reason of Church Govern- ment, says that some people Do not think it for the ease of their inconse- quent opinions to grant that Church Discipline is platformed in the Bible. The policy of pin-pricks is the most expressive and useful phrase that has, for a long time, been added to our po- litical currency. It arose out of the re- cent difference between France and England, and had a French origin. Mr. Chamberlain first drew attention to it in this country in a speech at Manches- ter, on November 10th, 1898. He said: Let me read you one short extract from Le Matin, a French paper pub- lished in Paris. They say: We [the French] have inaugurated the policy of playing tricks on Great Britaina pol- icy which had no definite object, and which was bound to turn out badly. We now find ourselves confronted by a people who have at last been exasper- ated by the continual pin-pricks which we have given them. I venture to say that that is absolutely true. The article in Le Matin, which was un- signed, appeared on November 8th. The policy of pin-pricks has since been frequently used in the newspapers and by speakers on public platforms, and is, indeed, a striking contribution to the common stock of our political phrases. Coming to party names, we find that most of them were originally terms of derision or abuse. Whig and Tory, which for generations have been proudly borne by the two great and permanent political parties in the State, were at first contemptuous nicknames. Tory was first applied, according to Macau- lay, to those who refused to concur in excluding James the Second from the throne. It was the most approbrious term which Titus Gates could apply to the disbelievers in his Popish Plot. But there had been an earlier applica- tion of it as a description of the Irish LIVING AGE. VOL. viii. 404 who remained faithful to the Stuarts during the Commonwealth. It is de- rived from the Gaelic words, Tar a Ri, meaning, Come, oh King! and was constantly in the mouths of the Irish Loyalists; but in the years following the Revolution, bands of outlaws who had fought for James, and were at large among the mountains, were called Rapparees or Tories, and hence the term was imported to England as a nickname for the adherents of the Stuarts. To return the compliment, the Tories borrowed another Gaelic word, Whig, used in Scotland to de- scribe, first, horse and cattle thieves, secondly, the adherents of the Presby- terian cause in the middle of the sev- enteenth century, and bestowed it upon their opponents. Gilbert Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury, the Whig politician and historian, writing of the period after the Revolution, says, in reference to the term: From Scotland the word was brought into England, where it is now one of our unhappy terms of dis- union; and Swift, in 1725, wrote: There is hardly a Whig in Ireland who would allow a potato and butter- milk to a reputed Tory, which could hardly be exceeded as a description of strong partizan feeling. Some years ago a controversy rose in the newspapers as to the meaning of Whig, and other ingenious deriva- tions were suggested. One was that it was a Scottish term equivalent to our whey, and implied a taunt against the sour-milk faces of the Western lowlanders. Another writer derived it from the initials of the motto of the Scottish Covenanters, We hope in God; but dealing with the latter sug- gestion, a Tory paper unkindly asserted that the motto of the Whig party was, We believe in gold. According to Gilbert Burnet it was derived from a cant word, wlmiggam, used by the Scotch peasants in driving their horses. During the negotiations in 1852 be- 106 The Current Coin of Politicians. tween Lord John Russell and the mod- erate Whigs and Lord Aberdeen and the Peelites for the formation of a Co- alition administrationthat coalition which Disraeli prophesied England would not loveinteresting letters passed between the negotiators on the subject of the name by which the new party was to be known. Lord John Russell thought the word Whig would best convey the principles of the word co- alition; but the Duke of Newcastle, a supporter of Aberdeen, insisted that Whig was impossible, and must be dis- carded. Lord Aberdeen then wrote the following letter to Lord John Russell: Haddo House, 16th Sept., 1852. My dear Lord John, It was no doubt rather a strong proceeding on the part of the Duke of Newcastle to suggest to you, of all men, the propriety and expediency of sinking the title Wliig. It is true that neither he nor I have the least desire or intention of assuming the appella- tion; but I presume that you would never think of acting with us unless you were persuaded that our views were Libe,rai; and assuredly in any connection with you we should not be prepared to abandon a Conservative ~~olicy. Although the term may appear a little contradictory, I believe that Conservative progress best describes the principles which ought practically to influence the conduct of any Gov- ernment of the present day. This was Peels policy and I think, will continue that of all his friends. For one, looking at the actual state of affairs, I have no objection that the progress should be somewhat more rapid than perhaps he ever intended. Ever most sincerely yours, Aberdeen. Lord John Russell, as may be imag- ined, stood up for that blessed word Whig. The term Whig, he wrote, has the convenience of expressing in one syllable what Conservative Liberal expresses in seven, and Whiggism in two syllables means what Conservative Progress means in another six. The Coalition Administration was formed, and was soon too engrossed in the man- agement or mismanagement of the Crimean War to trouble itself about a suitable political designation. There is no longer, as we know, either a Whig party or a Tory party; but undoubtedly there are still Whigs and Tories, for the political principles expressed by these terms survive in individuals who diminish in number as time progresses. Conservative was first suggested by Croker in an article in The Quarterly Review, January, 1830, as a more appropriate party name than Tory. Conservative, said OCon- nell in the House of Commons in 1832, that is the fashionable term, the new- fangled phrase now used in polite so- ciety to designate Tory ascendancy. The term was disliked by Disraeli, who fought hard for the retention of the older name, and to the last called him- self a Tory. In Coningsby, pub- lished in 1844, occurs this sentence: A sound Conservative Government, said Taper, musingly. I understand Tory men and Whig measures. But the designation caught the fancy of the bulk of the party, and in time Tory came to be used only in its original sense, as a contemptuous nickname by the partys opponents. Whig shared the same fate. Liberal, which like Conservative, is broad and vague, and at the same time catching, may be said to have been finally adopted by the Whigs when Mr. Gladstone became leader. One of the most beautiful and powerful words in the English lan- guage, is Lord Roseberys description of it. Liberal and Conservative are certainly happy and expressive terms; but, unlike Whig and Tory, they are not exclusively applicable as party de- nominations. Constitutionalist was at one time sug- gested as an appropriate name for the Tory party; but it did not find favor. A Servian Lullaby. 1Q7 Reformer, once a favorite term with a wing of the Whig party, has long gone out of fashion. But Radical, which was first applied about 1818 to Major Cartwright, Sir Francis Burdett, Henry Hunt and others, who advocated a radical reform of Parliament, has still a strong hold on the advanced Liberals. Tory Democratan invention of Lord Ran- dolph Churchillis heard of no more. Peelite and Gladstonian we have known; but of course personal names for parties, such as these, cannot hold Macmillans Magazine. a place for long. Nationalist, which under the leadership of Mr. Parnell, was substituted for Home-Ruler, seems likely to be more enduring; so also perhaps is Liberal Unionistthe desig- nation, of course, of those Liberals who ceded from Gladstone on the question of Home-Ruleand it would now seem as if the rival party names, Imperialist and Little Englander, which have been waxing and waning in popular use for some time, will take a permanent place in political controversy. Michael MacDonagl& . A SERYJAN LULLABY. Little golden son, the rain is coming, coming Little golden daughter, the sun has set; Birds stop singing now and wheels begin their humming, Flowers fold softly up from the dark and wet. Strawherry flowers and blackberry and wild mignonette. Little golden son, your bed is spread and ready All with snowy blankets soft as silk may be; Tis a fairy boat that shall sail you straight and steady To the shores of Dreamtown, oer a shining sea, To the shores of Dreamtown, little golden daughter, Sail away and sail away till the dawn is red; Pleasant be your voyage over golden water, Till you wake by Marko in your own white bed. Sail away to Dreamtown where dream-folk are keeping Crowns set thick With rubies for gold heads of you; Would that I might also once again while sleeping Leave the weary spinning as your father left his reaping, And sail away to Dreamtown where the skies are blue. Nora Hopper. Ihe Leisure Hour. 188 Alisprision of Felony. MISPRISION OF FELONY. This happened years ago, when West Australia was still a penal colony. And in those daysas in other penal colo- niesgrim things happened there some- times. LethbridgeLieutenant Lethbridge he was thenwas stationed at Fremantle, a man under authority, having sol- diers, that is to say, a detachment of the mounted police, under him. He hated the place, and no wonder, if you knew all aliout it; but since he was there, and couldnt help himself, he did his duty as well as he knew how, and generally made the best of things. He was not a genius, nor in any way remarkable, only an honest, kindly Englishman, who hated with his whole seul whatever was base, or cruel, or unclean, and had learnt from Arnold he was an old Rugby boyto believe in God, and not be ashamed to say so. Now it happened that a man escaped from the chain-gang at Rockingham, and had to be tracked down and caught. They had nearly captured him once already in the bush on the Upper Avon River; but he fought like a madman, killed two men outright, wounded the sergeant in command of the party, and got away at last. And Lethbridge found himself detailed to take command of a fresh partya ser- geant, six troopers and a native tracker and follow up the poor, desperate wretch till they found him. They did not succeed. They marched many a weary mile through bush and swamp, and at last into the open scrub which is the thirst country. The tracker ran away, tired of a prolonged and apparently unprofitable job, and not one of the party had the slightest idea where they were. The ground was loose sand, the weird, gray, shadeless clumps of thorns and cactus-like growths that dotted it here and there were one exactly like the other. A man might wander there till Doomsday, if his strength lasted. Lethbridge gave up, for the moment, all hope of the game they were stalking, and only tried to find water. None of them knew in what direction to look; there might be none for miles and miles, their only chance was to go hack the way they had come, or, failing that, to keep to the westward, which must, in the end, bring them back to the forest-country. They camped at night in the scrub. The supply in their water skins had been exhausted long before. Their horses were suffering cruelly, and three could be got no farther. Lethbridge saw there was nothing for it but to shoot the poor brutes. And then they went onstruggling along as well as they could, between an iron earth and a brazen sky. About the middle of the afternoon the sergeant, Waite, dropped in his tracks; he had grumbled continuously from the time that the trackers desertion had been discovered; and, in spite of all warnings, recklessly drunk up his water while it lasted. He was a coarse, brutal man, whom Leth- bridge had never liked, but one could not have been human and not pity him now. But it was not all pity that sent a chill to Lethbridges heart, as he knelt beside him and found that he could not rise; it was the feeling that this was the beginning of the end. But it would not do to give in; and, at any rate, he would not be the man to do it. Two of you try to carry him, he said. But the sergeant was a heavy man, and already it was as much as they could do to keep on their feet. They Misj5rision of Felony. 