THE NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE. SEPTEMBER, 1892. VOL. VII. No. i. ON THE SHORES OF BUZZARDS By Edwin Fiske Kimlail. UZZARDS BAY has attracted special in- terest in these latest years from the selec- tion of its shores as a summer home by ex-President Cleve land. But the charm of the bay has been perennial. To its peaceful waters, wooded points, sheltered coves, and sandy beaches have come, in their successive genera- tions, the Indian, the discoverer, and the pioneer, the farmer, the scientist, the pleasure-seeker, and the health-seeker. Buzzards Bay is one of the three noble bays of the Massachusetts coast. It opens into the ocean about twenty miles east of Newport, R. I., from which place many a yacht enters its inviting waters. Separating it on the south from Vineyard Sound is a chain of low islands known as the Elizabeth Islands, a name which carries us back to the days of Bar- tholomew Gosnold and the Virgin Queen. The broad shoulder of the great right arm of Cape Cod forms the eastern shore, while on the northwestern side the main- land breaks into a series of irregular points, or necks, as they are locally termed, all with a southeasterly trend, forming many intermediate coves and harbors. Within its charming environ- ment, the bay stretches for thirty miles to the northeast, varying in width from ten miles in the lower part to five in the upper, ending in a fine bit of water called Buttermilk Bay, which nearly touches the south boundary line of old Plymouth town. The entrance from the ocean lies between Gooseberry Neck, projecting in the town of Westport, and the rocks that make off from the end of Cuttyhunk, the western of the Elizabeth Islands, famous as the site of Gosnolds little colony of NEW SERIES. Wings Neck. BAY. 0 4 ON THE SHORES OF BUZZARDS BAY. 1602. Vessels bound in look for one of the two coast light-ships, named euphoniously from the hidden boulders near by, Hen and Chickens at the north and Sore and Pzgs at the south. Ten miles to the southeast of Cutty- hunk looms up the great clay promontory of Gay Head (the Dover Cliffs of Gosnold), the west- ern termination of Marthas Vineyard. Several small rivers, including the Acushnet, Mattapoisett, Sippican, and Wareham, flow from the lakes and slopes of the mainland into the harbors of the northern shore of the bay. Into the head of the bay, close by Gray Gables, the home of the Clevelands, empties the Monument (a corrupted form of Mano- met) River, whose source is up among the lakes of Plymouth, south of the Manomet Hills. It is but six or seven miles across the isthmus of the cape along the line of this stream and that of the Seusset on the northern side; and it is small won- der that, from i 776 to the present time, survey after survey has been made for a ship-canal to con- nect the two bays, Cape Cod and Buz- zards, thus freeing c o a 5 t navigation from the perils of the Nantucket shoals and those of the back of the cape with its wintry storms. Inside the bay are many islands close to the shores, among them West Island, off Fairhaven, the largest in the bay, Bird Island, off Marion, with its pretty white lighthouse tower, and Mashnee, Cedar, Onset, and Wickets Islands at the head of the bay, which in certain lights form a group of surpassing loveliness. I vividly recall a sunset seen over them from the roof of the hotel at Monument Beach. A gentle breeze stirred the blue waters of the bay; vistas of distant shores appeared between the islands; these, dark green to their edges, lay indistinct in the haze which had risen in the after- noon; the sun sank, a ball of fire, below the misty horizon beyond Onset Bay; high - peaked clouds formed towers of silver at the north; long bands in the west made curtains of glorious color. Soon their golden hues faded to dull gray; the sky above and the sea and land below grew dark; and then, above the fading landscape, gleamed the red tints, holding long into the twilight. The innumerable bowlders which strew the pastures and shores, mak- ing many a scattered pile on water- worn points, will not pass unnoticed by even the casual visitor. At the head of A u c o o t Cove, between Marion and Mattapoisett, there is a huge accumulation of them, where the Residence of Edward Atkinson, Mattapoiseit. Bowider in Mr. Atkinsons Garden, ON TEE SIJOFES OF B UZZARJ)S BAlK 5 tides and a brook have washed them clean. Near by, all along toward An- gelica Point, in the fields, in the woods, and on the shore, they are numberless and often very fantastic. Here, the native says, The devil dropped his apron strings, remembering that he had loosen- ed them at many other points. At Mattapoisett, on the estate owned as a summer home by Mr. Edward Interior of Mr. Ricketsons Studio. Atkinson, the well-known statistician, lies one of the largest bowlders in New Eng- land. You see it where the grass land meets the woods, with its peak among the tree-tops. Its greatest height is forty- two feet, and its width thirty-six. It has split into unequal parts with a fissure of three and a half feet, through which runs a path, revealing its gigantic proportions. How came this frag- ment of the White Hills down by the sea two hundred miles away? The answer is a story from geology, es- sential to an under- standing of the character of all southern New Eng- land. The immense glaciers of the Ice Age of North America xvere gi- gantic carriers of broken and ground material from the mountains of the northern part of the continent toward the south. Where now the southeastern counties of Massachu- setts are, the ocean in the previous cycle held full sway, and probably beat upon the Milton Blue Hills and upon irregular lines westward. Through the cen- turies of the glacial period, the