New En gland Magazine AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY. OONTFNTS $~ries, Vol. 6. Old Serie~, VOl. MARCH, x8921AUGUST, 1892. BOSTON, MASS.: NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE CORPORATION, 86 Federal Street. 12. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1892, hy the NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE CORPORATION, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. AU rights reserved. TYPOGRAPHY BY NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE, BOSTON, MASS. PRESSWORK BY POTTER & POTTER, BOSTON, MASS. INDEX TO TUE NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE. VOLUME vi. MARCH AUGUST, 18q2. PAGE. AMERICA IN EARLY ENGLISH LITERATURE Isaac Basset! 6hoa/e 20 AUNT MARTHYS SECRETARY. A Story Mary 7. Garland 98 ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH Rev. William H. Savage ....... .237 Illustrated by Valerian Gribayedof, Chas. H. Woodbury, Sears Gallagher, Louis A. Holman, Jo. H. Hatfield, M. Lamont Brown, James Hall, and A. Howes. The old Parsonage; Sir Richard Saltonstall; First old Parsonage, 1635; Old Meeting House in which Provincial Con- gress held their 2d and 3d Sessions; Harriet Hosmers Birthplace; Birthplace of Maria White (Lowell); Theodore Parker; Harriet Hosmer; Rev. John Bailey; Some old Watertown Tombstones; Anne Whitney; Birthplace of Anne Whitney; Fowle House, General XVarrens Headquarters; Paul Reveres House; Public Library; First Parish Church; John Weiss; Twilight on the Charles; Dr. Convers Franciss House; Dr. Convers Francis; Theodore Parkers Board. ing Place; House in which Theodore Parker kept School; Old Coolidge Tavern whete Washington once lodged; Watertown Churches of To-day. ART IN CHICAGO Lucy B. Monroe. 411 Illustrations: James H. Dole, Vice.President of the Art Institute; The Chicago Art Institute; Portrait of a Girl, by Rembrandt Van Ryn; Prof. N. P. Lulp, by Rembrandt Van Ryn; Princess Helena Leonora de Sieveri, by Van Dyck; The Water Mill, by Hobbema; W. M. R. French, Director of the Art Institute; The Sacred WoodPagan Inspira- tion, by Puvis de Chavannes; John H. Vanderpoel, President Chicago Society of Artists; Heads of Two Apostles, by Peter Paul Rubens; The Guitar Lesson, by Terburg; Judgment of Paris, by Walter McEwen; Charles L. Hutchinson, President of the Art Institute; Alice D. Kellogg, President of the Palette Club; Walter McEwen, from a charcoal sketch by Himself, engraved by M. Lamont Brown; Abraham Lincoln, from the Statue by Augustus St. Gandens; The New Art Institute ARMSTRONG (GENERAL) AND THE HAMPTON INSTITUTE Edwin A. Start 442 Illustrated chiefly from photographs by Jeannette El. Appleton and sketches by H. Martin Beal: View of the Water Front of the Hampton Buildings; Map of Hampton; General Samtiel Chapman Armstrong, en- graved by i\I. Lamont Brown; The Old Mansion HouseHome of General Armstrong; A Bit of the Old South, near Hampton; Memorial Church from Hampton River; Virginia Hall; General James F. B. Marshall; Whittier Prepara.. tory School; Harness Making; Officers of the Battalion; In the Girls Garden; Shellbanks The Old Homestead on the Hemenway Farm; The Barnyard; Reading-room and Library; Class in Natural History Science Building; In the Printing Office; Indian Students; Indian Boys playing Crokinole; Spahananadaka (Wild Rose), a Hampton Student; Indian Boys making Wheelbarrows; an Omaha Family and their Home before a Course at Hampton and Afterward. ARGENTINE REPUBLIC, THE Don 7uan S. Att7oell 767 Illustrated chiefly from Photographs by the Amateur Photographic Society of Buenos Aires, kisldly loaned for the purpose by Don Carlos R6hl, Consul-general of the Argentine Republic, New York. Illustrations: Government House, Buenos Aires; Provincial Bank, City of La Plata; Poor Peoples Huts, Buenos Aires Province; Private Residences on one of the Fashionable Avenues of Buenos Aires; Cathedral, Buenos Aires; Callao Street, Buenos AiresJesuit Convent on Right; Station of the Southern Railroad, Buenos Aires; Btokers Rings, Stock Exchange, Buenos Aires; Fa~ade of Opera House, Buenos Aires; Grand Stand, Race Course, Buenos Aires; A Rodeo, Small Herd of Cows on a Ranch; Scene in the Park of Buenos Aires; Municipal Building, La Plata; New Docks, Buenos Aires; An old Spanish Corner in Buenos Airesa relic of Cdlonial Times; El Challao, Andes Mountains; Ruins of Santo Domingo Church, Mendoza; Three Public Schools of Buenos Aires; Entrance to the Riachuelo. BRYANTS NEw ENGLAND HOME Henrietta S. Nahiner Illustrations by Chas. H. Woodhury, B. V. Carpenter, Louis A. Holman, and Sears Gallagher: William Cullen Bryant; Monument marking Birthplace of the Poet; One of Cummingtons streets; House in which Thanatopsis was written; William Cullen Bryant; Bank of the rivulet which flows through Cummington; Old School- house on the Bryant farm; Old road at Cummington; Schoolhouse presented to the Town by William Cullen Bryant; Interior of the Bryant Library; Library presented by the Poet to the Town of Cummington; The Bryant Homestead; Library in Bryant Homestead; Old Baptist Church; Bryants Fathers grave in the motintain graveyard. BERMUDA IN BLOCKADE TIMES Charles Halloek 337 BONIVARD, THE TRUE, THE PRISONER OF CHILION W. D. Mcfi7rackan 615 Illustrated by H. Martin Beal and Louis A. Holman. BLACK BASS FISHING IN NEW ENGLAND Charles Frederick Danforth 66o CANDIDATE AT BINNACLE, THE Benlamin Asbury Goodridge .. 796 Illustrated by Jo. H. Hatfield. CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HARVARD William Dana Orcut! 81 Illustrations; Jester, from ~ H. P. C. Theatricals Twelfth Night; Group from q~ D. K. E. TheatricalsCalus Julius Cnsar; Premilre Danseusein ~i H. P. C. The Obispab ; The g~ D. K. E. Theatricals Cams Johns Cnsar; Seal of Institute of i770; The ~e H. P. C. Theatricals The Obispab; Alco in The Obispab; Emblem of Porcellian Club; Groupfrom ~ D. K. E. Theatricals A Serpent in Petticoats; The Hasty Pudding Clubhouse; Medal of H. P. C.; ~ Skirtz in The Obispab; Group from the 92 H. P. C. Theatricals The Old Bedstead; Cassandra in 90 H. P. C. Helen and Paris: The Freak, the Frump, and Friar; Ballet Girls in Alice in Wonderland; Emblem of A. D. Club; Amita in The Obispab ; Running for the Dickey; Seal of the Pi Eta Society; Medal of the 0. K. Society; Watch charm of the Phi Beta Kappa Society; Institute Song; Seal of the Alpha Delta Phi Society; Dickey business; Notification of Membership H. P. C.; The Porcelliati Clubhouse. CARDINAL MANNING. A Portrait 185 COMMONPLACE BIOGRAPHY, A Thomas M. Glark, D.D 207 INDEX. PAGE. CLAY, HENRY, AS SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE Mary Parker Follelt 344 CHICAGO STOCKYARDS, THE. i//us/rated P. ~. OKeefe 358 CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR MOVEMENT, THE 513 I. The Early Days of the Society Rez. Francis E. Clark II. A New Religious Force A taos R. Wells III. The Outlook aod the Opportunity . . . 7oka Willis Baer Illustrated with Sketches and Portraits. CHICAGO, THE HEART OF Franklin H. Head 551 Illustrated chiefly from photographs: Tower of the Auditorium; A Moonlight Effect; The W C. I. U. Building; The Lake Front; Marshall Field & Co.s XVholesale Store: Among the Docks; The Masonic Temple; State Street; The Rooke and Hoard of Trade; The Lake Front Park; Hallway in Auditorium; Dining-room in Auditorium; Clark Street; Marshall Field & Co.s; Interior of Hoard of Trade; Court House and City Building; Twilight on Lake Michigan; Interior of First National Bank; Potter Palmer; Marshall Field; Geo. i\I. Pullman; Philip D. Armour; Pullman Building. CHILLON, PRISONER OF W. D. MeGrackan 615 CHICAGO FIRE, THE ,7osep/z Kirkland 726 Illtistrated from photographs kindly furnished hy Mr. Henry H. Belfield, and the Dibble Publishing Co., the publishers of Mr. Kirklands work The S tory of Chicago, Illustrations; Door of Republic Insurance Company Building (still standing); House now standing where the Great Fire originated; Historical Society Building, Dearborn Street; Tribune Building, Before and After the Fire; The Court House before the Fire; The Court House, seen through the Ruins of Clark Street; Booksellers Row, Before and After; Post Office; Post Office Ruins; First National Bank; Field and Leisters Store; Chamber of Commerce; Michigan Southern R. R. Depot; Armours Block; St. Jamess Church Before and After; Door of Unity Church; Ruins of N. E. Congregational Church; Unity and N. E. Congregational Churches after the Fire; St. Pauls Church Before and After; Looking South down Clark St.; View from Tribune Building Looking East; Crosbys Opera House; View of Wabash Avenue; Van Buren Street Bridge. EDITORS TABLE Edwin D. Mead 134, 266, 403, 543, 679, 8t~ EARLY VISITORS TO CHICAGU Edward C. Mason 188 Illustrations by Jo. H. Hatfield, Louis A. Holman, and from old prints. ELECTRICAL DEVELOPMENT OF THE FUTURE Professor Eliku Thomson 623 FAMILY TREE, A. A Story Mary L. Adams 257 Illustrated by Jo. H. Hatfield. FREE SUMMER PLEASURES FOR THE PEOPLE lN BOSTON Kate Gannett Wells 789 FRENCH CANADIANS IN NEW ENGLAND, THE Prosper Bender ~68 FREEMAN, EDWARD AUGUSTUS William (larke, M.A 607 FUTURE ELECTRICAL DEVELOPMENT Professor Eliku Tkomson 623 Illustrated by H. Martin Beal; Electric Signal operating through Fog and Darkness; Ships officer taking the Electric Wave Signal; Power Station at Niagara; Electric Street Cars; Power Station, New York City; Electric Freight Locomotive; High Speed Electric Locomotive; Lighting, ancient and modern; Electric Mine Locomotive; Electric Mining Drill; Electric Gardening; Electric Iron; Electric Cooking. FIRE, THE CHICAGO 7osepk Kirkland 726 GOVERNMENT OF CITIES Moorfeld Storey 432 GOVERNOR WINTHROPS FARM. A Chapter of Old Bedford History..Abram Englisk Brown 325 Illustrated hy Jo. H. Hatfield, H. Martin Heal, and Louis A. Holman: Governor Winthrop; The Two Brothers; A Portion of the deed of conveyance of the Winthrop Farm; Job Lanes House; Road dividing the Winthrop Farm; The First Meeting.house; Fitch Tavern; Mill on the Shawshine; Alice Stearos; Chestnut Avenue, Pickman House; Old Clock, Bedford Church; Bedford Church: The Bacon Homestead; Old Flag, 775; Rev. Samuel Stearns; Hannah Reed; Bedford House; Sign of David Reeds Tavern; The Winthrop oak. GOVERNORS RECEPTION, THE. A Story Frances M. Abbott 301 Illustrated by Jo. H. Hatfield: Don seem to be any signs of breakin the drouth ; When Mr. Atkinsons dickey strings were tied; Lucy; Gentlemen, will you let me escort you down and introduce you to the Governor? GLOUCESTER, ROUND ABOUT Edwin A. Start 687 HANS GUTEMANS WINNINGS. A Story Mac Gregor 7enkins 703 IN A LIYrTE OLD TRUNK. Illustrated 7ahn S. Barrows 213 IMPRESSIONISM IN PAINTING William Howe Downes 6oo JUST TAXATION 7. Whidden Graham 706 LENNETTE. A Story Ethel Davis 231, 372 LIND, JENNY, IN NORTHAMPTON Elizabeth Le Baron Marsh 391 Illustrations: Northampton from Elizabeth Rock; Mr. and Mrs. Goldschmidt, iI~i; A Nook in Paradise; Program of Jenny Linds Concert; Mount Holyoke from Hockanum Ferry; The Jonathan Edward Elm; The old church in which Jenny Lind sang; The lake in Paradise, Northampton; The Henshaw House, where Jenny Lind used to stop on her way up Round Hill; Round Hill, Northampton, from an Old I1rint. MARCO POLOS EXPLORATIONS AND THEIR INFLUENCE UPON COLUMBUS... Helen P. Margesson 803 MILWAUKEE (aptain (harles Kind ito Illustrated chiefly from photographs by S. L. Stein. The long sweep of sandy shore to the south; Up the river nearly two miles from the Lake; Residence of D. M. Benjamin; View of Grand Avenue and Ninth Street looking West; The Milwaukee Club; John Mitchells Residence; National Soldiers Home; North Point Water Tower and Park; View on the Milwaukee River; Mallards coming in to roost, from a painting by C. 0. Kert; Layton Art Gallery; One of Milwaukees new Hotels; A Bit of River Scenery; The Plankinton Residence; St. Pauls Episcopal Church; Emmanuel Church; The Milwaukee River; Chicago, Mil- waukee, aad St. Paul Union Depot; Schandein Residence; Trinity Church; Residences of James E. Patton and G. P. Miller; Hallway in G. P. Millers House; Chimneypiece in 1. A. Chapmans store; A new Milwaukee office building; T. A. Chapmans store; Colonel Fred Pabsts Residence. INDEX. xiii PAGE. M1CMAC FESTIVAL IN CAPE BRETON, THE 7. H. Wilson 177 MEXICO, THE REPUBLIC OF Don Gayetano kontero 579 Illustrations: President Diaz; Statue of Columbus, City of Mexico; The Cathedral of Mexico; Aztec Calendar Stone; Drainage Canal of Nochistongo; Interior of the Cathedral of Guadalupe; Shrines on Sacramonti; Popocatepetl from Tlamacas; Zacatecas; Ixtaccjihuatl from Tlamacas; Hacienda, Temasopa A Typical Mexican Farmhouse; Quere- taro; Hercules Cotton Mills near Queretaro; El Salto de JuanacatlanThe Majara of Mexico; A Mexican Water Carrier; A Mexician Mining Scene; Guanajuanto; A Loafer; Temasopa Calion; The Pyramid of Cholula; Acque- duct at Quereiaro A Bit of Aguascalienies A Native gathering Pulque; A Bit of Orizala; Castle of Chapultepec. MODERN LEAR, A. A Story Et/zelwyh Wet/zerald 603 NEGRO CAMP MELODIES Henri (leveland Wood 6o OMNIBUS 271, 408, 548, 684 A Heart of Stone, P. ;VlcArthur; The Modish Maid, Basil Tempest; ~Old and New, Francis Dana; From the Past, M. A. de Wolfe Howe, Jr.; A Diet of Worms, Amos R. Wells; Genlosan Joe, M. E. Torrence. A Medley, Susie RI. Best; One of Longfellows Letters, D. M. Jones. Her Name, Zitella Cocke; The Difference, T. H. Farnham; A Comforter, Robert Loveman; The De- butante, James G. Burnett. Worshippers of Light Ancestral, A. S. Bridgman; A Treasure Trove, P. McArthur; In Cliftondale, Allen Eastman Cross; Blind Love, Kate Whiting; The Violet, C. Battell Loomis; A Back-Bay Lesson, A. S. Bridgman. ON THE TRACK o~ COLUMBUS Horatio 7. Perry 290 ONE OF A THOUSAND. A Serial STORY. I. and II Eben E. Rexford 783 ~ MONOMOV POINT. A Story William Earle Baldwin 743 PROVIDENTIAL LEADING, A. A Story Mi~a (larke Parsons . 26 PROGRESS OF THE AMERICAN REPUBLICS, THE William Eleroy (nrtis 311 POOR MILLIONNAIRE, A. A Story Mary L. Adams . 489 PEOPLE IN CHURCH AND STATE. THE Edward Everett Hale 541 PROFESSIONS OR TRADES FOR WORKtNGMENS SONS Forrest Morgan 752 RECOLLECTIONS oG LOUISA MAY ALCOrr Maria S. Porter 3 Illustrations by May Alcott Nieriker, Louis A. Holman, and Jo. H. Hatfield: Amos Bronson Alcott; Mrs. Alcott; Bust of Alcott, by Ricketson, in the Concord Library; The Wayside; 1he Porch of the Orchard House; IVIiss Alcotts House at Nonquitt; Miss Alcott at the age of thirty.eight; Miss Alcott from a Photo by Warren; Orchard House, Concord (The Home of the Little Women); No. to Lotiisburgh Square, Boston; Bust of Miss Alcott made by Walter Ricketson for the Concord Library; House on Dunreath Place, Boston, where Miss Alcott died; The Alcott Lot in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, Concord; A Portion of Miss Alcotts last Letter. ROMANCE OF CASCO BAV. I., II., III Herbert M. Sylvester 379, 501, 756 Illustrated by Charles H. Woodbury, H. M. Sylvester, Sears Gallagher, and Jo. H. Hatfield: Fore River; lhe Stroudwater across the Old Canal; Some Quaint Headstones; The old Salt Mill; The Means House; The Means Sideboard; Stairway in the Tate House; Admiral Tates House; Buffet in the Tate House; The Tate Homestead, said to be the oldest House in Maine. ROUND ABOUT GLOUCESTER Edwin A. Start 687 Illustrated by Jo. H. Hatfield, Louis A. Holman, and Sears Gallagher. Rafes Chasm; Old Ellery Houseonce used as a Tavern; The Glottcester Court House; Mother AnnEastern Point, Gloucester; Main Street; One of the Residential Streets; A Bit of Gloucester, seen from East Cloucester; Low Tide at Magnolia; On Eastern Point; The Willows, near Annisquam; Fish Curing; Coffins Beach; Gloucester from East Gloucester; The Reef of Normans Woe; An old Timer; A Modern Gloucester Fishing Schooner; High School; Rev. John Murray; Rev. Eli Forbes; A Bit of Annisquam; Gale House, Eastern Point; Sketches around Cape Ann. STORIES o~ SALEM WITCHCRAFT Winfield S. Nevins 36 Illustrations; Witch Pine; Site of Bridget Bishops Salem House; Residence of Constable Putnam, Salem Village, t692; Shattuck House, Salem; Death warrant of Bridget Bishop; The Jacobss House, Danversport; Anthony Needham House, West Peabody; Site of Beadle favern, Salem; Trask House, North Beverly; Site of John Proctors House, Peabody; George Jacobs Grave, Danversport. SIXTY YEARS AGO. II [ney E. A. Kebler 48 SURPLICED BOY CHOIRS IN AMERICA S. B. Whitney 139 Illustrations: Chorister of the Madeleine, Paris, from a Painting by Kate Watkins; Choir of St. Janiess Church, New York; Choir Boys, Church of the Advent, Boston; Two Little Probationers; Choir of St. Pauls Church, Concord, N. H.; Hartwell Staples, Chtirch of the Advent, Boston; The Recessional, St. Pauls Church, Concord; Choir of St. Pauls, Milwaukee; Blatchiord Kavanagh, Grace Church, Chicago; Willie Cooper, St. Pauls Church, Kenwood, Chi- cago; Dr. Gilbert, Organist of Trinity Chapel, New York; Choir of St. Johns Church, Jamaica Plains, Mass.; Newton Wilcox, St. Pauls, Boston; Out-door Service, Grace Church Choir, of Chicago, at St. Clair Springs, Mich.; Arthur E. Greene, St. Pauls, Boston; Edwin S. Baker, Chtirch of the Heavenly Rest, New York: Choir of St. Stephens Chtirch, Lynn; Three Brother Choristers, St. Jamess Church, New York; Willie V. Macdonald, Appleton Chapel, Harvard; Geo. L. Osgood, Choir Master, Emmanuel Chttrch, Boston; S. B. Whitney, Organist and Choir Master, Church of the Advent, Boston; Group from Emmanuel Church Choir, Boston; Choir of St. Jamess Church, Cambridge; Recessional Chtirch of the Advent, Boston. SUMMER WOOING, A. A Story George Ethelbert Walsh 181 STORIES o~ SALEM WITCHCRAFT Winfield S. Nevins 217 Illustrated by Jo. H. Hatfield and Louis A. Holnian: John Putnam 3ds Place; Thomas Haines House; The Joseph Putnam House, Danvers; Thomas Fuller, Jrs. House, Middleton; The old Philip English House, built t6I~, taken down in sS~~ Benj. Fullers House, Middleton. SHAKER COMMUNITY, A 7ames K. Reeve 349 SQUIRES NIECE MARIA, THE. A Story Mary F flaynes 461 Illustrated by Jo. H. Hatfield. SHIP COLUMBIA, THE, AND THE DISCOVERY OF THE OREGON...... Edward C. Porter 472 Illustrated from old drawings by Haswell and Davidson, and sketches by Jo. Hatfield and H. Martin Beal: Autographs of Members of the Expedition; Hobarts Landing, North River, Scituate, where the 4oinnobia was built; Captain Grays Cup; Medals strstck to commemorate the Departure of the columbia and the Washington; Jos. Barrell; R. Hatwell; The Ship Columbia and the Sloop Washington; The Columbia in a Squall; At the Falkland Islands; The Ship Columbia and the Brig Hancock in Hancocks River, Queen Charlottes Islands; In Winter Quar- ters at Clayoquot; The Ship Columbia surprised by the Natives of Chickleset; In the Straits of Juan de Fuca; C. Bulfinch; At XVhampoa. INDEX. PAGE. SOcIALISM OF JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, THE Edward Gruib, M. A. 676 THREE LETTERS FROM HANCOCK TO DOROTHY Q Henry Go//ins Walsh 531 Illustrated from old Documents and Portraits: Autograph Letter by John Hancock; John Hancock, from a Painting by Copley; Dorothy Quincy, from a Painting by Copley. TOMS LIZA. A Story Edith Elmer. 668 VILLAGE LIFE IN OLD ENGLAND Reuben Gold Thzoaites 275 Illustrated by Louis A. Holman, Jo. H. Hatfield, and H. Martin Beal: Great flocks of sheep as yet unshorn; Over the white footpaths which wind through the broad meadows ; The parish church lifts its hoary head above the tree lops; Farm Laborers at work; Sometimes the cottages abut directly upon the street, without allowance for a footpath; The Old Market Cross; But, as a rule, the villagers are domiciled; The American in England is at once attracted by the neat appearance of the cottages of the poor; A Bit of the Barnyard; Uncouth in speech and manner, the ordinary faim laborer is not an attractive creature ; Now and then the shop blossoms into a small grocery ; Breakfast time ; The Village Smithy; The little town ball has stood for centuries; Set off in donkey carts to see the neighboring attractions ; A solidly built structure is the old Chequers Inn; The last load of hay; Haymakers at the .big house; The village postman; Farmer Georges. WOMENS WORK AT THE HARVARD OBSERVATORY Helen Leah Reed 165 WITCHCRAFT IN CONNECTICUT Prof Ghas. H. Lever zore 636 WINTHROP, THE TOWN OF Albert Winslow 67obb 645 Illustrated by Valerian Gribayedoff, Louis A. Holman, and the Author: Ihe Winthrop Yacht Clubhouse; Fac-simile of Old Ma p of Boston Harbor, 773; Entrance to Bartlett Park; William F. Bartlett; The Bartlett House; St. Johns Episcopal Church; A Street in modern Winthrop; The Emerson House; Geo. B. Emerson; Winthrop Churches; A Bit of Winthrop; The Old Bill House; Dean Winthrops House; On the Harbor Side. WALT WHITMAN George .D. Black 710 WALT WHITMAN IN BOSTON Sylvester Baxter 714 WALT WHITMANS DEMOCRACY Walter Blac/eburn Harte 721 POETRY. APPLE BLOSSOMS Maud Wy;nan 529 AN AMERICAN STONEHENGE Thomas Wentworth Hi~ginson 622 BROKEN MEASURES Sarah Knowles Bolton 530 BLUE AND GRAY, THE Zitella 6ocke 512 CONTENT John B. Tabb 164 CZARS BANQUET, THE Marie Petravsky 319 DUSK Julie M. Li~z5p;nann 709 FALLEN LOVE Phil~p Bourke Marston 353 GONE John S. Barrows 354 HEAT Clinton Scollard ~O9 HE WAS GOOD TO THE POOR Allen Eastman 6ross 184 HUMAN FREEDOM LEAGUE Allen Eastman Gross 324 IF YOU XVERE HERE Philz~5 Bourke Marston 59 IN CHILDISH DAYS Mary T. Earle 216 IN A SUMMER GONE BY Menna Irving 265 IN CROWDED WAYS Edith Mary Norris 569 LIFE CYCLES Katharine C. Penfield 179 LESSON OF THE YEARS, THE James G. Burnett 212 LOVE, DEATH, AND SORROW John White Chadwick 323 MEANING OF THE SONG, THE Elizabeth K. Reynolds 567 MUTATION George Ed~ar Montgomery 644 POETS PRAISE, THE Gharles Edwin Markham 371 RELEASE Bessie Chandler 8o ROUGET DR LISLE Wilbur Larremnore 230 RETROSPECT Charles Gordon Ro~ers..~ 256 SONG AFTER SILENCE Clinton Scollard 33 SCHUMANN AND SCHUBERT Zitella Cocke 34 STORM CLOUD, THE Celia P. Woolley 180 SMILE OF PEACE, THE Gertrude Christian Fosdick i86 STRICKEN IN ENGLAND Anthony P. de Frietas 614 Two SOULS siEnna Irving 578 TWO WORDS F. E. B 599 WHEN I AM OLD Arthur L. Salmon 766 WHY FLOWERS BLOW Pearl Rivers ... 636 WORK AND WAGES (h rles Edwin Markham 441 LOUiSA MAY ALCOTT At the Age of Twenty. FROM AN UNPUBLISHED PORTRAIT IN POSSESSION OF MRS. PRATT. THE NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE. MARCH, 1892. VOL. VI. No. i RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTh By Maria S. Porter. o name in American literature has more thril- led the hearts of the young people of this generation than that of Louisa May Alcott. What a life of benefi- cence and self- abuegation was hers! How distinctively was her character an outcome of the best New England ancestry. In her veins ran the blood of the Quincys, the Mays, the Alcotts, and the Sewalls. What better inheri- tance could one have? and after all how important a factor in life is heredity One is so enriched, strengthened, and upborne by a good ancestry, or some- times, alas! so handicapped, baffled, and utterly defeated in the conflicts of life by bad hereditary influence, that when one has so fine an inheritance as was Louisa Alcotts, one should be thankful for it and rejoice in it as she did. In looking back upon Miss Alcotts life, heroic and faithful to the end, it is the woman who interests us even more than the writer, whose phenomenal suc- cess in touching the hearts of old and young is known so well the world over. Do the duty that lies nearest, was her life motto, and to its fulfilment were given hand and brain and heart. Helen Hunt Jackson once wrote of her: Miss Alcott is really a benefactor of house- holds. Truer words were never writ- ten. She was proud of her ancestors. I remember a characteristic expression of hers as we sat together one morning in June, 1876, in the old South Meeting House, where was assembled an immense audience, stirred to a white heat of patriotic enthusiasm by the fervid elo- quence of Wendell Phillips, whose plea to save that sacred landmark from the vandals who were ready to destroy it can never be forgotten. At the conclusion of Phillipss speech she turned to me, her face aglow with emotion, and said: I am proud of my foremothers and fore- fathers, and especially of my Sewall blood, even if the good old judge did condemn the witches to be hanged. After a moment of silence she added: I am glad that he felt remorse, and had the manliness to confess it. He was made of the right stuff. Of this an- cestor, Whittier wrote in The Prophecy of Samuel Sewall: Stately and slow with solemn air, His black cap hiding his whitened hair, Walks the Judge of the great Assize, Samuel Sewall, the good and wise; His face with lines of firmness wrought He wears the look of a man unbought. Of the name of Quincy, Oliver Wendell Holmes has written in Dorothy Q: Look not on her with eyes of scorn, Dorothy Q was a lady horn! Ay! since the galloping Normans came, Englands annals have known her name; And still to the three-hilled rebel town Dear is that ancient names renown, For many a civic wreath they won, The youthful sire and the gray-haired son. NEW SERIES. 4 RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT him by some of the great thinkers of the age. In a note to me in October, 1882, just after her father had been stricken with paralysis, she wrote: My poor, dear father lies dumb and helpless. He seems to know us all and it is so pathetic to see my handsome, hale, active old father changed at one fell blow into this helpless wreck. You know that he wrote those forty remarkable sonnets last winter, and these, with his cares as Dean of the School of Philosophy and his many lectures there, were enough to break down a man of eighty-three years. I continually protested Amos Brosson AJcott Miss Alcott began to write at a very early age. Her childhood and early girl- hood were passed in the pure sweet atmosphere of a home where love reigned. Louisa and her sister Anna were educated in a desultory and frag- mentary manner, or, perhaps one should say, without system. Mr. and Mrs. Al- cott, the two Misses Peabody, Thoreau, Miss Mary Russell, and Mr. Lane had a share in their education. Mrs. Haw- thorne taught Anna to read, and I think Louisa once spoke of her to me as her Mrs. Alcott. own first teacher. and warned him against overwork and taxation Mrs. Alcott was a remarkable woman, of the hrain, but twas of no avail. Wasnt I a great reader, with a broad, practical doing the same thing myself? I did not practise wide char~ what I preached, and indeed I have great cause mind, deep love of humanity, for fear that I may be some day stricken down as ity, untiring energy, and a highly sensi- he is. He seems so tired of living; his active tive organization, and she was married to mind heats against the prison bars. Did I ever a man whom she devotedly loved, who tell you what Mr. Emerson once said of him to me? Louisa, your father could have talked with was absolutely devoid of practical knowl- Plato. Was not that praise worth having? Since edge of life, and who was an idealist of then I have often in writing addressed him as the extremest type. With the narrowest My dear old Plato. means, her trials, perplexities, and priva- Just after the publication of the Cor- tions were very great, but she bore them respondence of Carlyle and Emerson, I all with heroic courage and fidelity, and found her reading it one day. Her face with unwavering affection for her hus- was radiant with delight as she said: band. Louisa early recognized all this. Let me read you what Emerson wrote She soon developed the distinguishing to Carlyle just before father went to traits of both father and mother. Emer- England. I shall write again soon, for son, soon after he made Mr. Alcotts Bronson Alcott will probably go to Eng- acquaintance, recognized his consummate land in about a month, and him I shall ability as a conversationalist, and was surely send you, hoping to atone by his through life his most loyal friend. Louisa great nature for many smaller ones that was very proud of her fathers intellectual have craved to see you. Again she acquirements, and it was most interesting read: He is a great man and is made to hear her tell of the high tributes paid for what is greatest. . . . . Alcott has RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT. 5 returned to Concord with his wife and children and taken a cottage and an acre of ground, to get his living by the help of God and his own spade. I see that some of the education people in England have a school called Alcott House, after my friend. At home here he is despised and rejected of men as much as ever was Pestalozzi. But the creature thinks and talks and I am proud of my neighbor. Carlyles estimate of Alcott, although not as high as Emersons, was a fairly appreciative one. He wrote to Emerson after Alcotts visits to him: He is a genial, innocent, simple- hearted man, of much natural intel- ligence and good- ness, with an air of rusticity, veracity, and dignity withal, which in many ways appeals to me. The good Alcott, with his long, lean face and figure, his gray worn temples and mild radiant eyes, all bent on saving the world by a return to the Golden Age; he comes before one like a kind Don Quixote, whom no- body can even laugh at without loving. Louisa, after reading these extracts, t a k e n from different parts of the books, said with emphasis: It takes great men like Emerson and Carlyle and Thoreau to appreciate father at his best. She always spoke with great freedom and frankness of her fathers lack of practical ability; and very pathetic were some of the stories she told of her own early struggles to earn money for the family needs; of her strivings to smother pride while staying with a maternal relative who had offered her a home for the winter while she was teaching in a small private school in Boston; and of her indignation when Mr. Fields said to her father, who had taken a story of hers to him to read with the hope that it might be accepted for the A//an/ic: Tell Louisa to stick to her teaching; she can never succeed as a writer This message, she said, made her exclaim to her father: Tell him I will succeed as a writer, and some day~ I shall write for the A/lan/ic! Not long afterward a story of hers was ac- cepted by the A/lan/ic and a check for fifty dollars sent her. In telling me of this she said: I called it my happy money, for with it I bought a second - hand carpet for our parlor, a bonnet for Anna, some blue ribbons for May, some shoes and stockings for myself, and put what was left into the Micawber Railroad, the Harold Skimpole Three Per Cents, and the Alcott Sinking Fund. One merry talk about the experi- ences of her girl- hood and early womanhood,with several pathetic and tragic stories, one beautiful moonlight sum- mer evening, as we floated down the Concord River, made a profound im- pression on me, and I recall the stories with great distinctness. When I was a girl of eighteen or thereabouts, she said, I had very fine dark brown hair, thick and long, almost touching the floor as I stood. At a time when the family needs were great, and discouragement weighed heavily upon us, I went to a barber, let down rhy hair, and asked him how much money he would give me for it. When he told me the sum, it seemed so large to me that I then Bust of Alcott by Ricketnon, in the Concord Library. RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT The Wayside FROM A DRAWING BY MAY ALCOTT NIERIKER and there determined I would part with my most preciouS posseSsiOn if during the next week the clouds did not lift. not laid This costly gift, however, was upon the family altar by the heroic girl. A friend who was ever ready to extend an unobtrusive helping hand when it was needed came to the rescue. Louisa, in relating this, said: That was not the first time he had helped father, nor was it indeed the last. Another incident that she told me that same evening in her inimitable way, with all its amusing and pathetic details, re- vealed to me how supreme was her loyalty and devotion to her family, and above all to her mother. In r850, when Louisa was eighteen years of age, Mrs. Alcott had, with the advice of friends, taken a position as visitor to the poor in Boston. She had also opened an intelligence office, where she often assisted gentlefolk reduced from affluence to poverty, to situations where, without an entire sacrifice of pride, they could earn an ~honest in- dependence.. One day as Louisa was sitting in the office sewing on some flan- nel garments for the poor, under her mothers supervision, a tall man, evidently from his garb a clergyman, entered and said that he came to procure a com- panion for his invalid sister and aged father. lie described the situation as a most desirable one, add- ing that the com- panion would be asked to read to them and perform the light duties of the house- hold that had form- erly devolved upon his sister, who was a martyr to neuralgia. The companion would be in every respect treated as one of the family, and all the comforts of home would be hers. Mrs. Alcott, who in spite of many bit- ter experiences in the past never lost her faith in people and was rather too apt to take them for what they seemed to be, tried to think of some one who would be glad of so pleasant a home as described. She turned to Louisa and asked her if she could suggest any one. The reply came at once: Only myself ~ Great was her r~other5 surprise, and she ex- claimed: Do you really mean it, dear? I really do, if Mr. R thinks I would suit. The clergyman smiled and said, I am sure you would, and I feel that if we can secure you, we shall be most fortunate.~~ When Mrs. Alcott had recovered from her surprise, she prudently asked him what wages would be paid. The smooth reply was that the word wages must not be used, but any one who lent youth RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT. 7 and strength to a feeble household would be paid and well paid, and with another smile he took his leave. Then Mrs. Alcott asked: Are you in earnest in engaging to go out for a month to live with these utter strangers? Of course lam, said Louisa. Why not try the experi- ment? It can but fail, as the teaching and sewing and act- ing and writing have. I do house-work at home for love; why not there for money ? But you know, dear, her mother re- plied, it is going out to service, even if you are called a com- panion. I dont care. Every kind of work that is paid for is service. It is rather a downfall to give up trying to be a Siddons or a Fanny Kemble, and become a ser- vant, at the beck and call of people; but what of it? All my highly respectable relatives, said Lou- isa, held up their hands in holy horror when I left the pater- nal roof to go to my place of servitude, as they called it, and said: Louisa Alcott will disgrace her name by what she is doing. But despite the lamentations and laughter of my sisters, I got my small wardrobe ready, and after embracing the family with firm- ness started for my new home. She had promised to stay four weeks; but, after a few days, she found that in- stead of being a companion to the in- valid sister, who was a nonentity, while the father passed his days in a placid doze, she was called upon to perform the most menial services, made a mere household drudge, or, to use her own expression, a galley slave. Then, said she, I pocketed my pride, looked the situation squarely in the face, and determined I would stay on to the bitter end. My word must be as good as my bond. By degrees all the hard work of the family was imposed upon her, for the sister was too feeble to help or even to direct in any way, and the servant was too old to do anything but the cooking, so that even the roughest work was hers. Having The Porch of the Orchard Hocee. FROM A DRAWING RY MAY ALCOTT NIRRIRRR. S FE COLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT. made up her mind to go when the month was over, she brought water from the well, dug paths in the snow, split kin- dlings, made fires, sifted ashes, and was in fact a veritable Cinderella. But, said she, I did sometimes rebel, and being a mortal worm, I turned now and then when the clergyman trod upon me, especially in the matter of boot- blacking, that was too much for my good blood to bear! All the Mays, Sewalls, and Alcotts of the past and present appeared before my minds eye; at blacking boots I drew the line and flatly refused. That evening I enjoyed the sinful spectacle of the reverend boot- black at the task. Oh, what a long month that was! And when I an- nounced my intention of leaving at its end, such dismay fell upon the invalid sister, that I consented to remain until my mother could find a substitute. Three weeks longer I waited. Two other vic- tims came, but soon left, and on depart- ing called me a fool to stay another hour. I quite agreed with them, and when the third substitute came, clutched my possessions, and said I should go at once. The sister wept, the father trem- blingly expressed regret, and the clergy- man washed his hands of the whole affair by shutting himself in his study. At the last moment, Eliza, the sister, nervously tucked a small pocket-book into my hand, and bade me good-by with a sob. The old servant gave me a curious look as I went away, and exclaimed: Dont blame us for anything; some folks is liberal and some aint! So I left the house, bearing in my pocket what I hoped was, if not a liberal, at least an honest return for seven weeks of the hardest work I ever did. Unable to re- sist the desire to see what my earnings were, I opened my purseand beheld four dollars! I have had many bitter moments in my life, but one of the bit- terest was then, when I stood in the road Miss Alcotts House at Nonquitt. RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT 9 that cold, windy day, with my little pocket - book open, and looked from my poor, chapped, grimy chillblained hands to the paltry sum that had been con- sidered enough to pay for the labor they had done. I went home, showed my honorable wounds, and told my tale to the sympathetic family. The four dollars were returned, and one of my dear ones would have shaken the minister, in spite of his cloth, had he crossed his path. This experience of going out to service at eighteen made so painful an impression upon her that she rarely referred to it, and when she did so it was with heightened color and tear- ful eyes. Long years before she wrote her story called Transcenden- tal Wild Oats, she had told me in her humorous way of the family experi- ences at Fruitlands, as the com- munity established by Mr. Alcott and his English friend, Mr. Lane, was called. In 1843, when Louisa was eleven years of age, these idealists went to the small town of Harvard, near Lancaster, Mas- sachusetts, to carry out their theories. Mr. Lane was to be the patriarch of the colony of latter-day. saints. Louisa, in speaking of her fathers connection with this movement, said: Father had a de- vout faith in the ideal. He wanted to live the highest, purest life, to plant a paradise where no serpent could enter. Mother was unconverted, but true as steel to him, following wherever his vagaries led, hoping that, at last she might, after many wanderings, find a home for herself and children. The diet at Fruitlands was strictly vegetarian; no milk, butter, cheese, or meat could be eaten or tasted even within the holy precincts nothing that had caused death or wrong to man or beast. The garments must be of linen, because those made from wool were the result of the use of cruel shears to rob the sheep of their wool, and the covering of the silk-worms must be despoiled to make silken ones. The bill of fare was bread, porridge, and water for breakfast; bread, vegetables, and water for dinner; bread, fruit, and water for supper. They had to go to bed with the birds, because candles, for conscientious reasons, could not be burnt, the inner light must be all-sufficient; sometimes pine knots were used when absolutely necessary. Meanwhile, the philosophers sitting in the moonlight built with words a new heaven and a new earth, or in the star- light wooed the Oversoul, and lived amid metaphysical mists and philanthropic pyrotechnics. Mr. Alcott revelled in the Newness, as he was fond of calling their nexv life. He fully believed that in time not only Fruitlands, but the whole earth would become a happy valley, the Golden Age would come; and toward this end he talked, he prophesied, he worked with his hands; for lie was in dead earnest, his was the enthusiasm of a soul too high for the rough usage of this work- a-day world. In the meanwhile, with Spartan forti- t~ide Mrs. Alcott bore the brunt of the household drudgery. How Louisas eyes would twinkle as she described the strange methods at Fruitlands! One day in autumn mother thought a north- Miss Alcott at the Age of Thirty-eight. 10 RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT. east storm was brewing. The grain was ripe and must be gathered before the rain came to ruin it. Some call of the Oversoul had wafted all the men away, and so mother, Anna, a son of Mr. Lanes, and I must gather the grain in some way. Mother had it done with a clothes-basket and a stout Russia linen sheet. Putting the grain into the basket we emptied it upon the sheet, and taking hold of the four corners carried it to the barn. During the summer, Mr. Emerson visited them and wrote thus in his journal: The sun and the sky do not look calmer than Alcott and his family at Fruitlands. They seem to have arrived at the fact to have got rid of the show, and so are serene. Their manners and behavior in the house and in the field are those of superior men, of men of rest. What had they to conceal? What had they to exhibit? And it seemed so high an attainment that I thought as often before, so now more, because they had a fit home or the picture was fitly framed, that those men ought to be maintained in their place by the couotry for its culture. Young men and young maidens, old men and women should visit them and be inspired. I think there is as much merit in beautiful manners as in hard work. I will not prejudge them successful. They look well in July; we will see them in December. But alas! Emerson did not see the idealists in December. When the cold weather came on, the tragedy for the Alcott family began. Some of those who had basked in the summer sunshine of the Newness fled to fresh fields and pastures new when the cold and dark days came. Mr. Lane, in whose com- panionship Mr. Alcott had enjoyed so much, left to join the Shakers, where he soon found the order of things reversed Miss Alcott fron a Photo ty Warren. RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT 11 for him, as it was all work and no play with the brethren and sisters there. Mr. Alcotts strength and spirits were ex- hausted. He had assumed more than his share of responsibility, and a heavy weight of suffering and debt was laid upon him. The experiment had ended in dis- astrous failure, his Utopia had van- ished into thin air. His strange theories had alienated many of his old friends; he was called a visionary, a fool, a madman, and some even called him unprincipled. What could he do for his family? Then it was that his wife, whose loyalty was supreme, whose good sense and prac- tical views of life had shown her from the beginning what would be the outcome of the experiment then it was that her strong right arm rescued him. He was cherished with renewed love and tender- ness by wife and children, who always remembered with pain this most bitter of all their experiences, and could never i~efer to it without weeping. Louisa, in recalling it, would say: Mother fought down despondency and drove it from the household, and even wrested happiness from the hard hand of fate. After Mr. Alcott had rallied from the depression caused by the failure at Fruit- lands, he went back to Concord with his family and worked manfully with his hands for their support; he also re- sumed his delightful conversations, which in those days of transcendentalism had become somewhat famous. When a young girl, I attended them with my mother at the house of the Unitarian clergyman in Lynn. The talks of Mr. Alcott and the conversations that followed were most interesting unlike anything that had been heard in Boston or its vicinity in those days. Afterward Ralph Waldo Emerson and Thoreau used to come and give us in parlors Lectures on Transcendentalism, as they were called. The busy years rolled on for Louisa, who exerted herself to the utmost to be the family helper in sewing, teaching, and writing. After her stories were accepted by the A/lan/ic, it became for her smooth sailing. One day, as Mr. Alcott was calling upon Longfellow, the poet took up the last A/lan/ic and said, I want to read to you Emersons fine poem on Thoreaus flute. As he began to read Mr. Alcott interrupted him, exclaim- ing with delight: My daughter Louisa wrote that 1 In telling me of this, Louisa said: Do you wonder that I felt as proud as a peacock when father came home and told me? This occurred before the names of the writers were ap- pended to their contributions to the magazine. Miss Alcott made two visits to Europe, travelling quite extensively and meeting many distinguished people. She was always an ardent admirer of the writings of Dickens, and she had the great plea- sure of meeting him in London and hear- ing him read. All the characters in his books were like household friends to her; she never tired of talking about and quoting them. Her impersonation of Mrs. Jarley was inimitable; and when I had charge of the representation of The Old Curiosity Shop at the authors carnival held at Music Hall, in aid of the Old South Preservation Fund, I was so fortunate as to persuade her to take the part of Mrs. Jarley in the waxwork show. It was a famous show, never to be for- gotten. People came from all parts of New England to see Louisa Alcotts Mrs. J arley, for she had for years been famous in the part whenever a deserving charity was to be helped in that way. Shouts of delight and peals of laughter greeted her original and witty descriptions of the figgers at each performance, and it was repeated every evening for a week. One day during her last illness I re- ceived a note from her, in which she wrote: A poor gentlewoman in London has written to me, because she thinks after reading my hooks that I loved Dickenss writings, and must have a kind heart and generous nature, and, therefore, takes the liberty to write and ask me to buy a letter written to her by Charles Dickens, who was a friend of hers. Such is her desperate need of money that she must part with it, although it is very precious to her. She has fourteen children, and asks five pounds for the letter. Now, I dont want the letter, and am not well enough to see or even write to any one about buying it from her; will not you try and do it for me? If at first you dont succeed, try, try again. Ill add something to whatever you get for it. Remember the poor thing has fourteen children, and has been reduced from affluence to poverty. The letter could not be sold for the 12 RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT price named, nor indeed to any one at its proper value, so Miss Alcott returned it and sent the price asked for it by the next steamer. This is only one of the many generous acts of sympathy of which I knew. The Aicotts were always Anti-Slavery people. Mrs. Alcotts brother, Samuel J. May, and her cousin, Samuel E. Sewall, were the staunchest supporters of Garrison in the early struggles. Mr. Alcott was the firm friend of that intrepid leader in the war against slavery. Nearly all the leading Abolitionists were their friends, Lucretia Mott, the Grimk~ sisters, Theodore Weld, Lydia Maria Child, Wendell Phillips, Theodore Parker, Miss Peabody, and others of that re- markable galaxy of men and women who in those benighted years were ranked as fanatics by the community at large. When the mob-spirit reigned in Boston and Garrison was taken to a jail in the city to protect him from its fury and save his life, Mr. and Mrs. Alcott were among the first to call upon him to express their sympathy. When the war came, the Alcotts were stirred to a white heat of patriotism. Louisa wrote: I am scraping lint and making blue jackets for our boys. My May blood is up. I must go to the front to nurse the poor helpless soldiers who are wounded and bleeding. I must go, and good-by if I never return. She did go and came very near losing her life; for while in the hospital she contracted a typhoid fever, was very ill, and never recovered from its effects; it can be truly said of her she gave her life to her country. One of her fathers most beautiful sonnets was written in reference to this experience. He refers to her in this as dutys faithful child. During her experience as a hospital nurse she wrote letters home and to the Commonweal/k newspaper. From these letters a selection was made and published under the title of Hospital Sketches. To me this is the most interesting and Orchard House, concord (the Home of the Littie Women.) RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT pathetic of all of Miss Alcotts books. With shattered health she returned to her writing and her home duties. Slowly but surely she won recognition; but it was not until she had written Little Women, that full pe- cuniary success came. Miss Alcott had the keenest insight into cbaracter. She was rarely mistaken in her judgment of people. She was intolerant of all shams, and despis- ed pretentious per- sons. Often in her pleasant rooms at the Bellevue have I listen- ed to her estimates of people whom we knew. She was sometimes al- most ruthless in her denunciation of so- ciety, so-called. I re- member what she said as we sat together at a private ball, where many of the butterflies of fashion and leaders of society were as- sembled. As with her clear, keen eyes she viewed the pageant, she exclaimed: So- ciety in New York and in Boston, as xve have seen it to-night, is corrupt. Such immodest dressing, such flirtations of some of these married women with young men whose mothers they might be, so far as age is con- cerned, such drinking of champagne I loathe it all If I can only live long enough I mean to write a book whose characters will be drawn from life. Mrs. (naming a person present) shall be prominent as the society leader, and the fidelity of the picture shall leave no one in doubt as to the original. She always bitterly denounced all un- womanliness. Her standard of morality was a high one, and the same for men as for women. She was an earnest advocate of woman suffrage and college education for girls, because she devoutly believed that woman should do whatever she could do well, in church or school or State. When I was elected a member of the school committee of Melrose in 1873, she wrote: I rejoice greatly thereat, and hope that the first thing that you and Mrs. Sewall propose in your first meeting will he to