109 relieved each other every few minutes; but even so it was desperately slow work. Ill tell you what, men, this wont do. Two of us had better stay with him, and the rest must push on and get help. We cant leave him alone, and you see theres no ~hance for us if we all keep together. He did not say, I will go on, and they noticed it. He was the sort of a captain who always said, Come; never Go. They looked at each other in silence. Shall we draw lots? One of the men stepped forward. Ill stay with the sergeant, please, sir. Lethbridge nodded. There was a pause, and another man took his place beside The first. Very goodits a risk, you know; but then, so it is for the rest of us. Well blaze trees as we go along, and then, if it should be all over before we come back to you, you fellows can fol- low. But it was little hope either side had of ever meeting again. None of them quite knew how the rest of that day passed. It was near sunset when Letlibridge, staggering, rather than walking, at the head of the little column, with his horses bridle over his arm, began to think that his brain was wandering, for he seemed to see, moving among the lengthening shadows of the bushes far ahead, the shadowy figure of a man. He was straining his eyesight to see whether it were indeed an illusion, ~iVhen the man behind him saw it too, and uttered a cry. Then they sent up a feeble shout all together. There was no mistake, the man was coming to- wards them. He was bareheaded and bare-footed, dressed partly in rags and partly in a nondescript garment of skins. His face was burnt to a ruddy copper color, and his hair bleached to a whitey-brown by sun and wind; but he looked at them out of gray, kindly Irish eyes, and smiled, with the strange calm of those who are much alone in the wilderness. A ragged white manalone in the bush~was, as a rule, a suspicious char- acter in those parts. But Lethbridge was in no mood for asking questions. He had even an uncanny feeling about this mana reluctance to address him. There seemed a sort of incongruity in speaking to him in English, or Indeed any known human language. But presently the man opened his lips, and there issued from them in un- mistakable brogue: Is it lost yez are? We are, said Lethbridge, and if you know where theres any water within reach of this place Its over there. Ill take ye there before the sun goes down. Tis not a great deal, but maybe twill do yez. His eye ran rather doubtfully over the five men and three horses. There are Three men behindwe had to leave them this morning. I said wed go back for them if we found water. Hope seemed to put fresh life into the aching limbs and leaden feet. Even the horses seemed to understand, and pricked up their languid ears as they eagerly sniffed the air. The sunburnt man walked silently by Lethbridges side. Do you know the way to I could put yez into the track by to morrow evening, if ye camped to-night and started in the morning. But we must go back for those men, and take them water. Will it last, do you think? I couldnt say. And he relapsed into silence. The sun had just dipped when they stood beside the muddy pool that was; just then the most precious thing in the world to them. Three of the men flung themselves down and drank recklessly; 110 the other two waited to fill their panni- kins, and onethe youngest of the troop, who had borne up bravely all day, and followed at Lethbridge5 heels like a dogcame up and offered his to his leader before touching a drop him- self. Thank you, lad. Lethbridge drained it at a draught. Make haste and get some for yourself. But dont drink too fast, whatever you do. And I say youDaviesMiller-stop the horses a bit, the poor beasts will kill them- selves. Soon the camp fire was blazing, and preparations for the night were being made. The stranger stepped aside into the bush, and soon returned with an opossumwhich he had killed and hidden not long before, and handed it to the men. Lethbridge stood apart, looking uneasily at the climbing moon and jaded horses, and thinking of the men left behind. Suddenly a voice at his elbow seemed to echo his thoughts. Where was it youd be after leaving those three? Lethbridge explaiued, adding, I dont see what were to do. Not one of the mens fit to go another step, and the liorses are worse, if anything; and if we wait till to morrow. . . . It may be too late, even now. Ill go, said the man, quietly. If yell lend me one or two of them water- skins Nonsense! said Lethbridge, sharply. But he looked into the mans face, and saw that he meant it. And then they argued it out. He knew the bush, he said, and could get on best alone, un- encumbered by any wearied men, who would need to be shown the way. Some- how it never entered Lethbridges head to mistrust him. I suppose it would have made little difference. He was their only chance. Lethbridge decided to let him go, and the lad Mason volun- teered, and even entreated to go, too. He was fresher than the rest, perhaps because, being a trained athlete, he had been better able to resist the tempta- tions of thirst; he had had less walk- ing, too, as his horse had held out longer, and he declared that he felt quite equal to the effort. So the two took up the two freshly-filled water- skins, and started. Lethbridge and the rest slept dream- ily till dawn. Then they rekindled the fire and hung the billy on it, and waited but there was no sign of the absent. The sun climbed higher, and still they waited. Already the despondency of inaction was beginning to show itself, when a faint shout was heard, and presently there appeared Mason and the two troopers, dragging, rather than leading, a worn-out hor~e between them. They told their story incoherently, bit by bit. Waite had strayed away from themhad begun to go off his head, they thoughtand they had ut- terly failed to find him. The stranger had come to them with the water before moonset, had put them on the right track by means of the blazed trees, and other marks which he had himself made while coming along, and he had remained behind to look for Waite. The hours wore on, and they did not come. It seemed only too likely that both had perished, and Lethbridge found his thoughts dwelling with a great fascination on that calm face with the kindly gray eyes. Millers voice awoke him from a reverie. Hes murdered Waite, thats what it is. That fellows an old lag, take my word for it. What else does he go wandering about the bush for in that way ? It would have given him less trouble if he hadnt shown us the water, said Lethbridge, with some contempt. I reckon its Waite he wants, said Miller. Waite used to be a warder at the convict depot before he joined the Mistrision of Felony. Misprision of Felony. force. My word! they did love him there! I dont see why the man should be an escaped convict at all, said Leth- bridgeand even as he spoke one part of his mind was wondering why Mil- lers words irritated him so. He might beHark! Isnt that a shout? They listened, and thought they heard it again, faint and wavering. Answer nowall together. . . . No, its no use going out to meet them. We dont know which way theyre coming, and the sun will be down presently. Our best chance is to stay here and keep together. . . . Now, shout again! They kept on shouting from time to time, and the answering voice came slowly nearer. The darkness was on them before they saw a man, bending under a heavy burden, pass out of the black shadows into the open space about the fire. Davies and Miller ran up to him, lifted the sergeants helpless body from his back, and lowered it gently to the ground. Hes not dead! the man pantedat least I think not. The other horseis done for! Why, my man, said Lethbridge, kindly, youve nearly killed yourself! He passed his arm around the bush- man, who swayed on his feet, and leaned heavily against him for a mo- ment, then looked apologetically in his face and tried to speakthickly and heavily like a drunken man. Dont worry yourself! said Leth- bridge. Nowlie down on this blank- etlet me get the saddle under your beadso! Then he turned aside to the other men, who were busying them- selves with Waite. How is he? Coming to, I think, sir. Thats right. Go on bathing his head and face, and pour a little brandy down his throat, if you can. He filled a pannikin with water, and poured some spirit into it out of his own 111 pocket-flask, before handing the latter to Davies. Try and drink this, he said, com- ing back to the man he had left. He slipped his arm gently under the shoulders and raised the head, so that he could hold the draught to the parched lips. Here, my poor fellow! The man drankwith some mur- mured words of thanks, so faint and broken that they went to Lethbridges heart. He raised him in his arms and bent over him, so close that his burn- ing cheek almost touched the haggard face, and said, in a fierce, shamefaced Whisper: You . . . youve saved us all . and . . . God bless you! The sergeant came to in due course was dosed with brandy and extract of beef, then fed on more solid victuals, and finally rolled up in a blanket, and left to sleep the sleep of the just. The other man, too, dropped off to sleep after a while, holding Lethbridges hand, and Lethbridge sat and watched him with a strange tumult surging through his brain. He dozed now and then anti dreamed strange dreams, and then roused himself with a start, and re- mained awake for what seemed weary hours and hours. Then, all of a sud- den, as he thought, he looked up, and saw, by the dying firelight, the ser- geant bending over the sleeping man beside him. What are you doing? he asked, in a sharp whisper. Waite raised himself noiselessly, and came closer to Lethbridge. Captain, he said, in a low voice trembling with excitementWe may get it yet! Get what? Weve lost the other onebutIf this is the man I think, theres two hundred pounds reward out for him. Ive got the description here, but it isnt light enough. 112 Mistrision of Felony. He had laid his hand on his captains arm in his agitation, but Lethbridge shook it off, and recoiled from him in disgust. Hang it, man! dont you know he saved your life ? Didnt you guess who he was, sir? I did, the minute I set eyes on him. Lethbridge seldom swore, but he did it then. I dont want to know who he is. Hes not the man were after, and thats enough for me. Why, there Isnt one of us would have the chance of getting back alive but for him. And as for you! Do you know its nearly cost him his own life? Do you think youre worth that? Waite shrank away in silence. He could not see Lethbridges face clearly, but the tone cowed him. In the heat of passion the young man had spoken louder than he meant. He felt a hand touch histhe man was sitting up and looking at him. Do you know? came a faint whisper in the stillness. Hush! Dont tell me anything. I dont want to know. There was a low sob in the dark, and Lethbridge felt his hand lifted and pressed to the mans lips. Come, now! he said, gently dont! Then after a pause, Who- ever you may be, youre a noble fellow. Ill never forget. Do you feel better now? Go to sleep again. Thats what Im going to do. And he did, after strolling over to inspect Waite, who had coiled himself up once more, and was snoringper- haps dreaming of the 200 reward. He kept his word, and marched with them all next day, leaving them within easy reach of a lumber-camp, whence they could get guides to the nearest township. He walked by Lethbridges stirrup, and they talked now and then of things which concerned neither the captain of police nor the escaped politi- cal prisoner as suchbut both of them as human souls who found the world beautiful. And, late in the afternoon, the time came to part. They were ahead of the rest, in the winding bush trailout of sight of all but one, and he was Mason, who never wondered at anything his captain said or did. The sunburnt man stood still and raised his hand. You can find your way from here, he said. If you go as far as that dead tree youll see a stream; and if you follow that stream down youll find the camp. He stopped~and then, without looking up at Lethbridge, he laid his hand a little timidly on the horses mane, and said, Good-bye! Lethbridge slipped the reins over his arm, and put his two hands on the mans shoulders and looked into his face. Good-bye. I cant say what I want. God bless you! Amen! and that same to you! Ill never see you again. I dont know that. I believe we shall meetsomewhere. Ah! God grant it! Where youll not be police captain, nor I Never mind. Good-byetill then! And so the forest swallowed him up without a trace, save a print or two of his bare feet on the leaf mould. And Lethbridge rode on like one in a dream. When, later on, Waite approached the subject, he fiercely bade him hold his tongue. The same advice, in substance, was given some months later, by a certain officer to whom the sergeant tentatively revealed the story in the hope of work- ing injury to a man he had never loved. That officer said he didnt want to hear anything about it; but suppos- ing a man had acted as Waite repre- sented Lethhridge to have donewhy, it was the only way a gentleman could act under the circumstances. And If Les Laveuses de Nuit. 113 he, Waite, knew what was good for Which, it is to be supposed, Waite him, he had better make up his mind did, for nothing more was ever heard that he had dreamed the whole thing. of the matter. Tbe Gentlemans ~ragazine. A. Werner. LES LAVEUSES DE NUIT. (An old French author records a superstition which long pre~ vailed among peasants, that at certain seasons Night-spirits could be seen and heard, washing in running water the shrouds, and chanting the death-songs, of those destined to die within the year.) The clouds are flitting, the sky is dim, Though brightened with splashes of light, The birds are ceasing its surface to skim, The hush is npon us of Night; Yet hark! oh, hark!from mortal throat Come not the sounds that towards us float, Beat and beat, and the white folds wring: The dirge of the WlndingASheets we sing. The shrouds of the Elders first we lave, Whove bravely their long race run, Dip in the streams translucent wave, Lay them out one by one; Spread them abroad in the grass to lie, Waiting the call of the By~and~by. Beat and beat, and the white folds wring: The dirge of the Patriarchs we sing. The cerements take of the Way-worn next, With whom Life has sternly dealt, Whom sorrow has tried, and storms have vext, Who sunshine have scantly felt; Light be the texture of fine web spun That cover the Toilers, their hard course done; Beat and beat, and the white folds wring: The dirge of the Labor-spent we sing. Gather the plaits in a gentle hand, Their masses with soft touch bathe, Ere the rounded limbs of the Infant Band In their draperies we swathe, While memories sore and lost hopes crowd The snowy depths of pure Ghlldhoods shroud; Tenderly beat and silently wring: The dirge In a mothers heart none may sing. E. 0. Coi*. Pall Mall Magazine. 114 The German Press and Forezgn Politics. THE GERMAN PRESS AND FOREIGN POLITICS.