drift of which their land is composed, consist- ing of sand, gravel, and bowlders, was scraped from north- ern New England and deposited in the sea or in visible moraines on a scale which the imagina- tion fails to con- ceive. The ocean sorted and stratified much of this drift, though some crests are left in their original condition, like the backbone of Cape Cod, which has remained above sea-level. Three distinct terminal moraines appear in southern New England. The extreme outer margin is visible by its remaining portions, Nantucket, Marthas Vine- yard, No Mans Land, Block Island, and beyond in the southern hills of Long Island from Montauk Point to Brooklyn. The second line established by the melt- ing and retreating glaciers is revealed by Cape Cod peninsula, from Provincetown to Woods Holl, the Elizabeth Islands, Point Judith, and Watch Hill in Rhode A Bit of the Appoeaganuett River South Dartmouth. 6 ON THE Sb ORES OF B UZZARDS BA Y. Island, and westward by Fishers Island and the northern hills of Long Island to Port Jefferson. Buzzards Bay, which has a maximum depth of sixty feet, lies be- tween the second and the later vast moraines, and its form is no doubt due to the more rapid action of the warm currents which came from the south between Marthas Vineyard and Block Island. Its northwest shores belong to the third terminal moraines, which begin at the Manomet Hills of Plymouth and extend irregularly westward along a line of promiscuous elevations which give the character to much of the country to the Hudson River. Here, then, is the key to the hills, islands, and bowlder-covered fields and shores of the bay, and one can make good use of it in observing t h e characteristic landscapes on CsttyhLsk. every hand. But human life and its romance is more interesting than ice and drift. Who have seen these shores, or lived upon them? There is considerable evidence that the Norsemen, under Thorfinn, follow- ing Leif Erikson, about the year 1007, explored this bay and named it Straum- fiord, or Bay of Currents. For five hundred years after their visit, if the visit occurred, no European disturbed the savage life of the Indian tribes, Wam- panoags on the xvest side, and Mashpees on the east, whose villages everywhere on the bay can still be traced by the accu- mulations of clam and oyster shells which mark their sites. For over thirty years, even after the discovery of America by Columbus, no bold navigator reached this portion of the New World until Verra- zano, the fearless and enthusiastic French explorer, in 1524, made his famous voy- age along our coast from Cape May to Cedars at Nonqsitt. The First 0oiosy in New England. V OW TEE SNORES OF BUZZARDS BAY Fort Phconix. Fairhaven, mantic interest, however small its results on American history. This active, intrepid, experienced seaman from the west of Nova Scotia. In his Letter is found England sailed for North Virginia a glowing account of a certain fine bay on the 26th of March, 1602, with a com- and port where he stayed fifteen days pany, all told, of thirty-two, twenty in- refitting his ship, and where he ohserved tending to remain as colonists. He made fertile shores and friendly natives. The land,after forty-nine days, near York Beach, latitude is given as 41 2-3d, and anti- Maine; then turning south for a day and quarians helieve he descrihed the harhor a night, found in the morning his little of Newport, R. I. When Bartholomew ship, the concor encompassed hy a Gosnold struck directly across the Atlan- mighty headland. He anchored, and tic from the Azores, after leaving Fal- with others went ashore. On his return mouth, England, he was in search of the wonderful haven of Verrazano, and he- lieved he had found it in Buzzards Bay, which he named Gosnolds Hope. This certainly was a hetter name than the present, given pro- hahly by the early settlers of Dart- mouth, a half cen- tury later, from the g r e a t numhers of fish - hawks (called huzzardets, or little buzzards, in old works upon natural history) seen ahout the shores and is- lands of the hay. Gosnolds attempt- ed colony on Cutty- hunk Island was the first English settle- ment in New Engl- and, and has a ro Old Whalers, New Bedford, 8 ON TUE SHORES OF B UZZARDS BA Y. he found that his crew had caught a great an acre in extent, situated in a fresh abundance of codfish. From this cir- water lake near the western end of cumstance he called the headland Cape Elizabeth, he fixed the site of his Cod, which was the first English name house and its surrounding stockade, or given to any part of New England. fort. A cellar-hole, with stones, evi Doubling the cape and escaping the dently the foundation of the storehouse, perils of the shoals below, he soon dis- was distinctly visible when, in i7~7, Dr. covered and christened Marthas Vine- Belknap, the historian, visited the islet, yard. John Brereton, one of the chroni- and this could be seen until recent culti- clers of the voyage, described the land vation of the land obliterated the re- as if it were some new Eden, so lovely mains. On this historic spot, Daniel was the scenery of this and the neighbor- Ricketson, the historian of Dartmouth ing islands, with great oaks, stately pines, and New Bedford, proposed to place a luxuriant shrubbery and flowers. How small round and castellated form of tower, built of stone in a rude but substantial manner. It yet remains for some so- ciety or gentleman of wealth to mark with a suitable memorial the location of the first authentic habitation of Euro- peans in New England. Now all tke land is barren of trees, but in 1602 the island and the little islet in the lake were finely wooded, as the chronicle says, with oaks, ashes, beeches, walnut, witeh- Bird Island Light. hazel, sassafras, and