reduce the salary of the head master of the High School, and increase the salary of the first woman assistant, whose work is quite as good as his, and even harder; to make the pay equal. I believe in the same pay for the same good work. Dont you? In future let woman do whatever she can do; let men place no more impediments in the way; above all things 13 7 . ( ____ [ No. 0 Louioburg Square, Boston 14 RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT~ Bust of Miss Alcott made by Waltos Ricketson for the Concord Library. lets have fair play, let simple justice be done, say I. Let us hear no more of womans sphere either from our wise (?) legislators beneath the gilded dome, or from our clergymen in their pul- pits. I am tired, year after year, of hearing such twaddle about sturdy oaks and clinging vines and mans chivalric protection of woman. Let woman find out her own limitations, and if, as is so con- fidently asserted, nature has defined her sphere, she will be guided accordingly but in heaven s name give her a chance! Let the professions be open to her; let fifty years of college education he hers, and then we shall see what we shall see. Then, and not until then, shall we be able to say what woman can and what she cannot do, and coming generations will know and be able to de- fine more clearly what is a womans sphere than these benighted men who now try to do it. During Miss Alcotts last illness she wrote: When I get upon my feet I am going (D. V.) to devote myself to settling poor souls who need a helping hand in hard times. Many pictures and some busts have been made of Miss Alcott, but very few of them are satisfactory. The portrait painted in Rome by Healy is, I think, a RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUiSA MAY ALCOTT 15 very good one. The bas-relief by Walton Ricketson, her dear sculptor friend, is most interesting and has many admirers. Ricketson has also made a bust of Mr. Alcott for the Concord Library, which is exceedingly good, much liked by the family, and so far as I know, by all who have seen it. Of the photographs of Miss Alcott only two or three are in the least satisfactory, notably the full length one made by Warren many years ago, and also one by Allen and Rowell. In speaking of her pictures she once said: When I dont look like the tragic muse, I look like a smoky relic of the Boston fire. Mr. Ricketson is now at work upon a bust of her, a photograph of which, from the clay, accompanies this article. In a letter to me in reply to one written after I had seen the bust in his studio at Concord, Mr. Ricketson writes: I feel deeply the important task I have to do in making this portrait, since it is to give form and expression to the broad love of humanity, the fixed purpose to fulfil her mission, the womanly dignity, physical beauty, and queenly presence which were so perfectly combined in our late friend, and all so dominated by a fine intellectual- ity. To do this and satisfy a public that has formed somewhat an idea of her personal appear- ance is indeed a task worthy of the best effort. I certainly have some advantages to start with. The medallion from life modelled at Nonquitt in i886, and at that time considered the best like- ness of her, is invalu- able, as the measure- ments are all accurate. I also have access to all the photographs, etc., of the family, and the criticisms of her sister, nephews, and friends, and my long and inti- mate acquaintance. I feel this to be the most important work I have as yet attempted. I intend to give unlimited time to it, an(l shall not consider it completed until the family and friends are fully satis- fied. The success of the bust of the father leads me to hope for the same result in the one of his beloved daughter. - Miss Alcott al- ways took a warm interest in Mr. El- well, and assisted him towards his education in art in early life. Miss Alcott had a keen sense of humor, and her friends recall with delight her sallies of wit and caustic descriptions of the School of Philosophy, the unfathom- able wisdom, the metaphysical pyro- technics, the strange vagaries of some of the devotees. She would sometimes en- close such nonsense rhymes as these to her intimate friends: Philosophers sit in their sylvan hall And talk of the duties of man, Of Chaos and Cosmos, Hegel and Kant, \Vith the Oversoul well in the van; All on their hobbies they amble away, And a terrible dust they make; Disciples devout both gaze and adore, As daily they listen, and bake! The sylvan hall was, as I know from bitter experience while attending the sessions of the School of Philosophy, the hottest place in historic old Concord. Sometimes Miss Alcott would bring her nonsense rhymes or jingles, as she called them, to the club, and read at our pleasant club-teas, amid shouts of merri- ment followed by heartiest applause, such clever bits as the following: A WAIL UTTERED IN THE WOMANS CLUB. God bless you, merry ladies, May nothing you dismay, As you sit here at ease and hark Unto my dismal lay. House sri Dusreath Place Boston, where Miss Alcott died. RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT Get out your pocket-handkerchiefs, Give oer your jokes and songs, Forget awhile your Womans Rights, And pity authors wrongs. There is a town of high repute, Where saints and sages dwell, Who in these latter days are forced To hid sweet peace farewell; For all their men are demigods, So rumor doth declare, And all the women are De Staels, And genius fills the air. So eager pilgrims penetrate To their most private nooks, Storm their back doors in search of news And interview their cooks, Worship at every victims shrine, See haloes round their hats, Embalm the chickweed from their yards And photograph their cats. Theres Emerson, the poet wise, That much-enduring man, Sees Jenkinses from every clime, But dodges when he can. Chaos and Cosmos down below Their waves of trouble roll, While safely in his attic locked, He woos the Oversoul. And Hawthorne, shy as any maid, From these invaders fled Out of the window like a wraith, Or to his tower sped Till vanishing from this rude world, He left behind no clue, Except along the hillside path The violets tender blue. Channing scarce dares at eventide To leave his lonely lair; Reporters lurk on every side And hunt him like a hear. Quaint Thoreau sought the wilderness, But callers by the score Scared the poor hermit from his cell, The woodchuck from his door. Theres Alcott, the philosopher, Who labored long and well Platos Republic to restore, Now keeps a free hotel; Whole boarding-schools of gushing girls That hapless mansion throng, And Young Mens Christian U-ni-ons, Full five-and-seventy strong. Alas! what can the poor souls do? Their homes are homes no more; No washing-day is sacred now; Spring cleanings never oer. Their doorsteps are the strangers camp, Their trees bear many a name, Artists their very nightcaps sketch; And this and this, is fame! Deluded world! your Mecca is A sand-bank glorified; The river that you seek and sing Has skeeters, but no tide. The gods raise garden-sarse and milk, And in these classic shades Dwell nineteen chronic invalids And forty-two old maids. Some April shall the world behold Embattled authors stand, With steel-pens of the sharpest tip In every inky hand. 1t5 The Alcott Lot in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, concord. RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT 17 Their bridge shall be a bridge of sighs, Their motto, Privacy; Their bullets like that Luther flung When bidding Satan flee. Their monuments of ruined books, Of precious wasted days, Of tempers tried, distracted brains, That might have won fresh bays. And round this sad memorial, Oh. chant for requiem: Here lie our murdered geniuses; Concord has conquered them. From the time that the success of Little Women established her reputa- tion as a writer, until the last day of her life, her absolute devotion to her family continued. Her mothers declining years were soothed with every care and com- fort that filial love could bestow; she died in Louisas arms, and for her she performed all the last offices of affection, no stranger hands touched the beloved form. The most beautiful of her poems was written at this time, in memory of her mother, and was called Transfigura- tion. A short time after her mothers death, her sister May, who had married Mr. Ernest Nieriker, a Swiss gentleman, living in Paris, died after the birth of her child. Of this Louisa wrote me in reply to a letter of sympathy: I mourn and mourn by day and night for i\Iay. Of all the griefs in my life, and I have had many, this is the bitterest. I try so hard to be brave, but the tears will come, and I go off and cry an(l cry; the dear little baby may comfort Ernest, but what can comfort us? May called her two years of marriage perfect happiness, ahd said: If I die when baby is born, dont mourn, for I have had in these two years more happiness than comes to many in a lifetime. The baby is named for me, and is to be given to me as my very own. What a sad but precious legacy! The little golden-haired LuIn was brought to her by its aunt, Miss Sophie Nieriker, and she was indeed a great comfort to Miss Alcott for the remainder of her life. In i88~, Miss Alcott took a furnished house on Louisburg Square in Boston, and although her health was still very delicate she anticipated much quiet hap- piness in the family life. In the autumn and winter she suffered much from indi- gestion, sleeplessness, and general de- bility. Early in December she told me how very much she was suffering, and added: I mean if possible to keep up until after Christmas, and then I am sure I shall break down. When I went to carry her a Christmas gift, she showed me the Christmas tree, and seemed so bright and happy that I was not prepared to hear soon after that she had gone out to the restful, quiet of a home in Dunreath Place, at the Highlands, where she could be tenderly cared for under the direction of her friend, Dr. Rhoda Laxvrence, to whom she dedicated one of her books. She was too weak to bear even the pleasurable excitement of her own home,, and called Dr. Lawrences house, Saints Rest. The following summer she went with I)r. Lawrence to Princeton, but on her return in the autumn her illness took an alarming character, and she was unable to see her friends, and only occasionally the members of her family. On her last birthday, November 29th, she received many gifts, and as I had remembered her, the following characteristic letter came to me, the last but one that she sent me Thanks for the flowers and for the kind thought that sent them to the poor 01(1 exile. I had seven boxes of flowers, two baskets, and three plants, forty gifts in all, and at night I lay in a room that looked like a small fair, with its five tables covered with pretty things, borders of l)osies, and your noble roses towering in state over all the rest. That red one was so delicious that I revelled in it like a big bee, and felt it might almost do for a body I am so thin now. Everybody was very kind, and my solitary clay was made happy by so much love. Illness and exile have their bright side, I find, and I hope to come out in the spring a gay old butterfly. 1\ly rest-and-milk-cure is doing well, and I am an obedient oyster since I have learned that patience and time are my best helps. In February, 1887, Mr. Alcott wa taken with xvhat proved to be his last ill- ness. Louisa knew that the end wa~ near, and as often as she was able came, into town to see him. On Thursday morn- ing, March 2d, I chanced to be at the house, where I had gone to inquire for Mr. Alcott and Louisa. While talking with Mrs. Pratt, her sister, the door opened, and Louisa, who had come in from the Highlands to see her fttther, entered. I had not seen her for months, and the sight of her thin, wan face and sad look shocked me, and I felt for the first time that she was hopelessly ill. After a few affectionate words of greeting 4 F U (q~~ 1 0~ / S ~ ~-~ ) rr~ A Portion of Miss Alcotts Last Letter RECOLLECTJ0NS~ OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT 19 she passed through the open doors of the next room. The scene that followed was most pathetic. There lay the dear old father, stricken with death, his face illu- mined with the radiance that comes but once, with uplifted gaze he heeded her not. Kneeling by his bedside, she took his hand, kissed it and placed in it the pansies she had brought, saying, It is Weedy (her pet name). Then after a moments silence she asked: What are you thinking of, dear? He replied, looking upward, Up there; you come too ! Then with a kiss she said, I ~vish I could go, bowing her head as if in prayer. After a little came the Good-by, the last kiss, and like a shadow she glided from the room. The following day I wrote her at the Saints Rest, enclosing a photograph of her sister May, that I found among some old letters of her own. Referring to my meet- ing with her the day before, I said: I hope you will be able to bear the impending event with the same brave philosophy that was yours when (lear mother died. - your She received my note on Saturday morning, together with one from her sister. Early in the morning she replied to her sisters note, telling of a dull pain and a weight like iron on her head. Later, she wrote me the last words she ever penned; and in the evening came the fatal stroke of apoplexy, followed by unconsciousness. Her letter to me xvas as follows: DEAR MRS. PORTER: Thanks for the picture. 1 am very glad to have it. No philosophy is needed for the impending event. I shall be very glad when the dear old man falls asleep after his long and innocent life. Sorrow has no place at such times, and death is never terrible when it comes as now in the likeness of a friend. Yours truly, L. M. A. P. 5. I have another year to stay in my Saints Rest, and then I am promised twenty years of health. I dont want so many, and I have no idea I shall see them. But as I dont iive for myself, I hold on for others, and shall find time to die some day, I hope. Mr. Alcott died on Sunday morning, March 4, and on Tuesday morning, March 6, death, in the likeness of a friend, came to Louisa. Mr. Alcotts funeral took place on Tuesday morning, and many of the friends there assembled were there met with the tidings of Louisas death. iVJiss Alcott had made every arrangement for her funeral. It was her desire that only those near and dear to her should be present, that the service should be simple, and that only friends should take part. The services were indeed simple, but most impressive. Dr. Bartol, the lifelong friend of the family, paid a loving and simple tribute to her character, as did Mrs. Livermore. Mrs. Cheney read the sonnet written by Mr. Alcott, which refers to her as Dutys faithful child, and Mrs. Harriet Winslow Sewall, a dear cousin, read tenderly the most beautiful of Louisas own poems, Transfigura- tion, written, as I have said, in memory of her mother. That was all. AMERICA IN EARLY ENGLISH LITERATURE. By Isaac Bassett Giwate. UTSIDE that list of books which are prop- erly classed as Ameri- cana, and any one who has had occasion to consult Sabins Dic- tionary of Books Relating to America knows how extended a catalogue that is, there are numberless references, innuen- does, and hints to the early colonists, as well as instances of direct mention of this country, which cannot fail to arrest the at- tention of the reader of general literature. These casual xvords are of the nature of asides in the dramatic presentation of history. They are of all the greater in- terest and value for the reason that they are the artless, unpremeditated, uncon- scious expression of the sentiment which prevailed in their day. The perfect can- dor and unreserve with which the Eng- lish spoke of these colonies, and of those who were coming over here to settle, is just what lends a charm to language that might otherwise seem discourteous. Not until after the independence of the Col- onies do English writers seem to have realized that for the future, English liter- ature was to be a possession held by the English people as co-parceners in com- mon with ourselves. One notable excep- tion to this rule is met in a poem pub- lished by Samuel Daniel in 1598. And xvho knows whither we may vent The treasures of our tongue? To what strange shores This gain of our hest glory may he sent T enrich unknowing nations with our stores? What worlds in the yet unformed Occident May come refined with th accents that are ours? This was written after the failure of Gilbert and Raleigh to realize their dreams of empire on this continent. The poet kept his faith through every disaster, but it may fairly be questioned whether he was not looking for the civil- ization of the aborigines quite as much as for the settlement of the English here. Before the seventeenth century, England had very little interest in America, ex- cept as the waters along this continent were the favorite cruising grounds of her old sea-dogs who used to go hunting Spanish plate-ships for their prey. Amer- ica contributed little material to the writers of the Elizabethan age, particu- larly to the poets, dramatists, and divines who were the literary workers. The few instances of any mention of this part of the world in that day are of interest chiefly in contrasting the spirit of that time with the spirit of the pres- ent. In 1596, Thomas Lodge published A Margarite of America. Lodge had accompanied Drake upon one of that admirals freebooting expeditions to this continent. He was a writer of ability and taste, if not of genius; but his taste was that of his age. We naturally look to this performance for some new matter,. as the author had chosen a new field. Anything more barren of interest, noxv and here, would be difficult to imagine, impossible to find. It is all as fanciful and unreal as the Faery Queen of Spenser, or the romances of Amadis de Gaul. This shows under what a spell of romanticism that age was held. It helps us to understand the statesman- ship, the diplomacy, and the enterprise of the time. It brings into contrast with the thought and temper of that age, the scientific spirit which rules the present. The reader wonders that a gifted author should so signally fail to make himself entertaining. No doubt he interested his own generation. The public of that day cared more for chivalry and gallantry than for information. The next year, 597, Sir John Davis published his Epigrams. One of these was written in praise of tobacco, and it is curious to see how high a regard for America the discovery of this plant awakened in the English mind. The poet still clings to the traditions of the Homeric age. But this our age another world hath found, From whence an herb of heavenly power is brought; Mo!j is not so sovereign for a wound, Nor hath Nepuztke so great wonders wrought. The fumes of tobacco were as a pillar AMERICA IN EARLY ENGLISH LITERATURE. of cloud in that day to direct the Eng- lish to Virginia, very much as the fra- grance of sassafras invited them to the shores of New England. Sir John Beau- mont published, in 1602, The Meta- morphosis of Tobacco. Some lines of this are of interest yet. The author supplies this explanatory note Wingandelcoc is a country in the north part of ~merica, called by the Queen, Virginia. There may be added to this note the re- mark that Cipo, or Cibo, is found applied in those days to waters about Cape Breton. Even Beaumonts matter-of-fact lines upon a commonplace subject show plainly the tomantic and classic spirit of his age. Others do tell a long and serious tale Of a fair nymph that sported in the vale \Vhere Gipo with his silver streams doth go, Along the valleys of Wingandelcue, Which now a far more glorious name doth bear, Since a more beauteous nymph is worshipped there. 5 * * * * * * had the Castahan Muses known the place Which this Ambrosia did with honor grace, They would have left Parnassus long ago, And changed their Phocis for Wingandelcue; Yet it may be the people, void of sense, With savage rites and manners feared them thence; But our more glorious Nymph, our modern Muse Which life and light doth to the North infuse, Which outh with joint and mutual honor grace Her place with learning, learning with her place, In whose respect the Muses barbarous are, The Graces rude, nor is the Phienix rare; Which Fair exceeds her predecessors facts, Nor arc her wondrous acts now wondrous acts; Which by her wisdom and her princely powers Defends the walls of Albions cliffy towers; Hath uncentrolled stretched out her mighty hand Over Virginia and the New-found-land, And spread the color of our English Rose In the far countries where tobacco grows, And tamed the savage nations of the West, Which of this jewel were in vain possessed. It is not at all unlikely that King lames s Counter-blast to Tobacco was called out chiefly by the fulsome praises of the Maiden Queen mixed up with the praises of the narcotic used. The allu- sion to Elizabeth as our modern Muse Which life and light doth to the North infuse, would not be likely to prove soothing to one who was a Scotchman, at least by birth. Referring to the closing lines of the quotation from Beaumont, one cannot help wondeTing a little how far the sav- age nations of the West had been tamed in 1602. Feeble attempts had been made, under Raleigh and others, to col- onize the country, but the colonists were all lost. Only a few hogs had been left on the Bermudas as the outcome of the enterprise. The mild manners of the numerous progeny of these represented the taming of the West achieved during the reign of Elizabeth. Michael Dray- ton makes mention of these hogs, and of their gentle nature, in some laudatory verses complimenting the vagrant Coryat upon his Travels, in i6i I. Greatness to me seemed ever full of fear Which thou foundst false at thy arriving there; At the Bermudas, the example such, Where not a ship until this time durst touch Kept, as supposed, by Ilells infernal dogs, Our fleet found there most honest, courteous hogs. But Drayton had written, prior to 1605, one of his most spirited lyrics with the purpose of encouraging emigration to these shores. His language is so ani- mated with the spirit of that age, that the piece deserves to be presented in full, but space will admit only the splendid opening. You brave, heroic minds, Worthy your countrys name, That honor still pursue, Go and subdue, Whilst loitering hinds Lurk here at home with shame. Britons, you stay too long, Quickly aboard bestow you, And with a merry gale Swell your stretched sail \Vith vows as strong As the winds that blow you. Your course securely steer, West and by south forth keep, Rocks, lee-shores and shoals, When Eulus scowls, You need not fear So absolute the deep. And cheerfully at sea Success you still entice To get the l)earl and gold, And ours to hold Virginia, Earths only Paradise. In the Political Satires of Sir John Denham, belonging to the time of the 21 22 AMERICA IN EARLY ENGLISh LITERA PURE. earliest settlement of the Northern colo- nies, there is mention of one of the pro- ducts of this region as an article of im- portation. Of course it is the white pine that Sir John intends under the name of fir. Plant now New England firs in English oak, Build your ships ribs proof to cannon stroke. There is an interesting allusion to this country in the Britains Remembrancer of George Wither, published in 1628. As this work dealt particularly with the Plague of 1625, its date is fixed. In an enumeration of instances of the visita- tion of Divine wrath upon the British nation, the author refers to the outcome of attempts at colonization here: That hopeful voyage which brave Raleigh made, To prosecute those golden hopes he had, Was overthrown; and (to enlarge the cost) In him the more of wit tban money lost. * * * * * * * When in Virginia we had nnrs~d long Our Colonies, and hop~d they were strong, And almost able to subsist alone, By naked people they were set upon, And were endangered; for on us for ill God laid his hand, and lays it on us still. Elsewhere in his Remembrancer the author reminds Britain of the unworthy views with which the colonization of America had been undertaken and was carried on. Some shrewd reflections upon that work lead him to express an opinion which must have been common in that day. Speaking of the distracted church, he says: I know that if Thou please Thou canst provide A place for her securely to abide Amid the western wilderness, and where Scarce glimmerings of Thy favors yet appear, By moulding out the heathen salvages To be a people far surpassing these. This, Lord, Thou couldst effect; and make of them Thy people, whom these most of all contemn. And since this Nation, in their wealthy peace, Have sent out Colonies, but to increase Their private gains; since they fair shows have made Of publishing the gospel, when the trade For private lucre (as the times reveal) Was chiefest founder of their feign~d zeal; Since they in that and other things pretend Religion when tis farthest from their end, Thou didst but right, if Thou shouldst force their seed To settle on some barbarous coast for need But what will prove of greater interest now than any reference to the country and its products in those early times, er even the history of unsuccessful attempl s at colonization, are the casual notices we here and there come across of the peo- ple who were then coming here for set- tlement. The feeling with which the colonists were then being dismissed from England was bitter enough for the most part. It was the rancor of religious ha- tred. John Taylor, the water-poet as he was called, described the Separatists not far from 1620, and here are a few sped- men verses And what ungodly place can harbor then, These fugitive, unnatural Englishmen; Except that with the Turk or infidel Or on, or in the sea they mean to dwell, That if in lesser room they may be crammed, And live and (lie at Amster and be damned. This will answer very well for a general view of this subject as it presented itself to the amiable poe/a-a quaticus, but for a more particular description we have only to turn to The Praise of Hemp- seed, by the same author. Some parts of this performance of Taylors are ex- pressed in terms altogether too plain to suit the taste of the present. The crosss blessing he esteems a curse, The ring in marriage out upont, tis worse7 And for his kneeling at the sacrament, In sooth hell rather suffer banishment, And go to Amster damned, and Jive and die7 Ere hell commit so much idolatry. * * * * * * The spirit still directs him how to pray, Nor will he dress his meat the Sabbath day, XVhich (10th a mighty mystery unfold, His zeal is hot although his meat be cold. Suppose his cat on Sunday kill a rat, She on the Monday must be hanged for that. His faith keeps a continual holiday Himself (10th labor to keep it at play; For he is read and deeply understood That if his faith should work twould do no good. A fine clean-fingered faith must save alone, Good works are needIless, therefore hell do none. The allusions to Amsterdam in con- nection with the exodus of the Puritans from England abound in the literature of that period. To swear by way of Amsterdam was a proverbial phrase. The public feeling of annoyance at the removal of so many from England was greatly aggravated by the circumstance that the Hollanders were flocking into eastern England just about as fast as the AMERICA IN EARLY ENGLISH LITERATURE. 23 Puritans were leaving that part of the country. Altogether, the exchange was not in accordance with the laws of sup- ply and demand. The effect of this was to moderate the intolerance of the Church, and to soften public sentiment. Although Taylor was a man of no great discern- ment or discrimination, he had the sense to see the difference between the Puri- tans and the schismatics, the seditiously minded Nonconformists, and he had the honesty to make the distinction. He does the conscientious Puritans justice in these doggerel verses: There are a sort of men which conscience make Of what they say, or do, or undertake; Who neither will dissemble, swear, nor lie, Who to good ends their actions all apply, Who keep the Sabbath, and relieve the poor, According to their portion and their store, And these good people some men do backbite, And call them Puritans in scorn and spite. It could not have been thought other- vise than patriotic for the Puritans to have come directly to English colonies in America. What roused the bitterest feeling was their going to Holland and the Dutch coming in to take their places. Perhaps it can be better stated by saying, that the Dutch came over into England and the Puritans took the places they had left. We. find both parties sufficiently abused in the writers of that period. The jealousy and envy of the Dutch ap- pears plainly enough in the Old Fortu- natus of Dekker, published in r6oo. Fortunatus says to the kings: Wretches, why gnaw you not your fingers off, And tear your tongues out, seeing yourselves tro(l down, And this Dutch Botcher wearing Monsters crown? John Leyden, born in Holland, poor and base, Now rich in emperie, and Fortunes grace? The Puritans had for a long time been a common object of abuse and contempt from the poets, particularly from the play-xvriters. By this usage the latter were settling off a score which had been running for some time. It is reasonable to suppose that through the long period (luring which the early mysteries and moralities were the popular dramatic en- tertainments, the public conscience had not been slumbering altogether peace- fully, and the denunciation of the thea- tres by the Puritans was only the contin- uing of a warfare which had been begun some centuries earlier than the Eliza- bethan age. In a play of Robert Yar- ringtons, published in i6oi, a constable and three watchmen are introduced upon the discovery of a murder. The follow- ing is a part of the dialogue that ensues: 2d Watch. Is this the fruits of saint-like Pu- ritans? I never liked such damned hypocrisy. gd Watch, He would not lose a sermon for a pound, An oath he thought would rend his jaws in twain, An idle word did whet Gods vengeance on; And yet two murders were not scrupulous. This bitterness of feeling followed the Puritans over into Holland. In an Eng- lish play founded on a Dutch subject Sir John Van Olden Barneveld credited to Fletcher and Massinger, and published in 1619, the Dutch characters are represented as discussing the English people who are sojourning in Holland, and are wishing these all to the other part of the world. It is natural to con- clude that reference is here made to America and cannot lose sicrht of we b the fact that this was only the year be- fore the Pilgrims set out from Delft. If the above interpretation of the play be correct, it shows that the plan of removal from Holland was common talk in Eng- land, as well as in the latter country, at the time when the play was first performed in London. Leid. Whats she? Vand. An Englishwoman. Leid. Would that they were all shipped well To the other part of the world. These stubborn English We only fear. Such was the feeling toward the Puri- tans before they began to come to America. What the feeling was later, after they had found refuge here, we can nowhere learn more plainly and directly than from The Ordinary, a play writ- ten by William Cartwright at some time near i 640. Cartwright was a clergyman, a fellow of Christ Church in Oxford, and he enjoyed a high reputation as a poet. He had previously written a play, The Royal Slave, xvhich was performed be- fore the King and Queen at Oxford in 24 AMERICA iN EARLY ENGLISh LITERATURE. 1636. He was a wit, and in his own time was thought a man of taste. A few passages from The Ordinary xviii prove the quality of this latter possession. Act I., Scene III., of the play gives an inter- view betxveen a young man and his tutor: Andrew. Tutor, I would fain learn some reli- gion. JIearsc~. Religion? Yes, to become a martyr, and l)e J)iCtured With a long label out o your mouth, like those In Foxs hook; just like a juggler drawing Riband out of his throat. Then again, farther on, in Act II., Scene III., there is another allusion to the I~uritans Coster. Ill send some forty thousand into Pauls, Build a cathedral next in Banbury; Give organs to each parish in the kingdom, And so root out the unmusical Elect. But it is near the end of the play, in Act V., Scene V., that the real intent, the aninius of the piece appears. It is after dark in the streets of London. Three scoundrels have evidently knocked down one of the guardians of the peace. The parley they hold among themselves must have been relished in the theatres, as the play is written xvith the expectation that their action xvill be applauded. Lie thou there, watchman, how the knave thats looked for May often lurk under the officer! Invention, I applaud thee. Hearsay. London air, methinks, begins to he too hot for us. Slicer. There is no longer tarrying here; lets swear Fidelity to one another, and So resolve for New England. hear. Tis but getting A little pigeon-hole reformed ruff Sl~. Forcing our beards into the orthodox bent S/ia. Nosing a little treason gainst the King; Bark something at the bishops, and we shall Be easily received. Hear. No fitter place. They are good silly people; souls that will Be cheated without trouble; one eye is Put out with zeal, th other with ignorance, And yet they think theyre eagles. S/ia. We are made Just fit for that meridian; no good works Allowed there: faith, faith is that they call for, And we will bring it em. S/i. What language speak they? Hear. English, and now and then a root or two Of Hebrew, which well learn of some Dutch skipper, That goes along with us this voyage; now We want but a good wind; the brethrens sighs Must fill our sails. For what Old England wont Afford, iVew En6 land will. You shall hear of us, By the next ship that comes, for proselytes. Such soil is not the good mans country only, Nor is the lot his to be still at home. Well claim a share and prove that Nature gave This boon, as to the good, so to the knave. The mention of vessels coming back from the Colonies for proselytes reminds us how strongly and rapidly the tide of emigration was setting out from England at that time. Sir XValter Scott, comment- ing upon Slicers words, So resolve for Nexv England, says: This is intended to ridicule the Puritans of the time; who, on account of the severe cen- sures of the Star Chamber, the greatness of the fines there, the rigorous proceedings to iml)ose ceremonies, the suspending and silencing minis- ters for not reading in church the Book of Sports, and other grievances, sold their estates and set- tled in Nexv England. The emigration on these accounts at length became so general that a proclamation was l)ut forth in 1635 to stop those who had determined to follow their friends. It is remarkable that amongst those who were actually on shipboard, and prevented by the proclamation from proceed- ing on their voyage, were the patriot IJaml)den and his cousin, Oliver Cromwell. This incident in the life of Cromwell brings to mind Thomas Middletons Mayor of Quinborough, which was published in 66o. The date of its com- position is not easily made out, but it appears to belong to the last years of the reign of Charles I. There can be little doubt that Cromwell was intended under the character of Oliver, and that the play was so understood. The ground upon which this opinion rests is the cir- cumstance that English critics have iden- tified the Quinborough of the poet with Huntingdon, the birthplace of Cromxvell. The mayor of that town would represent the official who detained the emigrant from sailing. There seems to be an allu- sion to this forcible detention in the l)as- sage where Oliver is represented as try- ing to run away from a play, but is forced to xvitness it and to listen to profane music. If this be the intent of the piece, then the date of its composition is fixed AMERICA IN EARLY ENGLISH LJTERA ZEURE. 25 at a time soon after i 635. ~1his partic- ular passage is strictly personal; but if we take Oliver for the typical Puritan, as well as for Cromwell, and there is no forcing the meaning in doing this, then, it becomes admirably illustrative of the teml)er of the times. Sirn. What joyful throat Is that, Aminadab? What is the meaning of this cry? xlmin. The rebel is taken. .Sim. Oliver, the Puritan? ~4min. Oliver, Puritan and fustian-weaver al- together. Aim. Fates, I thank you for this victorious day; Bonfires of pease-straw burn, let the bells ring. Cloy. Theres two in mending, and you know they count. .5im. Las, the tenors broken! ring out the treble. [Oliver is brought in. I am oer-cloyed with joy; welcome, thou rebel. 0/is. I scorn thy welcome, I Aim. Art thou yet so stout? Wilt thou not stoop for grace? then get thee out. 0/is. I was not horn to stoop but to my loom; That seized upon, my stooping days are done. Iii l)lain terms, if thou hast anything to say to me, Send me away quickly, this is no biding place. I understand there are players in thy house, Despatch me, I charge thee, in the name of all The brethren. Aim. Nay, now, proud rebel, I will make thee stay, And to thy greater torment see a play. 0/is. Oh, devil, I conjure thee by Amster- dam. Aim. Our word is past, justice may wink a while, but see at last. [The p/nj begins. hold, stop him, StOl) him 0/is. Oh, that profane trumpet! Oh, oh! .S1,n. Set him down there I charge you, offi- cers. Oliv. Ill hide my ears and stop my eyes. Aim. Down with his gulls [hands] I charge you. f)/is. Oh, tyranny, tyranny, revenge it tribu- lation For rel)els there are many deaths, but sure the only way To execute a Puritan is seeing of a play. Oh, I shall swound Aim. Which if thou dost, to spite thee, A players boy shall bring thee eselna-viler. [Tn/er first cheater. Oliv. Oh, Ill not swoon at all fort, though I die. Aim. Peace, heres a rascal, list and edify. ~st (Yieat. I say still hes an ass that cannot live by his wits. Sun. What a hold rascals this? He calls us all asses at hrst dash; Sure none of us live by our wits, unless it be Oliver, the Puritan. 0/iv. I scorn as much to live by my wits As the proudest of you all. Aim. Why, then youve an ass for company, So hold your prating. Olivers conjuring by Amsterdam means by way of that city, and there is implied in that connection a wholly uncompli- mentary reference to the Puritans who were still residing in Holland. The last lines quoted show how a double construc- tion is put upon his words. If we go back and read as an invocation, 0 Devil, I conjure thee by Amsterdam! we get at one of the meanings of the line. Thomas Fuller, himself a worthy who wrote of English worthies, was loyal to the king; but he could not conceal from his hearers the danger England ran of losing the better part of her population. This may seem a strong way of putting the case, but xvho can read his sermon on The Fear of Losing the Old Light, l)reached before the corporation of Exe- ter in 1646, and not feel that the mat- ters of which he then spoke had, to his view at least, assumed vital importance to the nation. This sermon was not merely a review of the action of the (Jome-outers who followed the New Light in their sl)irittsal course, but it was a square look at the broad fact that the Colonies were being strengthened, and England was being weakened at pre- cisely equal pace. Fuller is delightful in his sermons as he is elsewhere, and we can keep along with him over a portion of this discourse. Speaking of missionary enterprise in his day, the preacher characteristically remarks, I have not heard of many fish (understand me in a mystical sense) caught in New England. * 5 * The fault is not in the religion, but in the professors of it, that of late we have been more unhappy in killing of Christians than happy in converting of Pagans. Alluding to the favorable inclination of the Gospel to verge westward, he says: This putteth us in some hopes of America, in Gods due time; God knows what good effects to 26 A PRO VIJ9ENFIAL LEADING. them our sad war may produce; some may be frighted therewith over into those parts (being more willing to endure American than English savages), or out of curiosity to see, necessity to live, frugality to gain, may carry religion over with them into this barbarous country. Only God forbid we should make so bad a bargain as wholly to exchange our Gospel for their gold, our Saviour for their silver, fetch thence li~num vitae and deprive ourselves of the tree of life in lieu thereof. May not their planting he our supplant- ing, their founding in Christ, our confession; let them have of our light, not all our light; let their candle be kindled at ours, ours not removed to them. To pursue this course of reading fur- ther would result simply in accumulating more evidence of the same general char- acter. Enough has already been given to show the relations between the early colonists and the mother country. If we were to continue on the same line of reading down to the time of American Independence, we should find that this event grew steadily, by a natural process of development, out of the antipathies prevailing a hundred and fifty years be- fore its time. It is in ways like this, in showing itself as a mirror of the time to which it belongs, that general literature most urgently claims our attention and our interest. In the drama and the songs of men, no less than in their sermons and their speeches, are reflected the life and the growth of all human history. A PROVIDENTIAL LEADING. AN IDYL OF SEVENTY SUMMERS AGO. By Mira Clarke Parsons. HEN Eleazar Ring, the handsome young car- penter, died from an accident encountered while helping a neigh - bor move a building, everybody pitied the young widow, who was left with her two little children to fight her way through the world. A smaller measure of sym- pathy overflowed upon his bright-eyed young half-sister, Eunice, who by the stroke was left, at the age of fifteen, homeless and dependent. Eleazar had taken her from a home in which there were many mouths to fill, and his father was old. He said: She has been more like a daughter than a sister to me, ever since she was born. Let her come to me. I have a good trade, and she shall never want for anything. In the midst of the girls grief for the loss of her brother, she never thought of blaming sister Dosia for considering her a burden in spite of her constant service in the household. But after she had eaten the bitter bread of dependence for a few months, Mrs. Squire Ellsworth, whose husband kept the store and Post Office at Fairmount Centre, twenty miles away, came to ask if she would go and live with her, and Eunice thankfully said yes.~~ She took the place of an adopted daughter in the squires household, and was never allowed to feel the difference between her own claim there, and that of the young Ellsworths. The spring she was nineteen years old, Mrs. Ells- worth said one day: Eunice, they want a teacher at the North End this summer. Mr. Clarke spoke to father about you yesterday, when he brought in the butter. I think I can manage to spare you if you want to go. Ann and Sally ought to be doing a little more housework. Mr. Clarke was serving his first term as Prudential Committee- man in his district. He had some acquaintance with Eunice; the inhabitants of a country town in Nexv England must needs know each other, when all the tribes went up to worship at the same temple. If he had come to feel any particular interest in the damsel,, A PRO VIDENTIAL LEADING. 