* Prince Bismarek, whounderstood how to use the press to advance his own affairs more frequently and skilfully than any statesman of modern times, repeatedly expressed himself in a very disapproving manner concerning the political activity of what we will call its excitable portion. True, there is a wide distinction between his Well let them shriek without troubling ourselves about it, and, We must pay for the windows our press break. While the former remark was made to a diplomat who was complaining of the violent at- tacks of the German press, which in- creased the difficulty of reaching a friendly understanding, the second ad- mits the fact that, though individuals may ignore the attitude of the press, the community must be always more or less affected by it, and, during the progress of negotiations between the governments of various Powers, this may easily exert a baneful influence, nay, even be capable of compromising the safety of a country. By this acknowledgment the im- portance of the press as an organ of public opinion is recognized, but, at the same time, the line is drawn, which should not be passed by a sagacious press in its discussion of foreign affairs. True, this does not settle the question whether it is the office of the press to record the opinion of the majority, that is, literally to act as its organ, or to suggest to the majority the opinions which itthe pressbelieves to be cor- red, that is, to serve as an educator. The separation of these two functions is rendered especially difficult at the present time, because the individual press organs sometimes serve a party, sometimes personal interests, and it is Translated for The Living Age by Mary J. Safford. impossible for the great majority of readers to know whether the views presented are in behalf of such interests or have their source and foundation in what seems, to impartial editors, most beneficial to the majority. In estimating the influence of the press upon relations to foreign countries, it will, therefore, be advisable to pay more attention to the results of its atti- tude than to the reasons for it. To do the former thoroughly is the more neces- sary, because, in recent years, the Ger- man press appears to have lost the sense of responsibility, Which is and must be associated with expressions of opinion, if they are to have any other purpose than that of humoring and inciting the passions of the moment. Before the outbreak of the Spanish- American war, the attitude of the Ger- man press toward England, though not unfriendly, was animated by the idea that Germany must not only expect no encouragement from England in her in- dustrial, commercial and colonial devel- opment, but must even be prepared to encounter in her a determined rival. The maritime superiority of Great Brit- ain was making itself felt disagreeably, both directly and indirectly, and could not fail to awaken in all who judged the situation correctlyand this was probably, in this case, the majority of Germansthe feeling that any light- ening of the pressure thus exerted could only prove advnntageous to German in- terests. Nothing, therefore, could have been more natural than that the German press, at the outbreak of the war, should have been, if n~t friendly, at least neutral toward the United States, but precisely the reverse occurred. While in England, where the great ma- jority of the population thought and The German Press and Fore?gn Politics. 115 felt precisely the same as in Germany, concerning the progress of the United States, the press, with admirable rec- ognition of the situation and enviable discipline, wheeled about, and accom- plished the result that public opinion in the United States beheld, in the for- merly hated rival, the friend whose attitude had preserved America from European complications and aided the successful completion of the war. The German press, on the other hand, in spite of the absolutely correct, neutral and friendly course of the German Government, managed to arouse, not only in Washington, but throughout the entire country, the belief that, dur- ing the war, Germany had been hostile to the United States, and was only prevented by England from actively interfering in favor of Spain. It re- quired the utmost exercise of concilia- tory and prudent measures on the part of the Foreign Office of the Empire, which received wholly unintentional assistance from the boundless vituper- ation of the English and American yellow press, to dispel this suspicion in some degree and make good the mis- chief wrought by the press. Yet it must be established as a result of the German press campaign during the American war with Spain that, instead of lessening by supporting Englands rival, the English oppression which burdened us, the press managed to make them friends, and thus loaded us with two opponents instead of one. The return for the attitude of the English press, during the Spanish war, is the attitude which the American press maintains during Englands con- flict with the South African republics. In this case, also, the American press, aside from the Irish and ultra demo- cratic organs which are without appre- ciable importance to the whole body, has taken the right path, while in Ger- many the press again, by its course, not only rendered the task of its own gov eminent more difficult, but caused a great and, in some instances, not wholly unjustifiable excitement in England. The result of this procedure, apart from a vehement press controversy, has been the attempt of prominent daily papers and magazines to effect an understand- ing, at the cost of Germany, between England and France. And, if we seek for the motive of the attitude of the German press in both wars, it can scarcely be found except in an unsea- sonable sentimentality and the total misconception of the growth and mean- ing of imperialistic tendencies in Eng- land as well as in the United States. In the preceding paragraphs the gen- eral attitude of the German press in two critical situations has been sub- jected to examination, but the picture becomes still more gloomy when we consider the extreme agrarian and the anti-Semitic press. Not only in their polemics against the United States and England have they seemed to try to out-Herod ilerod, but they have also done their best to embroil us in the in- ternal political department with Austro- Hungary, and, in our commercial re- lations with that country, Russia, Eng- land, Italy, the United States, and it may be boldly added, all the rest of the world. If there is method in this mad- ness, it can only be found in the hope that, by barricading the German fron- tiers by means of a customs war, even- tually an actual war with one or sev- eral of the maritime powers may cause an increase in the prices of agricultural products and a return of the laborers from manufactures to farming, thus fulfilling the agrarian dream of the fu- ture, to which must be sacrificed the trade, manufactures, prosperity and position of Germany among the Pow- ers of the world. Already voices are being raised in the United States and Italy, which not only show the results of such an attitude in questions of business and commerce, but also seek 116 The German Press and Forez~gn Politics. to transfer their consequences to the political domain. If the correct atti- tude of the German Government, and the cordial relations existing between the German Emperor and the ruler of Austro-Hungary, have hitherto blunted the point of the agitation of the all- deutschen party organs in favor of the German opposition in Austria, this does not exclude the possibility that from other directions, for instance, not only from French, but also from internal Austrian sources, the alleged desires of Germanyin case of the opening. of a question of succession in Austriamay be drawn into the circle of discussion and made the cause of suspicion. That this is possible, in spite of the absence of any real foundation for it, Germany owes to the foolish course of some of her press organs, which, though they are in the habit of assailing their own government just as vehemently as they attack foreign countries, are repre- sented by English and French publica- tions as official or semi-official govern- ment organs. The seventh great Power, for as such we must probably estimate the press since Italy has taken the sixth place, has this one thing in common with the ruler of a constitutional government, that both, in theory, can do no wrong. But in one respect it is more fortunate than such a ruler by the grace of God; its ministers and councillors, the edi- tors and publishers, are not responsible before the judgment seat of history, though they may often fall Into the hands of other and lower courts of jus- tice. Charles X, Louis Philippe, Napo- leon Ill, to say nothing of others, were obliged to atone, by dethronement and exile, for the stupidity of the press of their times and countries, while the journalists who worked diligently at the causes of the various down- falls, died quietly in their beds, and works of history make no The Deutsche nevue. mention of their articles and their names. We, too, shall soon forget the names and articles of the men who were and are now in the act of caus- ing us serious international difficulties, and in a short time the grass will have grown over their printers ink; but who knows whether the son of many a mother will not have to suffer for the mischief they have wrought, and which, perhaps, might have been pre- vented if the more sensible portion of the press had exerted its influence more energetically and permanently? True, this requires that it shall clearly under- stand the consequences of the policy it advocates, and take the trouble to re- flect upon the thoughts which daily events inspire, instead of merely let- ting them effervesce. That the latter occurs far too often, the events of the last year or two have furnished striking proof. The press, too, has a right to demand something, and that is, that competent authority shall give it the necessary suggestions for what appears to be requisite in the interests of the foreign relations of the empire, and this is not restricted to political questions. That this is done to a certain extent is probably undeniable, but we need only turn the pages of one of the larger po- litical papers for the last year, to con- vince ourselves how contradictory is the information received at different times from one or another official source. Baron Louis, the French Min- ister of Finance, used to say: Give good politics and I will give you good finances, and an impertinent journal- istthere are such fellowsmight par- ody the phrase by the statement that a plainly understood system of politics was the first condition of a good politi- cal press. But even this beautiful world of ours is said to have arisen from chaos. M. von Brandt. The Elders of Arcady. 117 THE ELDERS OF ARCADY. Ever since I can remember anything old peoplevery old peopletheir ways and their talk, have exercised a strong fascination over me. Of late years I find that childrenif they are good have begun to master my heart as they never did in my younger time. But this is partly because children are so much better and sweeter than they used to be, and partly because there are so many fewer old people nowadays than when I was in my prime. For when men and women are only ten or twenty years older than you are they are not nearly as interesting as they must needs be when they are twice or thrice or four times your own age. I used to be a good deal laughed at and teased in my childhood and my boyhood for this taste for old people, and a wicked young uncle, who never lived to grow old himself, prophesied that I should end by marrying my great-grandmother. You know, boy, he used to say, theres nothing against it; for a great-grandmother is not among the prohibited degrees! That uncle was a bad man, and when I gravely replied that it did not follow because you were very fond of a dear old lady that therefore you should marry her, that bad uncle only laughed the more at me, and made other people laugh, too. Never spend your cheap derision upon \ a child, my masters! You never can tell how much bitter pain you give by ridiculing a little boy or a little girl. I As I grew older myself I provoked my friendsespecially those of them who were in the spooning stageby frequently insisting that, as a rule, a woman of forty was a great deal more beautiful and wiser, and generally a great deal more worth marrying, than any chit of a girl; and I held to that opinion firmly and obstinately until, untiluntil in fact I gave it upunder compulsion. The most remarkable instance I ever knew of what I may call eumul4rtive longevity was that of a friend of mine in Norwich, who died, I think, at sev- enty-five, and who used to tell me that his grandfather, when a child, had been held up to look at Charles the Sec- ond at the Kings restoration in 1660. My friend was a highly respected and influential solicitor in Norwich, Free- stone by name, and at his death in, I think, 1865 or thereabouts, he left an estate in Norfolk to his nephew, Mr. Justice Lindley, now Master of the Rolls. John Freestone, the grandfather, lived as a bachelor till his seventy-sec- ond year, and then he married and had a son, John the Second. This gentle- man did as his father did; he lived a jovial life till he was seventy-two, and then he married and had a son, John the Third, my friend, who, living till seventy~five, died 218 years after his grandfather was born, and some 205 after that grandfather was held up to stare at Charles the Second: That is, the grandfather must then have been a boy of eleven or twelve! It would be hard to beat that record. And yet, when one comes to think about it, John the Third could never have known much about his father. None of the race, I believe, lived to eighty, and one generation had no rem- iniscences of the previous generation to hand down to the succeeding one. It has been very different with me. The first man that called on me here twenty years ago was an old gentleman of ninety-two, who had lived within three miles of this door all his life, and was born in the parish. There never was 118 The Elders of Arcady. a more gifted master of delightful gos- sip, as distinguished from scandal, than Mr. Barry Girling. No, never! He distinctly remembered the poet Cow- pers burial at Dereham, on the 2nd of May, 1800, and had a story to tell of every house in the town of Dereham, and of every family, high or low, within ten miles of his own birth-place. More- over, he was a born antiquary and col- lector, and he began to write a minute history of the Scarning School as far back as 1819, and continued to make additions to it from time to time till his death in 1851. Scarning School has a history. For well-nigh 200 years it was a flourishing and famous County Grammar School, at which the sons of the Norfolk gentry received their edu- cation, and that a very good education, too, under a succession of Masters of some eminence in