cedars, with divers others of unknown names. Game, in- changed are the denuded islands now! cluding the red deer, abounded; the Naushon alone attests the noble forests shores furnished great quantities of shell- of the past. fish, while delicious wild berries grew The chain of islands lying north of luxuriantly. Vineyard Sound was next explored, and The little settlement, however, xvas the western one, Cuttyhunk, selected for short-lived, for on June i8th, after a stay the colony on account of its greater se- of twenty-five days, all the ships company curity from the Indians. In honor of his left for old England. Some writers have queen, Gosnold called it Elizabeth, a called them fickle, but circumstances name which afterwards spread to the seem to have compelled their going. An entire group. On a rocky islet, less than ambushed party of Indians attacked th.e A Club RaceThe Sta,t OAT THE SHORES OF B UZZAI& 9S BA Y. 9 colonists, while Captain Gosnold was ex~ ploring across the stately sound, as the chronicler, Gabriel Archer, a gentleman in said voyage, calls our noble bay. XVith the remembrance of the fate of Roanoke fresh in their minds, with the fear of losing their shares of the profita- ble cargo of sassafras and cedar-wood with which they had helped to freight the vessel, and xvith the likelihood that their lrovisions would not hold out till the re- turn of the ship from England, some of the colonists decided to go back with the Goiword rather than remain in the mighty wilderness. Let it be recorded to the credit of Anglo-Saxon grit that there were twelve sturdy yeomen who were will- ing to take the risk with Gosnold. Re- luctantly he abandoned his cherished settlement, and five years later found his unknown grave in Virginia, whither he had gone with Captain John Smith. Not by adventurers at Elizabeth was the soil of New England to be planted for its growth of civil and religious liberty, but, eighteen years later, at Plymouth, by the Pilgrim seed-corn, winnowed by three siftings. Old Dartmouth, at the southwest cor stately sound. As we approach the shore from the east, the red roofs of the pretty village of Nonquitt appear north of the Round Hills beyond Dumpling Rock Light. These are the hills which Gosnold called Haps Hill. Near them on the beach he was met by a company of na- tives, men, women and children, who with all courteous kindness entertained him, giving him skins of wild beasts, to- bacco, turtles, hemp, artificial strings colored, and such like as they had about them. A few days afterward fifty of these Indians went in eleven canoes over ner of the flay, one of the early planta- to Cuttyhunk and stayed tions of the Plymouth colony, shall be camping on the opposite our starting point for a tour about the island and trading with the Richard Watson G~Idar. A Cornar of Mr. Gliders House, Marion. three days, end of the Englishmen. 10 ON TITLE SHORES OF B UZZAIADS BAY. Prof~1e Rock. Nonquitt is a quiet, restful resort, asso- ciated in the minds of most of us with the pathetic close of General Philip Sheridans life. Here was his summer home during his last years; here, in July, i888, the naval vessel, the Swa/ara, brought the dying general; and here, four weeks later, he passed away. The beau- ties of the wide expanse of the lower hay and of the undulating landscape, have at~ tracted several artists to Nonquitt, notably R. Swain Gifford, who has a studio and a summer home overlooking the bay. Louisa M. Alcott spent several seasons during the latter part of her life in her pretty cottage there. Walton Ricketson, the sculptor, whose admirable busts of Miss Alcott and her father have brought well - deserved fame, makes an annual visit to Nonquitt, where he has a charm- ing studio. In 1650, thirty years after the Pilgrims had settled Plymouth, old Dartmouth re- ceived its first settlers, in the persons of Ralph Russell, his son John, and Anthony Slocum, who are said to have come from Taunton and established an iron forge at Russells Mills. In 1639, the General Court at Plymouth had passed an order that the old-comers, original Mayflower passengers, should make choice of two or three plantations for themselves in the territory of the colony before the Decem- ber court. The second place, so called, was the vicinity of Dart- mouth; but not till 1652 was the right to the land acquired by pur- chase from the Indians. Massasoit, chief of the Wampanoags, and Wam- sutta, his son (called by the English Alexander, as his younger brother, Metacom, was called Philip), sold to William Bradford, Captain Standish, Thomas Sourhworth, John Winslow, John Cooke, and their associates, the pur- chasers, or old-comers, a great tract of land which was a considerable part of the old town. The purchase and its later additions stretched from Buzzards Bay to the colony of Rhode Island; out of the original township have been formed in later times, Westport, New Bedford, Fairhaven, and the greater part of Acushnet. It is curious to note the compensation given old Massasoit and Wamsutta, viz: thirty yards of cloth, eight moose skins, fifteen axes, fifteen hoes, fifteen pair of breeches, eight blankets, two kettles, one cloak, /2 in wampum, eight pair of stockings, eight pair of shoes, one iron pot, and ten shillings in another cam- moditie, - which, after all, was more in value than the famous twenty-four dollars which the Dutch paid in 1626 for Man- hattan Island. The original deed of West Island, ON 7YJE SHORES OF B UZZARDS BAlK III dated i666, is in the hands of the islands present owner Horace S. Crowell. This curious old document, with its indented margin, was given by King Philip to John C.ooke, bearing the signature and seal of the famous old royal savage. John Russell