27 he had made no sign. He called a few days later, and a bargain was made. Eunice was to begin the school on the first Monday in May, receiving four and sixpence (seventy-five cents) per week for her services, and continuing as long as the district money held out. Six weeks before the opening of our story, she was duly installed as school maam in district number nine. She boarded round, stopping the first week at the home of the committee-man. He, by virtue of his office, had once visited the school, on the opening week, quite unequally sharing the honors of the day with the minister, whose duty it was to visit the different school districts at that time, and see that the machinery was in running order. The day of the ministers advent was an occasion of delight mingled with awe, to the children of two generations ago in New England. He was reverenced by them as a superior being. The sight of his chaise in the distance, at recess time, was the signal for them to leave their play, form into line, and make their manners, as he rode solemnly past. The visit to the school alxvays closed with remarks and prayer; and many gray-haired children of to-day retain a vivid picture of a venerable form stand- ing behind the teachers desk, while the sunlight from the bare windows glorified the worn and whittled benches of the old schoolroom. After this time, unless there was serious trouble in the school, the minister was seen no more until the final examination day. It was nearly four oclock on a warm afternoon in June. The restless feet of the children kept time to the motion of the flies on the window panes, while through the open door floated the fragrance of Farmer Elders clover-field. A white- faced bumble bee, which had dropped in to exchange a friendly buzz with the drones in the red hive, had been caught and imprisoned in a hollyhock by a boy on the seat nearest the door, who at in- tervals stimulated its smothered rage to a deeper bass, by a snap of his fingers. The schoolhouse was set within a few feet of the dusty highway, having near it neither bush nor shrub, to bear off any weather at all. A patch of tall Canadian thistles grew on the south side, which at blossom time lured the bees and butter- flies, and caused the bare feet of the children to suffer tortures in pursuit of the restless rovers. The west window opened into a pasture which had been forbidden ground to the youngsters ever since one of them had spent half the night in a tree within the enclosure, by reason of the persistent attentions of a belligerent young animal beneath. The schoolmaam was engaged in en- deavoring to impress upon the mind of George Brown, in the A B C class, the difference between 0 and I, and failed to notice an unusual stir in the room, as at length, closing the spelling-book, she said: Now, say your verse. The child straightened up, and began to take an interest in things, as he re- peated in a shrill voice: Little David with his sling, At Go-li-er he (li(l fling, Hit Go-li-er on the head, Great Go-li-er fell (lown dead! Ann Maria Churchill giggled as the boy hastily resumed the perpendicular after illustrating the manner of the giants downfall, his movements being hastened by the appearance of a young man with a wooden measure in his hand, who vaulted lightly over the wall near the schoolhouse, while half a score of young animals, ea ~ er for the salt xvhich it had contained, followed close behind. Committee-mans coming! an- nounced the giggling girl to her com- panion in a loud whisper, as the young farmer deposited his salt-dish on a flat stone, and knocked at the open door. Good afternoon, Miss Ring. Our folks wanted me to stop and tell you that they expect you next week, he ex- plained, standing somewhat uneasily un- der the gaze of a dozen pairs of eyes. Will you walk in? We are just go- ing to spell round, she ventured. Nothing loath, he accepted the invita- tion. The youth were made to pass in order before him, till the spelling was accomplished, and the shadow on the west window-sill marked four oclock. Then school was dismissed. A shout 28 A PRO VIDENTIAL LEADING. rent the air. The urchins who had kept oid Adam in subjection by a tremendous effort for the past half hour burst forth with the imprisoned bumble bee, which, being at last released by his tormentor, sailed away on an afternoon sunbeam to join his kindred in the thistle patch. When the shouts had died away in the distance, Jotham and Eunice set out towards the teachers boarding-place. At Widow Mores gate they parted, jotham going half a mile further to his own home, a tiny brown farmhouse lodged like a birds nest in a dimple between the hills, overshadoxved by a tall butter- nut tree which dropped its fruit upon the roof in autumn, while a maple grove on the north kept the wind from the dwell- ing in winter. From the spare-room windows one could look away over the blue hills which formed the last link in a grand mountain chain, whose peaks further north, formed Graylock and his brethren. The low roof had sheltered many generations of the family of which jotham was the last to bear the name. An old book has come down to the present time, bound in leather, bearing date r729, entitled A Token for Mourners, by John Flavel, in which is inscribed Aaron Clark His Book God give Him grace theirin to Look that he may run the hlefsed race that Heaven may he his Dwelling place. This was Jothams great-grandfather. His father died when the lad was sixteen, leaving him to carry on the farm, with the aid and counsel of his mother, a woman of great thrift and management. His half-sister, Silence, with her wonder- ful brown hair and sympathetic eyes, had faded like a snowdrop, and quickly fol- lowed her father. Made painfully bashful by reason of his secluded life, the boy had served his time as a pupil in the red schoolhouse, where for many winters, until he was called up higher, old Master Taylor had held the rod of authority over the boys and girls, bringing it down alike upon the heads of the evil and the good. His son Simeon was as Jonathan to this lonely 1)avid, and their souls were knit together as brethren. They sat on the same hard, backless bench; they wrote in fair, round hand in their home- made writing-books: Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; Charms strike the sight, hut merit wins the soul. They did suibs by algebra without know- ing it, naming the process the Rule of Supposition; and, better spellers than ancestor Aaron, spelled Perrys Dic- tionary through from cover to cover at the evening spelling schools xvithout miss- ing a word. Jotham was the elder by two years, and the adviser and confidant of his companion. J otham had a tenor voice, clear and resonant as that of the bell-bird, whose evening song echoed through the maple grove hard by his home, while Simeon sang a good bass. Many happy winter evenings were spent by the two youths in the kitchen of the brown farm- house, with fiddle and home-made bass viol, on which they were wont to play skilfully. Sometimes even patient Aunt Darkis as the neighbors called her, was fain to tie her wide-bordered cap more closely over her ears, when Cousin Jemima joined in the harmony, uplifting her voice like a pelican in the wilderness, while she quavered through old Majesty and Sherburne. J emima xvas an old-maid relative, who was wont to sojourn from time to time with Aunt Dorc~ s, assisting with the spinning and other household duties, her tall, erect figure showing in marked con- trast to her aunt, who was bent and bowed. After school days were over, Simeon became a clerk in Squire Ellsworths store, at the Centre, three miles away, where he sold cotton cloth and molasses and divers and sundry other commodities, and boarded in the squires family. This was generally thought to be a great ad- vancement over plodding farm life. There had been nothing of importance in the conversation between Jotham and his companion during the short walk to Widow Mores, but the light that was never on sea or land shone in the young mans honest gray eyes as he lifted them to the June sky, and the story older than 29 A PRO VIDENTIAL LJXAI9IVG. the granite hills which encompassed his home was writing itself upon his heart. The schoolhouse was left to vacation quiet for txvo weeks in July, that the older scholars might spread hay and rake after. Then the swarm again settled, and the buzz of study and mis- chief went on as before, while the bright- eyed teacher reigned as queen bee and kept the hive in order. The boarding round, then a distinc- tive feature of district school-keeping, often brought Eunice to the home of the Pruden- tial Committee-man, for it was expected that this officer should provide a home for the teacher whenever, in her weekly revolutions through the district, she came to be entertained by a family whose poverty was in direct proportion to the number of children of teachable age which it contained, meaning from three years old and upward. So when Jim Robinsons turn came, with his family of five olive plants, his few unproductive acres, and a shiftless wife to mismanage the home, kind Aunt Dorcas said, I guess the teacherd better come and board out the Robinsons time here. Her son warmly approved the sugges- tion. He was a devout believer in Prov- idence. He had been tumbled up and down in his mind, seeking some way by which he could see the fair damsel oftener, and surely this was a direct in- terference in his behalf. Jims home was the abode of unthrift and discomfort, while his mother and Cousin Jemima were immaculate housekeepers, and the farm produced good store of creature com- forts. Noxvhere else was such an orchard, with fruit as golden as that guarded of old by the Hesperides, while the garden yielded all manner of herbs and vege- tables after their kind. Peace and plenty reigned in the farmhouse. How its master blessed the Providence which had filled the poor mans quiver with the poor mans blessing! Each toxv-headed urchin represented an added week of the girls presence under his own roof. The whole atmosphere of that summer of summers was full of unwritten poetry to the young farmer. There were walks in the twilight in the old-fashioned garden where the hollyhocks nodded their wise heads to each other over the gate, and the striped grass under the lilac bush held up its shining blades, tempting the two into bewildering proximity as they searched in vain for a matched pair. When the dew fell too heavily, the gar- den was abandoned for the great flat stone doorstep. The robin in the tree overhead would stir softly in her nest, hearing through her midsummer nights dream two young voices blending in sweet accord as they sang Addisons noble ode: Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale, And nightly to the listuing earth Repeats the story of her hirth: Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole. When Cousin Jemimas step was heard in the kitchen, as she wound the clock and set the bread for the morrows bak- ing, Eunice would flutter like a belated bird to her nest under the eaves, while Jotham would take his happy heart for a walk in the orchard, from whence he could see the twinkling of her candle through the trees for a few minutes. Then all would be dark, save in his heart, where the light of love shone like a bright star. He could only whisper the secret to the night breezes and the motherly robin. All too soon the bright summer passed. Examination day xvas over, with its array of delighted parents and august school- committee. The young teacher looked worried. It was a trying ordeal for her, no doubt. At last the guests had de- parted, the children had received their simple gifts, and said their tearful good- bys. Already the schoolroom was tak- ing on a mournful look amid the fading glories of maple branches and fall mari- golds, with which the older girls had covered the cracks in its plastered sides. Jotham unhitched Whitefoot from a post by the door. He was to take the teacher home, another duty of the Pru- dential Committee-man, and the last that would devolve upon him. Surely never were duties made sweeter in the pathway ~3O A PRO VJDENLIAL LEADING. therecf! He helped her to mount into the high wagon, and climbed in after her, feeling a little awkward in his unaccus- tomed position. They rode for a time in silence through the lovely mountain pathway, where every roadside stone and spike of golden- rod were transfigured in the slanting light. The lover was thinking of the moonlight strolls in the garden, and the evening songs. Then he broke the silence: Its going to be lonesome at our house, he stammered; I wishwont you come back for good? I think I could make you happy. I should try. Does any one smile at this quiet love making? Then he was not born in the atmosphere of repression which was round about New England two generations ago. It was not an easy matter for even a lover to say, I love you, and this lover was a man of few words. The ones xvhich he had just spoken signified a lifes devotion 1)rOmised. Surely, the girl had not been blind all ;u~mer to what was plainly visible to cvery one else. Yet she answered not a word. Was it maidenly shrinking, or womans perversity, which sealed her lips? How could she speak of what she had inadvertently heard only that morn- ing, the thought of which had been with her all the long, tiresome day? A neighbor, the most ignorant and longest tongued woman in the district, had made an early call on her hostess, and tarried on the doorstep near the spare-room window, for a few last words. They dew say, she affirmed, that the committee-mans shinin up to the teacher, Sh-h-h, cautioned the other. But she went on. Wal, to be sure, she might go farther and fare worse. Have you hearn tell that like as not Square Eilsworth 11 have to sign over? Ahdam says that Jim says that John says that theyve been livin tu high. Mis Ellsworth puts raisins in all her mince pies, and makes the under crust jest as rich as the top ! She says she dont want no hypocrite pies. And the gals is so extravagant, wearin meet- in shoes every day! Guess Eunice wont hold her head so high if she has to leave there. Mebby Jotham 11 take her out o pity. And he could have his pick o gals. At this point she was finally silenced by the energetic pantomime of her hostess, and departed. If the girl had but had time to think it over! But now she could only remem- ber, Mebby hell take her out of pity. It was a long three miles. The young man spoke once again: I did not mean to offend you. I am plain spoken, and, I never said such words to a girl before. And Eunice, unreaving her thick green veil, that it might drop over the caver- nous depths of her bonnet, responded, in a voice with a sob in it: Oh, why did you say them to me He left her at the squires gate, and took his way homeward in the darkening twilight, with his faith in Providence al- most wrenched from its hold. In his long waking hours, he lived over every scene of that happy summer. All at once, a thought flashed through his mind, why had it not occurred to him be- fore ? of his Jonathan, his bosom friend; how was it possible that he and Eunice could have been thrown together daily in the squires family, and not have come to feel something more than friendship in their close intercourse? Then he re- called many corroborating proofs. His friend was surely interested in the bright maiden whom he had loved in vain. J otham was, as he himself had said, a plain man. He basil never ventured far out into the world which lay beyond his hill-environed home, but he was formed of the same stuff which had made his ances- tors endure hardness as good soldiers, and he had read in a very old Book, with which he was wonderfully familiar: Greater love hath no man than this; that a man lay down his life for his friend. His life? That might not have proved so very difficult; but his love, which had become to him morning star and rising sun! All night he wrestled; but when he came out of his room in the early morn- ing light, he had prevailed. He took the milk-pail from the buttery shelf, and went out to begin his days work as usual, and A PROVIDENTIAL LEADING. 31 no other human being knew that he walked a mourner over a buried hope. Life in the brown farmhouse was as methodical as though old John XVyklifs motto, Doe the nexte thynge, had been inscribed over the broad fireplace; and Jotham blessed the necessity of toil without rest. His mothers dim eyes failed to notice what was plain enough to cousin Jemimas younger vision, brightened perchance by a memory of her own youth, the sad look which his face had taken on. But even her dull ears detected a new tone in his voice in family prayer, and there were no more soul-inspiring tunes played upon the old bass-viol, with his tenor accompaniment. Neither did Reuben come as of old when the evenings grew long. He was hard at work in the store, whose brisk fall trade gave the lie to old Maam Toogoods story of prospective failure. So the two only met on Sabbath days, on the meet- ing-house steps, when Jotham might have observed a new expression on the face of his friend, had he been as quick to note the shadows as in the old days. And what of Eunice? A spirit of un- rest, most perplexing to the family, had entered in and taken possession of the girl. She was as fitful in temper as an April day. At times as gay as a bobolink, she would stop in the midst of a burst of song or laugh-provoking story, and no owl could be more solemn. The children missed the charm of their old companion, and good Mrs. Ellsworth would have thought the girl was under conviction, but that she had been for four years a member of the church, in good and regular standing. Deacon Eastmans son Timothy, a good enough young man, walked briskly up to the squires front door one Sunday evening, and gayly lifted the knocker. Miss Eunice appeared, and answered a question in a way which sent him walking even more quickly away. It may be necessary to explain that Sun- day night in rural New England was the time for valiant young men to lay siege to the hearts of fair maidens, if haply they might win them to wife, and the first approach was wont to be in the time- honored form of a request for the damsels company. One day she was found crying behind the smoke-house, whither she had been sent with fresh coals for the ham-curing, but she explained that the smoke had got into her eyes. It was a blessing to her that the bonnets of the period were such effectual barriers to the curiosity of the outside world, else would she never have dared to sit near her lover or old Dame Toogood in meeting. Not a glimpse could the youth obtain of the face surmerged in the depths of her Nay- arino, else might his buried hope have felt some resurrection pangs. Digging potatoes is prosaic, back- breaking work. All day Jotham had plodded patiently back and forth along the furrowed rows, followed by a young lad who filled a basket for his stronger arms to empty into the cart, which stood in the centre of the field, while the oxen waited in the edge of the grove hard by, till the time to draw the load home. A bittersweet waved its oriflamme above the underbrush, while the smell of the freshly turned earth, mingling with the odor of dead leaves, suggested that summer was ended and the harvest almost past. Jotham paused at length at the end of a long row, looked back over the brown field across which the sun was throwing its last golden shadows, and leaned his hoe against the stone wall. Jimmie, said he, you may get the oxen, and draw the load home. The lad straightened a kink out of his back, and ran nimbly away. Listlessly following him with his eyes, he beheld Simeon approaching. He waited until his visitor had walked the whole distance of the field, and at length stood beside him, saying. Brother, and the old name trem- bled a little upon his lips, I have something to tell you. The farmer looked at the young clerk, in his tidy suit, plain and poor, but very clean, and at the delicate hands which bore no marks of toil, then down at his own, brown and roughened by his work. He thought, He has come to ask me to wish him joy. With a mighty effort 32 A PRO VIDENTIAL LEADING. he girded himself up, and xvith a low Yes, Simeon, led the way to the edge of the brush, where a fallen tree lay covered with a cushion of soft moss. They were hardly seated when Simeon began: A great change has passed over my life. I want to tell you about it, my friend. The friends face was pitiful to look upon; but by reason of the falling shadoxvs, and his oxvn earnestness, the other took no heed. He went on: Long time have I holden my peace; but there is a fire in my bones, and a voice sounding in my ears that I can but obey. Brother, if you had pondered upon a subject until it seemed the one thing of any importance to you; if your prayers had been offered with special reference to it for a long time; if it pos- sessed you when you lay down and when you rose up, would you not take it as an indication that Providence was ordering your path in that direction? Poor Jotham! Lie had indeed be- lieved in such ordering all the last happy summer. He almost groaned as he at length made ansxver. I should hope so, brother. Have you not reason to believe that she also has felt? Simeon started. I do not under- stand you. It was only last night that I fully made up my mind. The obstacles are many, but my Leader has spoken, and I must go forward. Before the new moon shines through these trees again, I shall leave the old life behind me, and go forth like the disciples of old, hav- ing neither script nor purse. I must 1c a rnissio;uiry. It will be long before I can get my education; so long that I cannot rest from thinking how many souls must starve before my hands can break unto them the bread of life. Oh, why do the children of the bride-chamber tarry, when the bridegroom bids them to go forth? He paused, breathless, and for the first time raised his eyes to the face of his companion, who reverently rose, lifted his old straw hat from his head, and said, Let us sing the Doxology! And, standing side by side, with the young moon gleaming softly in the gathering twilight through the old trees above them, they sang: Praise God, from whom all blessings. flow.~~ To the elder there was a joyous under- tone in the musk, not audible in the ears of the other. Then, amid the fast falling shadows, but with a darker shadow lifted from his heart, he led his friend along the familiar path to the house, where Aunt Dorcas and Jemima waited and wondered. A few weeks passed, wherein all the old love and confidence were blissfully renewed, never again to be dimmed or doubted, and then Simeon went forth on his long journey whose goal was in the islands of the sea. Then our believer in Providence waited for a leading. He hardly dared to hope that it would be along the path- way of his strong desire, but he took heart from a word dropped by Simeon, to the intent that Eunice seemed to have something on her mind. When the evenings grew long in the late autumn, a mild epidemic broke out in the town, in the form of a singing- school. Old Lucas, as he xvas somewhat irreverently called, with his beloved violin and singing-book, began a circuit which included divers of the hill towns within its orbit. With his bristling gray hair pushed back fiercely from his forehead, he was a spectacle to angels and men, as he taught the youth and maidens how to make melody unto the Lord. The Town Hall at the Centre was filled weekly with a goodly number of singers, each bearing a tallow candle set upright in an auger hole bored in a block of wood. When the tune was set to a quick measure, the dim room resembled a swamp filled with dancing Will o-the- wisps, as, like Gideons lamp-equipped army, each singer held his book in one hand, while with the other, in which his light was held, he beat the time with ut- most vigor and delight. The singing-master had at the begin- ning tried the voices, and Eunice was placed at the head of the counter, while Jothams fine tenor gave him a seat di- rectly behind her. But the sight of her SONG AFfER SILENCE. 33 tortoise-shell comb and high standing ruffle was hardly a fair exchange for that of the bright face which had smiled up at him the previous summer from the striped grass under the lilac bush. J othams long green cutter was roomy enough to have taken in half a dozen girls, but he had no companion in his rides to and from the singing-schools. The winters entertainment was to end in a grand concert, when the book was to be sung through, from Old Hundred to the Anthems, inclusive. And now, on each evening, Old Lucas was wont to call upon some one to select and lead a tune, that the new choir might be able to choose a leader upon whom the departing masters mantle might fall. On the last evening, Jotham was called. There was no escape. With a great ef- fort he advanced to the front and named the tune Dundee, set to the words, Let not despair, nor fell revenge Be to my bosom known; Oh give me tears for others woes, And patience for my own. He rapped his tuning-fork and took the pitch. All the parts were carried with a full volume of melody, while over all, soaring up among the dim old rafters, floated the leaders sweet tenor, voicing a prayer for patience. But another leading drew his look toward the seat where the counter sat, and caused the eyes of the girl he loved to meet his for one brief moment, as the strains died away and a hush followed which was like a prayer. Whatever the revelation may have been, it caused him some delay in reach- ing home that night. Old Whitefoot waited in the squires shed, while his master tarried within for a season. The snowdrifts over which the green sleigh passed on the homeward way might have been strewn with lilies of midsummer for aught the young man knew. His buried hope had arisen to a deathless resurrec- tion. Before the snow had melted into the singing brooks of the springtime, Aunt Dorcas welcomed a daughter to the brown farmhouse, and when the robin and her mate came back to their tree by the window, they heard a quaint song of love from the nest within. SONG AFTER SILENCE. By C/in/on Scoilard. WINTER is a weary time! Not the ripple of a rhyme Stirs the icy shores along, Quickening quietude with song. Smiles are choked with snow, Not a metaphor will flow Envious frost doth hold in fee Every lip in Castaly. But let spring the bonds unbind With the soft touch of its wind, What a rapture ! What a sweep! What a swifr, ecstatic leap! Mortal words but half express All the rapture, all the stress Sweeter are the strains that come If the lip awhile be dumb. 34 SCHUBERT. SCHUBERT. By ZI/ella C~ocke. WHO would know thee, a loving heart must bring, And hear with his hearts ears; else shall he miss Thy perfect message and his own true bliss, As bird that fain would soar on single wing, But faints and falls, in its unequal flight; For deepest depths of human tenderness Are thine, the mothers love and dear caress, The wanderers longing for the blessed sight Of home and Fatherland, the lovers heart, Wild with despair, or thrilled with joyance sweet Of happy souls who full requital meet. Thus natures yearnings find in thee a part; O gentlest Master of them all, since pain And joy do live, thou hast not lived in vain! SCJftZUMANN 35 SCHUMANN. By Zitella Gocke. HAT subtleties of song upon the loom Of Time, 0 Schumann, thy bold Fancy weaves, Now gorgeous tapestries of shimmering leaves, Melodious birds, and fragrant fields of bloom ; And now, a gossamer-spun canopy Meet for Olympian gods, and bright with beams Of never-fading stars, we see in dreams, And visions born of raptured ecstasy! Anon, on smooth-wrought texture of sweet tones, A sudden, plaintive wail of dissonance, Caught in the warp and woof of fair romance, Of joys high carnival, or griefs low moans. Rare Weaver ! ere thy fabrics lustre pale, Times shuttle, weary grown, itself shall fail! By U/Thfeld S. Nevins. VIII. BRIDGET BISHOP. BRIDGET BISHOP was arrested April 19, 1692, on a warrant issued the day before. Her examination took place on the day of arrest, and she was committed to jail. Bridget was the second wife of Edward Bishop, sawyer. Blshop was her third husband. Her first was one Wasslebee, and her second, Thomas Oliver. Bishop himself married again, nine months after Bridget was hanged. It is interesting, as a matter of curiosity, in this connection, to know that his father, Edward, was living in 1692; also a son, born in 1648, and a grandson, Edward. The Bishops at the time of Bridgets arrest were living near the line between Salem Village and Beverly, on the road which now leads from North Beverly to Danversport, and near the Cherry Hill farm. Goodwife Bishop kept some sort of a public house for the entertainment of travellers. From the documents on file it appears that she sold cider, if nothing stronger, and that her guests sat up late at night playing at shovel-board, drinking, and rhaking so much noise that the neighbors complained of the place. Bishop and his first wife, Hannah, were before the court in 1653 and fined, he for pilfering of apples and lying, and she for stealing Indian corn and lying.1 Bishop was also fined for contempt of court in not obeying a summons in January, 1692. Bridget Bishop was arrested on a charge of witchcraft in r68o, tried and discharged. It is evident, therefore, that neither of them stood before the community in the best possible light. Any new charge to 1 Essex county court at Ipswich, 5653, Nos. 4243. Witch Pins, court-House Salem. STORIES OF SALEM WITCIJ CRAFT. 37 the discredit of either was quite likely to be believed. Samuel Gray, who prefer- red the charge of witchcraft against this woman in i68o, testified long after, on his deathbed, his sor- row and repentance for such accusations as being wholly groundless. 1 T h e court reporter on the occasion of Bridget Bishops examination before the magis- trates in 1692 left this record: As soon as she came near all fell into fits. Mary Walcott said that her brother Jonathan stroke her appearance, and she saw that he had tore her coat in striking and she heard it tear. Upon some search in the court a rent that seems to answer what was al- leged was found. They say you bewitched your first husband to death. If it please your worship, I know noth- ing of it. She shake her head and the afflicted were tor- tured. 1 calef, Fowlers Ed., 247. The like again upon motion of her head. The court sought to make her confess by leading questions repeated in various forms, but was unable to shake her firm denial of every charge. The report con- tinues: Then she turned up her eyes and the eyes of the afflicted were turned up. It may 1)e you do not know that any have con- fessed to-day who have been examined before you Site of Bridget Bishops Salem House. Residence of constable Putnam, Salem Village, 1692. 38 STORIES OF SALEM WITOJICRAFT. that they are witches. No, I know nothing of it. John Hutchinson and John Lewis in open court affirmed that they had told her. Why, look you, you are taken now in a flat lie. I did not hear them. The remainder of the report is so nearly like that in other cases that its use would be mere repetition. The prisoner was sent to jail. The new court of Oyer and Terminer, which had been con- stituted by Governor Phips on May 27, sat in Salem, June 2, for the trial of Bridget Bishop. She was, therefore, the first person tried by the new court, and the first of the alleged witches of Salem and Salem Village to be tried in 1692. The evidence against her at this trial has come down to us with a considerable de- gree of fulness. There were five indict- ments. They charged the prisoner in the usual form with witchcraft in, upon, and against Mercy Lewis, Abigail Williams, Mary Walcott, Elizabeth Hubbard, and Ann Putnam, respectively. In addition to the customary testimony of the afflicted that the shape of the accused did often pinch, bite, choke, and otherwise hurt them, and had urged them to write their names in a book, which the apparition called our book, they manifested the usual evidences of torture in the court- room. Among the interesting testimony in the case was that of William Stacey, who deposed that he had the small-pox some thirteen years before, and Bridget Bishop professed great love for him in his afflic- tion. Some time after he did some work for her, for which she paid him three pence. He put the money in his pocket; but had not gone above three or four rods when he looked in his pocket but could not find any money. One day he met Ph~p going to mill. She asked him whether his father would grind her grist. He wished to know why she asked. She answered, Because folks counted her a witch. Deponent made answer he did not doubt his father would grind it, bnt being gone about six rods from her with a small load in his cart, sud- denly the off wheel plumped or sunk down into a hole upon plain ground, that this deponent was forced to get one to help him get the wbeel out. Afterwards he went back to look for said hole where his wheel sunk in, hut could not find any hole. One winter about midnight be felt something cold pressing on his teeth be- tween his lips. She saw Bishop sitting on the foot of the bed. She hopt upon the bed and about the room. Some time after, Stacey, according to the records: Shattuck i-louse Salem. STORIES OF SALFAif WITCHCRAFT. 39 Death Warrant of Bridget Bishop~ 40 STORIES OF SALEM WITCHCRAFT. in a dark night, was going to the ham, who was suddenly taken or hoisted from the ground, threw against a stone wall, after that taken up again and throwed down a hank at the end of the house. Some time after this deponent met the said Bridget Bishop hy Isaac Stones hrick kill; after he had passed hy this deponents horse stood still with a small load going up hill, so that the horse trying to draw, all his gears flew in pieces and the cart fell down. John Hale of Beverly testified that the wife of John Trask desired of him that Bishop be not permitted to receive the Lords Supper till she had given satisfac- tion for some offences that were against her because she did entertain certain people in her house at unseasonable hours in the night to keep drinking and playing at shovel-board, whereby discord did arise in the other families and young people were in danger to he corrupted. He greatly feared that if a stop had not been put to those disorders Edward Bishops house would have been a house of great prophainness and iniquity. The next news he heard of Christian Trask xvas that she was dis- tracted, and her hus- band said she was so taken the night after she complained of Goody Bishop. He continued his testi- mony at length, sta- ting that the distractions returned from time to time until Mrs. Trask died. As to the wounds that she died of I did ohserve three deadly ones, a piece of her windpipe cut out, another wound ahove it through the windpipe & gullets the veins they call juglar, so that I then judged and still do apprehend it impossihle for her with so short a pair of scissors to mangle herself so without some extraordinary work of the devil or witchcraft. Is there any reason to doubt, after reading this testimony, that Christian Trask was insane, and so committed suicide? Txvo xvitnesses testified that on taking Anthony Needham House, West Peabody. The Jacobs House, Danversport STORIES OF SALEM WITCHCRAFT. 41 down the cellar wall in the old Bishop house where Bridget lived in 1685, they found in holes in the wall several puppets made up of rags and hogs bristles with headless pins in them with the points out. Puppets were believed to represent the person whom the witch desired to afflict, and by sticking pins into those images the mischief was supposed to be mysteriously and safely accomplished. Whatever was done to the images was, so the belief ran, done to the person whom they represented. Samuel Shattuck testi- fied that Bridget Bishop came to his house to buy a hogshead which he asked very little for, and she went away without it. Sundry other times she came in a smooth, flattering manner, he had thought since to make mischief. At or very near this time his eldest child which had promised much health and understanding was taken in a drooping condition, and as she came often to the house it grew worse and worse. As he would be stand- ing at the door would fall out and bruise his face upon a great stepstone as if he had been thrust out by an invisible hand. Sometimes the child would go out in the garden and get on a board, and when they would call it, it would walk to the end of the board and hold out its hands as if it could come no further, and they had to lift it off. John Lander testified that Bishop came into his room one night and sat on his stomach. He put out his hands and she grabbed him by the throat and choked him. One Sunday while he remained at home, The door being shut I did see a black pig in the room coming towards me, so I went towards it to kick it and it vanished away. Immediately after I sat down in a narrow bar and did see a black thing jump into the window and came and stood just before my face upon the bar, and the body of it looked like a munkey and I being greatly aifrighted, not being able to speak or help myself by reason of fear, I suppose, so the thing spake to me and said, I am a messenger sent to you, for I understand you are troubled in mind, and if you will be ruled by me you shall want for nothing in this world, upon which I endeavored to clap my hands upon it, and said you devil I will kill you, hut could feel no substance and it jumped out of the window again, and immediately came in by the porch, although the doors were shut, and said you had better taken council, whereupon I strooke at it with a stick but struck the ground-sill. Then Essex Inst. Hist. con. II., i4~. his arm was disennabled, and opening the door and going out he saw Bishop in her orchard going towards her house, and seeing her had no power to set one foot before the other. The trial occupied most of the week. Bridget was convicted and sentenced to be hanged. She was executed on Friday, June io, being the only person hanged on that day, and hence the first victim of the great witchcraft delusion of 1692. Calef says, she made not the least con- fession of anything relating to witch- craft. 2 Of her execution we have no details, but the court records contain the original warrant for her execution and the sheriffs return thereon. As this is the only death warrant which has been preserved in these cases, it is quoted here in full: To George Corwin gentrn High Sheriff of the county of Essex greeting Whereas Bridget Bishop, als Oliver, the wife of Edward Bishop of Salem in the county of Essex, sawyer, at a speciall court of Oyer and Terminer held at Salem the second day of this instant month of June for the countyes of Essex, Middlesex and Suffolk before Wiliam Stoughton Esq. and his associate justices of the said court was indicted and arraigned upon five several in~ dictments for using, practicing and exercising on the nynteenth day of April last past and divers other days and times before and after certain acts of witchcraft on and upon the bodyes of Abigail Williams Ann Putnam junr. Mercy Lewis May Walcott and Elizabeth Hubbard of Salem Village single women whereby their hodyes were hurt afflicted pined consumed wasted and tormented contrary to the forine of the statute in that case made and provided. To which indictment the said Bridget Bishop pleaded not guilty and for tryal thereof put herself upon God and her coun- try whereupon she was found guilty of the fel- onycs and witchcraft whereof she stood indicted and sentence of death accordingly passed agt her as the law directs. Execution whereof yet remains to be done. These are therefore in the name of their maj(es)ties William and Mary now King r.nd Queen over England & c to will and command you that upon Fryday next being the tenth dy of this instant month of June between the hours of eight and twelve in the aforenoon of the same day safely conduct the sd Bridget Bishop als Oliver from their majties goal in Salem aforesd to the place of execution and there cause her to be hanged by the neck until she be dead, and of your doings herein make return to the clerke of the sd court pr cept. and hereof you are not to faile at your peril and this shall be sufficient war- rant given under my hand and seal at Boston the eighth dy of June in the fourth year of the reign of our Sovirgne Lord & Lady William and 2 Fowlers Ed., 247. 42 STORIES OF SALEM WITCHCRAFT. Mary now King and Queen over England & c annogr dom 1692 WILLIAM STOUGHTON According to the within written precept I have taken the hody of the within named l3rigett Bishop out of their majesties goal in Salem and safely conveighed her to the place provided for her execution and caused ye sd Brigett to he hanged hy the neck until she was dead [and huried in the place] all which was according to the time within required and so I make returne hy me. GEORGE CoRwIN SIIERWF. The words in brackets in the sheriffs return xvere written in the original and then partially erased. They are impor- tant, however, as indicating the disposi- tion of Bishops body. No doubt other bodies were disposed of in the same manner. Corwin probably erased the words after writing them, because the matter of burial was not mentioned in the warrant IX. THE JAcOBS FAMILY. THE history of the Jacobs family in connection with the witchcraft persecu- tions is peculiarly interesting. George Jacobs, Sr., George Jacobs, Jr., and his wife Rebecca and daughter Margaret, were all accused. The old man must have been about seventy years of age or more, for he had long, flowing white hair. He lived on a farm in what was then known as Northfields, and in Salem rather than Salem Village, but on tern tory now included in the town of Dan- vers. The exact site was near the mouth of Endicott or Cow House River, the first of the three rivers one crosses in driving from Salem to Danvers. Jacobs was evidently a man of some property, and probably a good average citizen; but, like most of the others xvho fell un- der suspicion of witchcraft, and for that matter, many of their neighbors, he had had a little trouble which brought him into court. The records show that in 1677 he was fined for striking a man. His son, George, Jr., three years earlier, was sued by Nathaniel Putnam to re- cover the value of some horses that he had chased into the river, where they were drowned. The court found against Jacobs. On the tenth day of May, 1692, Hathorne and Cor- win issued a warrant to the con- stable of Salem, directing him to ap- prehend George Jacobs, Sr., of Salem, and Margaret Jacobs, daughter of George Jacobs, Jr., of Salem, single woman. On the same day, Joseph Neal, constable for Salem, returned that he had apprehended the bodies of George Jacobs, Sr., and Margaret Jacobs. They were taken to Salem that day, and the examination of the old man was begun at once. After some preliminary questions and the usual sufferings of the afflicted, the report continues, Jacobs saying: I am as innocent as the child horn to- night. I have lived 33 years here in Salem. What then? If you can prove that I am guilty I will lye under it. Sarah Churchill said, last night I was afflicted at Deacon Ingersolls, and Mary Walcott said, it was a man with 2 staves. It was my master. Pray do not accuse me. I am as clear as your worships. You must do right judgements. What hook did he hring you. Sarah? The same hook that the other woman hrought. The devil can go in any shape. Did he not appear on the other side of the river and hurt you? Did not you see him? Yes, he did. Look there, she accuseth you to your face, she chargeth you that you hurt her twice. Is it not true? What would you have me say? I never wronged no man in word nor deed. 1-lere are 3 evidences. You tax me for a wizzard. You may as well tax me for a huzzard. I have done no harm. Is it not harm to afflict these ?I never did it. But how comes it to he in your appearance? The devil can take any license. - -~-- - Site of Beadle Tavern Salem, STORIES OF SALEM WITCH (RAFT. Not without their consent. Please your worships, it is untrue, I never showed the book. I am silly about these things as the child born last night. That is your saying. You argue you have lived so long, but what then, Cain might (have) lived so long before he killed Abel and you might live long before the devil had so prevailed on you. Christ bath suffered 3 times fsr me. XVhat three times? He suf- ~ fered the cross and gal You had as good confess (said Sarah Churchill) if you are guilty. Have you heard that I have any witchcraft? I know that you lead a wicked life. Let her make it out. Doth he ever pray in his family? Not unless by himself. Why do yoo not pray in your family? I can- not read. Well you may pray for all that. Can you say the Lords prayer? Let us hear you. He might [missed?] in several parts of it & could not repeat it right after many trials. Sarah Churchill, when you wrote in the book you was showed your masters name you said. Y es ssrr. Well, burn me or hang me I will stand in the truth of Christ. I know nothing of it. This examination, begun on the joth, was suspended for some reason before completion, and finished on the r ith. On that day the accusing girls were pres- ent in full force. Among them was Sa- rah Churchill, who gave positive evidence against the prisoner. Subsequently, Sa- rah Ingersoll deposed. That seeing Sarah Churchill after her examina- tion, she came to me crying, and wringing her hands, seemingly much troubled in spirit. I asked her what ailed her. She answered she had undone herself. I asked in what. She said in belying herself and others in saying she had set her hand to the devils book whereas she said she never did. I told her I believed she had set her hand to the hook. She answered and said, no, no, no. I never, I never did. I asked her then what made her say she did. She answered because they threatened her, and told her they would put her into the dungeon and put her along with Mr. Burroughs, and thus several times she followed me up and doxvn telling me she had undone herself in belying herself and others. I asked her why she did not deny she wrote it. She told me because she had stood out so long in it, that now she durst not. She said, also, that if she told Mr. Noyes but once she had set her hand to the book, he would believe her, but if she told the truth, and said she had not set her hand to the book a hundred times he would not believe her. George Herrick testified that in May he went to the jail and searched the body of Jacobs. He found a tett under the right shoulder a quarter of an inch long. He ran a pin through it, but there was neither water, blood, nor corruption, nor any other matter, and so we make re- turn. The following document is also among the papers: wee whose names are under written having received an order from ye sreife to search ye bodyes of George Burroughs and George Jacobs wee find nothing upon ye body of ye above sayd Burroughs but wt is naturall but upon ye body of George Jacobs wee find 3 tetts wch according to ye best of our judgements wee think is not naturall for wee run a pinn through 2 of ym and he was not sincible of it one of them being within his mouth upon ye inside of his right cheak and 2d upon his right shoulder blade and a 3d upon his right hipp. Ed Welch sworne John Flint jurat Will Gill sworne Tom \Vest sworne Zeb Gill jurat Sam Morgan sworne John Bare jurat. The jury found Jacobs guilty, and he was sentenced to the galloxvs, and exe- cuted on August 19. After his con- 1 Jacobs was buried on his farm in Danversport, where his grave may be seen at this day. The remains were exhumed about 1864, examined, and redeposited in the earth, where they had lain for nearly tsso centuries. The skull was found to be fairly well preserved. The jaw- bones were those of an old man, the teeth being all gone. A metallic pin svas the only article found, save the bones. Fansily tradition has it that Jacobs was hanged on a tree on his own farm. Mr. c. M. Endicott says his grandmother, a direct descendant, told him that the body, after execution in Salem, was brought home for burial by his son, who witnessed the hanging. Upham says it was a grandson. Upham, II., 320. Essex Inst. Mist. c011., I., ~ calef, Fowlers Ed., a~8. 43 Ttasls House, North Beverly. 44 STORiES OF SALEM WITCHCRAFT. demnation the sheriffs officers went to his house and seized all his goods, and even took his wifes wedding ring. It was with great difficulty that she obtained it again. She xvas under the necessity of buying provisions of the sheriff, such as he had taken from her. These not being sufficient to sustain life, the neigh- bors supplied her with more. In the mean time, xvarrants were is- sued, on May 14, for George Jacobs, Jr., and his wife Rebecca Jacobs escaped. When the constables took Rebecca she had four young children in her home. Some of them followed her on the road, but being too young to continue far, they were left behind, and cared for by the neighbors. Rebecca Jacobs was kept in irons eight months, then indicted and brought to trial on January 3, 1693. She was promptly acquitted. In the mean time touching petitions had been presented to the chief justice by the mother, and to Governor Phips, praying for her release. They were of no avail. The woman was kept in a dungeon, half fed and uncared for beyond what was neces- sary to sustain life, through the long winter months. Her treatment was in keeping with that of other victims. In cruelty and barbarity it must be frankly said that it finds parallel only in the acts of the savages of the forests. Margaret Jacobs, to save herself from punishment, acknowledged that she was a witch and testified against her grand- father, and also against Mr. Burroughs. On August 2, 1892, the day after Mr. Burroughs and George Jacobs, Sen., were executed, she addressed a letter to her father as follows: Honored Father, After my humble duty re- membered to you, hoping in the Lord of your good health, as blessed be God I enjoy, though in abundance of affliction, being close confined here in a loathsome dungeon, the Lord look down in mercy upon me, not knowing how soon I shall be put to death, by means of the afflicted persons. My grandfather having suffered already and all his estate seized for the king. The reason of my confinement is this: I, having through the magis- trates threatenings and my own vile and wretched heart, con- fessed several things contrary to my own conscience and knowl- edge, though to the wounding of my own soul, the Lord pardon me for it. But 0, the terrors of a wounded conscience who can bear? But blessed he the Lord, he would not let me go on in my sins, but in mercy, I hope, to my soul, would not suffer me to keep it in any longer, but I was forced to confess the truth of all before the magistrates, who would not believe me, hut tis their pleasure to put me here, and God knows how soon I shall be put to death. Dear father, let me beg your prayers to the Lord on my behalf, and send us a joyful and happy meeting in Heaven. My mother, poor woman, is very crazy,. and remembers her kind love to you, and to uncle,. viz: d A , so leaving you to the protec- tion of the Lord, I rest your dutiful daughter, From the dungeon Margaret Jacobs. in Salem prison, Aug. 20, 1692. At the next session of the court, Mar- garet made another confession, in which she said: The Lord above knows I know nothing in the least measure, how or who afflicted them, they told me without doubt I did, or else they would not fall down at me, they told me if I would not confess I should be put down into the dungeon and would be hanged, but if I would confess I should have my life. The which did so affright me with my own vile wicked heart, to save my life made me make the like confession I did, which confession, may it please the honored court, is altogether false and untrue. . . . Whatever I said was altogether false against my grandfather and Mr. Burroughs, which I did to save my life and to have my liberty, hut the Lord, charging it to my conscience made me in so much horror that I could not contain myself before I had denied my confession, which I did, though I saw nothing fi 92 Site of John Procters House, Peabody. STORIES OF SALEM WITCh CRAFT. 45 but death before me, choosing rather death with a quiet conscience than to live in such horror, which I could not suffer. Whereupon my denying my confession, I was committed to close prison. She asked the court to take pity and compassion on her young and tender years, she having no friend but the Lord to plead her cause. At the time set for her trial she was troubled with a disorder in her head, and thus escaped. The evi- dence which she gives as to the pressure brought to bear to make her confess her- self a witch corroborates what was said by many others, and raises the question in our minds whether all the so-called con- fessions were extorted by similar promises of mercy on the one hand, and threats of punishment on the other. Margaret re- mained in prison some time after the proclamation of freedom was issued by the governor, because she could not pay the fees and charges of the jailer. IX. THE PROcTERS. THE story of the trial of John Procter and his wife Elizabeth is full of interest. The Procters lived originally in Ipswich, but subsequently in Salem Village, at the point now known as Proctors Crossing in Peabody. The house stood near the southerly end of Pleasant Hill. Procter was a respectable and well-to-do-farrn~r. He came into conflict on one or two occasions with Giles Corey, but this does not seem to have had anything to do with the subsequent proceedings on the charge of witchcraft against him or his wife, although the same efforts have been made in this case as in many others to attribute the prosecution to personal animosities. Procter, in 1678, was a referee in a case between Corey and John Gloyd. The decision of Procter and the other arbitrators was against Corey, but that did not appear to create any ill-feelings between the two, and they are said to have drunk together after the decision had been announced. A short time after this Procters house caught fire and some one was unkind enough to suggest that Corey set the fire, as already mentioned in an earlier chapter. As there stated, he was acquitted, when brought to trial. One collision between Procter and Giles Corey was as follows: Corey was driving a yoke of oxen along the road past John Procters house, and in going up the bill just beyond Procters had taken two or three sticks of wood to put behind the wheels while the oxen rested. He appears to have taken the sticks up and thrown them on the cart instead of to the side of the road or carrying them back. At this moment Procter and Anthony Needham came along. Procter accused Corey of having some of his wood on the cart, and asked, Wilt thou never leave thy old trade? Anthony Needham subsequently appeared against Martha Corey when she was accused of witchcraft and examined. The Coreys then lived near the present railroad cross- ing at XVest Peabody. Needham lived near there, the house now being on the turnpike near the crossing of Lowell Street and the Boston & Maine Railway; and Procter lived at the junction of the Lowell and Ipswich roads, now Lowell and Prospect Streets, Peabody. Complaint was made against Elizabeth Procter, on April 4, by Captain Jonathan Walcott and Lieutenant Nathaniel Inger- soll, for afflicting Abigail Williams, John Indian, Mary Walcott, Ann Putnam, and Mercy Lewis. She was arrested on the i ~th, and taken to Salem for examination, together with Sarah Cloyes, sister of Re- becca Nurse. Danforth, deputy-governor, Samuel Appleton, Samuel Sewall, and Isaac Addington sat with Hathorne and Corwin on this occasion. Procter him- self, like a good husband, followed his wife to court, but at the cost of his life. The girls of the accusing circle cried out against him, and he was then and there arrested. During the examination of Goodwife Procter, this scene occurred: Elizabeth Procter, you understand whereof you are charged, viz., to be guilty of sundry acts of witchcraft. What say you to it? Speak the truth, and so that you are afflicted, you must speak the truth as you will answer for it before God another day. Mary Walcott, doth this woman hurt you ?I never saw her so as to be hurt by her. Mercy Lewis, does she hurt you? (Her mouth was stopped.) Ann Putnam, does she hurt you? (She could not speak.) Abigail Williams, does she hurt you? (Her hand was thrust in her own mouth.) John Indian, does she hurt you? This is the woman that came in her shift and choked me. STORIES OF SALEM WiTcHcRAFT Did she ever bring the hook? Yes, sir. What to do? To write. What, this woman? Yes, sir. Are you sore of it? Yes, sir. Again Abigail Williams and Ann Pntnam were spoke to by the court, hot neither of them could make any answer, by reason of dumbness or other fits. What do you say, Goody Proctor, to these things? I take God in Heaven to be my wit- ness, that I know nothing of, no more than the child unborn. Ann Putnam, doth this woman hurt you? Yes, sir, a great many times. (Then the accused looked upon them and they fell into fits.) Did not you, said Abigail, tell me that your maid had written? Dear child it is not so. There is another judgment, dear child. Then Abigail and Ann had fits. By and by they cried out, Look you, there is Goody Proc- ter on the beam. Shortly both of them cried out of Goodman Procter himself, and said he was a wizard. Immediately, many, if not all, the be- witched, had grievous fits. Ann Putnam, who hurt you? Goodman Proc- ter and his wife. Afterwards, some of the afflicted cried, there is Procter going to take up Mrs. Popes feet, and her feet were immediately taken up. What do you say, Goodman Procter, to these things? I know not, I am innocent. During the examination of Elizabeth Procter, Abigail Williams and Ann Putnam both made offer to strike at said Procter, but when Abigails hand came near it opened (whereas it was made up into a fist before) and came down ex- ceeding lightly, as it drew near to said Procter, and at length, with open and extended fingers, touched Procters hood very lightly. Immediately, Abigail cried out, her fingers, her fingers, her fingers were burned. The following document which was filed in the case of Procter and his wife and Sarah Cloyes, was the form used in all other cases. It is quoted here more for the light it throws on the methods of procedure in those days than for impor- tance in this or any other one case: Salem, April 11th, 1692. Mr. Samuel Parris was desired by the Honorable Mr. Danforth, deputy-governor, and the council, to take in writing the aforesaid examinations, and accord- ingly took and delivered them in, and upon hear- ing the same, and seeing what was then seen, to- gether with the charge of the afflicted persons, were by the advice of the council all committed by us. JOHN HATHORNE, ~- Assts. JONATHAN Coa~wiN, 4 Procter and his wife were brought to trial about August 5. The testimony offered at these trials differed very little from that used to convict in other cases, and the witnesses were substantially the same. One or two of the depositions are of rather more than ordinary interest. Among them, I find this somewhat re- markable production: Elizabeth Booth testified that on ye 8th of J one hugh joanes Apercd unto me & told me that Elesebeth Prockter kiled him because he had a poght of sider of her which he had not paid her for. On June 8th Elesebeth Shaw Apered unto me & told me yt Elesebeth Procter & John Willard kiled Her Because she did not use those doctors she Advised her to. . . . Ye wife of John Fuller Apered unto me and told me that Elesebeth Procter kiled her because she would not give her Aples when she sent for sum he apparition of Law Shapling and Doe Zerubabel Endicott appeared and said Elizabeth Procter killed them, and the apparition of Robert Stone, ser., told him that John Procter and his wife killed him, and at the same time Robert Stone, jr., appeared and said Procter and his wife killed him because he took his fathers part. John Bailey deposed that On the 25th of May last myself and wife being bound to Boston on the road, when I came in sight of the house where John Procter did live there was a very hard blow struck on my breast, which caused great pain in my stomach and amazement in my head, but did see no person near me only my wife on my horse behind me on the same horse; and when I came against said Procters house, according to my understanding, I did see John Procter and his wife at said house. Procter himself looked out of the window, and his wife did stand just without the door. I told my wife of it; and she did look that way and see nothing but a little maid at the door. Afterwards, about a mile from the aforesaid house, I was taken speechless for some short time. My wife did ask me several questions, and desired me if I could not speak I should hold up my hand; which I did and immediately I could speak as well as ever. And when we came to the way where Salem road cometh into Ipswich road, there I received an- other blow on my breast, which caused me so much pain I could not sit on my horse. And when I did alight off my horse, to my understand- ing, I saw a woman coming towards us about six- teen or twenty pole from us, but did not know who it was. My wife could not see her. When I did get up on my horse again, to my under- standing, there stood a co~v where I saw the woman. As matter of fact, Procter and his wife were at this time, in jail in Boston, and had been there since April ii. Bailey was undoubtedly frightened at the stories he had heard the previous evening in Salem Village, where he must have passed the night on his way from his home in Newbury to Boston. His wife, who per- 46 STORIES OF SALEM WiTCh CRAFT. 