their day. Mr. Gir- ling fished up a register of the scholars admitted betwen the years 1733 and 1750, and a very curious register it is. In those seventeen years no fewer than six boys were admitted to the school who afterwards became High Sheriffs of Norfolk, and on the 11th of April, 1743, Edward Thurlow, afterwards Lord High Chancellor of England, was entered at the school, he being then eleven years of age. Lord Thurlows biographers agree in saying that he was a violent and un- governable boy, and that he had a life- long hatred of Brett, his Seaming schoolmaster; for Brett was, by all ac- counts, a very fierce and cruel peda- gogue. Among Thurlows schoolfel- lows, though two years his junior, was Thomas Elwin, of Booton Hallgrand- father of the Rev. Whitwell Elwin, for seven years editor of the Quarterly Review, who died a few months ago at the ripe age of eighty-seven. Mr. El- win told me that his grandfather was present one day when Brett threw a ruler at a small boy named Buck, with such force that it knocked him down senseless. There was a great alarm, and Brett called for water and rushed out to fetch some himself. Another boy named North came in first, bring- ing a cup of water, and Thurlow bawled out to North, Let him alone! let him alone! you young fool. Let him die, and then old Brett will be hanged. Let him die! This Charles North was the eldest grandson of Roger North of Rougham; he was born in 1735, and was alive in 1760; but what became of him I cannot tell, but tradition says that he twice deliberately set fire to Scarning School. But Mr. Elwins story, which he heard from his grandfather, exactly corroborates the other story of Thurlows life-long ha- tred of his first schoobnaster. A few weeks after I became ac- quainted with Mr. Girling, I was hon- ored by a call from the Rev. Bartle Edwards, who died nine days short of 100 in 1889. Elsewhere I have called him Nestor. He held the living of Ashill for seventy-seven years, and he told me once that not a man, woman or child had been buried in the parish during the whole of his incumbency by any one but himself. I have buried three generations of them, he said. He actually continued to write fresh ser- mons till within a year of his death, and I believe he preached in a black gown till the end. I had the honor of wearing that gown at his funeral; it must have been quite fifty years old, and I shall never cease regretting that I did not steal that gown and run away with it, as I might have done so easily. Nestor was, in his whole cast of mind, as different a man as could well be imagined from Mr. Barry Girling. I never knew any one Who was less of a gossip or who lived less in the past. He was not only a faithful parish priest first and fore- most; it might almost be said of him that he was a parish priest first and last. I went to see him once by appointment, The Elders of Arcady. 119 to get, if it were possible, some in- formation from him as to the way in which his tithes were collected in the days when they were paid in kind. He had nothing, absolutely nothing, to tell me. I have been trying to re- member something for you, he said, but its so long ago that I cant recol- lect. He never thought of anything so far back. His memory began at a point where the reminiscences of men of fifty begin. All before that was a blank; but of the last fifty years of his life he could talk as simply and as accurately as I could, so much and no more. There seemed to have been only two incidents in his boyhood that he habitually recurred to. The first was when he was about fourteen years old. He had somehow played truant, and he found himself at Epsom on the Derby day [?]. There was a great crowd and the lad was very nearly ridden over by the Prince Regent. I got somehow between the horses front legs, and I looked up and saw his Royal Highness towering over me. This must have been in 1804, for Mr. Edwards was born in 1789. The other incident which had made an indelible impression upon him was when he was a pupil with Forby, the author of the valuable Vocabulary of East Anglia, at Fincham, of which place Forby became rector in 1801. Here, again, he had nothing to tell me of Forby, except that he was a rare flogger and gave Pillans a cruel flog- ging the, very day he was going to leave him. Who Pillans was I did not ask and I do not know. Do you remember William Girling, sir, who was at Forbys with you? Was he? No, I dont remember thatits so long ago. Of course I knew Mr. Girling very well when he lived at Seaming. That is after Mr. Edwards had become rector of Ashill. Everything before that had passed from his memory. As I have said, Mr. Edwards died nine days before completing his 100th year. But I number among my friends who are still alive an old worUhy who is some months over 100. I first be- came acquainted with him about three years ago, when he used to be up to a five miles walk without fatigue; he was then in possession of all his facul- ties, except that he was a little deaf, and he more than once asured me that if he survived until 1900 he should be able to boast that he had lived in three centuries. Recently, however, they had found that he was baptized on the 12th of February, 1800, and he now calls that his birthday, though the probabil- ity is that he was right at first when he assumed or asserted that he was born in 1799. Mr. Lewis Barton, for that is the old mans name, was a shoe- maker at Dereham for sixty or seventy years, and saved a modest competency by his own industry and thrift. In early life he used to travel on his own account for orders, and he had journey- men working for him in the villages round. When the railroad came he saw that this peripatetic looking about for customers would not pay, and he stayed at home and his old customers came to him instead of his going to them, and he was the gainer. All through life he has been a most pronounced and loyal Churchman, and, when both eye- sight and hearing failed him, he wor- ried himself a good deal because, as he said to me, I find it hard, sir, that I cant make my early Communion now, as I used to do! The worthy Vicar of Dereham met that difficulty easily, and on his birthday (or it may be only his baptismal day) he administered the Blessed Sacrament to the old gentle- man and a small congregation of his friends in the room where now almost all his time is passed. Old Barton Is wonderfully vigorous in mind even now; he used to be a great reader, and as long as he could he read the Psalms daily. The loss of his sight, which 120 The Elders of Arcady. came on quite suddenly, was a terrible blow to him. It was pitiful to see him wave his hand to the bookshelves be- hind his chair, saying, Ah, I shall never read them any more. Theyre all dumb or asleep to me now, sir. But yet, you see, theyre not all dead and forgotten. Theres old Shakespeare still comes back upon me. I used to Iread old Shakespeare almost every week seventy or eighty years ago. Dont you think he was a wonder, sir? One day, not so very long ago, he be- gan abruptly to recite the famous so- liloquy of Hamlet: To be, or not to be: that is the ques- tion; He got as far as Theres the respect That makes calamity of so long life. Then he paused with a curious fixed set in the blind eyes, turned my way. Ah! sir, I do pray God to de- liver me from that that tempta- tion of getting tired of this life now... . What more he added I may not and I will not repeat. I am persuaded that if I had known old Bar- ton a year or two before his deafness had become a bar to any continuous conversation, I should have gathered a volume of curious and interesting reminiscences, which now have passed ~away and can never be recovered. ] Thus it is that we miss our chances, & ~nd once missed, they never return. I cannot, however, reproach myself for neglecting any opportunities of picking pp those fragmentary records of the past which the elders of Arcady have handed down to me from their sometimes well-stored memories. The older I grow the more do I believe in traditions. Old people never invent, they do not much exaggerate, and the more ignorant they are, the more accu- rately do they tell their old stories. This is my experience of life among the elders of Arcady. To the honor of the guardians of this Poor Law Union be it written that they have more than once been cen- sured by the officials in high places for not too rigidly forcing the aged poor among us into the house. The result is that in this parish there have been for some time past an extraordinary number of aged folk who have been allowed to live on undisturbed In their birthplace for eighty or ninety years, some of them subsisting for ten or fifteen years on the niggardly pit- tance allowed them as out-door relief. Of course, when a lonely old man has no one to look after him and begins to mumble querulously and to get into dirty habits, such a one is best sent to the workhouse, where he gets fairly well attended to, and he usually ends by growing silly. He is friendless and has nothing to live for, and forgets all that is worth remembering. It is, how- ever, very different with the old people who have never been uprooted from the old belongings. On a single page of our parish register, which covers a period of less than thirteen months, .e., from the 25th of March, 1877, to the 20th of April, 1878, I find that five persons were buried whose united ages amounted to 425 years. The youngest of them died at eighty-two, the eldest at ninety-two. Now, I have never but twice in my Arcadian experience known of an aged man or woman who lost their memory, as the phrase is. They can always tell you something about the long past. They can do more than that; they love nothing bet- ter than to talk of what their fathers and grandfathers did and said. This is to me the most precious kind of folk- lore. But how few people have ever considered how tar back the living memory of a man can carry us. Let me illustrate this by an example. Joseph Barker died in April, 1883, in The Elders of Arcady. 121 his ninetieth year. He ofte~ used to speak of his father and grandfather. They were neither of them apparently estimable characters, and I believe that the grandfather was about fifty when the grandson was born, and he lived to a good old age. That means that Joe Barkers reminiscences, including such stories as he heard from his grand- father, covered a period of, at least, 140 years; in other words, they went back to, say, 1743. But it seems that the grandfather was as fond of talking about his young scrapes and prowess as the grandson was, and hed used to say as he learnt all his devilment from an old chap as my father used to talk about too, sometimesold Billy Barlow, as broke a chaps nose with his fist, fair fighting, too. They said that chap was a highwayman and was a-looking out for a po-shay as was a-coming on the road. But he didnt stop no po-shays that night, you may depend on it! I listened patiently till a pause came, then I interposed. But who was Billy Barlow? Oh, he was dead af ore I was much more nor born. My toes though!grandfather used to say as he was a owdacious one. Why, when he was a boy he locked Parson Tapps into Scarning Church when he came to be constitootioned! It took me some time to interpret that obscure word, until a happy thought flashed upon me that he meant insti- tuted, and I inferred that even in those remote ages beneficed clergy were in- stituted with the old forms just as they are now. But, Joe, I asked, who was Parson Tapps? No man named Tapps was ever rector of Scam- ing. I know all their names for three hundred years. Hereupon came a long discussion, and old Joe grew more and more positive. At last it came to this: There was a certain Richard Tapps, who was constitootioned rector of Scam- ing in 1741, as I afterwards discovered, and he held the living with the perpet LIVI~TG AGE. VOL. VIII. 405 ual curacy of St. Saviours, Norwich, till 1785. After being constitootione4 he never put in an appearance here again for the rest of his life. He was that scared by Billy Barlow he wouldnt come here no more, not even to b~ buried. And this is how it came to pass: Billy Barlow, apparently, was then a big, hulking, owdacious lad. And when Parson Tapps came over the bridge, and the tother gentle folks as was with him, the sexton he un- locked the Church door and they all went in, and they left the key in the door. And there was old Billy a-look- ing on, and when they was all inside Billy shut the door and locked it, and pulled out the key and he hulled it into the moat, and there it is now, I sup- pose; and Billy he made hisseif scarce, and he never split on hisseif, you may assure yourself I Now, I have no doubt whatever that this did actually happen in the year 1741, when Richard Tapps was insti- tuted, as appears by the Episcopal Rec- ords, and though he died in 1789, durIng all these forty-eight years his name never once appears in our parish books, though these have been kept with rather unusual care and precision for the last 200 years. But how about the bridge and the moat ? Well! thats What my old grand- father used to say. When he used to tell that tale hed always talk about the bridge and the m~at, and I dont know what he meant! No! Joe Barker did not know about those things, for bridge and moat probably had disappeared long before he was born. But I am in the habit of pointing out to my friends where the old rectory stood less than a hundred years ago, and which Mr. Barry Girling distinctly re- membered. It was an old moated house, and you may easily trace the moat, which must have been filled up about the middle of the last century, 122 when an important alteration was made in the highroad, which then, apparently, was carried between the church and the parsonage, the new road actually passing over the bed of the moat on the north side of the house, which I doubt not in those da~Ts was crossed by a bridge communicating with the church- yard. I have set down all these things because they afford an illustration of an incident, in itself trifling and unim- portant, and occurring nearly 160 years ago, coming to my knowledge from the lips of a man who had never read a book in his life, and whose