and John Cooke were the leading men of the new plantation, which became a settlement mainly of Quakers and Baptists from the mother colony, seeking here more freedom of worship. in- deed, a study of their his- tory reveals a remarkable contest for religious liberty, waged between them and the Plymouth General Court, and after the union of the colonies, in 1692, the Massachusetts authorities. They obeyed all laws except those of com- pulsory taxation for the support of ministers of whom they had no selec- tion and with whom they had no har- mony of religious belief. In addition to the Province tax there was annually laid upon them another for this purpose; and annually these inflexible non-corn- formists refused to collect it. The suf- ferings of these people in King Philips war, in which many lost their lives, were met, after the burning of their homes, by an order of the Plymouth Court, saying that it took into serious considera- tion the tremendous dis- pensation of God toward the people of Dartmouth in suffering the barbarous heathen to spoil and de- stroy most of their habi- tations, and expressing the fear that it was their carelessness a b o u t t h e ministry of the word of God among them which may have been the pro- vocation of God thus to chastise their contempt of his gospel, which we earnestly desire the people of that place may seriously consider and lay to heart and be humbled for, with solici- tous endeavor after a reformation thereof~ by a vigorous putting forth to obtain an able, faithful dispenser of the word of God amongst them and to encourage him Joseph Jeffersons House, Buzzards Bay. Joseph Jefferson. 12 ON TITLE SHORES OF BUZZARDS BAY. refused to assess the special tax ordered by the Court. They were imprisoned for a year and a half in Bristol jail, and released after the decision of the King to grant their appeal, with his order to have the ohnoxious tax re- mitted. This conscientious and suc- cessful stand for freedom of worship, a century after the planting of Ply- mouth, can be counted one of the decisive victories by which the com- plete independence of the Church from the domination of the State was secured in New England. While the opposing Puritan party were doubtless sincere and patriotic in their motives, the descendants of the honest Quakers and Baptists of old Dartmouth may well take pride in the achievement of their forefathers. Here and there in the villages of this region, and in the city of New Bedford, the visitor can see the simple meeting - houses of the societies of Quakers or Friends, as they like therein: the neglect whereof this court, to be called, who still hold the faith and as they must and, God willing, they will sit in the silent assembly. In the ter- not permit in future. One in modern ritory which was once old Dartmouth times may well deem this cold comfort for an afflicted people. The struggle over the religious tax lasted more than fifty years, and was often bitter, yet the town never yielded a whit from its position. The crisis came in 1724 in an appeal to the King. Two years before, the legislature of Massachu- setts had passed an act to raise one hun- dred pounds in the town of I)artmouth and a smaller amount in Tiverton (then a part of Massachusetts), for the support of ministers whose selection should be subject to the General Court. These towns were the only ones left in the state which had not been forced into con- formity, and this act was intended to accomplish that result. It was provided that the sum assessed should be included in the regular province tax and afterward withdrawn from the treasury. Mark the spirited action of the freemen of the town In town-meeting assembled, they One of Mr. Jeffersons Windmills. voted not to pay such assessment; and further to raise /700 (seven times the there were, thirty years ago, fourteen tax) to deftay the expense of an appeal houses of worship, and there were others to the King (George I.) The selectmen in adjacent towns. To the quarterly A Corner of Joneph Jeffersono Studio. ON THE SHORES OF BUZZARDS BAY. 13 meetings came many from a distance, including, till infirmity prevented, John Greenleaf Whittier. The harbor of New Bedford, the me- tropolis ef the Bay, is the wide estuary of the Acushnet river. The appearance of the city, finely situated on the western hill-side, is at once imposing and beauti- ful. Great cotton mills occupy much of the lower ground both below and above the bridge to Fairhaven; and one can easily realize that the city ranks third in the country in the product of her new in- dustry. The business and residential portions of the city stretch for over two miles along the harbor and river, up the slope toward the ridge behind. As the centennial orator xvell expressed it, the city lies between the green pastures on the one hand and the still waters of the river on the other. The wharves are scenes of various activities, and some of them reminders of the old days of the whale-fishery. Many famous whaling ves- sels form picturesque groups in the docks, fastened there unused, superseded by the steam whaler, or not needed by the diminished demands of the present, de- caying slowly, like old stage-coaches, relics of a former time. Still, New Bed- ford ranks to-day first in the xvorld in whaling-products, having an annual catch from about seventy vessels of $r,ooo,ooo to $r,500,OOO indeed a great reduction from the maximum of $6,178,728 thirty- five years ago, when three hundred and twenty-nine vessels were engaged. The interesting historical associations and local features of New Bedford are very tempting to ones pen; but a future article in this magazine will deal with this material, including the history and ro- mance of her whaling industry. We will