47 haps had not heard the stories about Procter and other witches, was not agitated and could plainly see that there was only a maid standing at the door. As for Baileys other troubles that morn- ing, we may believe as much or as little as we please of the story he told. We know now that there was not a particle of reality in it. It may .have been deliber- ate falsehood, or it may have been the effect of a too fervid imagination. Of Procters family, Benjamin, the oldest, was in prison with his parents; and his sister, Sarah, aged sixteen, William, aged eighteen, Samuel, aged seven, Abigail, between three and four, and one still younger, were about home. William was sent to prison three days later, so it must have been the little maid, Abigail, whom Bailey saw standing in the door- way. Daniel Elliott testified that he heard one of the accusing girls say that she cried against Goodman Procter for sport. The girls must have some sport, she is said to have added. 1 Procter and his wife were convicted and sentenced to be hanged. Every effort possible was made to save him from suffering the penalty. John Wise and thirty-one of his old neighbors in Ipswich signed a petition in his behalf to the court of assistants. They said: We reckon it within the duties of our charity, that teaches us to do as we would be done by, to offer thus much for the clearing of our neighbors innocence, viz.: that we never had the least knowledge of such a nefandus wickedness in our neighbors since they have been within our ac- quaintance. . . . As to what we have seen or heard of them, upon our conscience we judge them innocent of the crime objected. Nathaniel Fulton and twenty of their nearer Salem Village neighbors signed a similar petition, saying: We whose names are underwritten, having several years known John Procter and his wife, do testify that we never heard or understood that they were ever suspected to be guilty of the crime now charged upon them, and several of us, being their near neighbors, do testify, that to our appre- hension, they lived Christian-like in their family, and were ever ready to help such as stood in need of their help. Fulton also petitioned for the release of Rebecca Nurse and others. Putnams 5alem Witchcraft Explained, 449. Procter wrote a letter to Rev. Messrs. Increase Mather, Allen, Moody, Willard, and Bailey, which was signed by himself and several of his fellow-prisoners, in which he said: Here are five persons who have lately con- fessed themselves to be witches, and do accuse some of us of being along with them at a sacra- ment, since we were committed into close prison, which we know to be lies, two of the five are (Carriers children) young men, who would not confess anything till they tied them neck and heels, till the blood was ready to come out of their noses. My son William Procter, because he would not confess that he was guilty when he was innocent, they tied him neck and heels till the blood gushed out at his nose.~~ This letter was written after the pre- liminary examinations, and while the prisoners were lying in jail awaiting trial. They asked that they might be tried in Boston, and if not, that they have other magistrates, requests which show in the strongest manner that the trials were notoriously unfair, for no accused persons would take the risk of offending the magistrates before whom they might be tried unless the emergency was a most extraordinary one, because failure to attain the object sought was sure to be prejudicial to their cause. They also begged that some of the ministers be present at the trials, hoping thereby you may be the means of saving the shedding of our innocent blood. No attention was paid to this appeal for fairness in trial, nor to the appeals for life subsequent to Procters conviction and sentence. He was executed on August r 9. His body, it is believed by his descendants, was recovered afterwards and buried on his farm, where it has since reposed. Elizabeth Procter escaped by pleading pregnancy. Some months after the death of her husband she gave birth to a child.2 Her home had been desolated. Not only had her husband been hung and three of her children imprisoned, and she herself brought within the very shadow of the gallows, but the officers of the law had stripped that home of all its worldly possessions. Her execution was again ordered early in 1693, but Governor 2 5avages Genealogical Dictionary of New England gives the date January 27, 2691-3, hut the correctness of this is questioned. 48 SIXTY YEARS AGO. Phips granted a reprieve. Many of her relatives in Lynn were accused and some brought to trial. All in all, the severe treatment of this family had led to the charge of special persecution. The reason for this, it is believed, was Proc- ters intense opposition to the whole witchcraft business from the very begin- ning, and particularly when he said he could whip the devil out of them. Possibly if he could have applied his remedy to the accusing girls, in the beginning, we should never have had any Salem Village witchcraft. Another charge of special persecution is that Procter was refused a request for time in which to prepare for death and adjust his business affairs, and that Rev. Mr. Noyes refused to pray with him. How much more time he needed than his com- panions we know not. He had as much as was allowed to them. It was short, it is true undoubtedly less than two weeks from his sentence. SIXTY YEARS AGO. RECOLLECTIONS OF NEW ENGLAND COUNTRY LIFE. II. By Lucy A. Kebler. HE busy feet and active / ~ hands of the mother ~ and daughters found full occupation in the ~ ~ farmers house. The ~ ~ breakfast was between five and six in summer, and perhaps an hour later in winter. This was hardly cleared away before, in haying and harvest- ing time, the luncheon had to be prepared and taken to t~ie laborers in the field. A jug of home-made root beer, or mo- lasses and water flavored with ginger, or occasionally lemonade with a dash of spirit, was carried with the basket of solids. At twelve, the blowing of the tin horn, or the more sonorous conch shell, announced dinner. Tea at five was the last meal, unless one wished for a bowl of bread and milk at the early bedtime. In the morning the new milk was strained, and the older, skimmed. Two or three times a xveek in summer, butter was churned, and afterwards prepared for market. Cheeses were pressed, and each day buttered and turned. These, with keeping the house in order, the weekly washing and ironing, the extra baking on Saturday, were the ever-recurring occu- pations. There were many incidental ones. The making the supply of candles for the year was quite an event. The George Jacobs Grave Danveraporl SiXTY YEARS AGO. 49 day before this, the wicks were cut double the length desired for the candles, put round the rods and twisted, six or seven on each. Bright and early in the morn- ing, for this was to be a work of hours, boards were put on the kitchen floor, that no spot might mar its whiteness. The rods, four or five inches apart, were placed on slats supported by chairs; the boiling tallow xvas put in front, the house- wife seated in a low chair, and the dip- ping of one row after another, over and over again, continued until the acquired size was attained. An assistant was at hand to add tallow from the kettle over the fire, and xvhen that was exhausted boiling water. Lamps filled with sperm oil were used for carrying about the house, but candles were depended upon for sexving and reading. Bayberry and xvax were supposed to add hardness, and improve the candle. All soap for washing and scrubbing purposes was made at home. The leech- tub always stood in the corner of the woodshed. This was perhaps a yard or more square at the top, sloping down to a few inches at the bottom. It was filled with wood ashes, and water put in grad- ually, which dripped through into a trough below. The ley thus obtained was sufficiently strong when it would bear up an egg. The refuse grease and bones were boiled in this, and soap was the result. Its consistency and transparency were quite as much a test of the hou~e- keepers skill, as the lightness of her bread and the clearness of her jellies. The butchering and caring for the beef and pork, the salting and transfer- ing of most of it to barrels in the cellar, was one of the busy times. The proper portions xvere frozen for the occasional roast: that selected for sausages was chopped and seasoned, and the skins filled. These provided the meat for many a breakfast. Sam Wellers re- mark about meat pie being applicable to home-made sausages as well. The trying out the lard for home consumption and for sale was one of the incidentals, as was also the smoking of hams in the large brick oven, for which purpose corn cobs were always used. The beef and pork that had been packed away was brought up, piece by piece, for the boiled dinner. These, with the accompanying vegetables, cab- bage, turnips, carrots, squash, and pota- toes, were put into the same vessel, at proper intervals, and boiled. Beets, on account of their coloring property, were cooked separately. At dinner time, the beef and pork were put in the centre of a large pexvter dish, and the vegetables symmetrically arranged around, all form- ing the noon meal once or twice a week. In some cases the water in which these had been boiled was skimmed the next day, and beans added, making, in farm- er s vernacular, black cows milk or bean porridge the last name perhaps the origin of our childhoods game of clap- ping hands to the tune of: Bean porridge hot, Bean porridge cold, Bean porridge in the pot Nine days old. In the season of fresh vegetables, the labor was added ef gathering and pre- paring them for the table, and also the fruits for present use and drying or pre- serving. There were some superstitions that regulated the time when this various work was to be performed. The butch- ering and candlemaking must always be done in the increase of the moon, else the meat would shrink in cooking and the candles melt. The calf must never be killed xvhen the sign was in the heart, lest the mother should be injured by the separation. No parent was so regard- less of the welfare of her child as to wean it when its intellect or feelings would be endangered by the sign being in the head or heart. The Farmers Almanac hanging by the kitchen fire- place always supplied the necessary in- formation. In almost every community there was some one, not quite normal, who was always sent for to bring his stick of witch hazel, which acted as a divining rod to locate a spring over which a well should be dug. In these psychical days, when we realize more and more that we know very little of the action of mind on mind or mind on matter, we are not per- haps quite so sure as we once were that there was no subtle influence imparted to the hand of this exceptional person, 50 SIXTY YEARS AG O~ which impelled the stick to point to the crystal xvaters below. In every house there were the large wheel onwhich to spin the wool, the small one for the flax, and in most, the loom. Children were taught to spin when a thick plank had to be put on the floor, to add to their height. Aside from its practical utility, the spinning on the large wheel was a most graceful exercise, and from its requiring the use of various muscles, a most healthful one. A young girl never looked prettier than when drawing out the fleecy thread with one hand, and turning the wheel with the other, as she stepped back and forth at its side. From this yarn were knitted the stockings and mittens, and other was woven into cloth for the pantaloons and frocks worn by the farmers, and the gowns for the everyday use of the wives and daughters, also for the many blank- ets required in those cold rooms, where the pitchers had to be emptied at even- ing lest in the morning they should be broken by the ice formed in them. The weaving was either done at home, or a small price paid to an expert for doing it. A native of the town in which I lived had spent her married life in com- parative luxury, but her husband invested his means in the South, and died there, before anything was realized from them. She was left with seven children, the eld- est a daughter of fourteen, the youngest twins of a year and a half. With the few hundreds remaining of what had been thousands, she renovated an old house into a dwelling for her family, and resumed the occupation of weaving which she had learned in her girlhood. The daughters and younger boys wound the quills and spools, while her shuttle flew from side to side. The neighboring farm- ers gave her six cents a yard for weaving, and so expert was she, that, in addition to her housework, she sometimes accom- plished thirty yards a day. Besides plain cloth, she wove table linen of compli- cated patterns, and the heavy and beau- tiful variegated counterpanes, of the kind that our children are only too glad to resuscitate for porti~res. With a mother so full of energy, who was capable also of directing their edu cation, it is not surprising that her sons became prominent in the pulpit and as teachers, and their children energetic business men in various departments of life. There were no stores of ready made clothing and no sewing machines in the early days. I doubt xvhether it would have been possible to buy a shirt. These and most of the garments worn by men, and all of those worn by women, were made at home. The exquisite hem- stitching of the shirt ruffles, the stitching on the collars and wristbands, when every thread was counted, the dainty em- broidery on the infants cap, were works of art. A day or two in the fall and spring the niantua-maker lent her aid, and for a few days more the tailoress came with her goose. and cut and made the thick garments for the men. The thin- ner ones were made without her help. Was it because she worked for the stronger sex, that her pay was a few cents more a day than that of her sister dressmaker? The making of a coat collar stiff with buckram was a full days work. It was a little break in the monotony of those days, when these busy women came, whose needles flew none the less rapidly while the news of the town was retailed, or, at the earnest solicitation of the chil- dren, songs were sung. They were never tired of The frog who would a wooing go, as given by the tailoress as she bent over her goose, pressing the seams. The peddler with his two trunks filled with small articles, and the vender of the bright tins, for which the carefully as- sorted white and colored rags were ex- changed, were always welcome in those days, when it did not require an elabor- ate lunch or German to provide excite- ment. A few weeks in the year, a company of ship-carpenters with their intelligent foreman, found board in the farmers home, and his oxen drew away the care- fully hewed and shaped timbers for the vessels, many of which were launched from our seaport towns. It was in the thirties, I think, that stoves were introduced to the New Eng- land kitchens. Before that, the boiling and stewing and the frying of doughnuts were done in pots and kettles hung on SIXTY YEARS AGO. hooks and trammels suspended from the long cranes in the fireplaces, that I re- member was so large that, seated on the bench inside, I looked up to the stars, blinking at the bright blaze below. It was an art to make the fire. A log so large that, when put on in the morning, the remains were left to cover with ashes at night was placed back of the andirons; the forestick nearly as large, on them; and then the superstructure of kindling and sticks of wood. These were lighted from the indispensable tinder box, a tin receptacle that contained the flint and steel with which to strike fire on the charred rag. The cover was also a can- dlestick, never without its candle. A common way of speaking of a shiftless woman was, that she never had any tinder. Meats were roasted on spits sus- pended from hooks over the mantel, or in tin kitchens in front of the fire. The Dutch oven, too, was used. This was a shallow tin vessel, in which the meat or dough was placed, and on the iron cover coals, so that the top and bottom of what it contained were evenly browned. A little before the advent of stoves the re- flector was invented. This was tin, and half way between the sloping top and bottom was a shallow pan in which the saleratus biscuits were baked. Delicious shortcake was rolled on tin sheets and baked before the fire, and was a favorite bread for company teas. But the brick oven was the dependence for baked beans, brown and white bread, pies, puddings, and custards. Those who remember these short- cakes, the rye biscuits dropped on the bricks of the oven, and the potatoes roasted in the ashes, may be pardoned for thinking the cooking of these a lost art. I have spoken of the spinning-wheel in the farmers kitchen. It was also found elsewhere. I remember few things with more pleasure than visits to a friend of my mother in Newburyport. Her hall was lined xvith family portraits, some of which dated back to her English an- cestors, and then, as now, her relatives were prominent in college, church, and state. Her favorite occupation was spin- ning on the wheel which stood by the window in her prettily furnished sitting- room. She was always dressed in black silk, and this and all she could obtain from others was, after serving, its usual purpose, ravelled and carded with wool, making a soft gray yarn, which she en- joyed giving to her friends, and of which I have knit many a sock. She was Aunt Becky to every one, though she did rebel when the fisherman, making his weekly rounds, called her so. I think she stood in axve of no one excepting her maid of all work, who would work night and day if summoned by the voice, but on no account would her dignity permit her to answer the hand-bell. It was but a short distance from this pleasant home that Lord Timothy Dexter flourished, whose numerous wood and plaster figures of Revolutionary heroes, and of himself, adorned his grounds and were placed over his front door, and were the wonder of my childhood. He had for a time the Midas faculty of turning all he touched to gold, and this did not fail him when he followed the advice of a waggish friend and sent a cargo of warming-pans to the West Indies; for the sugar manufacturers found the pan with its long handle just what they needed to dip their syrup, and the perforated cover to strain it. Whether the little blue-covered book in which, at the end, xvas a half page of stops and marks, that people might pepper and salt as they chose, was equally suc- cessful as a money venture I do not know. The district school as it was has been frequently written about, but the present generation cannot realize how pleasant it was and how much of per- manent value was gained then. For the summer term of two or three months a female teacher was employed, who was examined as to her qualifications by the school committee, consisting usually of the clergyman, the doctor, and one or two others, who were supposed to have kept their school knowledge in their memories. As a part of her duties were strictly feminine, there should have been added some one familiar with the various stitches used to adorn the sampler, the proper arrangement of the star, Irish, and other forms of patchwork, as well as plain 52 SIXTY YK~kS AGO. sewing and knitting. But this was before the days of women in school boards. A knowledge of anatomy and arboriculture was evidThtly not required to teach the embroidery of the favorite picture of a woman under a weeping willow guarding the funereal urn, which hung over the mantel above the gruesome coffin-plates, a constant reminder of the friends that had gone. By eight in the morning, the girls in their calico frocks and white sunbonnets, with bright dinner pail on the arm, and leading perhaps a little brother or sister, were on the way to school, stopping for a favorite companion as they went. After the first day there were no impedimenta of books; these were left in the desk until the school was closed for the sum- mer. No nightmare of lessons to learn out of school disturbed the play hours. The schoolhouse reached, the bonnets and dinner pails were carefully placed on shelves in the little entry, and though there was sure to be in some of these a more tempting luncheon than in others, the rightful owner never found them dis- turbed. Called by the rapping of the teachers ferule on the window, all were soon in their places, after having made a respectful courtesy or bow at the door. A chapter in the Bihle was first read, each rising from the seat as the turn came for the allotted three verses. There xvere three reading lessons in the day; this in the Bible was one, the others being ih the English Reader or American First- Class Book, both excellent books. There were primers for the younger pupils, the A B Cs and abs being the first stepping-stones. The New Hamp- shire Book, by Mr. Hildreth, or Peter Parleys Childs History and Geography, and Colburns First Lessons, the lat- ter still, I believe, the best mental arith- metic, were taught to all who could read. There were classes in Cummings Geography, Blakes Philosophy, Whelplys Compend, Blairs Rhetoric, Watts On the Mind; and connected with Murrays grammar was parsing in Popes Essay on Man and Youngs Night Thoughts. The rules that governed the relation of the words were at our tongues ends and easily applied now, xvhile to us septuagen ar ins, Greek is easier than the grammar of to-day. Each child went on at her own sweet will in written arithmetic; as this was not taught in classes, and there were no blackboards, the teacher turned aside from hearing some lesson to aid in solving a difficult problem. As the rules given were perfectly incomprehensible, there was ample opportunity for the bright pupil to find out the principle for herself and apply it. The one for in- stance for double proportion, where more required more and less required less, is still an enigma, and the relations of Tare and Tret are perhaps a little hazy. The teacher certainly had little time for explanation. Besides the spell- ing classes, hearing the lessons of which I have spoken, and any additional ones that a pupil wished, there were the copies to set in the writing books, the quill pens to be made and mended, the sew- ing to prepare for the last half hour in the morning, and all this with keeping in order thirty or forty restless children. Saturday noon the Commandments were taught and instruction given in the West- minster Catechism. In the hour between morning and afternoon sessions, there were rambles in the adjacent woods, or in rainy weather plays in the schoolroom when the merry voices could be heard singing, Come Philanders, lets be marching, For your true love lets be sarching, varied with oats, peas, beans, and barley grow; or Queen Anne, arrayed in as regal robes as the childrens ward- robe afforded, would sit in the sun and receive her subjects, and allot them their partners. More quiet games, and these, I blush to own, were sur- reptitiously carried on in school time also, were puzzles on the slate, cats cradle, and a more useful one of seeing who could find the most xs and zs on the maps. To this last may be owing the fact, that the memory of some localities, with us elders, is more to be depended on than others. Once or twice in the course of the summer the committee came to examine the pupils. They always found the room swept and garnished, and the children in the cleanest of frocks and jackets. An address was given, and SIXTY II ~~iRS AGO. 53 all were glad when the dreaded ordeal was over. The winter school was usually taught by some college student. It was the custom for Harvard and other colleges to have their long vacation in the winter; consequently, young men wishing to earn money to enable them to remain and graduate, took a week or two before vaca- tion, and also after it, and thus had time to teach the district school. There was a double advantage in this. He who had had, perhaps, for his cheap diet, bread and milk in his room, or, not much better, shared the commons of those days, was physically strengthened by the abundant if somewhat coarse fare at the farmers table, for, especially if he boarded round, he was sure of the best in the larder. This boarding round was a thrifty device to add to the length of the school term by receiving the teacher into the homes a certain number of days for each pupil, instead of paying the sum necessary for his board. This estab- lished kindly intercourse, and the attri- tion of the students mind with that of the common sensible men who had gained much knowledge outside of books, was of use to him. The young people, too, enjoyed. the opportunity of adding algebra and perhaps a little Latin to their summer studies, and also the having a bright young man join their singing school, and the sleighing and skating parties, and making a fresh element in the evening frolics of all kinds. New books were found on the table. The work of busy hands was lengthened by listening to the last Waverley novel, or to the sterling Nor/k American Review. The quiet rhymes of the Lady of the Lake or the more stirring ones of Marmion were learned to repeat on the next weekly speaking-day, which alternated with the dreaded one of com- position. These for the girls, while the boys almost raised the roof of the old schoolhouse by their loud declamations of the favorite speeches of Patrick Henry and Daniel Webster. Carlyles mystical utterances were first heard by many a New England boy and girl as they were read to them by the col- lege enthusiast. Some of us never take up Sartor Resartus without at the sam~.. time seeing a group of eager listen- ers around a blazing wood fire. The youth who cared enough for college education to walk sixty miles to Exeter to save the stage fare of a dollar and half, and, having entered, to burn the mid- night lamp after teaching school all day, were not likely to be nonentities in the future. The pulpit, the forum, the bench, and the bar of to-day prove this. College athletics are very well as they are conducted now; but commend me also to the mental and physical gymnastics the fathers and grandfathers were familiar with in those winter school-days in New England. The cold supplied amusement for a good many evenings. Sometimes on the large pond would assemble the skaters, who vied with each other in making intricate figures on the smooth surface, or tempted the rosy cheeked girls to slide at their side, the fires on the thick ice casting a ruddy light on the beautiful scene. Another evening all the sleds were taken to the long hill and hours were spent in coasting. Again the merry sleighbells told of a party to some hostelry, where the evening was finished with game and dance. But the singing school was perhaps the pleasantest of the gatherings of young people. The teacher of the day was sometimes able also to teach this in the same building which had resounded with the loud reading and recitations a few hours earlier. The first evening was ex- citing, when the voices were tried and those were selected who could best lead in the various parts, bass, tenor, treble, and counter, as they were then called. Little excepting psalmody was attempted, and the words were not applied to the tune until the notes were mastered. Two hours were spent more or less har- moniously, and not unfrequently the do, re, me was exchanged on the way home for dulcet utterances which altered the whole future of the young pair whose hearts beat happily to other music than that of the sleigh bells. We hear of the stern clergyman, to whom the young did not dare speak of harsh and incompetent teachers, and pupils rude and disagreeable, who were a 54 SIXTY YEARS AGO. terror to the little children; but I am writing my own reminiscences~ and those unpleasant features of New England life are not a part of them. Occasionally a stray lecturer wandered to the little toxvn, and his audience heard of temperance, anti-slavery, phrenology, or perhaps of some new light in literature. There was one lecture on Mnemonics by whose aid we were soon able to give an incredible number of dates; but alas! the formula /ionorfca ba la tudini tat a bus que alone remains in my memory, while the manner of its use and the in- formation collected by it are long since forgotten. In the summer, there was little time for the busy young men, and almost as little for maidens, for much festivity; but once or twice in the season the chaises were washed and the harnesses brightened for a ride to some pleasant village or a picnic in the woods. One resort in the neighborhood, just on the line between Windham and Derry, was Bissells Camp, and connected xvith this was a romance, al- ways so charming to the young. Quite out of sight of the country road, in the midst of forest-trees, an East Indian, so the story went, having been crossed in love, built a log house, rough as possible out- side, but within the ceilings were frescoed in East Indian scenes, the walls hung with velvet, and with beautiful carved furniture in the one sitting-room.. The oxvner had dwelt there with a friend, their only domestic a swarthy countryman, who lived in a frame hut near by. Here the time was spent in hunting in the woods and fishing in the beautiful ponds near. Before my time the money, lavishly spent in horses, dogs, and guns, disappeared; the wound perhaps was healed, and the owner left the place which had resounded to the yelping of hounds and the crack of guns, to be a pleasant spot for young people to pass a holiday. The young girl who was fond of horse- back riding was quite capable of going to the pasture and calling the horse ac- customed to her voice (and which would do its best to elude others), lead it by the halter to a stone xvall, mount it, and at the barn saddle it and ride three miles for the mail or to call on a friend. This I have often done. My father would not allow us sisters to drive together, still less with our mother, until we could harness a horse and were able to take a stone from his shoe. This learned, we en- joyed many pleasant journeys. The afternoon teas made a variety in the quiet country life. About two, with knitting or sewing in the bag on the arm, the bepuffed hair or cap, protected by the green silk calash, the expected guests left their homes. At five they were in- vited to the table, groaning with its variety of bread, cakes, preserves, and pies. It was the proper thing for the hostess to depreciate her wares, though none knew better than she, that no bis- cuits could be lighter, no pound-cake a more delicate brown, no preserves clearer, and no pastry more flaky than hers. She did not expect to receive the reply my good farmer brother-in-law once made, who, being about to accept the cake the hostess offered with the remark that she was sorry it was not fit to eat, drew back his hand with, Well, I wont take any, then. At a little after six, all were on their way home, to be ready to strain the milk into the shining pans and to do the even- ing chores. This word chores was an elastic one. I remember being wickedly amused at hearing a poor woman, who had to come to ask the ministers advice as to what she should do with an erring boy, say, Well, it is something of a chore to bring up a child. The amusements of children were simple and healthful. The little girls had their out-of-door playhouses, as well as those in the attic and the corner of the woodshed. A favorite one of my own was a rock in the middle of a brook, midway between our house and that in which my dearest schoolmate lived. It remained undisturbed by passers-by all summer, and when winter came the flitting was quite an event. The acorn cups and saucers, the mosses, the bits of broken china, the oak-leaf plates for the cake and fruit, the rag babies on their chairs made of cork and pins, gave quite as much pleasure to us as the elaborate toys of to-day do to our grand- children, and offer far more scope to the SIXTY YEARS AGO. 55 imagination. Dolls were almost unknown. We, however, had a very large one, handed down from a previous generation. I shall never forget my experience in taking it one day freshly dressed to a neighbor who xvas always interested in our plays. She looked horrified. An if ye know the second commandment, say it to me Of course, I was too well taught, both at home and at school, not to be able to repeat it. An dont ye know, my bairn, that that is a graven image? Hul-gul, odd-or-even, morris, and fox and geese were familiar games, and as we grew older we xvere delighted to play checkers and backgammon with our father and elder brother. Old maid and high-low-jack sometimes beguiled an evening, but by many cards were con- sidered an invention of the Evil One. Bad, bad leads to gambling, was the remark I once heard made to a couple in the seventies, who were having a quiet game at the fireside, and who certainly had never seen one played for money in their sober life. The word co-operation was not a fre- quent one in the parlance of those days; but there was a great deal of the thing in practice. It was much pleasanter for twenty young people to gather in front of the large pile of corn, to husk it in two hours, even at the risk of forfeiture for the red ears, than for two to do it in ten. The pile exhausted, the supper and games that followed made the even- ing a pleasant one. There was much more fun in several meeting to pare and cut the winters supply of apples for apple sauce, than for the members of one household to prepare it. To fill the nine- pail brass kettle, polished like a mirror, and the additional heaping panful, to put in when gradual stewing made room for it, would have been stupid work for one or two, but not so with companions to share it and occasionally throw the unbroken peeling the canonical three times around the head and drop it, to see what letter it made. In the towns near the sea, it was pleasant for several to join in the very early ride, and to- gether stack the salt marsh grass which was to be brought home later to season the winters food for the cattle. Of course, the Farmers Almanac had to be consulted as to the state of the tides for these expeditions. the road tax was paid, in part at least, by the combined work of the farm- ers, xvhen with their teams and under the lead of their road master the crooked paths were made straight, and the rough places plain. In winter, the deep snowdrifts were broken through by the long line of oxen attached to sleds, and thus the roads made passable. But the great co-operation work was the raising of buildings. After the tim- bers were prepared, the number of men necessary were notified, and during the afternoon, under the direction of the carpenter, were put in place, and the skeleton prepared for its covering. An especially appetizing supper was pro- vided, and in some cases the too liberal distribution of liquor during the work endangered the building and the builders. This was thought to be the cause of a tragedy in Wilton, which was duly re- corded in the poetry of those days, and which exhibits a curious mingling of old- time theology and quaint lamentations: All on a sudden, a beam broke, Xnd let down fifty-three; Full twenty-seven feet they fell, A mournful sight to see. Some lay with broken shoulder hones, And some with broken arms, Others with broken legs and thighs And divers other harms. One instantaneously was killed; His soul has taken flight To mansions of eternal day Or everlasting night. Two more in a short time did pass Thro deaths dark shady vale, Which now are in the realms of joy Or the infernal hell. Two more in a few minutes space Did bid this world adieu, Who are rejected of their God Or with his chosen few. We certainly join with the author of this poem of nearly fifty stanzas in a more cheerful view. But we must hope their precious souls Are with their Jesus dear, Reaping tj~ie fruits, the blessed fruits, Of faithful servants here. 56 SIXTY YEARS AGO. This was by the Wilton poet of that day. Most small towns had an applicant for literary honors. Ours was not an exception, as a volume of poems by the Rustic Bard on our bookshelves testifies. It was one of the amusements of our childhood, to annoy an elder sister by repeating one addressed to her, begin- ning: Young honored dame of learned fame, This compliment I send you; Please to excuse the humhle muse, Nor let my song offend you. Some of the poems in the volume, in the quaint Scotch phraseology, would not have disgraced Burns. Others perhaps had more feet than the verse would bear, and the feet were lame without the verse but all show traces of the genius which with cultivation might have ripened into the true poet. There was one custom which it is not pleasant to remember. The few town paupers were each year put up at auc- tion, and found homes with those who would board and clothe them most cheaply. As these poor included the insane, who were perhaps unmanageable by any means known then, the old, too feeble for much work, and the child, popularly supposed to be able to earn his own living at seven, we cannot but think their lot must often have been a hard one. We confess that our forefathers were sometimes wanting in the amenities that sweeten life ; but could we expect them in an Abner or an Ahashuerus, a Bildad or a Jehosaphat? Sterne exhorts godfathers not to Nicodemus their children into nonentities. This sin could not be laid at our ancestors doors, as much as at ours, with our Hatties, Susies, Katies, Ellies, and the rest of the diminutives we are so fond of using, in- stead of the full name which lends dig- nity to the one who has it, and is an inspiration to bear it worthily. Lack of beauty, not of strength, was the fault in the olden time, when Scripture names were almost universal, though not al- ways quite to the extent they were in one family in a neighboring town, whose un- fortunate prefixes we used to repeat in our childhood in a kind of rhythm: Elihu, Eliphaz, Amazee, David, Noah, and Jesse, Bildad, Levi, Ashur, and Gad Napthali, Jude, and Sapphira. The choice was sometimes very pecu- liar, as in that of Talitha-cumi, a towns- woman. Classic and romantic lore was occasionally called on, as in the case of Lorenzo and his twin brothers Homer and Virgil, who lived not far from Hora- tio Corinna and Diocletian. I have written of one phase of New England life; but there was another, which has passed away quite as fully. The country towns are now dotted with summer cottages and villas, where city people, with their city habits, come for a few months, but are by no means a type of those families who lived on the acres they had inherited from their forefathers who had bought them from their prede- cessors, the Indians. In the white house with green blinds, with the short walk from the road, shaded by the grand elms, sat the courtly gentleman of the old school, in his library filled with books, to the contents of which the handsome bindings lent additional value, or leaving it, with stately step and manner as cour- teous as to a guest, gave directions to his workmen guiding the plough or wielding the scythe. Then the matron, after see- ing to every detail of her careful house- keeping, entertained her young friends with stories of her early life, when she had seen Washington, and danced with Lafayette; and handsome as she was now, in her turban and kerchief, it was easy to imagine the grace with which she would take her part in the minuet. in these days, when researches into the distant past have almost made it present, what could be better to excite interest in that more recent past than to rehabilitate one of those elm-shaded houses. It will soon be too late to gather all that should be in it, and those will have passed away whose memories serve them in arranging the once familiar furnishing. Let us fill it as it should be. In the hall, near the front door, hang the brightly-painted fire buckets, ready for use at the first alarm struck by the meeting-house bell. Below these there is the mahogany hat-tree with its long SIXTY YEARS AGO. 57 pegs, never without the carefully brushed silk hat for the walk about town or the broad-brimmed panama for use in the grounds. Here is the green silk or brown linen calash in readiness for the matron as each summer morning she cuts her bouquets of white and damask roses, lilacs, sweet Williams, bachelors buttons, ladies delights, peonies, princess feather, coxcombs, and hollyhocks, lightened by feathery sprays of asparagus. Portraits of her ancestors look down on her as she goes out on her pleasant errand. A mahogany table at a distance from the door has its drawer for her garden gloves and scissors. Opening from the hall lighted by its hanging glass lantern is on one side the draxving-room, with its land- scape paper, not always in consonance with the carefully guarded portraits by Stuart and Copley that hang over it. Rare and beautiful is an exquisite minia- ture by Malbone, of the young girl who later presided with such dignity over her household. Above the polished table, betxveen the windows, is the profusely ornamented gilt mirror which reflected the faces of so many who have gone to the Silent Land. The mahogany chairs with their embroidered seats are here, telling of the industry and skill of the young girl who had prepared them for her future home. Their delicately carved backs, still intact, show that to sit erect was the invariable custom of those who had occupied them. Was it a subtle instinct that the out- ward should correspond to the inward uprightness, that made our Puritan grand- mothers always preserve this posture? On the high white carved mantel are the candelabras with their crystal drops, the gilt clock under its glass cover, and here and there an India vase or ornament brought from afar by some seafaring relative. Back of this room, and smaller, is the library, with its walls lined with books, the edges protected by the notched leather fastened by brass-headed nails to the shelves. In the centre is the large writing-table, and on it a massive silver inkstand with, on either side, the vase for the red wafers and the sand box, as necessary in those days as the blotter in these. Here, too, is the chair and table combined, once so common, and always so convenient. The chintz-covered lounge woos the student to his after-dinner nap. Across the hall from the drawing-room is the sitting-room, the family room which we see the moment we enter. At the side of the fireplace is the mothers chair, and near it her work table with its large bag underneath. On it is her knitting, with the scarlet sheath ready to pin at her side. Here she made and mended7 and here her children gathered around her for instruction and for story. The desk and drawers, blackened with age, is near the window, and to it she went, to write one of the letters, the art of writ- ing which is almost a lost one. The pendulum of the tall clock swings to and fro, regardless whether it marks the mo- ments of joy or sorrow; the pictured moon, the letters for the day and the figures for the date are all there, and have recorded many a period of weal and woe for those who have gone where time is no more. The stand, with its hinged top, is ready to be brought to the arm- chair of the father, when at evening he reads his weekly paper or the last Review. On the mantel, above the shining brass andirons, are the silver candlesticks, with the indispensable snuffers in their long tray. In the closet is the extra dinner set, with its numerous platters and curiously shaped dishes and gravy bowls. Here are the Washington and Franklin pitchers and Brewster teapot and the Lowestoffe plates. Most prominent of all is the silver tankard, in which, for some unex- plained reason, the tiny grandmother was put at her birth; and on either side the pieces with the familiar inscription: Ex dono Jupiiiorzim, showing that an ancestor had received them from a class he had instructed at Harvard. Back of this room, and with the door usually open, is the dining-room. The polished table in the centre, with its leaf down, has its mate between the window to be used when additional room is re- quired. On the centre of the sideboard is the epergne, with its hanging baskets of silver wire; on one side the large Japanese punch bowl, on the other the heavy cut decanters so often replenished 58 SIXTY YEARS AGO. with the Madeira mellowed by its two voyages round the Cape. The drawers are filled with dainty table linen, and the shelves with the tall champagne glasses and star cut tumblers and wine glasses. Here is the lignum-vitae caster, with its cut bottles and silver tops, and the oval salts filled for use. On the floor between the claw-footed legs is the velvet-lined sloping case of round ivory-handled knives and forks, each in its own recep- tacle. The plain leather-seated chairs, an armed one for the head and foot of the table, are ready for the occupants. In the closet is the blue India china din- ner set, with one shelf devoted to the white pencilled-edged tea service, the cups and saucers as thin as eggshells. Back of the dining-room and separ- ated from it by a hall, is the large, cheer- ful kitchen, with every appliance known then to facilitate the work of those who prepared the dainty cooking for the gen- tlemen of those days, who were some- what Epicurean in their tastes. On the shelf in the store closet are loaves of sugar in thin blue wrapping, and by their side the hammer, knife, and scissors, for the housewife to use when each morn- ing she fills her sugar, bowls. Guava jelly and jars of foreign sweetmeats stand side by side, with the home-made preserves and the never-failing hard gingerbread and pound cake. The chambers are, of course, differently furnished, but those most handsomely arranged all have the tall, slender, post, carved bedsteads, with valence and full curtains. In the one over the drawing- room, these are of white dimity, and by the side, between the windows, is the dainty dressing-table, with its starched and fluted sprigged muslin cover and curtain reaching to the floor. In a drawer of the swell-front, brass-handled bureau are the treasures which even almost a century ago were relics of the past. The ex- quisitely carved Watteau fans, the painted porcelain jewel boxes, containing the funereal rings with their initials and mottoes, are here, as well as the immense fan which takes a strong arm to wield. On the shelves in the closet are the huge bandboxes, not too large for the Leghorn, Navarino, and satin bonnets, with their wide bows and long feathers. Here hang the matrons heavy black satin and her flowered brocade dresses, by the side of her husbands cloak, with its silver clasp an(1 broad velvet facing. We shut the blinds with their heart-shaped orifices, for the sun must not fade the carpet nor the yellow brocade cover of the high- backed arm-chair. Across the hall is the mothers room, with its dark chintz curtains and high- chest of drawers. Below the looking- glass, with its landscape top, which has reflected the curls of the bride and later her whitened hair, is the quaint low bureau, and on it the velvet-lined dress- ing box. In the closet are the pretty French calicoes for morning and the black silk for afternoon. The coat, spen- cer, and surtout of her husband are here, which he wears when she goes down- stairs in her pelisse, and with her large sable mufg ready for walk and