father and grandfather did not know a great A from a bulls foot, as the wise and learned say. Let me give another illustration of the value of these local traditions. The parish of Little Fransham pos- sesses a church which is still beautiful in its sore decay. The oak roof,whiCh dates from the fifteenth century, still remains, though the angels with ex- panded wings, which once added to the splendor of the place, the rood screen which, some fifty years ago, divided the chancel from the nave, the backs of the oak seats (themselves still in situ), and a great deal else that con- tributed to make the interior of the sacred building exceeding magnifi- cal, have been swept away in the memory of man. The angels in the roof went first, about fifty years ago; they were sawn off because the Vandal who happened to be at that time rector of th~ parish thought they were danger- ous. Then the backs of the seats were sawn off, because the aforesaid Vandal declared thatthey encouraged the people to go to sleep when he was preaching as though any human being could pos- sibly have kept awake while that Phil- istine was droning out his platitudes. Then the rood screen went the way of so many rood screensand that Van- dal was happy. He had made a clean sweep of everything that could remind his people of ages which, in his opinion. knew nothing and were best forgotten~ Eight or nine years ago I went to Fransham to have a talk with Harry Pestell and his wifetwo dear old people that had lived all their lives in the parish and were fond of talking about all that concerned the place. Old Harry Pestell must have been some inches higher than six feet in his youth, and even when I saw him he was a grand specimen of an old man. He talked freely, not to say volubly. Of course he had known the Vandal.. Why! he right down sercime when he heard tell that that bit off the angel had dropt off. Havem daywn! he says. Havem daywn! Lor, as Masr Alpe used to say, he neednt a-been afraid as any good angels were a-goin to fetch him afore his time; he warnt such good company for the likes of they! Anyhow, he had em daywn, and then he sawed off the backs o the seats. Hed used to do what lie liked, he did. Them seats had been there, Im told, hundreds and hundreds o years before him, and we boys we used to sit in em, and manys the time as Is sot in they seats and watched the i ges. You mean the angels, I suppose? No! I dont mean the angels. Spose I dunno a angel from a image? But where were the images? What were they ? [N.B. When you are questioning an old man, or, for that matter, when youre cross-examining any man, never ask two questions at once.] Well, youre a lamed gent, you are, and maybe you can tell me what they was, for I never heerd no one say what they was. But dye think I dont gnaw~ a angel from a image? There was four~ on em, and we boys used to look at em all sermon time. Angels !they warnt no angels! Well, but, my good friend, what is- the difference between an angel and am image? The Elders of Arcady. The Elders of Arcady~ 123 By which very foolish question you will observe I showed my weakness, and, thereby, I very nearly lost the ex- tremely valuable piece of information which came out of this interview. Happily, however, old Pestell was quite equal to the occasion. Whats the difference? Why, a angels got wings and a image has got his close on. And a angel aint painted all manner o colors, and they images they was dressed in red and green, and two on em was men, and two on em was women. Dye spose I dunno what a image is? Old Pestell was getting quite angry at my incredulity. So I dropt the sub- ject for a few minutes to give him time to recover his equanimity. Where were those images you spoke of just now? Where! Why, atop of the screen, o eourst. There was a kind of balcony in front of em and they stood behind it; and we boys wed used to watch em, cause lots on em used to say theyd seen em move, and Ive watched em scores o times to see if I could see em move. But they never did as I saw for all my watching of em! Were they on the top of the screen when the Vandal took it down? Lor no. That was long afore his time. That was Parson Swatman as sawed them off. I was a grown man by that time, rand I heerd tell as one of the boys took his oath as hed seen one of the images move a goodish way and nodded his head, and he stood to it that hard that Parson Swatman said hed 8CCfl double; and then some on em laughed a goodish deal, and then Par- son Swatman said hed have no more images, and he sawed em off. Now, the inference from all this is plain enough. When the roods were removed by authority from the chancel screens in the sixteenth century, the spoilers almost invariably tore down, not only the central crucifix, but the images which were fixed in sockets on the rood beam. There were for the most part four such images, twQ of them being always those of the Blessed Virgin Mary and St. John. As ran in- stance, I may mention that on the rood beam of Seaming Church there are five such sockets distinctly traceable. The socket for the rood or crucifix being considerably larger than those for the images. At Fransham I conjecture, with some hesitation, that the rood was not fixed into the beam, but suspended from the roof, and so the images were left undisturbed. Anyhow, I can have no doubt that we have here an instancE~ of the aforesaid images having re- mained in situ in a small village church till the second decade of this century~ and were actually remembered by a man still living ten years ago. Old Pestell died at Pransham in January, 1891, in his ninety-third year. It is, however, when we avail our- selves of the opportunities which a long chat in the lowly cottages of the aged poor affords us that we get some of the most instructive reminiscences of the daily life and social habits, and ways of thinking and religious sentiments, of our rustics in days when there were no railroads, and no newspapers and no large farms, and when the roads were, for thousands of miles in England, al- most incredibly bad. It was only In 1827 that McAdam was appointed Gen- eral Surveyor of Roads, rand received a grant of 10,0001. from Parliament as a recognition of his great services in bringing about the improvement of the highways in various parts of England. Even as late as 1830 (and I believe after that) the parish roads within four or five miles of Norwich were so nearly impassable that Mr. Micklethwaite, owner of Taverham Halla consider- able squire and High Sheriff of Norfolk in 1S10-~-used habitually to drive into Norwich with four horses, as his son informed me some twenty years ago, 124 The Elders of Arcady. adding, as if it were within his own recollection: He couldnt help himself; the roads were all rucks. The old Lady Suffield, as she is still called by those who remember her ladyship, even down to the time of her death in 1850, never drove out from Buckling Park with less than four horses. It was not from any love of display. She had never done anything else all her life, and she would go and stop the carriage at some of the cottages, and talk to the ~old people. That was the report I re- ceived from the lips of one who knows, ~and to whom all my homage is due on this side idolatry. When Carlyle made so great a point ~f the incident at Thurtells trial, where a witness explained what he meant by a gentleman by saying that he kept a gig, Carlyle must have been ignorant of the fact that in 1824 only the leisure classes kept gigs. Once off the kings high- way and you were among the rucks. Farmers never drove to market in they days, said one of our elders to me. They rode o horseback and theyd used to race halfway home more particular when they was tight. It is extremely difficult to realize what the country was like before the open fields and waste lands were inclosed. In this part of Norfolk the old byeways, as a rule, followed the course of the little runnels or brooks which served as the boundaries of the old manors. Wherever you see a par- ish road which is quite straight for tialf a mile, there you may be sure it is a new road laid down when some en- closure was carried out. I think the last inclosure in this parish was made in 1803. One of my old gossips, who died at about eighty, and whom I con- stantly visited nearly twenty years ago, more than once boasted that his father had turned the first furrow when the common at Daffy Green was enclosed. Why he should have been proud of this achievement I know not, but he was. Of course the road that was carried through the old heath is as straight as a ruler. On the heath there was a tumble-down house, which has only fallen into ruins of late yearsit has not been pulled downand here poach- ers, and thieves, and gipsies, and other rogues used to drop in all night long lying about anywhere. I infer they used to have as much beer as they could pay for, and that sometimes the coin was an old hare, and sometimes a share of other plunder. But no one knowd nothing about licensing in those days. The area of heath and scrub and waste land in some parishes amounted to almost as much as was under cultivation. Running along the north bank of a watercourse, which separates the parish of Scarning from Wendling, lies a tract of land on which the Abbey of Wendling stood for some four centuries. The Wendling canons made the most of it; they skilfully manipulated the stream and utilized it for turning a mill, at which all the tenants of their Wendling manor were bound to bring their corn to be ground. Skirting the milistream there was a long tract of rough, waste land over- grown with gorse and scrub; at the be- ginning of this century it was reckoned as no mans land, and had become worthless for purposes of tillage. But one of the elders of our parish, being a far-sighted and resourceful young fel- low, managed to set himself up with a donkey and cart some eighty years ago, and began to cut down the scrub and make merchandise of it. He sold the stuff for kindling fuel and for oven wood, and he succeeded so well and was left so unmolested that he saved quite a pretty little sum of money, ~Vhidh became the nucleus of the con- siderable fortune that he left behind him twenty years ago. The mill con- tinued to be used till 1878 U?], when a flood wrought much damage to the an- cient waterways and to the mill itself, The Elders of Arcady. 125 and the landlords (Christ Chur4~h) de- clined to carry out the repairs. I re- member when I was a boy, said one of my informants, there used to be an old paved road of great round stones to the mill from the turnpike. But they took em all up and sold em for the turnpike road. I infer that this reform was carried out when the macadamizing of the main road began, and the boulders were utilized for this purpose while, at the same time, em- ployment was found for men out of work by setting them to break stones on the high road. * * * * * * * I think that I have elsewhere drawn attention to the fact that this parish contains nearly 3,500 acres of very good land. It has never had a great squires house in it. That is, it has always been an open parish, with a number of small estates, the owners of which, in many cases, were non-resident. Until the beginning of this century no justice of the peace had ever lived in the place, and the outlying hamlets must have been very shy neighbor- hoods, inhabited by a more or less lawless set, who lived in a strangely free and unmolested way. There was a cage just outside Scarning, but lying in the parish of Dereham, and the stocks and pillory, or whipping-post, stood outside our churchyard. One of my Elders remembered a dissolute old roisterer named Marshall being put in the stocks (he does not remember by what authority), and kept there for three or four hours. He was a won- 4cr for roaring and hollering was that~ there Marshall. They put him in the cage at Dereham one night, and he roared like a bull and called for beer and said he was going to die of cold. So some of his mates they brought him a quart of beer. But they couldnt get it through the bars of the cage; so they brought him a long old tobacco pipe, and he sucked up his beer through that. You give all thats left to the constable, mates, and tell him hes welcome to it, with my love, says he. But there warnt a drop left for the constable nor no one else! It goes without saying that reminis- cences like these indicate a certain low- ness of morale as generally prevalent among the rustics, and yet I am in- clined to think that, so far from our people being any worse than their neighbors, they bore rather a better character than the average Norfolk laborer three generations ago. The influence of the school in the parish may have had something to do with this, and the fact that there has been always a resident clergyman, whose presence must have been for the advantage of his parishioners in more ways than one. It is true that there are no traditions which point to any one of these gentlemen having been a man of conspicuous earnestness, or energy, or pulpit gifts. On the other hand, there are no bad stories or anything to the discredit of any one of them cur- rent among the people. They are al- ways spoken of with a certain measure of respect and esteem. One of them, who has long since passed away and left no representatives, is remembered chiefly for a song that he used to sing at the tithe dinner every year, when such gatherings appear to have been characterized by a dangerous amount of boisterous joviality likely to end in unseemly talk and conduct. Mr. Au- frere was appointed Rector of the par- ish at the beginning of this century; he invariably took the chair at the tithe dinner, which seems to have been held in, or near, the Black Horse. The two Rectors (for there are two, one being the Lay Rector, who was never present at these festivities) shared the expense of the entertainment, and when the tithepayers had eaten and drunk enough to be quite good for themthat is, when they had come to the end of 126 The Elders of Arcady. their liberal allowancesome one was deputed to call upon the Rector for a song. The song was invariably the same, and was called The Tithe Pig. It seems to have been a long song, but I have never been