cross over to Fairhaven by the long bridge, and enjoy the fine views up the river and down the harhor. This bridge, the successor of three previous ones, which were washed away in the great gales of 1807, i8i5, and 1869, crosses two islands on its xvay over, and has a draw-bridge close to the wharves of New Bedford, fishing projections or pockets, Gray Gabina. Residence of Es.President Cieve~and. Mr. Clevelands Boat Ruth. 14 ON THE SNORES OF B UZZARDS BA 1K and a long viaduct toward the Fairhaven side. Frequent horse-cars are crossing the bridge on their way back and forth from Fairhaven village, or from Fort Ph~nix in its lower part on Fort Point at the en- trance of the harbor. Thither let us follow the crowds of picnickers or sight- Cove, south of New Bedford, to avoid this fort. After burning the village and whaling fleet of Bedford, as it was then called, being a thriving village in old Dartmouth, they marched up and over to Acushnet, then down through Fairhaven, and re-embarked in their yes- FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY C. M. BELL. seers who swarm about the little beach or the rocks around the fort. This pictur- esque spot makes a near resort for the factory hands and the poor people of the adjacent city; and here are the cheap amusements and restaurants that cater to them. The fort has an indefinite history. It was here in Revolutionary times, and was used in the war of 1812. In Sep- tember, 1778, Maj.-Gen. Gray, with four or five thousand British troops, under orders from Sir Henry Clinton, raided this region, having landed at Clarks sels at Sconticut Point, a long projection south-east of Fort Phcenix. Fairhaven, as well as Acushnet to the north, was once a part of the town of New Bedford, but in 1812 was set off because of the irreconcilable views of the Federalists of New Bedford and the Jef- fersonian Democrats of Fairhaven about the Embargo and the War. Many years after, Acushnet was carved off from Fairhaven, owing to a bitter quarrel over the location of the corn- mon church. In such boundary stones of adjoining communities do we con- stantly find the monuments of old struggles. Fairhaven does not belie its name. On water and land there are beautiful scenes. On both sides of the road to Fort PhoJnix is situated the hand- some estate of Henry H. Rogers, one of the millionnaires connected with the Standard Oil Company, and a munificent patron of his native town. His grounds are beautifully planted and kept, and stretch to the waters edge, offering a charming view of the harbor and the city of New Bedford. The house is large and substantial, but rumor says it is soon to be replaced by Grover Cleveland. Mrs. Cleveland. Gilnochie Horns of John S, Bleakie. ON THE SHORES OF BUZZARDS BAY. 15 an elegant modern structure more in keeping with the owners wealth. Mr. Rogers has given Fairhaven a fine high- school building, also a library and a town hall, the two latter now in process of construction, gifts aggre- gating, it is said, a half-million of dollars. From the windows of the train which takes you from Fairhaven to Mattapoisett may be obtained views of coves and distant points with the inter- mediate marshes or farms which are characteristic of the low shores of this part of the bay. Mattapoisett harbor is a round land-locked sheet of water, beautiful from every side. On the north shore is the quiet, country - like village. Here live, in roomy houses, many retired sea-captains, who love their homes and their restful life after their years of peril on the ocean. The very meaning of the Indian word Mattapoisett is said to be rest; and it does not sur- prise one to find many summer visitors living at the small hotels of the place, or boarding with the inhabitants. A mile away from the village can be found the old Howes house, built by a Mr. Ham- mond in I 703, and used as a tavern to entertain travellers on their way from Rochester to Marion. Though not as old as some of the Dartmouth houses, four of which are coeval with its settle- ment, it is an excellent type of the colo- nial style, with long back roof, small windows, and pilastered door-way. Matta- poisett can boast of at least two modern improvements,its miles of concrete side- walk and its cosy Casino which one will find out in the fields near Mr. Ed- ward Atkinson s estate. To this rendezvous come young and old to pass pleasantly the summer hours. Mr. Atkinsons place is noted for the huge bowlder referred to in a preceding page. The house, situated in a recess of the woods, overlooking the fields and the harbor, is unpretentious. To it Mr. At- kinson has come for many seasons, being one of the pioneer summer residents on the Bay. Mattapoisett and Marion, whose postoffices are four miles apart, were once portions of the town of Rochester. Both are in Plymouth County, as is also Ware- ham on the north shore of the Bay. No tourist should fail to take the ride between Mattapoisett and Marion, or on the way forget to ask to be taken round by the shore loop rather than go directly through the woods. We pass a white meeting-house, known to be one of the Friends meeting-houses by it severe sim- plicity. We observe on the farms long lines of great stone xvalls, aptly called by Colonel Higginson the Stonehenges Tower at Woods Hall. The Vineyard from Woods Hall. 16 ON TITlE SI/ORES OF B UZZAEJ)S BAY. of New England. The pio- neers and their descendants accomplished two results by their erection, the clearing of the land for the plough or scythe, and the separation of field from field, but with labor which no calculation can estimate. There linger in this region traditions of the marvellous strength of a certain George l3riggs, called strong George, who alone, without weapons, captured a