drive, in still another room are bed-curtains of red on a white ground, where Washington is represented holding aloft a banner with the inscription, First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his country- men. He is on the way to the Temple of Fame, which, unfortunately, does not look high enough for him to enter. From this home we go to the farm- house just outside the grounds. On the walls of this, instead of the por- traits by Copley and Stuart, are black silhouettes, the framed sampler, and the map, where the Northwest Ter- ritory is the generic name for what are now populous states. From the painted porcelain knobs supporting the glass above and below hang the blown thistles, so beautiful that we can hardly pardon the farmer for trying though ineffectually, to destroy the troublesome weed. The three-cornered closet displays through its glass doors the flowered tea-set, and the dresser in the kitchen has its row of pewter plates with the brides initials. This house, too has its high chests of drawers, but fortunately for the health of the sleeper no curtains for the beds covered with patchwork quilts or woven home-made counterpanes. The back kitchen has its cheese-press, and in the dairy near is the churn with its dasher, IF YOU WERE HERE. 59 which has wearied many an arm before the welcome butter has come. All speaks of the past; yet we wonder whether even with these visible reminders that past can be made as real to this generation as are Egypt, Troy, Her- culaneum, and Pompeii, so vividly have these been pictured by their explorers. To us septuagenarians these familiar ob- jects have brought memories of the courtly gentleman, the stately matron, and the fair youth that filled the rooms with life. For the moment we are with them, forgetting the intervening years with their joys and sorrows, and even the fierce struggle that brought grief to so many of these stately homes and farmers firesides. This, too, is not a real thing to our descendants. Manasses and Pitts- burgh Landing mean scarcely more to them than Thermopyl~ and Pharsalia, while to us they are so present that, wakened by a measured tramp, we start, thinking that another regiment is going to the s~tation on its way to the southern battle-fields. IF YOU WERE HERE. A SONG IN WINTER. By P/bli~ Bourke Mars/on. ye, if you were here, HLo dreary, weary day; If yo ur lips warm and dear Found some sweet word to say, Then hardly would seem drear These skies of wintry gray. But you are far away How far from me, my dear What cheer can warm the day? My heart turns chill with fear, Pierced through with swift dismay, A thought has turned Life sere. If you, so far away, Should come not back, my dear; If I no more might lay My hand on yours, nor hear That voice, now sad, now gay, Caress my listening ear; If you, so far away, Should come no more, my dear; Then with what dire dismay Year joined to hostile year Would frown, if I should stay Where memories mock and jeer! But I would come away To dwell with you, my dear; Through unknown worlds to stray, Or sleep, nor hope, nor fear, Nor dream beneath the clay, Of all our days that were. NEGRO CAMP-MEETING MELODIES. By Henry (Yeveland [Food. N my grandfathers land, near a creek which runs through the town of Harrods- burg, Ky., there stood for many years a syca- more tree under which, history relates, the first religious services were held by early settlers on soil then a portion of the extensive wilderness district belonging to Virginia. The genuine camp-meeting was said to have originated in southern Kentucky, and the small gathering of in- trepid pioneers under the arching white limbs of a tall sycamore was probably the nucleus of a band of worshippers which has since spread to large proportions. As the wild lands were settled by increasing immigration, the camp-meeting became a recognized feature of the new country on the one hand, from the want of suit- able places of worship, and on the other, from the magnificent forest-trees and beautiful woodlands which offered such alluring shade and ample accommodation to the seekers after righteousness. Dating from the war, the liberated race has taken most kindly to the camp-meet- ing, perhaps as much on account of the novelty it affords as the freedom of wor- ship and large attendance it permits; for during slavery the race was prohibited from holding large assemblies even of a religious nature. The negro is nothing if not religious. lit matters not how young, or how old, or how good, or how sinful he may be in his normal state, he never fails to extract from religion that fervid enjoyment that characterizes his type. He never wearies of attending church; it comprises not only his religious, but his social life. He cares little for pastime or entertainment, in general. He manages to extract both from his devotional exercises, and is satisfied. A friend of mine who lives near a church where the congregation is colored, avers that a protracted meeting has been in active progress there for the past twenty years; and the long series of meetings, of one kind and another, which have been held in the building almost constantly, year after year would almost warrant the assertion. To see the negro at the height of his religious frenzy, however, and in the full enjoyment of its influence, one should attend camp-meeting, where the dusky worshipper yields up himself fully to the spell of the fervor which enwraps him with its intensity, and sways him with its peculiar forces. This was especially the case a few years ago. Progress and imitative influence have been at work, and have touched the scene, robbing it of much that was char- acteristic. The last negro camp-meeting I attended was held under a commodious canvas, while a fashionable choir did the singing and rendered popular hymns of the day to an organ accompaniment. Alas I sorely missed the picturesque groupings under the forest-trees and the grand volume of powerful voices chanting the weird songs of this dusky people. There xvere few scenes more impressive than the old-fashioned camp-meeting, held at night-time beneath the overhang- ing branches of the trees, through which the moonlight came in subdued rays, while brightly-burning torches amid the deeper gloom made sharp studies in lights and shades. Add to this the rich, sonorous voices of the worshippers, rising and fall- ing in rhythmical cadences, lending to the silence of the night their rare melody, and the scene is one that cannot readily be forgotten. The words of these tuneful songs are frequently improvised, and are full of repe- titions, as is usually the case with com- positions by the negroes; and to repro- duce them apart from their proper surroundings is to rob them of muck of their wild beauty and the strange im- pressiveness which they possess in so NEGRO cAMP-MEETiNG MELODIES. Ci marked a degree, when voiced by the lusty lungs of the camp-meeting wor- shipper. The sermons are usually lurid, and carry convictions to the hearts of the hearers, as numerous groans and mourn- ful exclamations testify during its de- livery. Oh ! my soul, Yes, Lord Jes lisen at im Talkin ter me I Now yer preachin I Bress Jesus! Now yer hittin me hard! are some of the expressions heard, on this hand and on that, as the speaker waxes vary- ingly exhortative and menacing. The climax is reached by a repentant sinner shouting out the joy of a new-found re- ligion; and amid the moaning and pray- ing and weeping, the excited, swaying congregation takes up some jubilant re- frain, until the echoes, far and near, are awakened to tumultous life. The sermons themselves become almost a chant, delivered in a high-pitched key, and with a sing-song monotony and a catch of the breath between sentences, or a running of one sentence into another, all of which produces an effect that one must hear to fully comprehend. The speakers are often very illiterate, and many amus times. I recall hearing one prayer offered up for all agnominious sinners, while another speaker grew thankful for the number present of Gods childring, and dropped a tear for those who were casted away from out his glorifious pres- ence, while yet another spoke of the days that had been hypothecated an gone. While gathering some of the most characteristic songs, I was informed by a dusky singer that I had been miscor- rected in regard to the words of one of them, and that to have him, for a small consideration, line it out to me while I wrote it down, would be the super- natural way to get at the matter. The old-time melodies are fast dis- appearing and a new order of things is beginning to supplant them therefore, I have striven to preserve a few frag- ments, at least, of song, in an effort toward perpetuating some of the quaint melodies before the drilled choir and accomplished organist have fully estab- lished their innovations on this distinc- tive feature of the negro camp-meeting. Chief among those hymns that stir one with their fervor is the one, Camp- meetin in de wilderness. CAMP-MEETIN IN DE WILDERNESS. Moderato. -~ - -A----N___ r~-~-N~N--~i ~ $ iiJ!111N74F.._-.__ ~~-L~ ~~ Ar 9 Dars a camp meet-in in de wil(lrness, An shoutin all a roun, When ~__-N--N--N --N-N 9. -N--~E-~-- ei 111-N-~v-N ~~iZiii~i~- ixz~1 9 H Gabriel blows his trum-pet De I-Jo -ly Ghost comes down. Brethren rise and shine, Be - -N-N -N-N-~~~ ~ -. ~ ~~~ I 9-. 9 99-I hold King Je - sus com in, Brethen rise and shine, Gn inc ter meet im in de clouds. Some says that nothin ails me, Some gives me up fer lost, An ehery refuge fails me, An all my hopes is crossed. CHORUS: ing mistakes are made in the use of words. The negro orator usually has a great liking for long and high-sounding words, and handles them recklessly at Nex door ter death they foun me An snatched me frum de grave, I tells ter all aroun me His wondrous power ter save. CHoRus: Several other verses are sung, which, are often improvised to suit the melody. Another fine song is that entitled Im jes from do founting. NEGRO (AMP-MEETING MELODIES. IM JES FRUM DE FOUNTING.* ~ ~ N~1 .9 .9- -9- .9- ~-~ ~ Oh! sis - ter do you love Je - sus? Yes in my soul I love him too Oh! Im ~2zzL.~e .9- 9- W.9- +--+ * W9-.9-4~ 9- W jes from de founting, Oh! Im jes from de founting, Oh! Im jes from de founting, Dat never runs dry. How grandly the voices rise and fall enthusiastic congregation, swaying their as this truly fine old hymn is sung by an dusky bodies in rhythmic motion. AINT DAT LOVELY? -N ~ L 3 __ EDVHZiiZN - ___ _ ______ ____ ___ ~ 111 Aint dat love-ly? Aint dat lovely? Aint dat lovely? 5ee dem chillen all dressd in white. ist si;io-e;- I went tlown in de valley fer ter pray, An I got so happy dat I stayed all day. CHORUS: Aint dat lovely? Aint dat lovely? Aint dat lovely? See dem childring all dressed in white. I want ter go ter heaben ter hab a good time, Eatin of de bread an drinkin of de wine. CHORUs: High up in heaben Ill take my seat, An cast my cross at Jesus feet. CHORUS: Another, somewhat similar, runs: Eberybodys talkin bout dc good ole way, An youd better be prepared fer de jcdgmint- day. Andante. CHORUS: Yes, go tell de news, Yes, go tell de news, Yes, go tell de news, Tell de news till you die. DAVID PLAY ON voua HARP. Mary had one only son, De Romans an de Jews dey had him hung, Dey hung him twixt de yeartb an sky, Fer sinners ter see how brave he did die. CHORUS: Little David, play on yer harp, hallelujah! Little David, play on yer harp, hallelujah! Stop, oh sinner, stop, dont run, Let me tell yer what de Amightys done, He tuck his son, had him crucified, An stuck a spear right in his side. CHORUS: KEEP YO HOUSE CLEAN. __ [1 L~99 991 N-- 9 Keep yo house clean, Anyou need not meddle with mine. Lit tie did I think he was so --N --N--N---N--N -N ~ ~ ~ ~ j~21 nigh, you need not meddle with mine. He spoke an he made me laf an cry; You oee(l not meddle with mine. Oh! keep yo house clean, Oh! keep yo house clean, ~ -N{-~N~ ~ N- U Oh! keep your house clean, An you need not med - tIle with ~ Fountain. none. C,2 Vivace. NEGRO cAMP-MEETING MELODIES. One song runs thus: Oh dying lamb, oh dying lamb, oh dying lamb, Eberybodys welcome ter de dying lamb. Here a mother wants religion, yes, yes, religion, Oh glory hallelujah, ter de dying lamb. Here is a fragment that recalls the John Brown song: My bodys hound fer ter moulder in de clay, While my soul goes marchin, erelong, Hard trials an tribulations, Oh, sinner, cant yer jine me, While my soul goes a marchin erelong. A popular song is, In de valley: These are two verses of a pleasing melody: Ole Satans camped aroun my house, Ans a stumblin block in my way, But Jesus is my bosom friend, He moved it all away. CHORUS: Praise Jesus, hallelujah! Love an serve de Lord! (Repeat.) De sun run down in a purple stream, An de moon hit bled ter death, An my soul awoke frum hits wicked dream, When hit felt my Saviours breath. CHORUS: IN DE VALLEY. Vivace. -k--- a_______ ,V ~ ~- e ~ ~ K ~rn Oh! sin-ner lets go down, lets go down, lets go down. Oh! sin-ncr lets go down, Down t~~L~~aLeeaaea in de val - ley for tcr pray. Situ - dy in a - bout dat good ole xi ay. Good ~ a ~rn ~ Lord show me de way; Oh! who shall wear de star-ry crown? Good Lord show me de way. A CAMP-MEETING MELODY. 3 A-F-~--~ ~-~ A~A- A ~ za K e~a a- ~- Dis is de way de Baptis mourns, Oh! my Lord! Dis is de way de Baptis mourns, -___ 4-~zpu -~--~ ~ ta- Oh! my Lord! An its um-m-m, an its um-m-m, an its um-m-m. Till de break ob day. At the passage an its urn-rn-rn, etc., mourning dismally as if suffering with an each singer clasps his jaw and cheek in his aggravated case of toothache. The effect hand and rocks backwards and forwards, is highly grotesque, as one may imagine. WHOS DAT A CALLIN? ]VThderato. FA-A#-A -~ ~ L -a. Satn cant git his grip on me; NYhos dat a - cal - lin? lie IA__A ~ -~__-N-~_~__H__ ~ Li cant fool me wid his trick - er - y, Im boun ter go ter heaven when I die Whos dat a callin? Whos dat callin so low? I dont fear old Nick ner his wicked eye, Whos dat callin so low? (33 64 NEGRO c~Aifr-MEETING MELODIES Here is a portion of a hymn which re- minds one of a Chinese novel that runs into the hundred volumes, it is so lengthy; indeed, I have never been able to learn just the number of verses which com- pose it: De Lord dont speak like a natral man He speaks so de heart can understan, Rocks an mountings fall on me, Jesus he walked on de big salt sea. Done tuck my Lord away, away, away, etc. An Nora went ter work an felt mighty vain, When hit thundered an lightened an begin ter rain, An hit rained an rained til de waves did rise Till dey like ter dim ter de hebenlv skies. De waters riz an riz ter de sill o de door, An de dancers moved ter de upper floor, De water kep a risin an~ riz all about Till dey rushed ter de winders an all peeped out. Dey seen ole man Nora come a floatin by, An cried out dey wuz a goin ter drown an die, REFRAIN: But Nora he felt hissef secure, For he knowed de good Lord had done locked de door. DONE TOOK MY LORD AWAY. Doloroso. ~___ j~zN i~N N ~ ~ Done took my Lord a - way, a - way, a - way, Done 9 ~_ 7 N ~ -~-~_-~i_-I took my Lord a - way Cant ye tell me where tei find hlm? If yer wanter go ter hehen when yer die, Stop yer long tongue from tellin a lie, Ive hin weighed an weighed agin An I thank my Lord Im free from sin. REFRAIN: God Amighty spoke an Nora understood, He built him an ark out o gopher wood, He worked mighty hard on de heart an hark, A hundred an forty years a huildin de ark. God Amighty spoke ter Nora again An said, Hurry up, git yo fambly in. An take two erlong of ebery ting, From dem as has a hoof ter dem as has a wing. As I have written in the first of this sketch, it takes the ensemble the torch- lit grove, the moving, exultant mass of dusky worshippers, the nasal, sonorous voices of these unlettered children of the sun to give to such songs the full weirdness and wild beauty which they possess. When one has once heard these melodies under these favorable circumstances, it is something never to be forgotten. Noah BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. By Henrk/ta S. Nakrner. AMONG the mountains of western Massachusetts, eighteen hundred feet above the sea, in a green valley, lies a little hamlet of which the great world knows little, for it is far away from the great centres. But when the locomotive shall shriek along its hills and valleys~ to bring it within reach of the great currents of business life, its pic- turesqueness will disappear, for its chief charm lies in the fact that it is farthest removed from the railroad of any town within the borders of the state. Once a day only, in the late afternoon, the pulse of the world is felt for a few moments, when the eagerly expected stages from east and west arrive with morning papers. For six months of the year the rigors of a northern climate render the life here somewhat dull; but during the short months of the delightful summer, tem- pered by the cool breezes of the hills, the streets and roads are enlivened by the summer tourist, perhaps, the coaching William Cullen Bryant. 66 BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. party, it may be simply upon pleasure bent, or it may be making pilgrimage to visit the hamlets one famous shrine, the birthplace and ancestral home of William Cullen Bryant. Cummington is a natural centre for the surrounding country, the approaches to it from all quarters descending from higher levels. The people of the adjoining towns, taking advantage of this, have established an agricultural society, with buildings and grounds, in this valley; and the annual Fair days are the chief holiday of the year for many an overworked farmer and his family. Many points of interest are within easy access, and reached by drives through lovely and picturesque scenery. The natural falls at West Worthington, the mineral ledges at West Chesterfield, and the Windsor Jams are natural features which well repay the visitor. A few miles away, at Chester- field, is the summer home of John W. Chadwick, the poet preacher, whom Cummington itself may almost claim; so familiar is his figure among her mountain nooks, and so welcome is the soul-inspir- ing message which he brings. In another direction, a pleasant two or three hours drive leads to the summer homes, at Ashfield, of that Nestor of our fine art interests, Professor Charles Eliot Norton, and that knight of civil service re- form, George William Curtis. The principal street of this little hamlet lies along the banks of the alder-fringed Westfield so charming, as one of her singers has it, a river which, in the language of the General Court a hun- dred years ago or more, is well-known to be as difficult a stream to cross as any in the state of that bigness, a statement which causes a smile on the face of the small boy who fearlessly fords its current. Other towns have the same wide - sweeping circuit of wood-clad hills, glorious in the morning rays and in the gorgeous sunset dyes; other rivulets go singing down the narrow glen; other leafy shades are abodes of glad- ness The yellow violets modest bell Peeps from the last years leaves~ below, in other forests; the fringed gentian, bright with autumn dew, greets the wayside listener upon other highways; on other hillsides the March gust, the fragrant summer breeze, the spirit of the evening wind that breathest through my lattice, wait their singer; the melancholy November days, the saddest of the year, and June with its cheerful sounds come to the other places ; but from this quiet spot came the voice which made audible these sounds, the eye that made visible the glory of the forest, hill, and stream. Monument marking Birthplace of the Poet. BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. 67 This town cannot claim the antiquity of places nearer the seaboard, rich in their colonial lore, but her hundred and more years of life, although they do not show thrilling tales of struggles with In- dian neighbors, or fields where her sons resisted oppression, do show an honor- able record; for they can point to thrifty bomes and farms redeemed from the forest and sterile soil, to two or three generations of sons and daughters scat- tered far and near, who for intelligence and moral worth challenge a place among the first and best of those who have peo- pled the great West. Thirteen years before the shot heard round the world was fired down in Con- cord, a manbut recently returned from captivity among the Indians in Canada, bearing the testimony of his zeal and ser House in which Thanstopsis was written. One of Cummingtono Streets. 68 BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND ROME. vice perpetually about him in the shape of a leaden bullet, purchased at auction from the Commonwealth, in company with twenty-six other men, the township No. 5. He was of Scotch parentage, with the proverbial Scotch integrity; a man of note in the medical and military profes- sions, and with large landed estates. The town of Concord chronicles the liberality of this Colonel John Cuming, the moving spirit in the enterprise, who gave in his lifetime to the poor, and at his death a portion of his estate to the schools and to the poor, a legacy to the church, and a portion to the University of Cambridge. To this little settlement in the western wilds of the state, he gave his name. Was it the ~esthetic feeling of the early settlers that led them afterwards to petition the General Court to change the name of their town to Lebanon or Hebron? or was it their love of the Scrip- ture names? As not one of the original purchasers ever sought this inhospitable wild for a home, nor ever looked upon it, save, pos- sibly, in imaginary dreams of a fair future which never came, curiosity bids us seek some adequate reason for their venture; but history, as well as tradition, is silent. Wijijam cullen Bryant. BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. The curious antiquarian will find many a discontinued road, and many an aban- doned spot where once a hearth-fire was kindled. What pathos in the tales they tell of the endurance, the struggle, the faithfulness of those pioneers, who hewed the forests, cleared the paths, and planted the family fireside What monument so impressive as these old traces, these grassy landmarks, which cultivation has not obliterated A bit of ground hol- lowed out, a fragment of an old apple- tree, are all that remain of the first home estab- lished here by that he- roic man, Colonel Samuel Brewer. The house was a log cabin; and from the door the intrepid man, with no aid, built the road six miles to the highway, that he might bring upon his back from Northampton, twenty miles away, the meal that fed his household. Near this spot was the house built in a day, for one of these early in- habitants, by the united efforts of the seven families who were the sole occu- pants of this then uncultivated region. A town so far in the interior, away from the large water highways, would not naturally figure much in the military an- na~s of the period; but a few scattered records show that in their seclusion the hearts of the people were stirred with patriotic ardor. We read that they ap- pointed a committee of safety, and erected an alarum just where the people were to assemble for the common defence upon the discharge of three guns, a pre- caution which seems to us, in view of the inaccessibility of the region, rather su- perifuous. The frequent records of ac- tions taken to Se if the Town will Come into Some Method for hiring Soldiers for Bank of the Rivulet which flows through cummington. Old Schoolhouoe on the Bryant Farm. 70 BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND .JIOAIE. the Continental Army, to Raise a sufficient Sum of Money to purchase Soldiers Clothing, etc., show that they bore their part cheerfully in the common struggle. Tradition tells us of an old Indian trail, which became the military road from Northampton to Bennington; and as an old axe, bayonet, and part of a saddle were discovered near it, we conclude that there was an en- campment of some kind in the region. The one authentic passage which connects it with the events of the Revolutionary War seems to be the fact that a detachment of Burgoynes army passed over this road as prisoners of war, encamping here one night on their way to Boston. Two of these sol- diers deserted upon this occasion, and, remaining here, established homes, mar- ried and reared families, and here ended their days. An anecdote of this period relates that a little boy, James Everett, Schoolhouse presented ts the Tows by William Oulles Bryant. was playing with a toy cannon as these British and Hes- sian soldiers pas- sed on their way, and that as he dis- charged it in the face of the enemy one of the horses became frightened and threw his rider, which so terrified the would-be sol- dier, that he hur- ried in to hide himself under the bed. Of the ten men whose names have been handed down among their descendants as participators in the War of the Revo- lution, one Tim- othy by name used to relate that he was one of the guards placed over Andr6, the night before his execution. Near the spot where Colonel Brewer pitched his tent, there now lives an aged man born in Vermont, to whom the youth of Cummington have eagerly lis- tened, as he related the tales of Indian camp-fires and marauding parties, whose traces he saw in the rude pictures made upon the trees by their hatchets. The party of which the principal tradition remained came from Canada during the French and Indian war; and our aged narrator listened to the story of their adventures told by one of their captives, a child of Mrs. John- son, who was born in their camp during the journey, and re- turned years after to the scene of the tragic capture. As elsewhere in the early settlements of Massachusetts, BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. 71 the first thought of the pioneers was to plant the church and school. Leaving the valleys behind, they sought the bleak- est and most inhospitable hilltops on which to rear their altars, religious and domestic. On one of these hilly crests they established temporary quarters for public worship, and fixed near by their place for the dead. of it remains but picture from The Tis a bleak wild hill, but green and bright In the summer warmth and the mid-day light. Theres the hum of the bee and the chirp of the wren And the dash of the brook from the alder glen.. No visible reminder this immortal pen- Two Graves: Library presented by the Poet to the Town of Cummington. Interior of the Bryant Library. 72 BEYANT S NEW ENGLAND IIOAIE. Two low green hillocks, two small gray Stones, Rose over the place that held their bones; But the grassy hillocks are levelled again, And the keenest eye might search in vain Mong briers and ferns and paths of sheep For the spot where the aged couple sleep. The town having come into existence, the people forthwith proceeded to decide upon Some permanent place of worship, contending for nine years before the question was finally settled. During this time of waiting, the same walls which dispensed hospitality to travellers were also devoted to the uses of the town- meeting, to political assemblies, and to public worship on the Sabbath. In this elder time it would seem that religion and politics suffered no divorce, that no walls were too sacred for the promulga- tion of the doctrine of the rights of man; the spirit which sanctified their sacred place, it might be supposed, would preside also over business chamber and council hall. The establish- ment of a church organization and the incorporation of the town were of equal importance in the minds of these early settlers, and one speedily fol- lowed the other; the first church num- bering eight male members, and the first minister being ordained in the open air. Not a vestige remains of the first perma- nent church building, which stood for fifty years; but it is historic in the minds of a younger generation, who have lis- tened admiringly to the description of its old yellow sides, its immense blue sounding~board above the pulpit, its high square pews, where a loosened rail and the clatter of the seats falling upon their hinges as the audience rose during the prayer were a blessed relief to the child condemned to the two long services of the day. Its first pastor, identified with its existence for fifty years, has not only be- come one of the familiar figures of the past to the children of a later day through anecdote and legend; but he has be- come immortal through the pen of the poet who as a child sat in these old- fashioned pews, trembling, doubtless, as the tithing-man remorselessly went his rounds. His youth was innocent; his riper age Marked with some act of goodness every day, While the soft memory of his virtues yet Lingers like twilight when the sun is set. Library in Bryant Homestead. We do Dot know which to The Bryant Homestead. BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. 73 admire most in the terms of settlement of the Rev. James Briggs, the ortho- graphic abandon or the indifference to the requirements of our modern pastorate with its European trip. Voted to give Mr. Briggs two hundred acres of good Land and two hundred Dollars. Stated by Ry at 35, 4d Pr Bushel for Settlement; also fifty Pounds the first year and Rise five Pounds a year till it amounts to Sixty Pound. Stated by Ry at three shillings and four Pence Pr Bushel for Salery. The two lots assigned as the ministers portion of the first survey were on the side of Remington Hill; and the picnic party painfully toiling up its slopes, now abandoned to blackberries and the cata- mount, wonders what induced this prac- tical people to pitch their tents upon this hillside. Was the poetic instinct in them struggling for opportunity as they looked upon Greylock, silent and immovable on the near horizon, on the south the hills dipping down to meet the far Hoosac range, and XVachuset in lonely grandeur far away to the north? Very pathetic to the observer to-day is the old cellar with its extinguished hearth-fire, and the few straggling apple-trees which marked the site of a family home now utterly oblit- erated; even the family name extinct save in nomenclature, which has chris- tened the highest point of Township, No. 5, as Remington hill. In these days of subdivision and detail in life, we can hardly understand how powerful was the influence of Parson I3riggs upon the life of the town. His parish comprised the xvhole territory. He par- ticipated in the joys and sorrows of all the people, attending all the funerals, per- forming all the marriages. At the town- meeting and at the school examination his was the principal figure. With char- acteristic New England thrift, he not only worked his own farm, but improved the inclement winter weather by writing his stock of sermons for the whole year. How simple the life and thought of the period, when the lesson of yesterdays catastrophe, or the dissemination of some Robert Elsmere did not tax the ner- vous brain to meet the demands of a modern Sunday morning audience, and when instead of the nebular hypothe- sis, or conservation of energy, the New England Primer was the Sabbath as well as the weekly diet of the rising generation I At last the business interests of the town began to centre along the highway of the Westfield, which runs from corner to corner of the town through a narrow valley with steep hillsides; and the pecu- liar topography of the town rendering a common centre of religious worship diffi- cult, the one religious society became disintegrated, a Baptist, Methodist, and Universalist claimed a right to their own form, and in a little town which never numbered more than twelve hundred people, there were at one time seven re- ligious edifices. If these early settlers were not con- scious of the true meaning of culture as conceived by Matthew Arnold, they did realize the necessity of a sub-structure of knowledge, upon which to build up char- acter, and in compliance with the terms of their title deed, which reserved one sixty-third part of the territory for the use and support of a school in said town- ship forever, they early provided for the education of the young. On the border of a forest stood the little broxvn schoolhouse, with its long slah seats, its rafters and beams stained and dingy, and its huge stone fireplace. A little depression in the soil and an an- cient ash, which shadowed the teachers desk, are all that remain to designate the spot xvhere our fathers poet began the ascent of the steeps of learning. But one person remains xvho sat upon the front seat when the boy poet on the back seat was essaying his first trial to woo the muse. One still remains who at a little later period shared with younger brothers and sisters of the poet the thorough if limited course of instruction dispensed by stern, Puritan schoolmasters, for the school- mistress was an evolution of a later date. In this little brown schoolhouse, photo- graphed so vividly in the recollection of one who still delights to recall the scenes connected with it, Bryant read his first attempt at composition, The Embargo. The same vivid chronicler relates the fact of having had sixty notches cut in the heavy beam overhead for remaining at the head of the spelling-class for sixty consecutive days. 74 BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND J7ZOALE. In 1790, the inhabitants of Cummington erected a building for what they were pleased to term a select school, an at- tempt to add a little to the bare rudiments of learning, and ambitiously named it an Academy. In strange recognition of the liberality of its largest donor, it was called Wards Folly. In this Academy, the mother of Bryant was a pupil; also Dr. Bradish, afterwards so prominent in the business and political circles of New York. After the Hill had ceased to be the centre of the town, a large acad- emy was built in the East Village; and so liberal was the instruction, that a group of eight young men here fitted for college, seven of them entering in one single year, a record which the town has nevef since equalled, and which no other mountain town of its size could possibly equal. The town cannot claim among its illus- trious names any of great distinction in the law; but in the medical profession there have been names of ability, promi- nent among which were those of Bradish, Peter Bryant, and lowland Dawes, the last named having been a student with Dr. Bryant. He spent a long professional life here, and his name is still mentioned with kind affection by thcse who profited by his skill, and are now themselves upon the outer verge of life. There has been here no lack of friends for the oppressed negro. Little has been thought here of that other race dishonired by a cen- tury of the xvhite mans rule buf we proudly name one of Cummingtons sons, the earnest champion of the rights of the Indian, Senator Henry L. Dawes. One of the oldest inhabitants of Gum- mington has for us a peculiar interest, as the son of the parson mentioned in The Old Mans Funeral: Then rose another hoary man and said In faltering accents to that weeping train, Why weep ye thus? . This aged citizen, now past his ninetieth year, has had in his own life something worth relating. Homan Hallock passed many years in Syria, where he invented type for the Arabic language, thus making the Bible accessible to the natives of those desert lands. Still vigorous and hearty, in spite of his weight of years, cared for by his daughter and her family, he retires at periods to a house devoted to his own pursuits, and passes the time in solitude. Here in the windy, haunted interior, in the midst of machinery and half- finished efforts at invention, stands ready the coffin which he made for his own inter- ment twenty years ago. Perhaps the most interesting chapter in the history of the town, except its association with Bryant, and that which has distinguished it from the other moun- tain towns in the vicinity, is the chapter connected with the Anti-Slavery move- ment. The making of whetstones was an industry in the little town; now, with many other manufacturing interests, it has become extinct, but it brought to the place, somewhere between 1840 and 1850, John S. Stafford. In the town of St. Johnsbury, Vt., he had suffered for his adherence to the cause that was beginning to agitate earnest souls and making it a matter of conscience in his relations with the church, he had been ostracized, and so sought a new home. He found in Cummington, elements ready to his hand, only waiting the lighted torch, con- spicuous among them Deacon Hiram Brown of the Congregational Church, who was ready for a valiant fight, and who, being an able organizer, sought at Old Baptist Ceurch in which Abolition Meetings were held, BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND IrJOJifE. once to have the church put itself upon record as Anti-Slavery. He met with but slight response. Resolutions were drawn up, and after finding that the pastors influence was successful in pre- venting their passage, except in the mildly inoffensive statement that slavery was a sin, the faithful few, six in number, firmly protesting, left their brethren, after a time receiving letters of excom- munication. Of a different mould from her husband was the gentle, fragile wife of Deacon Brown. Her life was full of religious fervor, and it was with heroism, if with trembling, that she stood up in the days when women were counselled to keep silence in the churches, and spoke her conviction that no countenance should be given to the accursed thing. The eagle- eyed, lion-hearted Anti-Slavery veteran, Deacon Hiram Brown, still lived until a month ago in a xvestern city, his mantle having fallen upon his son, Edwin R. Brown, the ready advocate of every re- form and every endeavor to benefit humanity. Among the seceders xvas Widow Butts, poor, yet in her poverty and humility having a thought for her enslaved sister. The edict which cast her out from the fostering care of the church put in currency among the vil- lagers the saying, Visit the widow and fatherless in affliction, and carry them letters of excommunication. In 1821, there had been established a Bapfist society, which had built a little church. In I85o, this society had dwindled in numbers until only four members re- mained. Its building, which still stands, whose walls have witnessed so many chang- ing scenes, and which has been given up to so many uses other than those forwhich it was dedicated, was never devoted to any use more sacred than the rights of man; never were loftier thoughts uttered there than when the apostles of freedom ascended its platform. The town fathers had found it convenient for their pur- ppses, as well as the itinerant showman; and in the state of dilapidation incident to such uses, the turbulent spirits of the disaffected found the bits of plaster and remnants of tobacco ready missiles with wnich to reply to the arguments of the devoted speakers whom they could not answer otherwise. First to enter this rude arena was Samuel May. Then Parker Pillsbury, stern prophet of doom, with his deep, un- compromising voice and beetling brows, indifferent alike to the hurled projectile and the vulgar word, stirred up the in- different people. Stephen Foster and Abby Kelley came as they were com- mencing the crusade which only ended xvith their lives. The home of Mr. Staf- ford, the pioneer, was so humble in its resources that there were only two rooms in which to meet the exigencies of a family which consisted of the proverbial quiverful; but there were high-souled parents under the roof. In the family room, the kitchen stove xvas in close proximity to the dining table and sleeping arrangements, and the culinary processes proceeded simultaneously with the enter- tainment of guests. Here sat Wendell Phillips, consummate flower of Bostons cultured and aristocratic circles, by the side of this earnest xvhetstone manufac- turer, and their common love for humanity made them of one kin. In a little red schoolhouse near by this home, Lucy Stone, a rosy checked maiden, travel- ling through the country, posting her own bills upon bridges or any convenient out- post, stopped to speak to a small audience. Forty years later, a gray-haired matron, she came to speak, not for her black, but for her white sister; and the doors of the church, which could not open for her first appeal, swung back for her last. When the Anti-Slavery movement had become organized, the hospitable home of Deacon Brown was thrown open to all those who came to help in the work. Here it was the privilege of some to hear the persuasive oratory of Garrison and the calm logic of C. C. Burleigh, who finally became the regular speaker for the society on the Sabbath during the half year; a generous friend in Florence, Mr. Hill, offering to pay for his services there half of the time. Out of this grew the Free Society at Florence and Cosmian Hall. Hither, too, came Sojourner Truth, dark sybil, friend and worker; and the sweet singers, the Hutchinsons, who devoted 76 BRJI4NTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. their gifts with such prodigality to the unpopular cause. One Fourth of July, this society of workers, wishing to protest against the celebration of partial freedom, prepared a picnic in a beautiful grove just outside the village, where Anti-Slavery sentiments were to form the toasts of the day. So bitter was the feeling of the people, that, as the procession wound through the main street, the blinds were drawn and doors shut, that the offensive spectacle might not be witnessed. One little maiden, aflame with curiosity, who de- sired a share in the proceedings, was shut up in her room by an irate father, but with the connivance of a sister-in- law, this black-eyed Flora escaped the paternal vigilance, in a homely, everyday garb sought the place, and soothed her wounded feelings by waiting upon the tables. Later on, the incensed father, converted to the cause by the patriotic F songs of the choir, became one of the most ardent supporters of the work, and when he became old and blind would refer to the times with great feeling. This choir, chosen from among the sympathizers, deserves mention. The words of the songs and adaptations of others, from the pen of E. R. Brown, exist, alas! only in the fleeting memories of those who heard them. A few of those who participated in this time that tried mens souls are still left, and with par- donable pride they recall those days. Among these dwindling few, let the names of Francis H. Dawes and Melissa Everett Dawes, his wife, be recorded, also Arunah Bartlett and Amanda T. Bart- lett, his wife, this last couple having both passed their ninetieth year. They thought the five miles between their home and the rendezvous of the faithful no obstacle in their zeal and devQtion to the cause. The rugged type of New England woman here noticed, not only extended her zeal to the breaking of the fetters of her enslaved sister in the South, but also to the effort to release her sister at home from the thralldom of the long skirt. The edifice which echoed these voices of prophets and other strange sounds has now, after forty years, been repaired, beautified, and rededicated to its original purpose. Although the centre of this movement was found in East Cumming- ton, there were outposts in the town which extended sympa- thy. Upon Cummington Hill there was settled in 1845, a pastor of gentle breeding and winning manner, yet with staunch principles and fearless- ness. When in Wolcott, Conn., his people be- sought him not to bring dissension and division into the church by his advocacy of the cause of the slave; in speaking of this afterwards, this mild soul said: I scorned it as a man, and I abhor- red it as a Christian. This firmness resulted in the burning of his church; and James D. Chapman, whose memory is still lovingly cherished in this town, befriended in the pecuniary trouble resulting from his course by the philanthropy of Arthur and Lewis Tap- pan, sought here a new field, anticipating the time when the Anti--Slavery banner should be raised. He was unceasing in his endeavor to interest the l)eople of his charge in the work, urging the passage of the resolutions which his brother in theLord had worked so industriously to frustrate. Bryants Fathers Grave in the Mountain Graveyard. BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. 77 Curnmington had her share in the great struggle of the war; and when, after the terrible conflict, the country sat down in the midst of her desolated homes and waste places to repair the ruin, Bryant, an old man, came back to build up the home of his ancestors and to linger awhile in the haunts of his boy- hood, before the summons should come to join the innumerable caravan. Here, after the death of the companion to whom he had addressed the plaintive wail: How shall I know thee in the spheres which keep The disembodied spirits of the dead? he sat down in his library to the absorb- ing task of the translation of the Odys- sey, as a partial relief to his lonely heart. To his home, which he restored upon the foundations and with some of the material of the old house, there came yearly front their western homes for a brief summer sojourn, the two brothers of the poet, John Howard, also a mem- ber of the guild of poets, and Arthur, who with the same inborn love of Nature had turned his attention to horticulture and forestry. The summers in which the country people delighted to meet and accost the three white-haired brothers, as they climbed with agile footsteps their native hills and rocks, passed all too quickly! and one fatal June day there were but two left to ramble in the old places, and then but one, who now comes only at rare intervals to walk in lonely solitude the accustomed paths. In the corner of a green, sloping meadow, at the junction of two roads, opposite the place where sleep the gen- erations xvhose part in all the pomp that fills the circuit of the summer hills is a green grave, there once stood a little house, in which on the third of Novem- ber, 1794, the frail infant came into the world, who was destined to such pre- eminence as poet, journalist, and citizen. This spot, which commands the sweep- ing circle of eastern hills, is now marked by the simple granite monolith recording the date of his birth. No more beauti- ful spot could have been chosen by poet, for it was these same rock-ribbed hills which, from a higher point, were the inspiration of the youthful Bryant. in course of time the humble building was taken down and a portion of it purchased by Mitchell Dawes, and by him removed a half mile westward, to become the birthplace of a family of sons and daugh- ters, among whom was the present Mas- sachusetts senator. Dr. Peter Bryant established his house- hold gods upon the spot where the new Bryant homestead now stands, a mile to the westward. Here at a corner of the building stands an old oak, a sapling of the original tree, in whose branches the young sisters and John, the brother of our poet, were merrily playing upon the day when the news of the battle of Wa- terloo reached this quiet nook, weeks after the dreadful day when it occurred. Of one of his ancestors, the poet speaks with reverent mention, in The Old Mans Counsel; and to the vigor- ous self-reliant mother, who with her five weeks old infant, would mount her horse and resume her spinning and weaving, the poet was indebted for many of his prominent characteristics. From this modest country home the poet, with pub- lic spirit, built two highways to the little hamlets of East and West Cummin~ton, that those villages might be reached by a gentler slope than the former steep approaches permitted. By his planting of orchards, building of stone walls, and restoration of the almost forgotten beau- ties of the place, he stimulated his neigh- bors to endeavors in the same direction, and the homes in the vicinity bear wit- ness to the wholesome influence thus exerted. But a more lasting monument to his grateful remembrance by his towns peo- ple is the little stone building in the valley, with its choice collection of liter- ature, a gift perpetually fresh and inspir- ing. The writer worked during some happy, memorable weeks in helping to arrange and classify this library of books, and has many pleasant memories con- nected with that time. While the build- ing for their reception was in process of construction the books were temporarily placed in a building near the Bryant homestead. This house was built upon the foundations of the home of Bryants 78 BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. maternal ancestors, which he presented to his daughter, Mrs. Parke Godwin. From the piazza and eastern windows of this house, beautiful for situation, the panorama of the hills, glorious with au- tumn foliage, was daily opened to the gaze of the worker. Hither came the gray-haired poet each morning, climbing the hill with agile step, and with cheer- ing word and helpful suggestion marking those hours as never-to-be-forgotten places in the highxvay of life. One morning, a young fellow, coming into this room, with its floor piled high with books, remarked, I suppose you have read all these books, Mr. Bryant? Not quite all, but I knoxv something about them all, probably, was the re- sponse. The mornings were enlivened by anecdotes suggested by the work, and as this worker spoke of her poor compre- hension of Broxvning, he replied: Per- haps Browning might say in regard to his poems as Jean Paul Richter said when some one asked him what he meant by a certain work, When I wrote it there were two who knew, myself and God, but now only God knows. Glancing at a book written by Hurlbut, h~ re- marked, He wished to introduce me to Napoleon III., an honor which I de- clined, regarding him as a murderer. With his severe truthfulness, he depre- cated Froudes sacrifices to brilliant effect. He said, Until Grote wrote his history of Greece the historians all leaned to the aristocratic side, and gave the narrative of events a turn unfavor- able to pol)ular rights. His memory at threescore and ten was remarkable; the delighted listener xvill not soon forget the serene look of the poet as he leaned against the mantel, the books scattered in confusion around, repeating passages from Pope or Tasso in the original, with easy change to the Bug/ow Papers. Still another precious reminiscence, shared by a little handful of delighted friends and neighbors, is that of September 2, I877, when the poet xvalked to the little church at West Cummington, a distance of four miles, with his staff in hand, quietly tak- ing his seat among the country worship- pers. At the close of the services the pastor remarked that Mr. Bryant had kindly consented to read some of his poems. With the benign presence of the sages of old, Mr. Bryant rose and said that he was very happy to comply with the pastors request, as the people as- sembled were his neighbors and the de- scendants of those among whom he had lived when in youth he had written these poems. The simple rendering of Than- atopsis, with the cultured, musical voice, was most effective. He spoke of the character of this ~ of Nature, which in her different phases appealed to the writer, and said he wrote it when he was eighteen and while wandering through the woods of Cummington. Beginning the poem, he read to the words, comes a still voice, saying that this portion was written at a later period, when he was twenty-one and when it seemed to him that the poem was incomplete in form. He then read the original poem, which ends where the prayer begins, So live, etc., this portion having been written in the year 1821, thus adding the moral idea, he said, to what had been originally simply an adoration of Nature. From this he passed to the reading of the exquisite Water Fowl. This poem, also a poem of his youth, he said, was written at a time of great discour- agement, when he was about starting in life, uncertain as to his career, and alone. Just as the western sky was suffused with the red of departing sunlight he saw a water fowl apart from its kind, flying solitary and alone on tireless wing, as it had been doing all day, and the thought occurred to him, he said: by what In- visible Power has it been held up through the long day? The lesson it spoke to him he has told us in the matchless poem. He remarked simply in connec- tion with the reading that a lady once said to him that the veteran missionary Brigham had told her that while travel- ling in the wilds of South America, on his way from the Atlantic to the Pacific, these verses were of the greatest comfort to him, especially the line, from zone to zone) etc. He then said that these were poems of his youth, but he would read one more, written in his old age. He said he was by many years the old- est person present, and we might not BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. 