able to find out what the story was. When it was ended, with vociferous applause every man rose to his feet, and the Rector, tossing a guinea upon the table, retired from the assembly of roisterers, leaving them to spend the guinea as they pleased under another chairman. He wasnt half a bad little gentleman wasnt Mr. Aufrere, and he and the lady would do a kindness to any onethat they would. Preach? I dont recollect as any one made much o the preaching in those days. We mostly did wrout it. Did the people attend the church? The impression left upon me by all that I can pick up from tradition is that, at least as far down as the first forty years of the century, everybo4y attended the parish church on Sunday mornings. Afternoon services appear to have been rare and evening services were unheard of. Working in their little gardens on Sunday afternoons appears to have been the universal practice; partly because the laborers hours were much longer then than now, and partly because on Sunday after- noons the men had nothing else to do but dig in their little allotments. Scarning had a Sunday school many years before those valuable institutions were generally adopted in England. Here it seems to have grown out of ~Vhat we should now call an infant school, which was started by the Rec- tors wife and Mrs. Girling about 1810. My grandmother used to keep a school for the little uns as was too young to go to the free school. And grandmother used to teach em right well! She was a wonderful good scholar. Mrs. Aufrere used to pay for them, and Mrs. Girling she used to give em straw bonnets with a bit of ribbon round em and little shawls to keep em warm and make em all look alike, and very pretty they looked, too, when they came to churchfor they all had to go to church, you know! But even then it is significant that there were, at least, two opposition dame schools going on at the same time within a mile or so of the first. One of these was started about eighty years ago by a Mrs. Skayce, just outside the bounds of our parish. She, too, was a wonderful great scholar, and she taught her small pupils not only their letters, but reading and writing and other polite arts. Mrs. Skayce was, I gather, a very rigid and terrible old lady. She charged twopence a week for every child. She was a very strict and uncompromising dissenter, and she made it a condition that every one of the little mites, from three to six years old, should accompany her to the Dis- senting chapel at Dereham every Sun- day morning, walking two and two, hand in hand. Think of that proces- sion of little toddlers marching solemnly along those two miles of dirty road, with Mrs. Skayce and a neighbor or two like-minded with herself bringing up the rear, and marching home another two miles when the ceremony ended with a little prayer! How many of them were there? Mostly about thirty of us. You re- member, dont you, John? 0 course I do! We stretched a goodish way across Dereham market- place. Some on us used to carry the little ones for a bit when they was tired. But when we got near to Dere- ham old mother Skayce used to say, OAt on, children!git on! Two and twotwo and two! and sometimes the gentlefoiks would stop and take notice of us, but old mother Skayce wouldnt put up with it. She fared as if she. was a-defying the gentlefoiks with her stern two and two, childrentwo and two! The Elders of Arcady. 127 The youngest of the interlocutors in this little dialogue is just eighty. Our ancient hostel, the Black Horse, which is now as well conducted a roadside inn as well could be, has had a good character, I think, for some fifty or sixty years. But in the first twenty years of the century it was fa- mous for the continual pugilistic en- counters that were going on then. The old stories are almost incredible. One old woman assured me that she had knownand my impression is she told me she had se~~as many as five couples mauling one another in a single week. Occasionally these fights were carried on with the most brutal ferocity, and kicking was very frequently part of the game. I have often suspected that the dreadful cases of bad legs, which were so much more common formerly among the old men than they are now, were the results of kicks on the slims given freely in the old days. Some men seem to have had quite a horrible liking for this sport. Why, old X. who was dead afore you came, sir. Hed fight for a tater. But he found his master at last! There was a stranger came in one night; nobody knew who he was; and he sat down and said nothing, and they looked at him and some one said as he looked like a pow- erful strong sort of man, though he wasnt so very tall neitherand X. lie got near him and pickt a quarrel with him. And no one knowed how it began; but before they could get into the yard that travelling-man was too quick for X., and he gripped him in his arms and flung him over the table where they was drinking, and he amost broke his back. He never was a man no more. And while they was picking him up that stranger made off and no one knew what became of him, and no one asked, as I ever heard. But X. was a cripple for the rest of his life. Lost the use of his legs, I mean. But it took him all ten years, though, for him to die of his hurt. There is something not only sad and horrible about this kind of thing, but something even disgusting and revolt- ing in the hideous callousness that fol- lowed upon familiarity with all these fierce encounters. Happily they have all passed away from among us during the last sixty or seventy years. And no wise man can be other than thank- ful that it is so. But while the fear of the law has done its work in making our people incomparably more respectable and or- derly than their sires, they have lost something, too. They have lost all that spontaneity which, while it led now and then to a great deal of mischief and practical joking, yet gave scope to the development of eccentricities of character and to the free play of such rollicking fun and riotous mirth as were the natural outcome of mere high spirits. Many of our elders had a few old songs which they sang over and over again at the rough merry-makings and harvest suppers. Old Harry Judd had a very favorite song entitled The Blues, which the old folks are never tired of talking of. When he was long past seventy it was a sight to see the roguish twinkle of his sly old eyes when you mentioned his famous song. But for all my trying I never could get him to sing it to menot a verse of it! He went so far as to chuckle at the mention of his vocal powers. But he had got ashamed of it, too; though from all I have heard, there was noth- ing to be ashamed of in his song. Only the time for singing had passed away, and it is and must be hard to sing with real effect a roaring old ballad in cold blood to an audience of one, and that one the parson. Dancing has almost become a dead art in our Norfolk villages, and I do not hesitate to say that this has been a loss and not a gain among the people. 128 On the occasion of the Queens Jubilee in 1887, some one~I forget whoin- sisted on our having a dance in the meadow where the feasting was car- ried on. Only two oldish women and the son of one of them could be pre- vailed on to show off. But the figures and the turn-abouts and the Terpsi- chorean fandangles, which they went through, were wonderful to see, and as they warmed up to their work the dear old women seemed to throw themselves back into the merry days of their youth and to forget the years that had passed since hornpipes and reels and rough minuets were the fashion. As matters stand now among our country folk everybody is like everybody else, and everything that approaches eccentricity of character is frowned upon as something not quite proper. The, tremendous forces of re- pression which have been steadily at work for the last sixty or seventy years have reduced the pleasures of the countryfolk to a minimum,, and ban- ished from our midst those more or less harmless diversionsfrom skittles upwardswhich gave some outlet for the exuberant vitality of their grand- fathers. As one growled out to me in his indignation at not being allowed to make a short cut across the railroad on his way home from his work: You maynt do this, and you maynt do that, and you maynt do the other now; till you dont know what you may do. Them ten commandments was bad enough, but there was only ten on em. Whos a-going to say what you may do now? Lawk a mussy! they wont let you die quiet in your bed soon, wrout calling in the parish doctor to say whether your times come! Why, theyd a shut up old Bright Trollop in the asylum if hed been alive now. Theyd ha said he wasnt fit to take care of his-self, that they would! I pricked up my ears. Who was Bright Trollop? Oh, I dont know. You must go to Betsy Upton. Shell tell you all about him. So to Betsy Upton I repaired, and a highly interesting account she gave me of Bright Trollop, which I hope my readers will forgive me for introduc- ing in this connection. Who was Bright Trollop, Betsy? Who? He was my great-grand- father, and you may see his stone in the churchyard. Youve heard talk of Trollops Follyyou must ha done! On my expressing my absolute igno- rance of Mr. Bright Trollop and of his sayings or doings, I was favored with the following story. Before I tell it, however, I must needs express my belief that Charles Dickens can hardly have been ignorant of some of the talk about Ttollops eccentrici- ties when he described the Castle in Great Expectations, which Wemmick had constructed for himself with his own hands at Walworth. Probably Dickens heard the gossip about our Scarning mansion in one of his East Anglian pilgrimages. Be that as it may. The following is a narrative of facts. Brightmore Trollop began life as a carver in wood, during the first half of the eighteenth century, and attained such fame for his skill that he managed to scrape together quite a little fortune. There used to be lots o things as Bright Trollop carved in the gentle- folks houses at one time. Ive heerd my mother talk of em oftensich as chairs and great bedsteads. There was one beautiful great carved bedstead as I remember when I was a little girl, but I cant tell what came of it. Having made his pile, Bright Trollop gave up his carving and settled in Skeorns Inga, about the year 1750, taking a farm of about a hundred acres, with a farmhouse that is all but tne The Elders of Arcady. The Elders of Arcady. 129 most picturesque little dwelling in the parish to this day. He took it into his bead to lay out a garden, not on his own farm but about a quarter of a mile off; and I suspect he must have bought the little patch of ground from one of the small owners, of whom there were so many in those days. The farming business did not give sufficient employ- ment to his active mind, and he spent all this spare time upon his garden. In process of time he had surrounded his little freehold U?] with a very thick hedge such as no one couldnt see through, and being a very ingenious personage he contrived a kind of laby- rinth and gravel walks going all sorts of ways; and he dug what hed call a lakethat wasnt no better nor a pit. Yes it were! That were a pond! Ive often heerd tell of the pond. That werent no pit. Why, that werent no more nor a yard deep, and folks said as he puddled it wi clay his-self. The subtle distinction between a pond and a pit must be left. Bright, hed used to call it his lake. Why, they was always a-talking of Trollops Folly when we was young. In the midst of this earthly Para- dise there was a little round house which Mr. Trollop had built with his own hands. It had a door and a win- dow and was full of all sorts of curi- ous things as Bright had got together, and that got to be so heavy at last that when he was an old man he couldnt move it as he used. Move it? Was it on wheels? No; this palace of delights was fixed in some miraculous way on a table and it turned upon a swivel. Nobody never could make out how he did it. He was that crafty as he kind o puzzled em all! Having exercised his genius for many park of his, he acquired a very wide renown. People used to come for miles to pay Mr. Trollop a visit. The gentle folk they was proud of him, Ive heerd say, and theyd do anything for old Bright, as they called him. Sometimes the old man, when he saw them com- ing, would give his house a turn. Lo! There was no door and no window to be seen, for there was a kind of a wooden wall, as you may say, that fitted all round that inside chamber like a great overcoat of boards, as you may say. The would-be visitors, after knocking at the overcoat for a while, would be greeted by the voice of old Bright bidding them to go round to the door, which they never found until he was pleased to give his revolving house a turn, then the door came into sight, and old Bright stood looking out of the window laughing at the gentlefoiks. Mr. Trollop prided himself greatly upon his gooseberries and his apples. There never were such gooseberries. But when a dish of these giants was brought upon the table it was as likely as not to disappear suddenly. How, no one could imagine. Also there were occasions when the palace smelt very strong, indeed, of apples, and Bright would assure his callers that there were sacks of them, and any one who could find them should have the very best of them to take away. Of course nobody ever did find them till Bright showed them how. That was part of the game. One device of the old man he was exquisitely pleased with putting in practice. A visitor would declare that it was time to go home now. Then there came a creaking sound of that there swivel. The party rose to go. They opened the doorthe only doorand to their horror years upon this splendid palace and they found themselves facing the 1 As far as I can make out from my inform- ants the little house was moved ahont in the same way as the sails of a windmill were swung round to catch every change of wind. The mechanism which Trollop inventEd, however, was in some way concealed from view by the screen which the overcoat afforded. 