buck, and who at sea performed feats of strength and dar- ing which thrill ones blood as they are told. He built alone, in his last years, a stone-wall with rocks so huge that visi- tors look upon them with wonder and a doubt whether mortal man could have done the lifting. Notice how prosperous the farms ap- pear, hoxv tidy the buildings. Perhaps you will get a glimpse now and then of the interior of the tasteful front rooms. These are the plain people of Lincolns phrase, the reliance of good government, industrious, economical, con- servative, and strong in all the Anglo- Saxon traits which in New England have won the battles of the Indian Wars and the battles for constitutional liberty. Now we reach the woods. Tall white pines, with frequent oaks and walnuts, cast grateful shade over the narrow road. One breathes the odor of the pines, and is soothed through every sense. We feel the force of Emerson s words, the woods are medicinal to the soul. Why must we hurry? Is life not long enough to allow a few peaceful moments? Again into open fields, bowlder- covered, yet returning well - earned crops! How the farmer would ap- preciate an acre of Illinois or Iowa! Now we are near Aucoot Cove, and can stop to see the rocky fragments strewed upon the shore. Here might the Titans have held their battles ! The carriage winds through a wood road carpeted with soft needles from the pines, which, rising on either side, make an aisle like that of a cathedral. Too soon we reach the dusty road beyond, and are whirled into the village of Marion. One remarks just outside the more thickly settled portion of Marion a group Entrance to Had!ey Harbor. Long Point, Red Brook. ON THE SHORES OF B UZZARJ9S BAY. 17 of buildings which the town has received from Mrs. Taber, a wealthy widow, formerly of New Bedford. Near her own residence are the Taber Academy and the Public Library and Museum, while nearer the village is the pretty stone chapel, also one of her gifts. Marion is charmingly located on Sippi- can Harbor, which lies peacefully before you at every point. The soft Indian name Sippican meets you frequently. It is the name of the river forming the north boundary of the town, and flowing into the Weweantet about two miles above its mouth. The principal hotel at Marion, accommodating two hundred guests, is The Sippican House, and near it are the Sippican Boat and Bath Houses, used, perhaps, by the Sippi- can Club. A short distance to the south along the shore is the house where Mr. and Mrs. Cleveland~ lived during the summers of 1889 and 1890, bringing Marion and Buzzards Bay into promi- nence. The dwelling is a good-sized one, shingled, without paint or stain, with a piazza toward the harbor, and evidently much remodeled from its original condi- tion. It lacks, however, the seclusion and admirable situation of Gray Gables, Mr. Clevelands present home across the bay. Toward the head of the harbor one may find the old-fashioned house occu- pied in past seasons by Richard Watson Gilder, the editor of the Centu;y maga- zine, one of the pioneers in Marion. It is a quaint, old house, shaded by great balm-of-Gilead trees. An odd flight of steps leads up to the front door and the recently built piazza which fronts the water. Inside, the rooms are little changed from their former character. In an ancient fireplace still stand the rude andirons, and from the crane above swings the water kettle as of yore, while near the brick recess are the well-worn shovels, tongs and bellows. In the par- lor or sitting-room, one may read in the visitors album, these appropriate lines from Longfellow: For under that roof was no distinction of persons, But one family only, one heart, one hearth, and one household. It does not take one long to learn that Buzzards Bay is a paradise for the sail- boat. The popular boat, convenient for pleasure or for fishing, is the cat-boat, having a small forward cabin, one strong mast, a long boom and a short upper one called a gafl and a sail between these, which can be easily managed or reefed by one man. Pretentious yachts are sometimes seen, but hundreds of cat- boats flit about the bay in the day-time, and when seen bunched closely to- gether it is quite certain that blue-fish have been found. There are possibly a thousand sail-boats owned at the different harbors. Races between the fastest of them is a regular feature of the season; and exciting and pretty the races are. A steady southwest breeze can generally be relied upon in the summer, often gentle under a lee shore, but alf-a-gale alf the time out in the bay. At Marion wharf we shall board a well- built boat and enjoy one of the pleasant- est of recreations a sail to Onset Bay. XVhile waiting for the sail to be hoisted and things made snug about deck, we may observe the gay company on the Sippican float off the pretty boat-house. The young people of both sexes are in their jaunty bathing suits, and just now setting forth in several canoes to board a schooner, which is anchored in the chan- nel. Strong brown arms wield the pad- dles. Hear the happy chatter and laughter! Care has been thrown to the winds. This aboriginal life here, on the sparkling water, in the bright sunshine, with sweet air to breathe, reminding one of the life of the old XVampanoags, is the kind of life to restore the nerves ex- hausted in the crowded city ways. The boat is ready and the start is made. The wind is light at first, but in- creases as we approach the mouth of the harbor. On Great Neck and Sippi- can Neck are several fine new residences, which add much to the landscape above the coves and cliffs.