79 feel the significance of the poem at the time, but he hoped we should all live long enough to do so.? He then read, Waiting by the Gate. When he closed, with the xvords, With neither dread nor longing to depart, I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for me. The tears stood in many eyes, and with hushed breath and subdued footfall we passed out from the little white church on the hillside to our homes, feeling the benediction of a sacred presence. What augury could have told, on that bright autumn Sabbath, that with swift foot the messenger was coming, and that a few months later, in the glorious June, as he had wished, The sextons hand, my grave to make, The rich, green mountain turf should break. Happy ending of a life, whose last words in public, upon the unveiling of the bronze which perpetuates the features of the exile Mazzini, were the acknowledg- rnent of the rights and duties of human brotherhood! He does not rest in the secluded hillside cemetery, but in Roslyn, the home of his active years. In the elevated mountain cemetery, from whose height the eye commands a wide horizon, embracing ten towns or more with their spires, lie the remains of the poets father and his maternal ancestors. To those who have ever sought this spot, in its silence and loneliness, far from the dwellings of men, these lines of John H. Bryant on The Mountain Graveyard have an added meaning: Tis a spot where the daylight latest stays And earliest comes with its crimson rays, XVhere the friends that have gone before me lie, Each one with his feet to the eastern sky. I go to that spot when the early flowers Awake on these bright sunny hills of ours, When the summer comes with its sultry heat And fierce on the earth the sunbeams beat, \Vhernthe maize on the autumn hills is white, And the yellow forests are bathed in light, When the winds of the icy north are still, I sometimes visit this lonely hill. Here we find the plain slab with the inscription PETER BRyANT A studious and skillful Physician and Surgeon, And for some time a member Of the State Senate, Born at North Bridgewater, August 12, 1767. Died March i~, 1820. In 1879, Cummington celebrated her centennial. Her poet, alas! had de- parted; but his place was worthily filled by the younger brother, John Bryant, and the historian of the day, Hon. Henry L. Dawes, performed his labor of love for the town of his birth. The question has been asked, Why Cummington should be a centre of advanced and liberal ideas why her inhabitants are able to claim a better intellectual life than is found in the average country town. One indica- tion of this life may be seen in the heavily loaded mail bags which find their way to this remote place. We look back and trace a possible cause. In the western outskirts of the town, in the early days, lived the genial, witty James Everett. He was the would-be soldier of Revolu- tionary time, the boy brave in spirit, but weak in flesh, whom we have noticed; he claimed a common ancestry with Edward Everett. In the days when books and papers were fewer than now, there were found in his home the Nor/li American Review and the writings of Channing. These he circulated among his neighbors; a lady of refinement in the town now speaks of him as the one who first gave her a love of reading, through his kindly interest, and the volumes lent to her in childhood. From that home, to which there came fifteen children, many went to settle in western homes, carrying with them the New England traits inherited and cultivated in their native town, one of the daughters to marry a brother of our Bryant. Another no less potent in- fluence in another part of the town was that Dr. Howland Dawes, who surrounded himself with papers and books; whatever privations came to the home, which he shared xvith brother, nephews, and nieces, there was always to be found there some treasured book. The little ones gathered 80 RELEASE. at his knee listened to the recital of Burnss poems until they were indelibly fastened upon their youthful memories, and the old well-worn copy is religiously preserved by a descendant. Later, the Anti-Slavery agitation, which brought to the place so many earnest thinkers, sowed seed which has produced fruit in the ready espousal of later reforms and the eagerness with which new thought in the scientific and religious world are wel- comed and discussed. And who shall tell how great an education to the people of this little New England village have been the presence and the memories of her great poet? RELEASE. By Bessic G/iaud/er. ~ ERE was one heart in Brussels years ago, ~My own heart tells me that this thing is true, 1-One breaking heart that night of Waterloo; It was a womans heart, I seem to know, Whose smiling face its anguish sought to hide, Whose dancing feet its heaviness belied; Yet when the cannons voice broke rudely in And marred the music, then that heart grew light, Its misery was hushed amid the din; The fair face brightened in the dread and fright. Have you no fear? they asked, who wept and fled. At least the dance is ended now, she said. There is one heart here in the world to-day, My own heart tells me that this thing is true, That unsuspected goes upon its way, And dances, as the other dancers do. Yet should the day come when the trumpets voice Shall still all other music here below, That heart would leap, and quicken, and rejoice, And say, amid the universal woe, What is there now, for us to dread or fear, Since life, at least, is ended for us here? 7 IT is a curious fact that almost nothing is known about the clubs and club- life at Harvard University outside the narrow limits of the college world. At certain periods, each year, the daily papers contain sensational reports of some ab- surdity or atrocity, and label it Society Life at Harvard; but concerning the true relations of the clubs and club men to the college itself, the public has but scanty knowledge. The explanation of this is simple. The club system at Harvard is entirely pecu- liar to itself. In the smaller colleges it is rather the exception than the rule, that a man is not a member of some one of the many Greek letter societies which flourish. At Princeton there are no soci- eties. At Yale the societies are distinctly democratic. The election of members to the Skull and Bones, the Scroll and Key, and the Wolfs L/ea depends largely on personal merit and popularity. Promi- nence in scholarship or in athletics makes a student almost certain of election to one of these three most famous Yale societies; AND CLUB LIFE AT HARVARD. William Dana Oreuti. and thus an added stimulus is given a man to distinguish himself. At Harvard, however, the qualifications are different, family and money certainly being two distinctive qualifications for popularity. At Yale, membership in the sophomore societies counts for little in securing a man a place in the senior or- ganizations. At Harvard, this sophomore membership is of the greatest importance; for when once a member of the Institute of 1770 the Hasty Pudding Club (the senior society ), is within sight. As will be seen by the manner of electing men into the Institute, it is personal friendship rather than general popularity which counts. There is but one senior society at Har- vard. The Hasty Pudding Club has had several rivals, but not one has long been able to maintain its claim. This fact has made it necessary that the Pudding should have a large membership, which explains the fact that eighty men are made members of this society; while at Yale, fifteen is the usual society limit. The oldest and largest society at Har- vard is that known as the Institute of 1770. It was founded in a very business- like manner by the members of the class of 1771, Samuel Phillips, afterwards lieu- tenant-governor of Massachusetts, and John Warren, being the prime movers. As these young gentlemen truly re- marked, there was at this time a cold indifference ,to the practice of Oratory, and the Institute of 1770 was established originally to meet this lack. For many years the society was known as the Speaking Club, and essays and orations were delivered with no less enthusiam and interest than were shown in later years by members who attained national promi- nence. Among these early members may be mentioned the names of Christopher Gore, Rufus King, James Freeman, Henry Ware, and John Quincy Adams. From time to time, rival societies Jester, from 9! H P. C. Theatricals. Twelfth Night. 82 CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HARVARD. that year, the Hermetick Society and the AKpt~o~ovo~4tevor, two dangerous rivals, combined with the older organization, and the enlarged society now took the name of The Institute of 1770, by which it has since been known. Th~ seal was designed in 1837 by Rev. Samuel Longfellow, then in his sophomore year. By degrees, the Institute has become a sophomore society. Originally, its mem- bership was limited to seniors; but in 1781, the society was resigned to the junior class, the senior members being obliged to pay a more strict attention to their collegiate exercises than the duties. of this club would permit. Eater, soph- omores were eligible for membership; and finally it became the custom to elect ten freshmen into the society at the close of their first college year. At the begin- ning of the next year, these ten members. choose ten more, and these twenty men elect a third ten. Tbis process is continued until the full number of the Institute has been filled, which number varies from one hundred to one hundred sprang up, flourished for a while, but and twenty men. then invariably dropped out of existence Gradually the Institute of 1770 came or were merged in the stronger organiza- to have less and less importance, until it tions, leaving the was finally, to all Speaking Club practical purposes, supreme in its merged into the power. Del/a Kaff a Ey5- From its earliest si/on. This state days, the members of affairs continued took profound until the present oaths not to dis- senior class came close the secret of the society, to take charge of or even that there is such an the society. They one subsisting. As this secret felt that the college was the fact that the club was needed a strong organized to encourage oratory, social sophomore some of the most brilliant mem- organization, and hers of the society in i8or sug- they determined to gested that the name Speaking place the Institute Club might disclose to the upon its feet again. uninitiated the purposes of the Subscriptions were organization! Thus the Speak- obtained from the ing Club became a thing of the past and present past, and the Patriotic Associa- members, and a tion flourished in its stead. large house, not far This name was again changed a Premiere Danseuse in 91 H. P. c. from the college The. Obispah. few years later to The Social yard, was rented. Fraternity of 1770, and by this title This was fitted up for the convenience of the society was known until 1825. In the members. The building contaiiv a Group from 93 D. K. E. Theatricals. caius Julius c~sar. CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HAR yARD. 83 large room in which the members meet a supper. In 1791, it became the turn as a society, a large and valuable library, of a freshman member, Mr. Joseph Mc- a secretarys room, a breakfast-room, and Kean, to furnish the entertainment; and a room for billiards and pool. The cui- the crowning triumph of the feast was a sine is in charge of a steward, and mem- young pig roasted whole. This proved bers can enjoy late breakfasts and suppers so successful that it was unanimously de- at their leisure. The rooms are well- cided to make the roast pig a permanent furnished, and are a popular resort. part of all future banquets; and from this The members retain their membership until they graduate, but the seniors take no active part in any of the proceedings of the society, and the juniors resign their interest at Christmas. Thus it will be seen that the Institute is distinctly a soph- omore organization, and as such it is without a rival. It is not certainly known in what year the Force//ian 6Vub, the swellest of the college social organizations, came into existence. Its records extend back as far as 1791 ; but it is rumored that as Seal of Institute of 1770. early as 1789, several of the students or- ganized themselves into a society known fact, the society came to be known as the only to themselves as The Argonauts, Pig Club. and were in the habit of meeting at each in 1792, the name of Gentlemans others rooms on alternate Friday even- Society was adopted, the society having ings. These meetings were of an entirely a grand marshal and a deputy marshal social nature, and always terminated with from the senior class, and a correspond- The 93 D. K. E. Theatricals Caius Julius C~sar. The 91 Hasty Pudding CIuh Theatricals, The Obispah CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HARVARD. ing and a recording secretary from the junior class. Two years later it was de- cided that this name worked against the best interests of the society, and it was theYefore changed to the Forcellian Club, a title which it has retained ever since. It was Joseph McKean who was really the founder of the club as it now exists. In 1794 he became its grand marshal, and left behind him an enviable reputa- tion. He was of an exceptionally happy disposition, and was possessed of no little physical activity and strength. From the time he became the leader, Mr. Mc- Kean imbued the club with his refined characteristics, and made it famous for the gentlemanly bearing of its members. The foundation of the forcelliau Club, says one of the former officers, are laid on some of the strongest principles of our nature, upon sociability, brotherly affection, and generosity, and upon those qualities of liberality and courtesy, and that spirit of a true gentleman, which are best expressed by one of the Greek mot- toes of our society. It was these senti- ments upon which Mr. McKean strenu- ously insisted, and which still exist as the principles of the society. When Mr. McKean resigned his office in 1798, he was succeeded by Charles Davis, who was famous for his quick wit and genial qualities. In i8oo, Francis Dana Channing was chosen grand mar- shal. His administration was important in the club epochs, as during it the first club emblem was adopted. It was a heart-shaped silver medal, having on the one side the name and date of the club, and on the other two clasped hands, over which are the words, Turn zilvimus vivarnus. At the two corners were four Greek letters, the ab- breviation of the club motto. The colors are white and green. In 1831, the Porcel- han Club united with the Knz~hts of the Square Table, an or- ganization which had flourished since 1809. For some time, the members of one club had also been members of the other, so the union was a natural one. At this time, the present badge was adopted, being an eight-pointed star. Besides the dates and mottoes, the medal Alco in the H. P. C. Theatricals. The Obispab. has on it the boars head, the crest of the Poreellian Club; a helmet, the crest of the I.Cnh1~rkts; and clasped hands. The society exists to-day practically as it did in 1831. Its members number about fifteen, being drawn principally from the Zeta Psi Socktj, and represent- ing the richest men in college. Two years ago the club-rooms were torn down, and a fine brick building was erected, at a cost of over thirty thousand dollars. This club-house is well ar- ranged for the comfort of the members the chief attraction being the splendid library, for which the Porcel- liau has always been famous. Many of the mem- bers of this society have gained national Emblem of Porcellian Club. 86 CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT LIAR VARD. prominence in later life. Among these may be mentioned, Wendell Phillips, Samuel Parkman, Joseph Story, William Ellery Channing, Washington Allston, Leverett Sallonstall, Charles Cotesworth Piuckney, Samuel Emerson Smith, Ed- ward Everett, Jonathan Mayhew Wain- wright, James Walker, Theophilus Parsons, Charles Francis Adams, Robert Charles Winthrop, Benjamin Peirce, Oliver Wen- dell Holmes, Charles Sumner, James Russell Lowell. William Wetmore Story, and William Morris Hunt. The Nasty Pudding (Yiib was formed in 1795, to cherish the feelings of friendship and patriotism. To accom- plish this it was the custom of the club for many years to celebrate Washing- tons Birthday with an oration, patriotic speeches, and songs, followed by a din- ner. This practice later fell into disuse; but that the original purposes of organiza- tion were not forgotten, is shown by the fact that more than one hundred of the members served in the War of the Re- bellion. The original constitution of the club stipulated that two members, in alpha- betical order, shall provide a pot of hasty- pudding for every meeting, and it is from this custom that the name was derived. The medal of the club is octagonal in form, having on its face a representation of a pudding-pot, with two hands above it holding a spoon and a bowl, and bear- ing the motto, Seges vo/is respondef. On the reverse is the figure of a sphinx, with Group from the 94 D. K E. Theatricalo, A Serpent in Petticoats, CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HARVARD. 87 the motto, Concor~ dia discors. The colors are white and corn color. The pe- culiar shingle or token of member- ship of the club is a strip of black cam- bric, bearing the name of the member in large white letters, which is placed above the door in his room. At first the meet- ings of the club took place in the different members rooms; but in 1849 it was found that a regular place of meeting was needed, and No. 29 Stoughton Hall was obtained from the college authorities. A few years later, an adjoining room was added; and in 1871, two other rooms on the same floor were granted to the club, all being made over into comfortable quarters. The next step was the adoption of a club building on Jarvis Field, in which the club remained until i888, when it moved into the present handsome club- house on Holyoke Street. The erection of this was made possible by the energetic work of the members of the classes of 86 and 87 and 88. This building is well planned to meet the needs of the club, having a large audience-room and stage for its theatricals, and a well-filled library. It was this new building which gave the Hasly Pudding (zb its present pop- ularity. Before r886, its membership was not so highly prized as at present, because the building on Jarvis Field was not con- veniently located for social purposes. Moreover, it is since that date that the annual theatricals of the club have at- tained their present prominence; pre- viously to this, having been simply for the amusement of the members. Phillips Brooks is said to have created great merri- ment in those days by his capital assumption of feminine Mies. The former limit of one hundred mem- bers is now reduced to eighty: twenty-five being chosen at Christmas from the junior class, twenty more the following fall, and the remaining thirty-five as their names are passed upon. The method of election is essentially more democratic than for any of the other social clubs. There is a large nominating committee, to which the members propose the names of their friends, whom they wish to have fellow-members of the club. These names must be passed by a two- The Hasty Pudding Club-House. Medal of Hasty Pudding Club. CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HAR VARD. thirds vote of the nominating com- mittee, and then have to be posted for three days without being black- balled by one-fifth of the members. The club has feasts at its club- house at stated intervals, at which the ancient dish of hasty pudding is still provided. Besides these enter- tainments, there is an annual Straw- berry Night, which finds especial favor with graduate members. The club theatricals are now the most popular of the public social events, performances being given in Boston and New York as well as at the club- house at Cambridge. On Class Day the senior members give their spread in the club-house, an invitation to which is among the most treasured of Class Day trophies. A pleasant feature of the member- ship is that members of the Faculty are eligible for membership, and thus Skirtz in The Obispah a delightful bond of good-fellowship has always been maintained between mem- bers of the club and the college authorities. The initiation rites are, of course, a Group from the 92 H. P. C, Theatricalo. The Old Bedstead. profound secret; but the absurd require- ments of a few years ago are now com- pletely done away with, and whatever ordeal the candidate passes through takes place at the annual dinner. It is said that formerly, if the good storekeepers of Boston were amazed at being assailed by the apparently in- sane remarks, seges vo/is respondet and concordi~i dis c o rs, they excused every- thing when told that the individual was running for the Pudding. The Hasty Pud- ding 67/nb contains many famous names upon its roll of membership. In its archives is a sketch in India ink upon a page in its oldest record-book, rep- resenting a youth seated on the ground, eagerly feeding himself from a generous pot of pudding, beneath which are some verses and the signa- ture, Washington Allston, Sec. H. P. C . Other names are those of W. E. Channing, Andrews Norton, Chancellor Benjamin F. Dunkin, Edward Everett, Judge Peleg Sprague, Bishop Jonathan M. Wain- wright, Rev. Henry Ware, Jr., William P. Prescott, Rev. James Walker, John S. Palfrey, Jared Sparks, George Bancroft, C. C. Felton, R. C. Win- throp, Oliver Wendell H o 1 m e s, Charles Sumner, J a m e s Russell Lowell, Phillips Brooks, Governor William E. Russell, Dean Briggs, Prof. J. K. Paine, W. W. Goodwin, F. B. Peabody, and B. H. Palmer. The P. K. F. Sockly, or the Dic- key, as it is more popularly known, has now attained a greater promi- nence than any similar organization has ever been accorded. It is hoped that the facts here presented may serve to offset some of the many CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HARVARD. 89 exaggerated stories concerning the society which have gained ground during the past few months. The Dickey is closely related to the fits/i/u/c of 1770, the first five or six tens of the latter society comprising the membership of the former. These fifty or sixty men are the four hundred in college society life, and from them are chosen the members of the smaller and more select social organizations. The method of election has already been described in the account of the Ths/i/u/e of 1770, but the initiation is very different, and is of a more violent nature. Elec- tion to the first ten is the greatest social honor a man can receive, as it assures him of membership in any of the other societies he may wish to join. A successful candidate is not usually notified of his election until the Wednes- day night on which he is taken out. Then those who are already members of the society go to the students room, forming a line from the top of the stairs to the street. The candidate is taken in whatever condition he may be found, often from bed, and is passed down the line with more haste than gentleness. Then he is placed in the centre of the body; and the procession proceeds singing the Institute Song to the room of the second man on the ten, who is taken out in a similar manner. When the ten men have been thus captured, they are taken in front of the Holyoke House, where lusty cheers are given for the new mem- bers. These men are then allowed to return to their rooms, the first five to begin running the next morning. This usually lasts from three days to a week, and during this period the pub- lic has an opportu- nity to see the ridiculous require- ments which the candidates pass through. From the time the student begins running to the time he receives his final initiation, he is not supposed to wash, shave, or comb his hair. He wears the oldest flannel shirt he owns, no neck- tie, and has his trousers turned up at the bottom. He is obliged to do whatever he is ordered by any member of the society, each neo- phyte being the special slave of two other members. The regulation re- quirements, which each one has to perform in addition to the more absurd ones, are to wake the members at some unearthly hour of the morn- ing, and to sell newspapers and black shoes on the street. The candi- date is not allowed Group from the 89 H. P. C. Theatricalo, The Freak, the Frump, and the Friar. Cassandra in 90 H. P.C. Theatricalo. Helen and Paris 90 CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HARVARD. to speak to or recognize any but Dickey men; so when he is seen in the dress de- scribed, he is completely ignored by all others. It is in compelling the victims to do original and humiliating feats that the in- genuity of the members is taxed. How- ever, their efforts to afford amusement, at least to themselves and to all except the candidate himself, are certainly success- ful. The anecdotes relating to these per- formances have heen almost exhausted by the recent controversy. The candidate is required to ride a childs velocipede, decked out with feather plumes, and a many-colored coat; to chase horse-cars, and then placing his foot on the step, simply tie his shoe-string, to the disgust of the conductor and the occupants of the car; to take his bed apart every night, carry it out into the yard, and then put it up again; to go into the stores and violently berate the store- keepers; to rise during a play at the theatre and object to the acting, only to be forcibly ejected from the house; to write ridiculous things about himself and send them to the papers for publication; to kiss every baby he meets; to raise his hat and smile at every one he passes; to act as valet, coachman, or footman to his tormentors. If he has some especially weak point, it is that point which is. assailed and made to appear ridiculous. There are occasions, however, when the biter is bit. A prominent member of the present senior class had been put through every antic which could be im- agined. As a final exploit, he was ordered to call at the home of one of the mem- hers on Commonwealth Avenue; to inquire if Mrs. , this members mother was at home, and then to order drinks in a loud voice. To make sure that the mandate was carried out, this member and two others accom- panied the victim as far as the door. The butler opened the door and ushered him into the hall. Mrs. was at home, and with some misgiving the embryo Dickey man ordered drinks. The lady, however, instead of feeling insulted, at once saw what was up, and invited the student into the parlor, while she called her daugh- ter and a friend. Later, all adjourned to the dining-room, where a delightful lunch was served. In the mean time, the son of the household and his friends were waiting outside, shivering, and wondering why the victim of their joke was not ejected from the house. Finally, they could stand it no longer, and they entered the ball. Peals of laughter were issuing from the dining- room, and a smoking repast was on the table. With a quiet smile the mother invited her son and his friends to take seats with the rest of the company. To return to the ceremonies of the Dickey ordeal. After the running has been completed satisfactorily, the ini- tiation takes place at the club rooms. It Emblem of the A. D. Club. Ballet Girls in 93 D. K. E. Theatricals. Alice in Wonderland. CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HARVARD. 91 was then that the famous branding took place. This was not absolutely essen- tial, as crew and football men, and others who so desired, were not required to have it done; yet almost all the mem- bers wished it, as a mark of distinction. The custom was the outcome of the ancient one where a lighted cigar was held as close as pos- sible to the arm with- out burning, so that the victim might ex- pect to be burned each moment. The general sentiment of the college is that the practice was a bar- barous one, and there is no regret that the whole thing has now been done away with, as a result of Mr. William Lloyd Garri- sons letter. The other parts of the initiation are kept profoundly secret; but enough is known to warrant the asser- tion that the ordeals are the most trying of those of any society in college. The social life of the Dickeys has been little more than a name; membership in it, as already stated, being chiefly valued as being the open sesame to other so- cieties. The principal events are the Christ- mas and spring thea- tricals, which are not only very enjoyable, but also excellent performances. The Dickey men of the junior class have recently instituted junior parties, which are now among the social events in Boston society. For some years the P. K. F. Society of Harvard has existed as a distinct organization, having no connection what- ever with the fraternity. It was origi- nally the Alpha chapter; but as it refused to make certain changes, and also to receive members of other chapters into its body, its charter was taken away, and it ceased to exist as a Greek letter society. Thus the name Dickey is more properly its name than the title of D.K.E. The Harvard chapter of the Ai~pAa Della P/li Soeie4ji xvas the direct result of a visit to Cambridge by delegates of the Yale, Columbia, and Uni- versity of New York chapters, in 1836. They initiated a few members of the classes of 37 and 38 as hono- rary members of the Yale and Columbia chapters, empowering them to become, if possible, an active chapter. It was thought best, however, to ascertain the feel- ing of the Faculty in regard to secret so- cieties before any active steps were taken, and further de- velopments proved that these precautions were wisely taken. The reply to the pe- tition was the very unfavorable r e p o r t that any proposition for the establishment of a secret society is inadmissible, and that it is inexpedient to increase the number of literary societies in the College. This stopped all action in the matter until about the first of March, 1837, when the members decided that a nominal Harvard chapter might be instituted without any infringement on the col- lege statutes. To accomplish this, the new members were initiated as hon- orary members of the Yale Chapter; and thus began the existence of the A~p/za Della Liii at Harvard. The next Amita in 91 H. P. C. Theatricals. ~The Obispah. 92 CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HARVARD. election and initiation. All social events took place in the private rooms of the members, while the literary exercises were held in the society rooms. The first public celebration of the society occurred July 20, 1855, in the First Church at Cambridge. James C. Carter was the orator of the occasion; Elbridge J. Cutler, the poet; ~nd Rev. F. D. Huntington, the Plum- mer Professor at Harvard, and later the Bishop of the Diocese of Western New York, officiated as president of the convention. The class of 1859 took an almost unprecedented stand, and pledged themselves not to become members of any secret society. This proved a stumbling-block for all secret year a second petition was presented to the Faculty, which met the same unquali- fied refusal, so it was still necessary to continue as the Honorary Yale Chapter. A room was obtained over the Porcellian Library; and here the members met for social and literary enjoyment. From this time until 1846, the society enjoyed so excellent a reputation that a third petition to the faculty was granted; and in March, 1846, the Alp/ia Delta P/li became an authorized organ- ization, inaugurating regular forms of organizations, and it was soon rumored that they had been dissolved. As a mat- ter of fact, however, the Alp/la Delta P/il continued to flourish as an unrecognized society, and members were elected and N -~~~---- N Running for the Dickey. CLUBS AND CLUB LiFE AT LIAR VARD. 93 initiated as before. In order that its existence might be unknoxvn, the mem- bers referred to the society as the A. P., choosing this combination of letters as it closely resembled A/f/ta Delta and also the name of a college boat, the ha/dee. Thus a member would recognize the re- ference, while the uninitiated ear xvould be deceived. A few names should be mentioned to show the class of men the A/f/ia Delta Pit! attracted to its membership. On its records may be found the signatures of Ru- fus King, James Russell Loxvell, Samuel Elliot, James Gore King, Ellicott Evans, Samuel Longfellow, Edward Everett Hale, John Lowell, Francis James Child, George Martin Lane, John Brooks Felton, Charles Franklin Dunbar, Christopher C. Lang- dell, James Bradley Thayer, Elbridge Jefferson Cutler, Charles William Eliot, Adams Sherman Hill, Phillips Brooks, Charles Francis Adams, Jr., John Cod- man Ropes, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., and James Barr Ames. The early history of the society shoxvs that its interests were divided between social and literary pursuits ; but at pres- ent it exists purely as a social oroaniza~ tion. Its members are picked from the early tens of the Dickey, and the number of members chosen from each of the three upper classes is comparatively small. The club dines together once every five or six weeks. No student who is not a member can be introduced at the club rooms until three years after graduation; but outside persons may be introduced by members. This is the rule with the other clubs as well. A curious feature of clubs and club- life at Harvard is that, instead of having; several distinct rival organizations, with few exceptions each club is an inner cir- cle of another. Thus the Dickey, as has been stated, is an inner circle of the Institute of 1770, and the A//ha Delta P,~ the Zeta Psi, and Dc/ta P/il are inner circles of the 1)ickey. This sys- tern is carried still farther, and the A. D. club exists as the select inner circle of the A/f/ia Dc/ta P/i!, and the Force//ian as the select few from the Zeta Pd. The Zeta Psi and the Dc/ta P//i rank equally with the A/f/ia Delta P/i, in p0~)- ularity and numbers, and between thcm all there exists the closest relations of friendship. The P1 Eta Society has had a compar- atively short, but exceedingly varied ca- reer. It was instituted by the class of i866, with the intention of devoting it to literary and social purposes. The faculty allowed it to exist conditionally for one year; its lease of life being ex- tended annually until 1 86~, when perma- Watch-Cherm of the Phi Beta Kappa Society. Medal of the 0. K. Society, Seal of the Pi Eta Society. 94 CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT LIAR VARJ). INSTITUTE SONG. IN UNISON. Marching Time. Now we 11 eel - e - brate the prais - es of the fa - mous Ins - ti - tute; What so - 2 0 fa - moos are the din - ners of the glo-rious Ins - ti - tote, And the --.--~4, T~E - ~ -7- ci - e - ty can yen-tore her po - si - lion to dis-pute?. Shes the old - est of them el - o - qoence of her de - bates no mor - tal can re - fute, Then . . . . drink her down with t , , ,/ V all, and of the widest-spread re - puCe, So rah, rab, rah for the In - sti - lute, In - sti - tote I three times three, let no - bo - dy be mute, So rah, rah, rah for the In - sti - tote, In - sti - tote I (Custom has now done away with the words, the syllable in being sung instead.) nent organization was effected. For sev- eral years the society flourished, and at one time could claim the distinction of being a rival of the Hasty Pudding C7ub. When the latter society erected its club- house, however, the Ti Eta practically re- ceived its death blow, for in 1889 it was on the point of dissolution. A strong effort on the part of the 90 and 91 members, however, kept the society on Seal of the Alpha Delta Phi Society. its feet. While not claiming it~ for- mer popularity, it offers its members social opportunities, its chief event being its annual theatricals. The present sen- ior members are agitating the question of purchasing a building to be used as a club-house, and if this is done, its pop- ularity will undoubtedly increase. There is room enough in college for two strong rival senior societies, and in future years this may fill the long-felt want. The initiations to the Ti Eta are more secret than the Dickey, but are under- stood to be hardly less formidable. Sto- ries are told of long rides where the vtctim is blindfolded and taken to a lonely spot, there to play the part of a corpse until he really believes the coffin which encloses him has been deserted, and that his last hour has come. One man was blindfolded and made to run at the top of his speed between two mem- bers, who suddenly let go of him, as he went tumbling over an embankment. The more humorous forms of initiation consist of compelling the men to climb small saplings; to call on young ladies with members, and propose marriage; and other requirements which are also employed by the Dickey. Every mem- ber is compelled to go through some form of initiation where a bandanna hand- kerchief; an iron bar, and a stout rope are called into use. The victim is blind- folded with the handkerchief, and bound with the rope, holding the iron bar in both hands. Everything possible is done to make him drop the bar, such as pre- tending to throw him into a pond of water, etc. If he does drop it, he is disgraced. For many years the senior members of the Ti Eta society have given their CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT IJARVARD. Class Day spread in Massachusetts Hall, and this has always proved one of the most delightful events of the day. The P/il Be/a Kappa Society has a strong chapter at Harvard, but member- ship in it is valued more for the honor attending it than for any social advantage. A year ago the constitution was radically changed, so that high rank is not the only requisite for election. By the new regulation, the choice is allowed of those much influence in the college world. Among its members are some of the brightest and most respected men in the University. Of the other organizations for social purposes, reference should be made to the Polo Liub, which is composed of a men who deserve the honor, but have select fexv of the been prevented by sickness or other un- wealthiest men in avoidable circumstances from attaining college. the required rank; and, secondly, men Harvard is espe- may be rejected whose marks are good, cially rich in literary societies. The but whose abilities do not promise well Sig;zet Society was founded in 1870 by for the future. members of the class of 187 I, with The Delta Upsilon society is made up Mr. Charles Jo.~eph Bonaparte, a mem- of a quieter and more studious class of her of the present Board of Overseers, men than the other college societies. It as president. The membership was is one of a very few fraternities which small, and intended to include the rep- exist at Harvard, but it does not wield resentative men of the class, at least five 96 CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT IL4EVARD. members having to rank in the first half of their class. Essays and conversation took the place of orations and debate; and theatricals xvere strictly forbidden. The principal part of the initiation was made to consist of the presentation by HAsty PUDDING CLuB. My dear It gives Irle great pleasure to irlforrrl you of your election. You x~ill receive tYke privileges of the club Upop sigriir~g the copstitutiop arjd pay- ir~g to the Treasurer the ipitiatiop fee. You s~ill be ipitiated at the next reg- Ular dipper, xthep you dill be expected to Cambridge, 6~e$ /49~/SY/ Notification of Membership, Hasty Pudding Club. each member of what he considered his best literary production. It was originally intended to run the Si net Socie/j as a rival of the Hasty Piulding Club, but it was found that this was impossible, and the idea was given up. The men are now elected with no refer- ence whatever to other societies, the fact of their membership in others counting neither for nor against them. In 1872, the Signet gave the Class Breakfast in Massachusetts Hall, to the Faculty and members of the senior class on Class Day morning. This was done out of compliment to its pres- ident, who xvas the Class Day orator. The society emblem con- sists of a signet ring inclosing a nettle. These are supposed to signify unity and imparti- ality. The token of mem- bership is made up of these symbols with the words Signet, 1870 on a field of white satin, the whole framed in black. The colors are gold and black. As the Institute of I7~o is a feeder to the other social societies, so is the Sz~net the opening wedge to the smaller and more select junior liter- ary society, the 0. K. The formation of this society was due to the reaction, already referred to, against the Greek letter societies by the class of 1859. It was intended at first to form a temporary society, but its remarkable success induced its founders to make it permanent. The aim of the society has always been literary, and great pre- cautions have been taken to keep the social element from predominating. For this reason no club- rooms have ever been obtain- ed, the meetings taking place in the members rooms. For several years a strong rivalry existed between the 0. K. and the Hasty End- ding (Vub, during which the members of one society did not belong to the other. This was undoubtedly the result of the introduction of theatricals into the exercises of the former, as the animosity apparently died out xvhen these were given ill). The number of members has always been limited to sixteen men. Secretary. CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT I/AR VAR.!). 97 The Coilfirence Fran~ai~e and the Den/seizer Verein are two literary societies especially devoted, as their names indi- cate, to the study of French and German authors. The members include the best linguists in college, and at the meetings all conversation and business are conducted in the foreign tongue. At each meet- ing some one or two papers are read and discussed, and the rest of the evening is passed in social conversation. The initiations to these so- cieties afford much amusement to the members. The suc- cessful candidate is notified of his election, and the date is set for his formal introduction to the club. On that night all the members assemble, and after the regular meeting the president announces the pres- ence of several new members. They are called up singly or in groups, and are required to perform in French or German whatever the members demand. This usually consists of songs, anecdotes, and discussions. On one occasion, during the initiation of the nexv members to the ~onfirence Fran(aise, four men were required to join in debate in French on the merits and demerits of the McKinley Bill. One of the two men, to whom the affirmative part of the question was assigned, was known to be a bitter opponent of everything Republican, and there was considerable curious anticipation as to his remarks. The natural order of events was reversed, so as to bring the argument of this student last; and the two negative advocates began the debate, stating as much against the bill as their imaginations and familiarity with the French language would permit. The first speaker in the affirmative, however, had by this time become seriously con- fused, and the five minutes allotted to each speech was exhausted before he had made a single remark. His col- league was then called on to continue the argument for the affirmative, amid much laughter. He assumed a dignified position, and said in the choicest French, My colleague has said everything there is to be said in favor of the McKinley Bill. This sally was very enthusiastically received, and the speaker was told to re- sume his seat, while the other candidates were further subjected to the exacting demands of the members. College society life is not entirely an enjoyment of the present, but is a source of pleasure to old graduates, who delight to relate incidents of their college associa- tions. They follow all events relating to the college with a much keener interest, feeling that they still have a bond of sympathy greater than simply that of an alumnus, and they fondly train their sons to follow in their footsteps. There is undoubtedly ground for much of the criticism so freely bestowed on college societies. It is inevitable per- V The Porcellian Club-House, 98 AUNT MARTHYS SECRETARY. haps Lhat a society must contain some members who have never been kept from excesses at home, and naturally do not begin curbing themselves during their college course. These men often come from the wealthiest families in society, families of high standing, yet feel that their college life is to consist solely in frequenting their club-rooms and mingling socially with their fellow-students. The typical society man of Harvard, however, does not belong to this class. He is not the best scholar in his class perhaps, but he is a conscientious student. He is often seen at the club-rooms, and enters thoroughly into any kind of legitimate fun. He is not a drunkard; he is a gentleman and understands his position. He mingles with the other club members who belong to the class described, but has as little respect for them as has the college at large. The complete college education is that is it not ? derived from a wholesome combination of experience gained from contact with ones fellow-students, and the learning and culture obtained from the academic course. Every student ha~ an equal chance to take advantage of the latter, but the society man has the greatest opportunities in the former. It is cer- tainly well that college life should have its touch of humor and enjoyment, and it is the social organizations xvhich are the greatest factor in furnishing this. There is doubtless sometimes danger that stu- dents may go beyond what is gentlemanly or right in their fun, and there is room to advance society standards; but experi- ence has proved that the men who have devoted part of their time while at col- lege to the enjoyments of society life have not become the least serious and suc- cessful of the graduates of Fair Harvard. AUNT MARTHYS SECRETARY. By Mary j Ga;ia;zd. T was found in a storehouse of old things, the garret of a big mansion house in New ~ Hampshire, on one of the de serted farms talked about now, and recommended to seekers for summer homes. ~ This old mansion had never passed quite out of the hands of the Dunstane family xvho had for generations owned it. As a farm it was deserted enough; and its possibili- ties in crops slumbered the whole year through. All the long winter the house, too, shut its eyes, and drexv its coat of snow around it in solitude. But one day in the first week of June, when clambering vines seemed to be tug- ging at the barred front-door, and the sweeping elm-branches tapped at the closed blinds, the house suddenly threw off its sleep, and seemed by an inward impulse to fling wide its doors and win- dows to the outside world of sunshine and sweet air. The inward impulse was Jane Dixon, seconded by her husband, Thomas. They lived up the road a piece, and were now making the old house ready for its new summer dwellers, a remote branch of the original Dunstane stock, who were turning to the homestead as a refuge from the ghost of nervous prostration, which was dogging the footsteps of some of these rich poor of the city. Jane, with broom and pail, scrubbing- brush and soap, had made the paint show its best color, the sallow complexion of age at best, and Thomas had mar- shalled the ranks of heavy chairs and piled-up mahogany tables, and with strong arm polished them to a fine splendor and the dark ruddiness that mahogany old age attains. lane and Thomas had had written in- structions from one Joscphine Dunstane, AUNT MARTHYS SECRETARY about whom they curiously gossiped as they scrubbed and polished. Who be she, anyway, Jane? I never hearn of a Josephine in the Dunstane family. ~ You aint heerd all there is in the world, Thomas. But, br! this woman aint a Dunstane, more n her name, and none on em are blood relation, theyre so fur off; but theyll come here right into old Marthys shoes, tho everythin jests she left it, n wutll they know or keer about all the old things she sot her eyes by? They come to the country jest for fun n to pick scenery, as father uset say, n theyll make fun, s like s not, of Aunt Marthys preciousest treasure, thet old sekertary in the garret. Aunt Mar- thy, sez she, Give the key, Jane, to the one thet hes the most o the right sort o feelin mong the young folks, n tell her, Aunt Marthy, who never saw her, says theres a secret in the upper drawer. Id a mind to hey it buried with me, but then again Ive a fancy to let it help some young life. But mind, Jane, sez she, only give the key to some one with the right feelin. Jane, and Thomas rested a big rough hand on the claw-foot of the old table he was polishing, ~ howll you tell about the right feelin ? Cause Im a woman, Ill know when the right girl shows, Thomas. A man aint no jedge of feelins. Aunt Marthy trusted you with her bosses, and a pooty good jedge you are of bosses feelins, but twould take you more~ n into the middle of next centry to jedge of a woman~ s. But, Jane Never mind, father ! You n I pull along well nough; you tend to the table, n make it show its feelins. I promise ye I wont make no mistake bout that ere key. And Jane shook a small brass key that hung on a yellow ribbon, and then carefully dropped it into one of those secret pockets that adorned her petticoat, a puzzle even to herself sometimes. I wont be in no hurry, n if the right one aint here, well ! secrets thats kep a haif a centry 11 keep a year or so longer! and Jane tramped heavily out with her pail. A spinx ! thets wot Jane is chuckled the old man; n Aunt Marthy was another; looked like it, too, like thet picter of the Gyptian spinx I see n her book. Aunt Marthy, the last in direct line of the Dunstanes, had had no choice about the disposal of the old home or any of its belongings, save her own personal property, since by her fathers will a cousin of his became heir to everything else when her life interest ceased. Aunt Marthy had lived alone with Jane and Thomas for nearly twenty years, and shrinking more and more from a world that seemed to spin around entirely out- side her orbit, she sank deeper in her in- dividual past, never communicated with these distant relatives, who merely knew of her existence, and at seventy-five years of age made a solitary exit from a solitary life, . her maiden story known only to the sphinx-like Jane who had served her for so long a time. To Jane had come a small sum in the village bank, all wearing apparel, and the charge of the key. The money had bought the small cottage up the road, and the care of the big house, spring and fall, had brought her a small remittance from the heir at stated times; but not until now had there been any hint of see- ing or using the property. The warm June day was almost goner when Thomas drove three miles over the hills to the station for the city folks, and Jane gave the last touches to the chairs and curtains. Fulls a pea pod, she thought, as the big old family carriage came up the road, followed by a modern buggy from the station. Four inside our kerridge, n one out! The big man on the box with Thomas must be John Dunstane; he looks kind o flesh n blood like! The fat woman inside s Mis Dunstane, I guess; the young gal with hers homelys a stump fence, but her dress s plain n sensible, if she does look stuck up. Thet young feller on the seat with the small boys never growed; a tailor made him. Them young scamps 11 worry the chick- ens. Nother tailor-made man in the buggy n a gal to match, all frills n flum- mery. I wont wash them frills, n she neednt think I will ! 