130 On Being Styled Pro~Boer. lake, whose wide expanse and fath- omless depth appalled them. They were actually at its very edge. Oh! Mr. Trollop, we cant get out that way. It is the wrong door. What shall we do? etc., etc. Whereupon the creak- ing of that there swivel began again; sind the gentlefoiks departed, having by some other miraculous process been provided with an apple ,a-piece and in high spirits at their escape from the uncanny devices of the wizard and all the perils of The Folly. Ah! But that was a wonderful place! Ive heerd the old people tell all sorts of wonderful stories about Trollops Folly. And that was a rare pity as that wasnt kept up. But you see as the last of they Trollops, he went on bad and he had to go. It was just as old Bright kind o prophe- sled, for hed carved in big letters on The Folly When Im dead and come no more This place will be as twas afore. * * * * * * * Brightmore Trollop died on the 27th of March, and was buried on the 30th of March, 1802. He is described in the The Nineteenth Oentury Register as an aged farmer. Some of his handiwork and many of the trees he had planted, appear to have remained for people to stare at and talk about till the railway ran through or near The Folly, and though the place is not, and never will be, as twas afore, yet the new has, perhaps, im- proved upon the old. What a very dull world it will he when there remains no more folly in it. What a dreary life it will be when all picturesqueness has become eliminated; when a horrible monotony of universal conformity makes it unlawful and im- possible for men and women to differ from one another in anything; when there are no more queer characters out- side the lunatic asylums; when all the birds sing the same songs and dress alike in the winter and in the summer; when all the men and women speak the same language, and all the dear quaint varieties of dialect have become eliminated, when all the dogs wag the same tails, andsaddest consummation of allwhen all the elders tell the same stories, and none of these stories have any point or interest in them. Augustus Jessopp. ON BEiNG STYLED PRO-BOER. Friend, call me what you will: no jot care I; I that shall stand for England till I die. England! The England that rejoiced to see ilellas unbound, Italy one and free; The England that had tears for Polands doom, And in her heart for all the world made room; The England from whose side I have not swerved; The immortal England Whom I too have served, Accounting her all living lands above, In justice and in mercy and in love. William Watson. The Speaker. Shakesteare and Ike Sea. 131 SHAKESPEARE AND THE SEA. Quite recently it was suggested by the writer of an article in the Spectator that Shakespeare was now but little read,that while his works were quoted from as much as ever, the quo- tations were obtained at second hand, and that it would be hard to find to-day any reader who had waded through all that wonderful collection of plays and poems. This is surely not a carefully made statement. If there were any amount of truth in it, we might well regard such a state of things as only one degree less deplorable than that people should have ceased to read the Bible. For next to the Bible there can be no such collection of writings avail- able wherein may be found food for every mind. Even the sailor, critical as he always is of allusions to the tech- nicalities of his calling that appear in literature, is arrested by the truth of Shakespeares references to the sea and seafaring, while he cannot but wonder at their copiousness in the work of a thorou,,,h landsman. Of course, in this respect it is necessary to remember that Elizabethan England spoke a lan- guage which was far more frequently studded with sea-terms than that which we speak ashore to-day. With all our vast commerce and our utter depen- dence upon the sea for our very life; its romance, its expressions take little hold of the immense majority of the people. Therein we differ widely from Ameri- cans. In every walk of life from 1\Iaine to Mexico, from Philadelphia to San Francisco, the American people salt their speech with terms borrowed- from the sailor, as they do also with other terms used by Shakespeare, and often considered by Shakespeares country- men of the present day, quite wrongly. to be slang. In what is, perhaps, the most splen didly picturesque e1~ort of Shake- speares genius, The Tempest, he hurls us at the outset into the hurly- burly of a storm at sea, with all the terror-striking details attendant upon the embaying of a ship in such weather. She is a passenger ship, too, and the passengers behave as landsmen might be expected to do in such a situation. The Master (not Captain be it noted, for there are no Captains in the mer- chant service) calls the boatswain. Here arises a difficulty for a modern sailor. Where was the mate? We can not say that the office was not known, although Shakespeare nowhere alludes to such an officer, but this much is cer- tain, that for one person who would understand ~ho was meant by the mate, ten would appreciate the mention of the boatswains name, and that alone would justify its use in poetry. In this short colloquy between the Master and the boatswain we have the very spirit of sea-service. An immediate reply to the Masters hail, and an in- quiry in a phrase now only used by the vulgar, bring the assurance Good; but it is at once followed by Speak to the mariners, fall tot yarely, or we run ourselves aground; bestir, bestir. Having given his orders the Master goeshe has other matters to attend toand the boatswain heartens up his crew in true nautical fashion, his lan- guage being almost identical with that used to-day. His aside is true sailor, Blow till thou burst thy wind, if [we have] room enough. This essen- tially nautical feeling that given a good ship and plenty of sea-room there is nothing to fear, is alluded to again and again in Shakespeare. He has the very spirit of it. Then come the meddlesome passengers, hampering the hard-pressed officer with their questioning and ad- 132 Skakesteare and the Sea. viceluntil, exasperated beyond cour- tesy, he bursts out: You mar our labor. Keep your cabins. You do assist the storm. Bidden to remember whom he has on board, he gives them more of his mind, winding up by again addres- sing his crew with cheerly good hearts, and, as a parting shot to his hinderers, Out of our way, I say. But the weather grows worse; they must needs strike the topmast and heave-to under the main-course (main- sail), a manoeuvre which, usual enough with Elizabethan ships, would never be attempted now. Under the same circumstances the lower main-topsail would be used, the mainsail having been furled long before because of its unwieldy size. Still the passengers annoy, now with abuse, whh~h is an- swered by an appeal to their reason and an invitation for them to take hold and work. For the need presses. She is on a lee shore, and in spite of the fury of the gale sail must be made. Set her two courses [mainsail and foresail] off to sea again, lay her off. And now the sailors despair and speak of prayer, their cries met scornfully by the valiant boatswain with What, must our mouths be cold? Then fol- lows that wonderful sea-picture begin- ning Scene II, which remains unap- proachable for vigor and truth. A little farther on comes the old sea-supersti- tion of the rats quitting a foredoomed ship, and in Ariels report a spirited account of what must have been sug- gested to Shakespeare by stories of the appearance of corposants or St. Elmos fire, usually accompanying a storm of this kind, and in answer to Prosperos question, Who was so firm ? etc., Ariel bears incidental tribute to the mariners,All but mari- ners plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel, those same mariners who are afterwards found, their ves- sel safely anchored, asleep under hatches, their dangerous toil at an end. In the Twelfth Night there are many salt-water allusions no less happy, beginning with the bright pic- ture of Antonio presented by the Cap- tain (of a war ship?) breasting the sea upon a floating mast. Again, in Act I, Scene 6, Viola answers Malvollos un- called for rudeness, Will you hoist sail, Sir? with the ready idiom, No, good swabber, I am to hull [to heave-tol here a little longer. In Act if, Scene 1, the Duke speaks of Antonio as Cap- tain of a bawbitug vesselfor shallow draught, and bulk, unprizable; in mod- ern terms a small privateer that played such havoc with the enemys fleet that very envy and the tongue of loss cried fame and honor on him. Surely Shake- speare must have had Drake in his mind when he wrote this. Who does not remember Shylocks contemptuous summing up of Antonios means and their probable loss ?Ships are but boards, sailors but men, there be land rats and water rats, water thieves and land thievesI mean pi- rates; then there is the peril of waters, winds and rocks.Act I, Scene 3. In this same play, too, we have those terrible quicksands, the Goodwins, sketched for us in half a dozen lines: Where the carcasses of many a tall ship lie buried. Act III, Scene 1; and in the last scene of the last act Antonio says his ships are safely come to road, an expression briny as the sea itself. In the Comedy of Errors, Act I, Scene 1, we have a phrase that should have been coined by an ancient Greek sailor-poet: The always-wind-obeying deep, and a little lower down the page a touch of sea-lore that would of itself suffice to stamp the writer as a man of intimate knowledge of nautical ways: A small spare mast, such as seafaring men provide for storms. Who told Shakespeare of the custom of sailors to carry spare spars for jury masts? In Macbeth, the first witch sings Shakesteare and the Sea. 133 of the winds and the compass card, and promises that her enemys husband shall suffer all the torments of the tem- pest-tossed sailor without actual ship- wreck. She also shows a pilots thumb wrackd as homeward he did come. Who, in these days of universal read- ing, needs reminding of the allusion to the ship-boys sleep in Act III, Scene 1, of Henry IV, a contrast of the most powerful and convincing kind, power- ful alike in its poetry and its truth to the facts of Nature? Especially notice- able is the line where Shakespeare speaks of the spindrift: And in the vis- itation of the winds Who take the ruf- fian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads and hanging them With deafning clamors in the slippery clouds. King Henry VI, Act V, Scene 1, has this line full of knowledge of sea usage: Than bear so low a sail to strike to thee. Here is a plain allusion to the ancient custom Whereby all ships of any other nation, as well as all mer- chant ships, were compelled to lower their sails in courtesy to British ships of war. The picture given in Richard III, Act I, Scene 4, of the sea-bed does not call for so much wonder, for the condition of that secret place of the sea must have had peculiar fascination for such a mind as Shakespeares. Set in those few lines he has given us a vision of the deeps of the sea that is final. A wonderful passage is to be found in Cymbeline, Act III, Scene 1, that seems to have been strangely neglected, where the Queen tells Cymbeline to remember The natural bravery of your isle, which stands As Neptunes park, ribbed and paled in With rocks unscaleable and roaring waters; With sands that will not bear your enemies boats, But suck them up to the top-mast. And again in the same scene, Cloten speaks of the Romans finding us in our salt-water girdle. But no play of Shakespeares, except The Tempest, smacks so smartly of the brine as Pericles, the story of that much enduring Prince of Tyre, whose nautical mishaps are made to have such a miraculously happy end- ing. In Act II, Scene 1, enter Pericles, wet, invoking heaven that the sea, hav- ing manifested its sovereignty over man, may grant him one last boon,a peaceful death. To him appear three fishermen characteristically engaged in handling their nets, bullying one an- other and discussing the latest wreck. And here we get a bit of sea-lore that all sailors deeply appreciate. 3rtt i~~sft. Nay, master, said not I as much, when I saw the porpus how he bounced and tumbled? they say, they are half fish, half flesh; a plague on them! they neer come but I looked to be washd. Few indeed are the sailors, even in these steamship days who have not heard that the excited leaping of porpoises presages a storm. The whole scene well deserves quotation, especially the true description of the whale (rorqual) driving the poor fry before him and at last swallows them all at a mouth- ful. Space presses, however, and it will be much better for those interested to read for themselves. Act III, Scene 1, brings before us a companion picture to that in the opening of The Tem- pest, perhaps even more vivid; where the terrible travail of the elements is agonizingly contrasted with the birth- wail of an infant, and the passing of the hapless Princess. Beautiful indeed is the rough but honest heartening of- fered by the laboring sailors, broken off by the sea-command to 1st Sailor. Slack the bolins there; thou wilt not, wilt thou? Blow and split thyself. 