~ As we round Great Neck Point, Bird Island and its light- house are close to us, making, with the wide bay beyond, a scene which the artist of the party desires to obtain in permanent form. To the northwest is Great Hill, so called, though only one hundred and twenty-seven feet high, a 18 ON THE SHORES OF B UZZARDS BA 1. coast survey mark in the triangulation of the region. On its point is the large house of Mr. A. W. Nickerson, of Ded- ham, Mass., who in r88i bought a great tract of land there, on which stood a hotel, accommodating three hundred guests, called the Marion House. Mr. Nickerson admired the situation and transformed the hotel, at great expense, into a commodious dwelling; and he has also spent a large amount in beautifying the grounds. As we pass some one tells the story of Queen Awashanks treaty of peace, made near the beach of Great Hill. During King Philips war, the gallant Captain Church met here the Queen and her tribe on their way to Sandwich to make peace with the Governor of Plymouth colony. The Queen entertained him cordially with fried eels, bass, flat-fish and shell- fish, and then, around a great bonfire of pine knots, she and her warriors pledged her allegiance to the English, thus weakening Philips power and prob- ably sealing his fate. What means this bustle? The magic word blue fish has been spoken, and the long lines are hurriedly drawn from the lockers under the seats. Are there fresh eel-skins aboard? Plenty of them! Soon each has drawn one over his hook, and a quick throw sends the line far to the stern. Now the sail feels the stiff breeze of the wider bay, and the boat is running before it like a race-horse. Sixty feet behind the eel-skins show for a mo- ment like flashes of silver as they drag along close to the surface. A sudden jerk as if a shark had swallowed hook and lead and was away with them and perhaps with you! You must stand the strain and pull steadily, no matter if the taut line does cut the forefingers. The fish is darting here and there like light- ning. Now he leaps clear of a wave and strikes with an ugly splash. Will you master him? How long is the line? Will it never end? Take care! Do not lose him at the last moment. Reach out and whirl him into the boat! There ! and, out of breath with excitement, you land your first blue-fish! The preservation of the valuable fish of Buzzards Bay is the object of an asso ciation of boatmen organized to protect the hook-and-line fishing of the bay, and, also, one of the objects of the Old Colony Club, of which Joseph Jefferson is president and Mr. Cleveland a promi- nent member. The upper part of the bay is already protected by State law against the use of fish traps, pounds, or weirs, and no nets or seines can be used in any part, and strong e~orts are being made to secure legislation relative to the remaining shores where licenses are still granted. Near Tempes Knob, where the bay grows narrow and the beautiful islands beyond break the surface into pictures all the way to Monument Beach, lines are wound, and attention is given to the scenery. On Indian Neck and along the shore eastward are the elegant summer residences of some of Bostons most ex- clusive set, among them being those of the Minots, Welds, Sargents, Stocktons, Lymans, and others. On Burgess Point, at the south entrance of Onset Bay, the fine place of Lewis S. Dabney, the Boston lawyer, attracts our gaze. The house has a picturesque setting on the shore, and seems an ideal summer home, typical of many not far away. From our present point, we can see for several miles about the head of the bay. Nearly every estate has its tall windmill, which makes many a pleasing picture against the sky. Above the woods about Crows Nest, Joseph Jeffersons place on Buttermilk Bay, we see his two large windmills, whirling near the north horizon-line. On the points near Monument river are more of them, in- cluding that of Gray Gables. Indeed we may say, as of the boxvlders, that no land- scape around Buzzards Bay is complete without windmills; and while, as a rule, they are of modern construction, still, as in Holland, the eye never tires of them. The best farms of Buzzards Bay are under the waters of the upper portion of the bay and of the many little bays and estuaries, and are the oyster beds. The products of these have the highest repu- tation and command the best prices. The beds are as carefully surveyed, staked, and cultivated as farmers fields upon the land. The owners of these beds are licensees of the town in xvhich ON THE SHORES OF BUZZARDS BAY. 19 they live, and the length of license is limited to a term of twenty years. We are ascending Onset Bay, passing Onset island, and soon reach the roman- tic island called Wickets. Before us, among the oaks which give the place its name, Onset Bay Grove, lies the city of the Spiritualists, an over - grown sea- side summer camp- meeting, with a population fluctua- ting from three to seven thousand peo- ple. The camps are five hundred cot- tages, costing all the way from fifty dol- lars to five thousand. Here this great com- pany, possessed with its ideas of invisible things, has been com- ing annually for sixteen seasons, to hear their noted speakers, to confer under the trees, and to prepare, may be, for many existences beyond the grave. On the main street, not far from the wharf:, are the head-quarters, in which are the offices of the corporation, and where the literature of the faith is displayed for sale. The rear of the building is built as an open rostrum facing the auditorium arranged in the grove like an amphitheatre. Here in good weather are held the public con- ferences, at which many rise to relate their experiences. On the hill beyond is the Temple, a large structure with a high tower, furnishing an indoor audience room. There are several hotels at differ- ent points for the accommodation of the transient visitors, who