100 AUNT MARTIJYS SECRETARY. So Jane made her inventory, as the landing was effected on the broad stone step, and then curtsied in a way that made the small scamps giggle. The older woman xvalked straight into the wide hall, and sank down on a chair forlornly; the young woman of the frills, I know the right feelin one aready put glasses on her nose, and took in the near view from the step, saying with re- lief, There is a hammock place under those pine trees. The small scamps disappeared with a shout and double tumble on the grass; the tailor-made men lighted cigars, while the other bared his head, and putting his hand on the plain girls shoulder, said, Real country at last, Martha! And Martha, who stood with her hat in her hand, drew in a long breath of satisfaction, and quietly said, I like it ! Marthy Marthy! thought Jane. Queert shes got her name and she thought at once about the feelins. But she was soon too busy in helping the new people to choose and arrange their rooms, and in directing the prepa- ration of their substantial supper with her not over-young niece, Mirandy, as an assistant in the kitchen, to think of feelins. Only after she and Thomas had ~ trudged up the road and were sit- ting on the big do or-stone of their own cottage for Thomass evening pipe, did she say with energy, I n one Tho- side, a suspended puQ looked his a n d what too well would be the use- less question, Which? In a week the old I)unstane house looked wide awake, and Jane and Thomas found that from six in the morning to seven at night, they and Mirandy had to exercise as never before, to keep even with the whims o them city folks. But for the still evenings and nights at their own place, the faithful old bodies would have felt that they were catchin the narves that Mis Dunstane was throwin off. flosses has feelins, if they dont show em! grumbled Thomas, one night at his pipe service on the stone. Only one in thet crowdt the big house thet knows they hey tho; thet Miss Marthyll jump out o the kerridge at every bad hill, and 7 AUNT MARTHYS SECRETARY 101 shes dead set agin check-reins! No style to Marthy V Miss Julia said, when she let Jacks head down to-day, jests they was gittin on the bosses for a hoss- back ride. Wotd Marthy say? Oh she didnt say nothin ; she laughed and trotted Jack faster out o th yard. She aint any real relation o th Dunstanes, Jane, aint Marthy; shes a relation o this Mis Dunstane. I heerd her tell one o them young men to-day, and she was a Lakernan o Berkshire. Heres Miss Marthy, now, father How she swings long the road True enough; the girl xvas soon on the doorsteps, her hat caught off to let the breeze stir her brown hair, and no trace of the hard look sometimes on her mouth, as she chatted of horses and cows with Thomas, and questioned Jane xvith gentle courtesy about the bygone life of the old mansion. Strange, that I should have the same name, Martha Tryphemia, she said, as Jane ended her story of old Aunt Mar- thys lonely life. Is it, now? Tryphemy ! xval ! that is cur us! said Jane; n you no Dun- stane neither! Wish Aunt Marthy knexv that! Prhaps she do, Jane, said Thomas as he knocked his pipe-bowl empty. In the gathering twilight, Martha Mat- ton said good-night to the old folks, and they watched her swinging step till she waved her hat from the top of the bill between them and the old house. Wut be they a tryin to do wth that Miss Marthy, Jane, them Dunstanes? This was on the evening conference on the home stone. They nag her moren half the day, and thet feller is pesterin her with tentions, when all the time he thinks Miss Julias twice as fine. Miss Marthys colds our door-stun in Decem- ber, but I guess theres more fire down below. Father, thet girls just a martyr. Thets wut Miss Julia calls her name, its German, she says; n thets wut she is, a martyr, but wuts all about I cant make out. Hes she got money? Mebbe; n thets wut thet feller with the bang on his mouth I call it is arter. Taint her he wants, sures fate; n I guess she spicions it. Let- ters she gits dont seem t help her; she jest looked savage when I come on her stretched out in the door of the hay-barn this mornin readin so busy she didnt see me till I tumbled over her. Shes in some kind o fix, thets clear. Miss Julia, shes full o curosity about things in the garret; n shes got her eyes on Aunt Marthys old sekertary. Why, Jane, sez she, this mornin, its full a hundred year old, n sech beautiful wood, n carved by hand; its a per- fect treasure, n we must hey it in town. Then she tried to open it; n sez I, Miss Julia, thets mine till the right owner s found, n I hey the papers from Miss Marthy Dunstane, to show it. Oh, ho! sez she. Wut do you mean by the right owner, n howll you find the right owner? Thets my secret, sez I, n she turned n went down stairs, quite miffy. She wont give it up, n~ she wont git it neither. Wholl git it, Jane? Thets my secret, Thomas. Martha Matton aint a grain o feel- in, thets wut Miss Julia told the young man to-day, Jane, said Thomas, when they sat in council the next even- ing. Wuts her judgment got to stan on? sniffed Jane. I wuz a drivin up Barrerss Hill, and Miss Marthy jumped out to walk, when she see one o them Barrers children tumble off o the stun wall, and a big stun roll on top o its arm. Miss Julia screamed, and covered her eyes with her hands, but Miss Marthy hed the child in her arms in no time, and found thet there wuz a bone broke. Quicks a doctor could do it she triced it up with her handkercher, took the young un, twas that three-year old Jim, howlin like an Injun, and carried him to his mother, who xvuz runnin cross lots to see wuts the row. Then Miss Julia, whod ben cryin n takin on, sez to Mr. Primes, Marthy aint a grain o feelin; I could- nt never a done it, Im so sensitive 102 AUNT MARTIrIYS SECRETARY Sensitive fiddlestick! Wut else d Miss Martha do? She told us t come home thout her, n went cross lots herself t git thet young Dr. Pulswell from the Mills, t come n make sure all wuz right. Thomas, sez she, I know somethin wut to do in mergencies, but the doctor must see to the child. But she looked calm s a clock. N tells the time o day bettern most clocks. The l3arrers children are a tough lot, n th young unll be all right. They mostly grow on stun walls. Martha Mattons favorite haunt, as Jane had intimated, was the old barn in the orchard. Who with any country claims on his affections does not know the charms of such a place on a hot summer day? It may not be in an or- chard setting, as this one was, but it will have its wide doors at each end open to ~he air; it may be old or new, but its mows will be filled with the sweet hay, with long fringes, swinging low from the outer beams; it may or may not have stalls for the cattle, but it will not be at all re- lated to the modern stable. This barn was to Martha Matton an ideal bower. The great beams overhead were better than lattice-work; the fragrance of the hay was better than that of roses; the rakes and scythes hanging on the beams suggested pictures of the summer fields before they had yielded their fleece to the shearers, the white and rosy fleece of the clover and blossoming grasses. She had seen the mowers bend to their work in the old-fashioned way, and lis- tened to the rhythmic strokes of the scythes, better far than the machines. The big field, stretching away to a hill- side, she could see through one open door. It was now bare to the sunshine, and only ringing with the whirr of locusts and grasshoppers. From the other door, near which her seat of piled-up hay was placed, she saw the yet waving grass of the orchard under the apple- trees, which txvisted and stretched their old arms about, as if seeking for their younger days of full blossom and fruitage. They still covered themselves with leaves, and offered a shelter from the noonday heat, though allowing enough sun- shine to filter through, to change many a blade of grass from green to gold. This Barn was to Marsha Matton an ideal Bower AUA7T MAR ThYS SECRJETAA~Y. 1 OJ Martha, half reclining on her hay mound, with arms clasped over her head, watched the ladder of light made by a sunbeam slanting through the hay-loft window to the floor below; xvatched the hens as they stepped hesitatingly upon the threshold of the barn door, and lis- tened to their droning talk, which seemed assertive too. She recalled the question small Tommy Dunstane had asked that morning before he left her for more ac- tive pleasures: Cousin Martha, what d you spose the hens are thinking about? instantly answering his own question: I spose they think they re the people and we are the hens. Yes, thought Martha, they do put down their feet and cock their heads, as if they were the people, and wisdom would die with them. I wish they would advise me. Shall I make a slave of my- self for life, from a sense of gratitude? Uncle Norcross writes that I ought to reward Aunt Josephine and himself for their care of me by securing this fortune; and Percival Primes knows well enough what bait hangs at the end of the line they dangle. He doesnt want me ; and Julia longs for what I would gladly be free from. Such a puzzling checker- board my life is now If I had just a modest hundred or two of my own! Then I would pick up the dropped threads of my studies and make myself what I could take delight in being, a doctor. But I should horrify my rela- tions, and be forever a terrible example of undutifulness ! Dear me Jane was not to be found that night when Thomas turned his face homewards, nor did she appear till his first pipe had been smoked. But her old face was full of happy mystery when she did come in sight; and Thomas, knowing something had happened, was so excited that his empty pipe was in his mouth, when Jane, after all her knockings about inside were done, sat down with her half-knit woollen sock in hand for the days re- view. Wal, Jane Wal, Thomas, wut new fashion of smokin hey ye taken to? Is thet a city notion Im xvaitin fur ye to light your pipe, ii smoke it the nateral n not the speritooal way. Thomas, with a foolish look, pulled the old pipe out of his mouth, and made it ready for duty; but not till many whiffs of smoke had curled into the evening air, and many rounds had been been made by the shining needles, was there a sound save tbe twitter of home-returning birds, the call of a whippoorwill, and the disputing katydids. She did, she didnt; she did, she didnt ! How tired I be o them katies, at last said Jane; n they dont contradict each other moren folks do, only they make more noise bout it than fine folks do. Then there was another silent and vigorous ro.und of knitting. Father, at last Ive give thet key to Marthy Tryphemy Matton, n old Aunt Marthys glad in heaven, I do blieve. Ye see, she continued, twas this way. After the familyd gone off, s I thought, the hull lot on em, on thet two days scursion, I took the time to do some washin, some o them old tablecloths o Aunt Marthys. Mis Dunstane took sech a likin to em, theyre so old-fash- ioned! Sech a pother they make bout old things! shd think theyd want youn me t set up in their city house, cause xvere old! Wal! I laid out to wash them cloths n put em out in the back orchard to whiten. Jests I went into the orchard gate, I see a bit oMiss Marthys blue gown hangin over th sill o th barn door, n I wondered how shed managed to stay behind. I went, kind o soft, over to the bleachin ground, n I could see Miss Marthy framed like a picter in the doorway, settin on a hay mound. Her head was throwed back agin the side o the door. She had her arms over her head, an a letter was a layin in her lap, n her eyes seemed lookin inter next year. So I picked up my basket, n meant to git axvay thout her knowin any one was round; but thout movin a hair, Jane, she called out, are you very busy? No, sez I, I aint no call to kill myself in the nex half hour, guess Mirandy cn git along thout me. \Val, Jane, sez Miss Marthy, then I wish youd come here n let me talk to you. So I just settled down on tother side 104 AUNT MAR ThYS SECRETARY. o the barn door n well I xvish Id hed this sock o yourn in my pocket. I hed to pick up the grass, n braid it. Miss Marthy sot up straight on the hay, with her hands round her knees, n put her eyes on me, n I see for the first time wut good eyes they be, might be black or might be gray, cordin t inside weather, I guess. At last she sez, Jane, I cant remember my father, n my mother is jest like a dream to me, I was so young when she died. Aunt Josephine n Uncle Norcross, her brother, you know bed the care o me, n they hey given me food n clothin n schoolin, but they dont love me. I dont know anybody to advise me wut to do, now thet I hey to choose between txvo roads, n Jane, I do believe youre put in my way this mornin as a sort of guide-board. Wal, sez I, Miss Marthy, I aint much of a guide-board, but I cm make a sign, praps, if I know which way ye want to travel. Thets easy told, sez she, but wishes n wants n feelins aint alwers to be trusted. Then she told the hull story. Percival Primes, sez she, is a fur away cousin of Aunt Josephine, n his father wants him to marry me, because well, because he calls me a sensible girl. I happened to serve the old gentleman once, n hes made his sons inheritance depend on marryin me. He aint a good son, Jane, sez she, he aint a good man; he dont love anybody but himself, n his father wants to save him from himself. Aunt Josephine and Uncle Norcross want me out of the way, mar- ried n settled, so they want me to say Yes to him to-morroxv to-day, if Id gone. Howd you manage to stay to hum? sez I. Why, I kep out o the way, sez she; hid in the haymow for an hour. They called n hunted everywhere, but jest here; they didnt know of this bit o my property! I heard em say, Shes probly off doin some doctorin. N Jane, I do like doctorin; if I hed a bit o money all my own, Id study for it, n do some good in life. No one but Uncle Johnthets this Mr. Dunstane, 11 hear to it for a minute. Its a disgrace, Julia sez, n wut Julia sez is law to Aunt Josephine. I couldnt wait no longer. I riz straight up, n pulled up my gown; but if them pesky pockets didnt act contrairy, n I hed to make the hull mortal toxver on em, fore I found thet key. I guess she thought my wits wuz clean gone, but when Id got my fingers on the ribbin, I said, Spose I give ye a key instid of a A key to the sitooation? sez she. Yes a key to the sitooation I sez I, n I pulled out the brass key. Why, Jane ! sez she, its a real key; whatIl that do for me? Wal, Miss Marthy, t seems s if old Aunt Marthyd given me a story to tell ye, n this key goes with it; f Id got my knittin I could tell it better, but with the help o this ere grass Ill git through. A good while ago, I said to her, I bed a gal o my own bouts old as you, n she died. Twas after thet I come to Aunt Marthy, for Id lived tother side o the mounting, n I couldnt stay there, n Thomas couldnt, so jest afore old Peter Dunstane died, Aunt Marthy asked us shed known us alwers t come n live with her. One day, xvhen wed ben here bout ten years, Aunt Marthy wuz so sick t I thought shed die, n when she was gittin better, she sez to me one day, Jane, sez she, I blieve I kin trust ye, n fore I die I want to be o some use in the world. I xvant to bless it goin out of it, ef I hevnt xvhile Ive been in it. I wuz goin to tell her how her good quiet life hed alwers blessed people, but she stopped me. No, Jane, she sez, not bein bad may be bettern nothin, but I oughter been a positive active force, her very words, n Ive only been a negative one. Might a been different! she sighed. Only one mission for woman, father said, n thets a home mission. Ef a woman cn read n write n add, ts enough. Mother wuz alwers pale, 11 out o sperrits, n father said twas cause she tried when she wuz young to know too much. But she never told me anything about her life, cept as she told it by her silence. Stay with your father when Im gone, she said on her death-bed, n when hes gone yell be free to go somewhere n be somethin.~~ But when father died his will follered, n AUNT Ji/ARTHYS SECRETARY. 1o~ fettered me. I was tied to the place, with only nough money to keep it, n too old to make new ventures. Mong mothers things I found an old housewife thetd ben in her sekretary drawer moren fifty year. Txvas made o bits o silk put together like wut they call crazy patch- work. A wallet kind of a thing, bound round xvith green ribbin. Silk n ribbin looked like faded pressed flowers. In this housewife wuz ~ letter more yellern faded than the silk. Thet letter told me the story o mothers life, n ef Id known it sooner t might a made a difference in mine. Too late for me, said she but mebbe I cn help some young girl by it, n Im goin to make you guardeen. Jane. Youre a jedge o character, n I trust your common-sense. The old sekertary in my rooms got thet housewife in it, n I shll leave it in your care. Heres a bankbook thets to go with it. N then she told me the kind o girl she wanted to help. Mebbe the new Dunstanes thatil come herell hey mong em some young woman thet youll choose for me; but, anyway, Jane, you wont hurry, n youll make sure o the right one. Miss iViarthy stopped me. Jane, you dont know me yet; and, besides, Julia is a real Dunstane, and ought to be the one. sez I, Miss Marthy, Im the one to decide, n Ive made your lection sure, so thets the end o thet. Then out o my biggest pocket I took the bank- book, Village Bank, Siasville, made out to Marthy Tryphemy Dunstane, n put it /\ - ~ .- Pr~ The afternoon passed like a dream. 106 AUNT MARTIJYS SECRETARY in Miss Marthys lap open. She jest looked at it s if she wuz scared, n the red riz n her face clean up to her hair; her eyes filled; but she swallered hard, n after a minute she says: Two thou- sand dollars There must be some mis- take Can I honestly take it, Jane? Aint it Dunstane property? Wal, sez I, Miss Marthy, old Aunt Marthy didnt hey much of her own way while she lived, nor much of her own way anyhow, but she hed a fexv things that were hem n she hed a right to say who should hey em. If she hednt been honestern most, shed a hroke her fathers will in the beginning, lawyers said shed ought ter, n I said shed ought ter, for twas a crazy xvill, n I blieve Peter Dunstane was crazy fore he ever came inter the world. By this time Miss Marthy was smilin, n sez she, Jane, if its true its like a fairy story, n youre the fairy. Look more like a witch, I guess, sez I; hut heres the key to the old sekertary, n youll hey the house to yourself to-day, so you cn open it n hey plenty o time ter read wut you find. To Martha Matton, sitting on the gar- ret floor in front of the old secretary, reading the story of a young life nearly a century ago, the afternoon passed like a dream. Indeed, she had seemed walking in sleep, as she climbed the narrow stairs leading to the garret. The s~cretary stood conspicuous among other old things tall and slender, with twisted legs and carved top, its age revealed only in its style and its deep color. Martha sat down before it, musing on the secret it contained, as she twirled the key by its narrow yellow ribbon. One small win- dow was open to the breeze, and the sunshine lighted up the corner where the secretary stood. A wasp buzzed on the window pane; a sparrow sang on the elm outside; and to Martha Matton, on the floor, twirling the ribbon it seemed as if with that small key she was to open a new world. She paused before putting the key to the lock, as many a discoverer has paused, before testing the power of the clue he holds. At last she put the key in, turned it, and let down the top. Queer little pigeon-holes and three drawers. Over the smallest drawer hung another key, on a faded green ribbon. Everything was empty, save one pigeon- hole, in which were a wooden box of red wafers and a wooden sand-box, of a style unknown to Martha. Older people remember xvhen sealing-wax or the crisp wafer fastened the carefully folded letter; they recall the perforated sand shaker which dried the ink and raised the words of the bold penman into palpable black ridges dear to the touch of childhood. Martha took the key from its hook, and in the drawer which it opened she found the housewife which Aunt Marthy had described to Jane. Pinned to it was a folded paper addressed in a crab- bed hand, To the one I would help. Martha opened it, with the feeling that a gentle spirit was beside her, and she half audibly breathed her thanks, as she read: I who write this never saw you who read, but our souls must be related, and I greet you to-day. The sparrow sang again, and a silver aspen near the elm rustled so mysteriously that Martha looked up, almost expecting to find some one visibly beside her. I have a right to give you the savings of many years. It was easy to save here, easier than to spend, for my allowance was too large for dress in my quiet life. It was not large enough to do what I wished when younger, and when I had saved this I was old. Yes, I have a right to give you the means to make your life what it ought to be. Have I a right to give you my mothers secret? If it will help you, I have no right to withhold it. Through fifty years of marriage it lay treasured in her secretary, my mothers one private place. If she had shared it with me my life might have been different. If a woman lives in her fancies, without the balance of active duties in the line of her intellectual tastes, she becomes the feeble slave of circumstances. If feeling does not help our growth, and is not turned into service, it is false feeling. The letter in the housewife was written as a farewell to my mother by her lover, when he knew that she was to marry Peter Dunstane because her father would secure an estate by the marriage. A tiue AUNT MARTIJYS SECRETARY 1Q7 feeling would have strengthened her to break her bonds, to carry on the education she had begun, and to wait for the time when Timothy Deering had finished his studies and they could make their way in life together. Martha started, for Timothy Deering was the name of her own grandfather, her mothers father, whom she did not remember, but who had named her, his only grandchild, Martha Tryphemia, on his deathbed. The aspen rustled again. But children, obey your parents, had been the very bread of my mothers life, and whether it was in the Lord was a question never raised. XVhen the crisis came and her father ordered her to set her face, because of uncertain fortune, against her growth with him she loved, and take Peter Dunstane, with his money and his narrow views of life and of womans place in life, she obeyed; and she died, making believe she was happier in obey- ing than in loving. Poor mother! She let me live the same colorless, repressed life; she discouraged every desire of mine for greater independence, and I could not leave her alone at last in her feeble health to the wearing round of household duties and needless petty economies. My poor mother! We will now to- gether try to make amends by helping some fresh brave young soul that hesi- tates at the parting of two ways, to set her feet in that road which is narrow indeed, but ever climbing the heights. I give the secretary and the old house- wife with its contents into your hands, dear young struggler. Keep them as a sacred trust which the hands of two still living friends have put in your way, to help you in avoiding their mistakes. The aspen rustled and sighed again as Martha finished the letter. She dropped it in her lap, sat still on the floor, her chin resting on her hands, and tried to recall what her old nurse had told her about her Grandfather Deering. He was a minister, a fine old man. He must have been a handsome youth, and he was a great scholar. He did not marry till he was quite old, and then married an orphan who was working for an edu- cation and was his pupil in Latin. His own daughter was named Martha, but IViartha Lakeman, taking her mothers family name; and Martha Matton re- membered that she had often wished she had been given Lakeman instead of Try- phemia for her own middle name. How strange it all seemed! The old housewife lay in the open drawer. Mar- tha rose. The air of the attic, with its odors of dead herbs and yesterdays seemed oppressive. She took the house- wife, locked the secretary, her secretary, and hurried with the silk wallet to her own room, which Jane had told her was old Aunt Marthas summer room. Too small for Julia, Aunt Josephine had decided; and Martha had rejoiced that she found it so undesirable, for how cosy it was, and how airy too ! South and east the xvindows looked across the mead- ows to the wooded hillsides; and near the south one, where the big dainty cov- ered armchair stood, a great pine sang its song of the lost sea, and sent in the balsam of its breath for healing. The space between this window and the other on the same side had seemed bare, and Martha had filled it with a table for her books. Now a new thought struck her. I do believe the secretary would just fit in here, and so Jane was called. Of course I knew youd see where it blonged, Jane said, stood there, I guess, moren forty year, right in that spot. Thomas! Mirandy! Come quick, both o ye ! I want yer! Jest bring the sekertary down to its old place. Things come round, xvells people. Manys the time Ive seen Aunt Marthy settn tween them winders, writin t thet desk! Look out fr thet ere leg, Mi- randy! Thomas! dont bang the wall! There ! dont it look nateral? Jane looked on xvith pride, while Miss Martha praised the beauty of the car- ving, and Thomas and Mirandy grumbled a bit at the weight. Never could Martha forget that August afternoon spent in the old-fashioned bed- room. The windows were all open to the breeze that fluttered the muslin cur- tains at the windows and brought in the fragrance of the pine. The big easy chair took Martha, with the old house- 108 AUNT MAR THYS SE GRE TAR Y wife in her hands, to its comfortable depths, and the summer stillness was un- broken by a human voice. It was all so strange and story-book like, and in her wildest dreamings she had never seen herself in a story-book. She drew from the faded old wallet a letter, written on paper as yellow as the bit of yellow silk in the housewife, though once it had been as white as that had undoubtedly been. It was folded carefully, as the worn creases showed, and a fragment of the red wax seal still clung to the paper. The letter was dated August 2 8th, i8 . Again a strange coincidence; for this, too, was August, and the 2 8th. It was postmarked in a college town in Maine, and the handwriting was clear and firm, only the beginning looked blurred. Who should say what bad fallen on the line? Mv VERy DEAR TRvPHEMIA: Once more I xvrite to you, only once more; for beyond this would be a wrong to you and to my own con- science. I plead no longer for myself; I have stroggled, and, I hope, conquered the self which sai(1, I cannot anti will not give her up, for I know that she loves me, and turns from me only becaose she hears the voice of parental authority. It is true that I think you are wrong. You will think that my eyes are held from seeing the right way by my affections. Let me suffer this rather than appear to persuade you from the path of what you deem duty. But to obey a fathers Thou shalt when it means binding yourself to live a lie, when it bars the way to the growth of your mind and your soul, when it is to make of you a mere title- deed, this I cannot do without pleading with you for yourself. Such a command is not in the Lord, and therefore it is not right to obey it. I look forward, and see you, not only giving up that which has been the joy of life, but forced through your own act to serve the things which you must despise. I see your ideals fade and fall before tbe winds of derisive commonplace, and see you yielding obedience to the laws of a life you were made to accept through a mis- taken sense of duty. I implore you to reverence now in yourself the woman that would be, that may be, and accept not this yoke. It may be right for you to see me no more; but to kill your ideals no child has a Pobt to give such obedience, no father or mother has a right to command it. Obey your father, so far as I am in question, and I will believe that as you follow conscience you must so far be right; but oh! do not obey him to the lifelong loss of the spirit that must forever suffer if its grandest ideals are cast out. You will not make any human soul the better by a concession to grasping worldliness. It is difficult to keep back the bitter personal cry as I write, but I will not load your sorrow with my own. I would only bar the way, if I could with a flaming sword, that leads only to a wasteti, loveless life, and point to the higher law that for- bids the barter of ones spiritual dower for am mess of ~)ottage, whatever pious praise be written on the contract. In sad sincerity, and with prayer for your welfare, now and always. your friend, TInorHv DERRING. Prophecy fulfilled was written below the signature in a womans tremulous hand, with the date, August 28, i8 . The yellow sheet dropped from Martha Mattons fingers. She sat long, thinking; then folded the letter, replaced it in the old housewife, and returned it to the drawer where it had lain so long. Her bank book she put into another drawer, and turned the key of the old secretary upon her fortune and her oracle. A week later, Thomas took one day in his cart to the village station, a trunk and something else carefully boxed up, so odd in size and shape that a council of village loafers could not make out what it could be, though they sat on it by turns and in groups all the afternoon. The next morning Martha Matton walked the three miles from Janes cot- tage to the same station, alone, and when the express train stopped, she said good- by to one person only, the young doctor from Kebo Mills, who chanced to be there. No Dunstane was in sight. What Thomas called a cold strike, came upon the country that night. Jane called it ridiclous cold; cold nough to skin a dog! and at early evening banged the door against the premature chill and frost, and stirred the xvood-fire on the wide hearth in her kitchen. For her own use she would have no stove till winter reigned, and old bones cried out for heat. The pot-hooks and fire-dogs had served more than one generation in the Dunstane kitchen before the range was thought of. On each side of the chimney was a rocking-chair, black and comely in its antiquity, with a padded back and a plump, feather-cushion, gay with flowered chintz. Tallow dips, in shining brass candlesticks, had been taken down from a high shelf over the dresser, and stood on a round table with remarkable legs, spreading from one cen- tral pillar. Thomas, in his chair, basked in the heat and watched his pipe-smoke as it 109 AUNT MARTIzJYS SECRETARY. curled, or the chimney-smoke as it wrig- gled up the wide mouth that swallowed it at last. No use to interview Jane till the heel of her stocking was set up, and Thomas knew from long experience the time when silence was golden. At last Jane pushed her spectacles up till they raised the frill of her cap, settled back, slightly off the perpendicular, she never leaned, and began to knit, with the air of one whose work goes of itself. Still Thomas had cleared his throat sev- eral times, and yawned several more be- fore she spoke. Wut ye fidgetin fur, Thomas? I spose I aint no call now to keep back the sekal of the story, n Ill prophesy another; n two sekals more n most stories hey. Theyre a pooty mad lot o folks at the house to-night, Thomas, n they wont stay there much longer. Wutd they say to Miss Marthy when they come hack? Why she hed the first say, n tol the whole truth, bout the sekertary n bout the bankbook. Not bout the letters, thets her secret now. Miss Julia hed to look onhappy, n sod Mr. Primes; but theres sornethin atween them txvo; n~ the other tailor-made, Mr. Greenfold, hes goin away to-morrow wont never be Mis Dunstane s son- in-law, I guess Miss Marthy stood all their railins, n jest went ahead n got ready to go. Course she couldnt stay with them creeturs, n you know how tuckered out she wuz here last night. I aint made no mistake bout thet girls bility n true feelin Now shes free from the rest, Uncle John 11 find a way to give her his right hand when she needs it. Wuts she goin to do? Why, shes goin to study n fit herself for a doctor. Them new Dunstanes? Wal, theyll never be old Dunstanes here, I guess. They hate the old place, and say theyll shet it up. Miss Marthy heerd Mis Dunstane tell Miss Julia shed hey it sold. I know some one thetll buy. Uncle Johnll git a hint o who wants it from Miss Marthy, nt cant be sold thout Uncle John says so. Thomas, wouldnt it be a good place fur a doctor, n~ wouldnt it be a good thing, dont you imagine, for Dr. Pulsewell, with all his practice round here, in Siasville, n Pilot- ville, n Bondstown, t take a partner? Thats my opinion. Aunt Marthv? She object? Bless ye, a growin n a useful life, Jane, sez she, s wut every woman s well s every man, merried or single, should hey, minister or doctor, or anythin thet grows; but never stay still for half a centry, in a pigeon-hole, like mothers old housewife. By Captain Char/es King. [Illustrated chiefly from Photographs hy 5. L. Stein.] HAT grand lake exclaimed Sir Ed- win Arnold, when but a few days ago he paid his first visit to the western shore of Lake Michigan at Mil- waukee, and stand- ing on the bold bluffs overlooking the bay gazed out upon the dancing, glisten- ing waters. An inland, unsalted sea, it stretches to the horizon and beyond, the mirror of the summer skies, the sport of the wintry gales. Time was when only on its buoyant wave did the traveller reach the haven of this deep recess among the wooded shores. Now three lines of rail stretch southward to that other city ninety miles away, and in all the luxury of the palace car we wel- come the coming or speed the parting guest. Time was, half a century ago, when tourist, settler, or emigrant, one and all, embarked at Buffalo, and in such famous old side-wheel steamers as the James Madison or the Eniy5ire State made the nearly week-long voyage, touch- ing at the projecting piers of Dunkirk, Erie, Cleveland, the sandspit of San- dusky, the plain of Toledo, and the old half-French, half-American town of De- troit, twisted and turned through the mazes of the St. Clair flats, steamed forth court-House, Milwaukee. MILWAUKEE. AK/IL WA UKEE. 111 upon the broad and often restless bosom of Lake Huron, skirting the pine-covered points of Thunder Bay, calling with the mails and exchanging greeting with the hospitable soldiers under the heights of Michilimackinac, Gem of the Lakes then pushing southwestward picking the way amonh. those oddly named islands and headlands, those Frenchy titles which fresh-water salts could never learn, yet easily mastered; for long since the Isle aux Galets of the voyageur gave way on the government charts to Skilligallee of the sailor, and Seul Choix was metamor- phosed into Swishway. Then, southward bound, the glistening white prow split the pale green waters of Michigan, now per- haps turning blue black under the dis- tant windward shore and warning us to heave to for the night, and ride out the coming gale under the friendly lea of the Manitous. The names of point and headland, of channel and waterway far over on the the great lakes to the valley of the Father of Waters. In fleets the canoes of the Ojibbeway and Menomonee, and the bateaux of the voyageur once swarmed through these winding streams; but the Indian mothers shuddered as they told their big-eyed broods how one dread day the breath of the Great Spirit lashed into scud and spray the broad channel at the entrance, and, in sudden wrath, over- whelmed the war fleet of their fathers and strewed the stony beach with the corpses of their braves. Deaths Door the mariner calls it yet. Butte des Morts the missionaries named the point where the winding Fox turns eastward for its final stretch to Lake Winnebago. Many and many a gale did those old-time steamers weather under the lee of the Manitous, and many are the bleaching spars and ribs of the stranded wrecks along their foaming beach to-day. Once away from the Manitous, with the light at Sleeping Bear just abeam, a straight course over the trackless waters, landless as mid-ocean, south by west, magnetic, would land the traveller at the mouth of the muddy, turbid stream, oozing from the swampy hummocks about that The long sweep of seedy shore to the south. western side, tell of Indian tragedy in the years long gone by. Deep down into the heart of the Guisconsin is thrust an arm of the inland sea; and this, with the chain of placid lakes and rivers, formed the favorite route of the trapper, the trader, and the troops journeying from Pottawotomie town Chicago; and scores of huge propellers, barges, whole flotillas, freight laden, steer that course to-day, and return loaded to the guards with grain. Not so the steamers of half a century a go. All south at the head of the lake was flat, stale, though, as it 112 MILWAUKEE. turned out, by no means unprofitable. many a point within those limits, there is All over to the west on the Wisconsin almost universal belief that the German shore was bold, beautiful, undulated, language is our only medium of vocal forest-crowned. Here and there little communication; that beer and pretzels creeks came rippling through rifts in the are the staple products; that the bier bluffs and over the sands, to pour their stube is our house of worship, Gain- tribute into the lap of old Michigan, brinus our God, and Blatz, Pabst, or old Illini they used to call it but only Schlitz, his prophet. More especially is at one point along the shore line of two hundred and fifty miles was there a stream that could be justly called a river. Mahnawauk Seepe said the Winnebagos and Menomonees, when asked its name; and Mahnawauk meant the grand council grounds, Mahnawauk became Milwaukee; Milwaukee, built about the intersection of three lovely winding streams all uniting to form a navigable river, was for years a port no steamer passed without a linger- ing call. Milwaukee gained in grace and beauty what her bustling sister at the head of the lake gained in wealth and power. And yet on the great chain of lakes no city is so little understood, so little known in the very communities from whence sprang her pioneers. If there be one thing that more than another vexes the spirit of the travelling Milwaukeean, the old settler, as he is termed to-day, it is to find that east of Buffalo and south of St. Louis, and at this the case, we sometimes think, about the very Cradle of Liberty, and in the heart of the very group from which we drew the breath and inspiration of the early day in the northwest glorious New England. It is to controvert this theory, among other things, that these pages are written. If you would see and judge for your- selves, I should like to have you ap- proach our western city of homes as in the busy and bustling forties all comers were landed at our door; to wit, by sea We are proud of our railways, proud of the great and commodious stations the rival companies have built within our gates; but, coming in by rail, you are hemmed between long parallels of brown freight-cars or rushing express trains. You see nothing of the beauties of Mil- waukee beyond fleeting glimpses of its bay. Let me, therefore, bring you hither to see it as I saw the fair city one balmy Up the River nearly two miles from the Lake. MIL WA UKEE. 113 morning in early summer of the year just gone by, tra- versing the very route we took in ~ Then, storm- bound, the old Empire State had taken refuge under the sand dunes at Grand Haven, eighty-five miles across the raging water, and only ven- tured out when the winds were stilled, Then it was late in the autumn and the woods were aflame. Last year it was early June; the leaves were emerald, the translucent sea had not a ripple on its hroad expanse. The great white steamer lay at the railway dock, all her gleaming lights reflected in the deep, her prow turned to the star-twinkling xvest, the gilded spear at her stem pointing to the crescent nioon just sinking below the wave. We had whirled across Michigan on the View o~ Grand Avenue and Ninth Street, looking Went, Residence of 0. M. Benjamin. steamboat express. We were tired of clatter and rush and roar, and were glad to seek the cool, white staterooms of the Ci/j of Afliwaukce. In ten minutes, without strain or sound save the plash of the waters along our load line, we were standing steadily out to sea, the spires of the sleeping city fourscore miles ahead. Let us, too, enter by this the eastern gate. So disciplined, orderly, and silent is every one aboard, that it is possible for the voyager to retire at once and, un- disturbed by sound of voice or footfall, MIL WA UKEE. 114 drop off to sleep before the harbor lights noiseless way. From the huge paddle- are passed, and know no more until boxes there comes the dull, muffled sound called in the morning far up the Milwau- of churning waters; from beneath our kee River. But what one gains in rest, perch the musical plash of foaming wave, he loses in scenery. Come with me to tossed aside by the swelling lines of our the upper deck at five, and you will only hull. In front of our prow, sharp as it pity the sluggard who remains below, is, there jets into air and falls in ceaseless First, like the flre~wor5hippers, we look shower a little fount of snowy spray. rearward eastward where our foam- Pale green, pellucid, every ripple tinged ing wake and the great rollers tossed with rose, every foam-crest edged with by our heavy wheels are all tinged with pink, the deep waters sweep silently by. crimson and rose and gold. The orient We are rapidly nearing the Wisconsin is all one blaze of color. Every cloud shore, but it is still hidden, bride-like, in the radiant heavens, every wisp of behind that soft, intangible veil. Stroll- vapor floating above the cool, green irig forward we take our stand at the waters, blushes under the caressing touch edge of the upper deck. Far astern the of the rising day god. The black smoke red gold disc is every moment climbing from our tall chimneys floats away astern, higher and triumphing over the vanish- blending, far to the rear, with the fleecy ing mists. Far ahead the wisps of cloud mist. Around us the decks and stan- float like pallid ghosts upon the surface. chions and spars are wet with the con- No breath of air is astir to aid the sun densing vapor. In front, under the gilded god in his work. We glide steadily, dome of the pilot-hOu5e~ stands our Pali- silently on through yielding banks that nurus, mute and vigilant, his sinewy hands seem to vanish as we draw nigh, yet are grasping the wheel, the dim light still ever present at our front and flanks. burning at the binnacle before him,~hi5 And now the skies are blushing far be- eyes piercing the filmy veil ahead, and yond the zenith. The thin fog-wreaths guiding us unerringly on our smooth and bow to some magic influence and are The Milwaukee Club. JILL WA UKEJZ. lifi John Mitchells Residence. melting from our view. The waters still the eastward windows throwing back the yield their faint, white breath, but, slanting sunshine like so many gleaming farther aloft, the sunbeams pierce and mirrors. Northward, bold and pre- rout their filmy foes. Do not speak to cipitous, the wooded bluffs begin to the man at the wheel is the rule the peer through the veil. Southward, a world over; but, without speaking, the long, low, forest-covered point sets far man at the wheel is summoning you. out to sea. Already we are well within He nods expressively towards some object the headlands of our deep and spacious far to our front and a little to the right bay. Huge elevators loom up on the of our course. Shooting high aloft, lowlands just in front. The glistening through the eddying mists of the morn- cross flashes from the twin spires of the ing, a tall slender shaft all agleam with Polish Church, that towers among the rose color and gold rises against the frame structures of the southwestern part western sky, surmounted by what seems of the town. The graceful, semicircular to be a dazzling jewelled crown. It is sweep of sodded terrace rises gradually the landmark of our beautiful city the from the lake level in front to the com- first object the mariners eye can reach manding point at the north, its crest as he nears the western shore. Fair and graced with statuary and bordered by slender and graceful it is, perched almost rows of shade trees, through which are at the edge of our highest bluff. It is peeping, here and there and everywhere, the stand-pipe of the waterworks, and the beautiful and artistic homesteads the glistening, gilded object rising through along the bluff, the massive proportions the mists a little further south is the of the railway station at the very edge of statue of Justice high above the Court the waters, the harbor entrance with its House dome. And now, here and there, spider-legged light tower and lofty trestle, other towers and spires begin to gleam the sharp outlines of mast and rigging and sparkle in the sunshine. Faint and among the shipyards at our left front, dim, as though rising from some mirage, the long sweep of sandy shore to the the outlines of great buildings appear, all south, and then the great flame-belching- 116 JILL WA UKEE. smoke-breathing chimneys and furnaces of the rolling-mills. We are gliding steadily on towards that narrow slit in the strand, bordered by long, black crib- work. Already the sparkling green of the deep waters is changing to the duller hue of the tide from the burdened river. The morning sunshine has triumphed over the dark vapors of the night. All nature smiles and thrills in the reviving, genial warmth; and Mil- waukee, once the great council grounds of Sac and Fox, Winne- bago, and Menomonee, now twenty square miles of home and civiliza- tion, lies outspread before us. On within the piers we ride. Slowly we round the bend and paddle between long lines of lake craft moored at the docks of great elevators or crowded warehouses. Sturdily our helmsman responds to the low-voiced orders of the captain from his perch above the pilot-house. The big bridges swing to let us through. The lone policeman at the draw gives friendly nod to the deck. hands standing by with ready hawser. The long vistas of the streets are silent and deserted, for the ca- rillon of St. Johns has not yet clanged the summons to be up and doing.. Bong-g-g goes the deep-toned, muffled bell far down in the engine - room. The huge wheels cease their revolution anti allis silence. Bong-g, bong-g-g! Again the waters are troubled, and, swirling, eddy- ing, foaming, they come rushing forward under our prow as the reversed paddles check our onward way and our good ship slowly, majestically, floats alongside the dock; the hawsers are made fast; the landing stage run out; and we are brought to the very junction of the streams. This, the broader of the two,. fringed by high brick structures east. and west, is old Mannawauk, modern- ized Milwaukee. This that winds its. eastward way between long lanes of brown freight-houses and distant, tower- ing elevators, whose wharves are ever occupied by the biggest craft that sail or steam the western waters, is the Menomonee; still bearing unchanged. North Point Water-Tower and Park. National Soldiers Home. A/IL WA UKEE. 117 the name its Indian paddlers gave it when it came winding hither to the con- fluence through a whole township of wild rice, the home of teal and brant, of wild swan, and the clamorous wawa. Now one vast level of lumber, coal, and freight yards; its miles of hank bordered by mammoth plants of tannery and packing-house, manufactories of furni- ture, sash and blind, tinware, marble and granite, bricks and beer; its farther windings marked by block upon block of along between massive walls of stone and plate glass, for this is the heart of the business section, the banks, the cham- ber of commerce, the great insurance building whose foundations rival those of ancient Rome. We