2 d Sailor. But sea-room, an the brine and cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care not. 134 Th~ Cuckoo. Bolins, modern bowlines, were an- ciently used much more than now. At present they are slight ropes which lead from forward to keep the weather edges (leaches) of the courses rigid in light winds when steering full and bye. But in olden days even topgallant sails had their bolins, and they were among the most important ropes in the ship. The Spectator. Then we have the sea-superstition creating the deepest prejudice against carrying a corpse. And, sympathetic as the mariners are, the dead woman must overboard straight. Reluc- tantly we must leave this all too brief sketch of Shakespeares true British sea-sympathies, for space is already overrun. THE CUCKOO. Not a few people beside William Wordsworth have found the charm of mystery in the cuckoo. Shall I call thee bird or but a wandering voice? he asked, and as we are told by Mr. Justin McCarthy, the sentiment made a profound impression on John Bright. In fact, the cuckoo is a poetical and metaphysical puzzle, eluding the obser- vation of the naturalist and defying the analysis of the philosopher. Though comparatively seldom seen, he is al- ways very much in evidence. The mo- ment he lands on our shores, he is clamorously announcing his arrival, and he goes on reminding us that he is always there, till his chaunt breaks away in the hot flush of summer. The harbinger of spring is his popular designation, and he figures conspicu- ously in the poetry of the seasons. Other bards besides Wordsworth and Loganthe author of The Braes of Yarrowhave sung his praises in immortal verse, and when Gilbert White, once in a way, dropped into poetry, he sang of the vagrant cuckoos tale. The reckless and erratic habits of the light-hearted rover have always enveloped him in an atmosphere of romance. There is nothing more pic- turesque in Lavengro, than Jasper Petulengros apothegm, where he com- pares the vagrant cuckoo to the gypsy. Even phlegmatic rustics have always appreciated him. In the olden time, that is to say about a couple of gener- ations ago, he was honored as the in- carnate spirit of song among the Pe- nates of each rural homestead and self-respecting cottage. The cuckoo- clock with its eternal and monotonous chime stood enshrined in the passage or at the bottom of the stairs. No sooner had he made his April appear- ance than all the village urchins were imitating his note, which, indeed, needs nothing of the vocal versatility of the mocking-bird. For, as Paganini made his reputation on a single string, so the character of the cuckoos performance is severe simplicity. That he is the most self-satisfied of all musicians is self-evident. But the strange thing is, that as he pleases himself, so he always holds his audience spellbound. We have been listening to an enchanting silvan concert. Blackbird and thrush. have been singing in touch, and the swelling spirit of emulation has only enriched the blend of the harmony; by way of interlude the nightingale has been trilling out solos in Italian ron- lades, and from the distance, as from a bassoon in the orchestra, comes the softened bass of the ringdove, abruptly broken off and as abruptly recommene- ing. All of a sudden the cuckoo cuts; The Cuckoo. 135 in, and nothing can seem in worse taste or less in sympathy. The impulse is to exclaim, Turn him out, but as the venerable Abbot in Ardtonish Halls Was impelled to bless when he arose to curse, we are compelled to change our notewhich the cuckoo does not and the call for ejection dies away in an encore.~~ The truth is, there is a deal of senti- mental association in it all, and there is much in that stock phrase, the herald of the spring. We have been shivering through a dreary winter, between leaden skies and reeking meadows, and with the searching March winds, that curdle the marrow, despondency is passing into despair. We waken one fine week to a wonderful transforma- tion scene, with bursting leaves and blowing apple blossoms. Beneath a heaven of blue at last, we cast our ulsters with our Jaeger underwear, and again the blood is coursing through the veins. The sense of exhilaration is the stronger for the sharp reaction, as we take our walks by the country lanes and field paths. The yellow green of the swelling foliage takes a subdued glow in the sunblaze; the wild flowers are breaking out in the vernal flush; banks watered by the land springs are gemmed with the primrose tufts; beds of hyacinths show blue in the coppices; cowslips and even orchids are already showing their heads in the meads; and the brackens breaking through the car- pets of fir needles are already unrolling their silvery fronds. With the enjoy- ment springs up a craving for some ex- pression of sympathy, and there the hilarious cuckoo chimes in. Was it fancy or only a vocal allusion? You pause and listen again for the two- fold shout. Yes, there it is again, this time there is no doubt, for the herald of the spring sounds his joyous trumpet with a breezy vigor of jubila- tion, unimpaired by the Channel pas- sage. While you stand in a futile at- tempt to locate him, he has boxed the compass and crossed the vale. Truly he is a wandering voice and also a mystery. Like other erratic an~ adventurous characters, he has been the subject of wild fables and strange fancies. Indeed, there is no knowing where to have him or how to study him. Other birds are monogamous, or the matrons at least are domestic in their habits at certain seasons of the year. After confinement, or when the cares of a young family need attention, Madame Thrush and the more roving pheasant hen are always to be found at home. Their mates, forever forag- ing for food, might be models of the most overworked p~re de famille. The cuckoos of both sexes cast family anxi- eties to the winds. The male leads the life of a roving libertine, and though it cannot be proved that he is faithless to a wife, to say the least he is open to suspicion as a gay Lothario. Skimming ~hedges and copses, keeping instinc- tively out of sight, he can indulge in indiscretions without the slightest fear of compromising himself or a lady. Nor is his light-minded love likely to re- proach him. No smart mother on the outskirts of Beigravia has a more pro- found detestation of the nuisances of maternity. Her habit, by the way, of dropping her eggs promiscuous shows how much of a mystery the cuckoo has been, even to such close observers of Nature as Gilbert White. He assumes, as matter of course, that his correspon- dent, Dames Barrington, wonders how the hedgesparrow can be induced to sit on the supposititious egg with- out being scandalized at the vast, dis- proportionate size. As matter of fact, by a provision pandering to follies, which we should scarcely have ex- pected of Providence, the one egg is little bigger than the other. But that beneficent arrangement having been made in her favor, the next puzzle is how she managed to lay the egg in a 136 The Cuckoo. nest which would be a tight fit for a bird of half her size. White vouch- safes no explanation. But Mr. Dixon tells us in his Bird Life that the cuckoo drops the egg on the ground and then transports it to its destina- tion with beak or claw. Whereupon two other questions suggest themselves, and they can never be satisfactorily solved. First, Does the careless mother look out for a nest, before or after dropping the egg? Secondly, How many eggs does she lay? For all we can tell it may be but a single one, or she may be prolific as a hen pheasant, though the fact that cuckoos are com- paratively scarce seems to tell against the latter theory. Yet, if they are somewhat scarce in England, they are more common elsewhere, and whereas they are solitaries with us, in other lands they are gre- garious. We can speak, at least, as to what we have seen, and we have seen them flitting about in coveys of eight or ten on the heath of Carhaix, and among the standing stones of Carnac. And very harmonious seemed their somewhat sombre plumage and their swift but uncanny flight with the gloom of those superstition-haunted wastes, the gray memorials of Pagan worship. To hear the cuckoos cheery note, you might think he had the clearest con- science in the world. He can have neither memory nor moral sense, or he would not carry it off so gaily. We say nothing of the raptores who are a race apart, but the most disreputable of birds as a rule are guilty of nothing The Saturday Review. / / / C~j / worse than peccadillos. The jackdaw will steal for the mere fun of the thing, for he can make no possible use of plate or jewelry, and sometimes under temptation may make a snatch at a pheasant chick; sparrows are, of course, notorious thieves, but they rank no higher in crime than the sneaking pick- pockets. But the cuckoo, so to speak, is a murderer from his cradle; he vio- lates the sanctity of a hospitable hearth, his first victims are his own foster- brothers, and before he tries his wings on the first flight he is imbrued in fraternal blood, like any Amurath or Bazajet. We are aware that some latter-day naturalists have denied that he tosses his fellow-nurslings out of the nestwe know that Lucrezia Bor- gia and Richard Crookback have found ardent apologistsbut we defy these ingenious gentlemen to prove their negative, and nil presumptions are against them. In any case, in the young cuckoos portentous voracity we see the germs of the gay selfishness which characterizes him in later years. The gaping maw, expanding wider and wider day by day, swallows the food that should have sufficed for a whole happy family, and for choice we should rather be killed offhand than doomed to a lingering death of hunger. Lastly, there is an obvious moral to be drawn from the fond and foolish parents who are ever on the wing, to satisfy the in- satiate cravings of a nursling who only waits for his wings to show his in- gratitude ii ( / I ~~ 1/ / /

THE LIVING AGE: (POUNDED nv E. LITTELL ix 1844.) SEVENTH SERIES. NO ~ YTTTY FROM BEGINRINO VOLUME VIII. ~ ~ 21, 1900. Vol.CCXXVI. THE INTELLECTUAL AWAKENING OF CHINA. The refusal of the Taotai of Shanghai the Empire are, however, not so easily to permit foreign steamers to trade be- observable. At present the strength of tween Shanghai and Chnisan, and the those who cherish the teaching of attacks on the English surveying party Kang is to sit still, and the punish- at Weihaiwei, are two among many in- ments which overtook the signatories dications that the present rulers at to the protest against the deposition of Peking, having scotched the leaders the Emperor are object lessons which and principal objects of the reform are not likely to be forgotten by them. party, are now descending to details, But, though wrapped in an enforced and to the infliction of pin-pricks on all silence they are there, and are every outer barbarians who are presumably day gaining recruits and improvIng alders and abettors of the unfortunate their stock of knowledge. Kang Yu-wei and his followers. In Physicians recognize that in some pursuance of these objects they are forms of disease the cessation of pain evincing a fixed determination to put is one of the most hopeless symptoms, beyond the pale everything that calls and an analogous state of affairs exists itself foreign, and more especially at the present moment in China, where every means of advancement towards the action of the Government is so en- enlightenment which may have gained tirely divorced from the sentiment of the advocacy of the unfortunate the country that, oblivious of the unrest Kang. This policy is not a wise one. in their midst, the rulers cry Peace, It reflects the feminine instinct of re- Peace, while war and revolution are venge, and displays a degree of igno- threatening. With blind obstinacy the rance of the forces they are combating Manchu rulers of the Empire are prov- which can only be explained by the ing themselves to be as much opposed light of their preceding blunders in the to reason and as much wedded to their same direction. For the moment we fossilized system of government as may set aside the foreign difficulties they have ever been, while their imme- of the Empire. They are such as those diate actions have shown that the only who run may read, and will, we may reply they were willing to vouchsafe. hope, be set right by the exercise of to reformers is the old-world formula firmness and discretion. The opponents of the executioners sword. which the Empress and her Ministers But this weapon, though formidable are arraying against themselves within enough when wielded with the wide 138 The Intellectual Awakening of china. sweep common in Eastern countries, can, after all, only terrorize a compara- tive few. The leaders are sent to the execution ground, as was lately the ease with the six reformers at Peking, or are compelled to fly the country like Kang Yu-wei and Sun Yatsen, but the seed sown remains in the land, and having fallen on a congenial soil is probably destined to bring forth fruit at no very distant date. The rulers and the ruled are thus pulling in two different directions. The authorities at Peking, uninfluenced by the opinions of the outer world, and supremely igno- rant of everything beyond their imme- diate ken, pursue their traditional course, and attempt to force on a now inquiring and expanding nation a Pro- crustean system of government which duly suited the people in days gone by, but which is rapidly becoming impos- sible now that light is beginning to shine in the provinces and knowledge to spread. Under the teachings of Kang Yu-wei and the influence of for- eign literature it is beginning to dawn on the people that wisdom is not lim- ited to the writings of Confucius and his followers; that there are other and better methods of advancement in knowledge and in material prosperity than are dreamt of in his philosophy; and that if the enemy is to be kept from the gates, it is absolutely neces- sary that they should adopt other war- like methods than those which satisfied all requirements when the world was young.. One potent agency in bringing about this change in the popular mind has been the Society for the Diffusion of Christian and General Knowledge among the Chinese, which, by circu- lating translations of European works on religion, science and general sub- jects, has, during the twelve or thirteen years of its existence, done a great and increasingly great work. The primary object with which the Society was established was to gaim by some means or other the ear of the intellectual classes. The founders felt that in a country such as China the motive power for the effectual working of a change should come from above and not from below, and that so long as the mandarins and titerati were banded together in a league of igno- rance, reforms would be impossible~ except by the drastic method of revolu- tion. Their first efforts were directed, therefore, to supplying the educated classes with a literature which should enlighten their understandings, and show them a more perfect way of knowledge than their native books were able to point out. This was a wise step~ It will be remembered that the Jesuit missionaries of the sixteenth and sev- enteenth centuries established them- selves in the good graces of the Gov- eminent and gained a wide inf