turn again and bowl over noiseless block pavement be- side parallel tracks, along whose glistening rails the electric cars are already begin- ning their daily whiz. The thoroughfare is broad and roomy. A backward glance shows it dipping into the valley of the View on the Milweukee River. car-shops and round-houses and corn- Milwaukee, still bordered by high edifices manded by terraced, wooded bluffs, from of brick and stone. Ahead the sunshine whose undulations and winding roadways is bathing the lofty topmost story of the peep the pretty homes of scores of citi- new hotel, and flashing from the gilded zens. But I shall not take you thither tips of the flagstaffs on three of the now. Westward the star of empire great retail stores of the metropolis. No takes its way, but eastward, for the time time for them now. They will open later. being, the waiting carriage bears us. It So will your eyes, if you have believed is too late for sleep; too early for break- of Milwaukee only what rumor and the fast, but just right for the lake front and newspaper paragraphers have had to say. Milwaukees glory. This is Wisconsin Street, the main east- Swiftly we are borne on the solid iron ward artery of the East Side; and Mil- bridge to the farther shore, and spin waukee, you must remember, has more 118 MIL WA UKEE. sides than most stories. Opposite the great hotel is the modest red brick home of the Milwaukee Club, the pioneer or- ganization of its kind in our midst. Across the street are big blocks of brick and older relics of frame; but both are doomed to disappear and give place to the new custom-house and post-office, the new government building which will cover the entire square and quadruple, at least, in size the three-story edifice we thought so much of in the days before the War. Further eastward, fine apart- ment buildings line the thoroughfare; then some old-fashioned homes and shell whose days are numbered; then the massive pile of the railway station at the lake front. But here we turn sharply northward and go winding smoothly up a gentle ascent. To our right, the green- Mallards coming in to roost. FROM A PAINTING BY C. 0. KERT. OWNED BY HOWARD F. BORWOETH. li/IL U/A UKEE. 119 carpeted undulations of the bluffs. Be- yond them, the blue-green billows of that matchless bay. Higher and higher we drive. Broader grows the park. Again we turn eastward, spinning by the stone effigy of our pioneer Old Solomo, as the Winnebagoes called Juneau, whose log hut stood alone upon the river bank not so many a year ago but that many a as we turn into prospect Avenue, past sparkling fountain, Past terraced lawns and blooming beds of color and fra- grance, past broad, shaded grounds un- guarded by fence or wall, past tennis- courts and tented field and hammocks hanging in the shade, and here and there and everywhere, bright vistas of those sparkling waters stretchinb far to the Layton Art Gallery. man who sought its shelter still lives to orient, where they seem to blend with the tell of the simple, warm-hearted hospi- blue of the soft summer sky. Eastward tality of its genial owner, again we turn, crossing high over the Northward again, and, high above the railway tracks that burrow through the far-spreading waters, we are rolling along grassy blufg and on we go to the very the verge of those terraced slopes we edge of the old North Point to Wood- sighted from the distant offing nearly an land Court, where New England enter- hour agone. Where are mist and fog prise has studded the height with pretty wreath now? In undimmed radiance, homes; and here we leave our carriage the glad June sunshine pours upon the for the moment and stroll out upon the welcoming sod, upon budding, bios- verge. soming shruh and plant, xvhere the robins There to the east lies old Michigan. are darting and the bluebirds flashing Here, far below our feet and dancing from tree to tree; upon stately elm and away under the touch of the rising sprightly maple. Juneau, pioneer of breeze, the gleaming, emerald waters of Mahuawauk, looks down the long vista the bay. To our right the graded slope, of one beautiful thoroughfare, overarched the long, semicircular sweep of terraced like a long, leafy bower. Leif Ericcson, bluff, crowned with elegant homes, the daring Norse explorer, towers in grace- gradual descent in the middle distance ful pose at the head of the next. We to the lower level of the town, the harbor whirl past many a beautiful homestead entrance and the great range of ship and bordering our smooth and noiseless way lumber-yards beyond, the far away fur- 120 MIL WA UKEE. naces and flames and smoke clouds at Bay View, the long, low, wooded point fading to a narrow fringe of foliage at the southeast, the white glimmer of sail, the distant trail of smoke from coming steamer, the glinting crosses and spires in the southwestern suburbs four long miles away. Here lies the bay so many travellers proclaim like that of Naples. Here is the lake front. Yonder the dim regions of the southern and southwestern outskirts. But you have seen only the edge of Milwaukee. Again the carriage. Again the rapid, exhilarating motion. Again to the north, until we pause an instant to gaze aloft at the tall, slender, graceful shaft we saw from so far out at sea. Then westward ho ! Back to the valley of Mahna- wauk Seepe bowling along high above its broadest reach on iron viaduct and noting where, winding from the north, it is lost between its beautiful forest- fringed banks. Westward still, climbing, climbing, past railway shops and tracks half way up the slope, and at last on the curving road overlooking the river valley we alight and stroll up a steep path to the north and finally reach the level summit of a commanding heights, the loftiest within our limits; and here on the edge of the citys great reservoir we stand, and, east, west, north, and south, whichever way we look, Milwaukee lies before us. East- ward across the river and above the cut-stone dam, the avenue bears away One of Milwaukees New Hotels. MIL kFA UKEE. 121 A Bit of River Scenery. straight to the lake bluff, straight to the the once laggard stream. The pure green point where the tall standpipe is planted waters of the lake are forced by main- on the crest. There the city is but moth turbines through this stone conduit, thinly settled, and all along the broad and you can see them as, swirling and drive and roadways near the lake and eddying in cool, foam-crested little bil- above the avenue are the great buildings lows, they sweep aside the dull brown of some of our local charities; Saint current of lazy Mahnawauk and, giving Marys Hospital, the orphan asylums, and their impetus at last to his languid flow, the Industrial Home. The railway that the rejuvenated river sweeps onward past has gradually climbed the bluffs from the great tanneries, planing and flour mills handsome station at the edge of the bay huddled under its steep banks, under now whisks suddenly away from the shore bridge after bridge traversed by swift- and, darting through its deep cut, emerges running electric cars, past long rows of in a shallow depression, where we boys business blocks, warehouses, even retail among the old settlers stalked the hoarse stores, to whose very doors the great lake lunged bullfrog in the early days. Still on craft are floated and discharge their car- the up grade, the railway curves again to goes. On through the heart of the town, the north and on its high embankment past the docks where the long passenger skirts the river as it did the lake. For steamers are moored, and then, bending several miles the general course of the eastward again, past elevator, warehouse, Milwaukee is parallel with the shores of bridge and ship-yard, out once more into Michigan, and, just there below the dam, the welcoming waters of old Michigan. at the foot of that high, terraced bluff, a Looking northward from our perch, the tunnel has been bored from the bay to new streets are bordered by neat frame 122 JILL WA UKEE. cottages, for this is a section of the city only lately settled. Then the blue rib- bon of the river can be seen winding away between its leafy banks. Boat- houses, summer car- dens, latticed arbors are peeping from every point and cove. Pretty summer homes, high above the waters, deck the western banks. The newly-planned city park, like Philadel- phias preserves along the upper Schuylkill, already controls the St Pauls Episcopal Church. other. Lovely is the sail any moonlit evening up the shad- owy stream, all alive with merry boating parties, all a-twinkle with myriad lights from steam- er, skiff, and shore. Half an hours swift run on the launches lands you among the groves at Lueddemans, or in the deep, cool recess of Pleas- ant Valley famous places to take children or to take your beer, or even, when in Deutsch- land doing as the Deutschland- ers do, taking both. Farther east, close along the bluffs that overhang the wave, runs the lake-shore drive in four smooth parallel tracks where the trotters and light wagons are seen to best advantage flashing be- tween the road resorts from the tollgate to the Ultima Thule of Whitefish Bay. Here from the crowded decks of the steamer at the wharf, from the thronging trains of the Lake Shore road or the equally popular dummy line, and from bus or buggy, cab, carriage, or chariotee, innumerable Milwaukeans of both sexes and all ages gather by the thousands in the afternoons and evenings, listen to the music of the band, stroll along the broad verandas of the pavilion or among the winding, shaded walks for whispering lovers made ; sip creams and ices on the upper bal- conies; dance by the hour on the covered plat- forms; indulge in beer and skit- tles ad lilitum in the resounding alleys, or dreani away in the placid and precious companionship of the cigar whole hours watching the play of the moonbeams on the dancing waters. Farther north- ward still, over The Plankinton Residence, MIL WA UKEE. 123 The Milwaukee River. Emmanuel Church. among the bends and silent overshadowed find these cosey nooks. The rapids and reaches of the upper Milwaukee, are rocks at Humboldt, where once our scenes of peaceful beauty the average paper mills were standing, and where now citizen knows nothing of. great cement works border the river for The driveways here are half a. mile, cut off all navigation from distant from the below, but above the farther shoals at stream, and only Lindwurms where the waters ripples over afoot or in the great beds of smooth and solid rock, and saddle can one where one can wade from bank to bank 124 MIL WA UKEE. without finding depth beyond the knee, the river winds broad and deep and silent again, and this is the paradise of picnic parties who do not mind a mile or so of tramping. Here, too, are shaded bridle paths that tempt the lover of nature, but, being too narrow for two equestrians, suit other lovers not ~o well. And these are regions little known in our busy and bustling community. With a population of two hundred and twenty- five thousand there are not twenty-five who regularly or even frequently ride. Bicycle, tricycle, street-car, and that sort of riding is done, of course, by every- body, but horseback riding is less prac- tised in the metropolis of Wisconsin than in any city, big or little, that I have ever known. Looking westward and northwestward Schandein Residence. chicago, Miiwaukee, and St. Paul Union Depot. MIL WA UKEE. 125 over the intervening mazes of streets com- mercial, streets mercantile, streets manu- facturing, and streets domestic, the ground dips into the broad valley of the Meno- monee, and there, four miles away on its southern bank, is still another cluster; here the Falk, Jung & Borchert firnii from our height, and, far to the fringing woods, stretches the city, an undulating perspective of frame houses, cottages, gardens, groves, with here and there a structure of solid brick or stone to break the monotony, with church spires rising every few squares, with the great brick cylinder of the West Side water-tower standing in bold relief a mile away. Well over to the northwest are other heights croxvned with frame home- steads, and along that ridge runs the northern city-limit line. Westward the eye roams to the green wood bordering the curves of the Menomo nees. Southwestward, ah there the view is broken in the middle distance by immense blocks of brick and wood grouped together, banded by light iron bridges thrown at dizzy height across the streets; and these are the malt-houses, the brewing houses of the greatest lager beer plants in the West, --- one of them has not its equal in the world. Blot- ting out so great a slice of scenery, the big group of buildings over a mile away upon the rising ground to the southwest is the main plant~ of the Pabst Company It has an- other, a branch, far down below the Menomonee on the South Side. It has offices, agencies, storehouses all over America, and in not a few places outside. It manufactures and ships more lager than any brewery in Christendom. Two years ago it was rivalled in St. Louis, but now that one competitor is left far behind. It would be hard to number the times the, public-spirited and open-handed head of the firm has contributed to aid in every good and generous work. Trinity Church. Nearer at hand, among the great mill and factory buildings on the west bank manufactures and ships its particular of the river, half way up the heights, is brand of Milwaukees renowned product; another big brewery, the Schlitzs Corn- while, out to the west, beyond the rise panys. Over on the east side of the where stands that immense smoke-stack river, yet lying west of south from our of the Pabst Company, there can be seen high perch, such is the winding course almost at the western horizon the belch- of the stream, is still another huge stack ing chimneys of still another brewery half of buildings and chimneys covering two way down the hillside to the winding blocks at least; that is the Blatz Coin- Menomonee shore that is Millers. panys, one of the oldest in the country Then we have Gettelmans, a new claim- ~mnd one of the best in America. Far out ant for public favor and already a strong MJL WA ULTEE. 126 Residences of James E. Patton and G. P. Miller. one; the Obermann, the Cream City; St. Johns, the brown dome of the court and, so large are the interests involved, house, beyond those huge wooden eleva- so constant are the demands upon them, tors stacked high with winter wheat still that all these rival companies are banded waiting shipment to the east, and there together under the name of the Brewers in the low ground beyond the fringe of Association. masts and smoke-stacks, covering space When contributions are needed for any equal to a dozen squares, are the great object under the sun in the city of Mil- iron works of the B. P. Allis Company, waukee, the first people counted on are where employment is given all the year the brewers. We owe them far more around to at least two thousand men; than the New Englander would at first, where engines of every kind and descrip- perhaps, be ready to concede. It is a tion, from the mammoth pumping ma- fact, however, that the public records of chine down to a pony-power pocket edi- the cities of the United States bear me tion, are being turned out fast as an en- out in saying that in proportion to terprising firm can make them. One of population there is much less drunken- the feathers in Milwaukees cap is the ness, much less crime here than in any fact that not only have New York and of the great communities. People of all Albany, Chicago and Minneapolis come classes drink honest beer, as they do in to us for their big engines, but even Bos- Germany and Austria, and leave spirits ton and Providence. Then, west of these alone. thronging hives of home industry, out in But though the manufacture of beer is the once marshy valley of the Meno- one of the great sources of Milwaukees monee, in the great packing-houses and growth and prosperity, it is by no means lumber yards, in the great shops of our the only one. Look far to the south, fol- greatest railway, down here between the lowing the windings of the river, beyond bordering heights on the north and the those graceful church towers, St. Pauls graded slopes on the southern side, many and immanuel, past the spire of the thousand men are busily employed, men Cathedral, the clock tower and eagles of whose little homes are clustering all MIL WA UKEE. 127 along the peaceful streets of the outlying wards; for in no city in America, per- haps in the world, are so many lots owned by the occupants. We have no swarming tenement-houses, those centres of crime and disease that mar the great cities of the East. Milwaukee is em- phatically a home city, and therein lies additional explanation of her peace and good order. Another thing in her favor. All these great manufacturing establishments ex- cept the breweries, which must have their vault and cellar-room, are on the low grounds skirting the river. The smoke from their chimneys floats westward when the wind is from the lake, or out through this broad natural groove to sea. Over the breezy heights whereon are placed the residence section, our skies are un- dimmed by sooty clouds. Yonder towards the lake front lies one section, that through which we drove; but westward and south- westward lies still another, of ten times the acreage of that through which we passed, and, in the eyes of those at least who there have built their nests, more beautiful. Following Grand Avenue to the westward heights, where stand those tall spires, we come to the broad espla- nade of Washington Place. Here is the statue of the Father of his Country in martial cloak and Continental uniform, and here and beyond on the two mile stretch to the west are the costliest and most elaborate of our homesteads; some of them with their lawns and conserva- tories, their miniature lakes and winding drive-ways covering entire squares and all of them representing the fruits of in- dustry and enterprise, for they are the homes of men, every penny of whose fortune was made in Milwaukee. Parallel with Grand Avenue are other broad and shaded streets bordered on both sides with homesteads less preten- tious and ornate, perhaps, but of grace- ful style and cosey, even commodious interior. Here and there dart the swift electric cars. Rapid transit is a problem that has but recently been solved with us; but now one can go from the heart of the business section of the city to the outlying districts in half Pucks forty hallway in G. P. Millers House. 128 MIL U/A UKEE. minutes. All the beautiful newly-graded suburbs to the north between the river and the lake front are to-day within easy range of the court-house, the banks, and the big retail stores. As to population, we are indeed some- what European. The southwestern sec- tion of the city is given over almost en- tirely to Poland, and a large colony of Chimney-piece in T. A. Chapmans Store, that hard-working and frugal nationality is planted close to the river bank in the uppermost ward of the East Side. Twenty thousand strong were these hardy people a year ago, and already they are thor- oughly at home, many of them owning their little cottages, and some, of the most lucrative and important of the municipal offices being graced by their distinguished if somewhat difficult names. The Pole is a power in local politics, as every would-be officeholder knows, and here as elsewhere the longest pole hut that is a Southern, not a New England allegory. We have our Sobieski and Pulaski streets, our Kosciusko Guard, stalwart soldiers they are, too, whose appearance under arms would rejoice the heart of a lVlassachusetts or Connecticut inspector, but whose muster-roll would dazzle his eyes and baffle his powers of speech. We have our Kuryer Poiski, which is the official organ of these sturdy descendants of Warsaws last champion, and many of them can read it, though xvhen their children go to school is a mystery to him whose work - shop windows overlook the backyards and intervening alley-ways in one of our pleasantest residence blocks, and who sees squad after squad of tiny scaven- gers, from early morn till dewy eve, scouring the pre- mises, raking over the ash- heaps and garbage-barrels, sometimes even raking off such items as have incau- tiously been left too near the fence. As for Germany, there is no part of the city it has not reached. Baden and Bava- ria, Hesse and Hanover, Prussia, Pomerania and Wurtemburg, all are here, and here to stay. Nearly one hundred thousand strong in 8~ was the contingent born in or descended from the lands of the Rhine, the Elber, the Oder and the Weser. They began coming by squads early in the fifties and by battalions later. In 85 our population was less than r6o,ooo. Now, with a total of 25,000, it is not an over estimate to say that much more than half are Ger- mans. A very pessimistic paper in Chicago found much comfort during a brief and meteoric career in frequent paradings in its pages of the names of the city fathers of Milwaukee. German and Polish certainly predominated. At MIL WA UKEE. 129 one time, in fact, within the past three years, there were not half a dozen Amer- icans on the list. But they did their duty, these others, without the hope of fee or reward; in a manner Chicagos people would have been only too glad to have had theirs imitate. Squabbles have been rare, and scandal, rarer, and except Colonel Fred Pabsts Residence. T. A. Chapmans Store. 130 MiLWAUKEE. A New Mitwaukee Office Building. MIL WA UKEE. 131 tor a few Anarchists and ultra Socialists, who were tolerated in their midst, more law-abiding and home-loving citizens, more honest and reliable public officials than these Germans are rarely to be found in any community. New England sees so little of them, that New England- ers can have little idea how quickly they adapt themselves to republican institu- tions, and how thoroughly they appre- ciate the blessings of American liberty. Of other nationalities we have but few. Ould Ireland, once a potent factor in XVisconsin politics, is now practically out of it. Hardly 1,000 Sons of St. Patrick, probably not more than 5,000 Hibernians all told, can we muster to- day. Sons of Ham are fewer still. There are barely ~oo colored people in the city. Pig-tailed Celestials will not mount up to threescore; and, while statistics are in order, let me say that in 1840 we had not 2,000 people within our gates; in i85o we had 20,000, most of whom had come from New York and New England. These were the men who lifted Milwau- kee out of its wilderness and started her on the road to wealth. Look around you now from this com- manding height. Note the evidences of thrift, prosperity and comfort on every side in these far-spreading northern sub- urbs. This was all virgin forest xvhen Yankee brains first planned and Yankee hands hewed out from bluff and wood those busy, bustling thoroughfares in the valley of old Mahnawauk below us. Juneau and Walker and Kilbourn, the earliest of our landholders, were not, tis true, New England men; but pres- ently these came in scores. Back to our carriage now, and on to breakfast; we can recapitulate as we go. Forty years ago, when Milwaukee was in ner teens, there was only one business street to speak of, that which ran parallel with the river on its eastern verge. There was just room between the sidewalk and the shores on which to build fairly sub- stantial frame stores, and later, after vigorous hammering with the old-fashioned pile-driver, to plant the foundations of more ambitious structures with solid walls of brick. Bricks wi/k straw, be it under- stood, both within and without; for, thanks to beds of peculiar clay, the vege- table sinew was reproduced in the color. Later, in the nascent ~estheticism of the populace, the individuality gained through the hue of its building block gave to the town the title by which it is known poetically to-day the Cream City; and though our cream really is not brick color, nor our brick, cream color, the subtlety of the description lay in the fact that we would not speak of it either as straw or clay color, and the nearest thing we could think of that pleased the senses was cream. Very dainty and fresh was the appearance of our new-made walls. Spick, span, new and glistening with white paint and green were the frame cottages among the bold bluffs of the East Side. Trim and orderly were the little garden patches with beds of ger- anium and verbena, and the rows of mountain ash-trees along the fences, the sprightly young elms just being trained to shoot at the edge of the broad wooden sidewalk. Very familiar were the names on every sign along that main business street, from its southern end at the Walkers Point bridge to its bifurcation at Market Square. Seven long, irregular blocks were there, and many a name re- called the days of Lexington and Concord, Bunker Hill and Bennington. From the Penobscot, the Merrimac, the Thames, or the Connecticut, vigorous young men had pushed into the far western wilderness, ousting the Pottawotomie as their sires did the Pequots. We had our little colony of canny Scots, small in number, but big in influence. We had a few Pennsylvanians, and a great draft from the Empire State, but these latter were only transient Knickerbockers; for with some exceptions the New York families whose sons and daughters sailed in those early days around the chain of lakes to seek their fortunes along the shores of Lake Illini hailed from the land of the Puritan, and, whatsoever may have been the influences that brought about the subsequent change, the early days of fair Milwaukee, the alert, vigorous, pushing, conquering days, were those when the blood and brain of the New England States led in our councils and ruled in our debates. Before she was fairly in- 132 1k/IL WA UKEE. corporated as a city the free school bell was clanging in every Milwaukee ward. New England masters strode the little rostrums. New England customs held in every class. New England songs began the exercises of every day. The first tune we urchins learned to pipe in the old First Ward was The Old Granite State. The first chorus taught us when the High School opened in the fall of 57 was The Old House at Home where my Fore- fathers dwelt. Our pedagogues had draughted their principles from Ply- mouth, their patriotism from Faneuil Hail. Some of them were reared within the shadow of the Old South Church. Spare the rod and spoil the child may have been bred in the bones of their sinewy right hands, but practically they spared few children, they spoiled many a rod. Massachusetts votes as she fought, said an orator, when the fifteenth amendment was up for discussion, and she did both with vim peculiarly her own; New England masters taught as they spanked with a thoroughness I can feel to this day. Our law-makers, most of them, hailed from New England; our law-breakers from almost anywhere else. Our clergy, many of them, came from New England pulpits; our first physician from Vermont; our first justice of the peace from Maine; our first bookstore was stocked by Mas- sachusetts; our lead- ing merchants, hardware, drugs, and dry-goods were of New England, though New York captured and holds to this day the boot and shoe trade. Our greatest bank, in like manner, rose from small beginnings with Scotia at the helm ; next to it in the volume of busi- ness, and second to none in the honor and integrity of their managers, are two whose respective heads hailed from Maine and Vermont. The pioneers of the early days, who bought their land and held to it, such men as Bowman, Hawley, Wells, Weeks, Brown (Deacon Sam), Merrill (W. P.), Tweedy, Upham, Holton, Kirby, Jason Downer, and a score of others came one and all from the New England States. The leading editorials of the ante-bellum days were penned by the grandson and namesake of Massachusettss delegate to the con- stitutional convention at Philadelphia, and the great grandson of the foremost citizen of Scarborough, Maine. A Vermonter occupies his chair to-day. Our greatest railway, whose eastern terminus is now Chicago, and whose branches cover nearly seven thousand miles and reach every section of the northwest, was raised from next to nothing under the management of New Hampshire. Its first superinten- dent also was from the Granite State. Its great engineer, who had planned almost every mile of its track, every span of its bridges, and who has served it faith- fully from start to finish, came hither from Vermont; so did the honored old head of its passenger department. The most brilliant, eloquent, and distinguished statesman Wisconsin has yet sent to the National Congress, Milwaukees contribu- tion to the Senate, was a Green Mountain The New Hotel MIL WA UKEE. 133 boy who won the name of the greatest constitutional lawyer of the West, and learned his first lessons in the law under the eye of Rufus Choate. Aye, through all the struggles of the early day in the northwest, New Eng- land then was foremost in our midst. For twenty years, in professional and business affairs, her sons held distin- guished position, if not absolutely dom- inant control; and even after the deluge of immigration from foreign shores, New England kept and held her own. Even in the midst of competition that might have daunted a faint-hearted man, a New England merchant who had learned the business behind the counters of one of Bostons greatest stores dared to come and cast his lot with us and enter the list with rivals from every other nationality. Other New En gland names were for brief periods linked with his, but dropped out, perhaps discouraged. He held on and stands to-day sole representative in the great dry-goods trade which engrosses so many of our prominent firms. There are larger stores and stocks in such cities as Chicago, Cincinnati, and St. Louis, hut in all the West not one to match his in artistic grace and finish. Its destruction by fire six years ago was a calamity to all Wisconsin; its prompt reappear- ance, in added beauty and comfort, a source of general rejoicing; and now, pre-eminent in its line, it is a monu- ment to New England pluck and per- severance. Nor is it only in business, political, and professional matters that the influence of the old colonies has been so marked. Milwaukee Sundays in the old days were to many of us children as lugubrious, I must declare it, as Plymouth sires and Connecticut mothers could make them. But the sweet home life, the glad old customs of Thanksgiving and Christmas, when all our kith and kin were gathered under the roof-tree, the uproarious patriot- ism of our Fourth of July, the reverent observance of Washingtons birthday, the enthusiastic gathering at the annual ban- quet of the Sons of New England with its toast and speeches, The shot heard round the world, The sword that flashed at Bunker Hill, the homestead manners and customs, Puritan morals (though we burned no witches, as did our forebears at Salem, we sold, alas fire- water to the aborigine and doubtless cheated him in trade), Puritan manners and pumpkin pie, the Bible every day of the week, and boiled dinner on Mondays, the quilting bees, even the house and barn raisings, all these were not the exception, but the rule in old Milwaukee. And so, though times may change, though other influences may prevail, though the blue laws are long since dead, there is ever among us a loving remembrance of the vim and energy of the clear-headed, hard-handed, indomitable men, the pa- tience and devotion of those hopeful, prayerful women, whose influence, like the little leaven that leaveneth the whole lump, permeated all society as it ruled in all our councils, and builded even better than it knew, the foundations of this fairest city of the lakes. EDITORS TABLE. THE course of our government, and of our people, during the recent controversy with Chili have not heen such as to give pleasure to serious men. They have heen such as ought to humiliate us and make us ashamed. They have shown that in our national character, and in our character as a memher of the great family of nations, we have not yet reached a stage of development, which it was hoped hy many that we had got far beyond. The question is not that of the exact shades of right and wrong as hetween our government and Chili upon the points of controversy. The question is that of the readiness of our government, and of great masses of our people, to hristle up and hluster and threat, to talk war and to hurry out ~he gunhoats, when some believed wrong had heen done us, even had the wrong heen ten times as great, instead of calmly awaiting the issue of diplomatic conference, and if that proved unsat- isfactory, then simply asking for the arhitration of some outside state, which there was no reason in the world to douht that our little enemy would at once accept. If the Old Adam in a great repuhlic like this, the war spirit which we devote so much fine rhetoric to condemning in the na- tions of the Old World, can he roused to the ex- tent which we have seen in the case of a petty grievance like this with Chili, what trust can we place in the reason and forhearance and self-con- trol of our people in a really serious exigency and under a grave provocation? This is a mat- ter of so much moment at this time when good men everywhere are laboring for the disarmament of nations, and for supplanting the old methods of fist law and war hy the methods of inter- national tribunals, of peaceful conference and rational arhitrament, that we cannot afford to let this Chilian affair slip away into forgetfulness and the chronicles, without thoroughly learning its lesson and preaching to ourselves the sermon which we so clearly need. The attack upon our sailors hy the Valparaiso moh in Octoher was certainly a deplorable and a serious occurrence, of a character which no govern- ment, whose duty it is to protect its citizens, can overlook. XVe can understand it hest by bring- ing it home and changing its clothes. If just at the time of the Trent affair in t86i, when Americans were most inflamed against England for her sympathy with the South in the war, a hundred sailors had landed from some British man-of-war anchored in Boston harhor, for an evenings carouse in the North End of the city, and a row had resulted, starting in some tavern brawl hetween some of their numher and some turbulent North Enders, leading to a general raid by a mob, and a riot which could only he quelled hy the police, after two of the red-coats were killed, we should have in this just the equiva- lent af the affair in Valparaiso. It would un- douhtedly have heen true that it was precisely as red-coats that the sailors provoked the attack; the moh would have had the applause, and quite possibly the prompting of many young bloods ahout town; the police would not have had the hottest sympathy with the sailors, whom it was their office to protect and get back to their ship; pa/erfamilias, reading the details in the morn- ing paper, would have said, as likely as not, that it served the blasted Britishers right; some young Biglow or Sawin might have sent a poem to the Courier the next week from Lexington or Concord, which the English visitors staying at the Parker House would have found very offensive reading; and the British consul, writing home to the Foreign Office, would have had no lack of material to show the ill will toward England prev- alent in this same city of Boston; to which ill will, the tragedy was chiefly owing. But what of it? There would have heen no cause for war in all this, unless the national gov- ernment refused to express its regret, and to take steps to bring the individual offenders to justice. There has been no such refusal on the part of Chili; but although the processes of South American courts are slower even than those of Louisiana, whose dilatoriness fretted Italy so much a year ago, and although Chili is hardly yet out of the throes and fever of civil strife, with a government in working order, an impartial read- ing of the correspondence shows that she did everything that could fairly be expected, by way of apology, and of pressing judicial inquiry. Her minister of foreign affairs at once wrote of the Valparaiso affair to our minister as a deplorable event. Her minister at Washington vtrote a month later to our secretary of state of the lamentable events, at Valparaiso, which my gov- ernment has deeply deplored. The legal in- vestigation was meantime regularly proceeding, with no valid ground to doubt the purpose of the courts to (leal with the American sailors as justly as with Chilian citizens. Early in January minis- ter Perreira wrote to Senor Montt in Washing- ton: Inform the United States government that a summary of the attorney-generals report relative to the occurrence of Octoher s6, which Chili has lamented and does so sin- cerely lament, will he sent on Monday, the 4th inst. On January 8 Mr. Montt wrote to Mr. Blame: I have received special instructions to state to the gov- eminent of the United States that the government of Chili has felt very sincere regret for the unfortunate events which occurred in Valparaiso on the s6th of Octoher. Although incidents of this nature are not rare in ports fre- qttented hy sailors of various nationalities, the fact that deaths and wounds were caused in the disturhance on the t6th of Octoher, the zeal with which the Chilian authorities are accustomed to watch ovet the personal security of all who tread its territory, the fact that persons employed in the service of a friendly nation were concerned, and the frank desire for Atnerican cordiality whicls my government entertains, have led it to cordially deplore the aforesaid dis- turhance, and to do everything in its power toward the trial and punishment of the gstilty parties. For our own part, it seems to us that here was all the apology that a government anxious for peace, and not stickling for phrases, need bother itself about. Ilere was a good place to assume that we had got all that we wanted, and to thank our distenipered little cousin, adding, if we liked, EDITORS TABLE. the hope that the court would he as expeditious as possible, and settle twenty thousand dollars upon the Riggin family. But if the dialect of this apology did not just suit the ears of the officials charged with upholding our honor, had anything in minister Perreiras letters, or conduct, warranted a doubt of the readiness to trim it to a nicety? Had anything warranted our President, when finally an explicit demand for different phraseology ~vas made, to get so impatient for a reply to this ultimatum, that in three days he should send an enormous war message to Congress, hy way of pressure and threat to the little state? Nothing whatever. So far as we can see, minister Per- reiras course throughout had been most cour- teous, conciliatory, and exemplary; and as a matter of fact, his long message, prepared with the utmost care in the midst of the pressing duties of his new office, within three days of the receipt of our ultimatum, conceding every point, that it was right to concede, in the readiest manner, was coming over the wires at the very hour that our Presidents hurried bluster was being read in Congress. We say that this is a disgrace to this republic; and we say that it is a matter so serious, with reference to its bearings on possible future contingencies of the sort, that we cannot afford to let it slip away into the limbo of forgetfulness without very much more preaching to ourselves about it than has yet been done. We have written as if the attack upon our sailors at Valparaiso were the only matter at issue. But this had been preceded by a long chapter of occurrences revealing the feeling of American officials toward the new regime in Chili, all of a character most exasperating, and together furnish- ing Chili with much more plausible pretexts for sending gunboats to bombard San Francisco, than the Valparaiso mob and Senor Mattas angry note, furnished for the war talk indulged in here. Everything had indicated a sympathy with the Balmaceda government, and a coldness toward the popular party, which could not fail to rankle in the memory, when that party came into power; and which, to our thinking, would have excused much more bitterness on the part of the Chilian people than has found expression. Our pursuit of the I/a/a was something, the best jurists tell us, without sanction from international law. Our minister in Chili was open and pronounced on the side of Balmaceda, and in declaring the rising of the people against him hopeless, and it was well known that his son was a leading official in a great South American business scheme which would gain millions by Balmacedas triumph. There were features attending the shelter of the political refugees by Mr. Egan, which carried such protection quite beyond what diplomats are by common usage permitted to extend. And the manner in which information came from our admiral of the movements of the Congressionalist troops at Quintero, as proved by the telegram found in Bal- macedas quarters after his flight, waiving entirely any discussion or opinion as to the admirals in- tentions, was certainly such as to excuse the gravest suspicion, and the anger of any people emerging from a civil war like that in Chili. All these things were to be remembered, as well as the killing of Mr. Riggin, when it came to talking of war with Chili. These things, we say, gave Chili much more plausible pretext for war with us than we had for war with her; these things also were to go before the court, if it came to arbitra- tion; and these things commanded us to be ready and quick to propose arbitration, when relations became strained, instead of waiting for Chili to do it, if the fact that we were the strong power and Chili the weak power were not alone a sufficient command. But throughout this whole unfortunate affair we have never officially recog- nized that there was a Chilian point of view, we have shown no disposition to concede anything, we have shown no spark of graciousness, or brotherhood, or neighborhood no magnarninity, hut only extremest legality, and worse than that. Our fine sentiments about the era of peace and good-will among nations, about the federation of the world, about international arbitration and the methods of reason, all overboard, so far as official action went and an insane itching to get out our new navy and spank this little South American republic, kill a few thousand Chilians to avenge our ruffled honor. Thousands of United States Christians gossipped about this comfortably be- tween the pudding and the sherbet, as one of the two or three proper and proximate alternatives. We were once more the bully from before the foundation of the world. We dont want to fight, but by jingo if we do, Weve gut the ships, weve got the men, weve got ,tbe money, too. The ships, to our thinking, were responsible for three quarters of the mischief. We have got a new navy, it has been exhibited with great eclat in all our harbors, the newspapers have dilated upon its magnificent guns, and the boys and their uncles are sure that it can beat anything going they would like to see it tried. And this would be a naval war. The war fever was hottest in the Washington clubs where the naval men most congregate, and we read that there was the keenest disappointment there as it began to look more like peace. When the fever was at its highest, and the obligation for repression and re- serve was greatest, the Secretary of the Navy said to the newspaper reporters for publication, and the word was spread through the country: Chili has insulted our government as it has never been insulted before. Shall we acknowledge ourselves to be a nation of cowards, willing to permit nor national dignity to be assailed, or shall we act the part of men and resent such conduct? I believe that Chili will be forced either to apologize and make the proper reparation asked for by the President, or take the consequences, which means that in thirty days we will be able to whip the entire Chilian navy. We will pounce on her from the quarters where she least expects it. We hope that we have the sympathy of every earnest reader in saying that there ought to be such a spirit in this republic, as would make it sure, that any high official of the government speaking in this reckless tone at a critical time like this would be relegated to private life within twenty-four hours. We certainly do not think that the great mass of the American people read such words as these with approval. We do not mean to imply, in anything here said, that the majority of the American people wanted to go to war with Chili. 135 136 We have to applaud, for the most part, the calm and sensible editorial utterances of the great newspapers, although these same newspapers were many of them willing to tickle the war palate by brilliant programs of a Chilian campaign and broadsides with pictures showing how our brand new navy would look bombarding Valparaiso. We do not doubt that it was the idle and the fussy folk who made most of the noise, and that these screeching tenors could have been drowned hy a thundering bass not at all in harmony, had the intellectual and business centres really been stirred by a belief that overt wrong was immi- nent. The shallows murmur when the deeps are: dumb. But when all this is remembered, it must be remembered that, as a matter of fact, our government has made an exhibition of itself xvhich is not edifying, accompanied by an amount of popular thirteenth-century bluster and jingoism, which shows that the nation is yet much further frog having arrived at manhood than some of us had hoped. We have said that we hold our new navy, and the excitement which has attended its creation, responsible for three-quarters of the mischief. Without this new navy at hand ready for business, and, as the talk of the Washington clubs has shown us, anxious for business, we should have had no war message from our President to Con- gress, nor any interruption in the course of the regular diplomatic correspondence, hy which the State Department, in these years, has duly settled much more serious disputes with much more pow- erful disputants. This wretched Chilian chapter should alone suffice to show the folly and the wickedness of the creation of a powerful navy, or of any movement toward armament, after the manner of the European powers, by this great republic at this age of the world. It was a motto of the militant old time, In time of peace prepare for war. A word which it would be more profitable to remember now is this: Pre- pare for war and you will probably have it. It is a very hypocritical and miserable business for us to be preaching disarmament to Europe and practising armament at home. Horace Creeley well said that the only way to resume specie payment was to resume. The only way to ever effect the disarmament of the nations is to disarm and to take some risks in doing it. It is very discouraging, at a time when sensible men all over the world are feeling and saying this, to see the United States of America suddenly starting up with a passion for a new navy. Two principles control different men and na- tions in times of vexation and resentment; and perhaps they were never more plainly stated than by Hosea Biglow in his colloquy between the old Bridge and the Monument. The one principle is: Ef you want peace, the thing youve gut to du Is jes to show youre up to fightin, to. The other principle is: For growed-up folks like us twould be a scandle, When we git sarsed, to fly right off the handle. Ef were goin to prove we he growed-up, Twont he hy harkin like a tarrier pup. We have to say of ourselves with regard to the Chilian controversy, that it has shown that we are not yet growed up. IT would not be right, perhaps, in condemning,. as we have here done, the course of our govern- snent in the controversy with Chili, to say noth- ing of one notable exception. The controversy itself is a subject of such moment, that the matter of the Democratic or the Republican complex- ion of the administration, is a trivial accident, and the critic will not be suspected of being af- fected by party bias in his praise or blame. At the risk of any personal invidiousisess, the frank- est and heartiest praise should be given to our Secretary of State, for the dignified, patient, an4 pacific tone with which he seems throughout to have conducted the diplomatic correspondence, and the conferences with the Chilian minister at Washington. The ministers final statement shows the readiness and wisdom of the Secretary of State in paving the way to arbitration at every critical momeiit, when it seemed that arbitration might be necessary. And it must not be forgot- ten that it was the regular course of diplomacy, and not the threats, which brought the matter to a successful issue; the Chilian governments con- cession of our demands being already on the wires to us before the news of the Presidents message to Congress had gone abroad at all; the message was a mere superfluity of naughti- ness. The newspapers tell us that while the jingo- ism in Washington was at its height, Mr. Blame was present at a dinner at Senator Hales, with sundry senators and sundry foreign ministers. After dinner, says the reporter, the conversa- tion turned upon the Chilian affair. As the dis- cussion deepened, Mr. Blame became acutely ex- cited, and at last broke out in violent denuncia- tion of the idea that Chili should be dealt with harshly. He declared that, although the Valpa- raiso incident was nothing tnore than a drunken squabble in a disreputable slum, signifying noth- ing, the Chilian government bad already apolo- gized for it ten times more than ours had done for the brutal and barbarous massacre of Italian citizens in New Orleans. At this the Marquis Imperiali, the Italian minister, who was present,. bowed and complimented the Secretary on his. magnanimity. Mr. Blame went on to charac- terize in the severest terms the disposition to ex- act further concessions from Chili, and wound up by declaring in the most emphatic manner that if the administration should adopt such a policy as. that, he repudiated it, and wanted to be so un- derstood. This speech ended in a complete and almost tragic silence, we are told, and so the incident terminated. Among the hundred newspaper stories about Mr. Blame which are not true, we are glad that this is generally understood to be true. At such a time the Secretary may be pardoned for breaking his ordinary diplomatic reserve, and for any little extravagance or heat. As Mr. Blame seems to be on the point of retiring from public life, it is pleasant to applaud his noble stand upon this Chilian question, perhaps the last important diplomatic question with which he will have to deal; and the country will remember his long and consistent and far-sighted efforts to bring all the American republics into closer and more vital union. EDITORS TABLE. 4