number, on special days, as many as four thousand. The regular inhabitants, some three thou- sand, occupy their own cottages, and the owners pay taxes to the town of Ware- ham, as well as a corporation tax to the stock-company which originally bought the peninsula and erected the public buildings. Stores, and all the attendant features incident to feeding and amusing a vast concourse of human beings, are scattered about. Groups of earnest men sit or stand, discussing events in this world or the next; and, if you listen, you may hear good science and philosophy, or the wildest imaginings of the crank. You meet the healer, the medium, the inspirational speaker, the genial editor, the seer, and the bore; and you go away, after a three hours stay, with your brain swimming with novel thoughts of the earth below and the heavens above. At the wharf we shall find two steam- launches which go over hourly to Monu- ment Beach on the east side of the upper bay. Seated in one of them we rapidly run down the glistening bay. In twenty minutes we are near Agawam Point, where Moses Williams of Boston has his residence. His neighbors, William W. Appleton of New York, John Parkin- son, and Alpheus H. Hardy, both of Boston, all have excellent houses of the Queen Anne type. Mr. Parkinsons grounds are a revelation of what can be done by thorough cultivation of land which was formerly barren pasture. These are Mr. Clevelands neighbors, as Gray Gables is just to the north, on Monument Point, where the Ex-President has bought a large tract of land between Cedar Pond Creek and Uncle Bills Cove. Arriving at Mouument Beach, we land at the wharf of the Norcross House, which derives its name from its owner, James A. Norcross, one of the noted firm of builders, Norcross Brothers. The fine red granite sea-wall protecting the grounds is built of the stones rejected in the quarries when the material of the Alleghany Court House at Pittsburgh was selected. From the roof of this fine new Old Mansion House, Naushon. 20 ON TIlE SHORES OF B UZZARDS BA Y. hotel one may obtain unexcelled views in all directions. Southwest, beyond Mash- nee and Tobey islands, the great bay stretches to the horizon. On Tobey island is the club-house of noted Boston yachtsmen, who have bought the whole island for its unequalled situation and its sheltered harbor. All the upper part of the bay is spread before you, and the shores with their cottages are beneath you. The people who come to Monu- ment Beach to spend the summer months are largely from Worcester and Brockton. On the ridge to the south-east you see the handsome house of Fred Packard, and nearer the beach that of W. L. Douglass, both of the latter city, and of note in the shoe business. As yet in our trip we have not been close to Gray Gables or to Crows Nest. These we will now visit. Taking a carriage at Monument Beach, we drive north along the county road, passing the beautiful home of Charles F. Chamber- layne. an influential lawyer, the popular secretary of th~e The Old Colony Club, then skirt the waters of Back River, where one end of the proposed Cape Cod canal is to be, and arrive at Mr. Clevelands large estate by way of the Monument Neck road. Oak and pine woods screen the place on the eastern side, and a roll- ing pasture extends to the house, situated close by the rocky beach. Great bowl- ders are scattered about in the grass. Wide, shady piazzas nearly surround the house, which receives its appropriate new name from the six picturesque gables, three on the bay side and three on the land side. The unpainted shingles are turning to a quiet mossy color, which with the gables enables the passing thou- sands on the Old Colony Railroad, a mile away, to recognize the house. Before the purchase of the property by Mr. Cleve- land, it was called Tudor Haven. It was selected by Mr. Cleveland for the sake of the retirement it afforded as well as for its attractive surroundings. The immediate and distant scenery is exceedingly pleas- ing and restful. Monument River, Co- hasset Narrows, Onset, and the upper bay, each gives a charming vista. A cove furnishes anchorage and shelter for Mr. Clevelands cat-boat, the Ruth, in which, with his skipper, he often goes out for a restful sail or a try at the fish. Fortu- nately for his privacy, the Buzzards Bay railroad station, a mile away as the crow flies, is four miles by the town roads. We drive to Bourne village and cross the Monument River by the carriage- bridge, and are soon on our way to Joseph Jeffersons, over a white sandy road through pitch-pine woods, which are characteristic of the east side of the bay. Crows Nest stands on a wooded bluff overlooking Buttermilk Bay, across which the prospect is beautiful, with sparkling water and the dark green forest beyond. The house is built of wood and stone, of pleasing modern architecture, and has a great piazza on the shore sides, supplied with all the appurtenances of comfort. The owners taste is every- where apparent in the surroundings and within the dwelling, where, among the handsome furnishings, are many rare and costly curios collected during his eventful career. The stable is worthy of a visit, and is apparently a favorite place for the children of the Jefferson family. Behind it are the windmills. The first one built is a novelty. The structure may be termed composite, a Dutch model with Yankee improvements; for the canopy is arranged on wheels and revolves as the four immense sails and vane are moved by the shifting wind, however slight. A long traveller, supported by a wheel, runs around a circular overhanging piazza, half way up. The mill now serves for Mr. Jeffersons studio, which is on the second floor, on a level with the outside Penikese Island. ON TILE SHORES OF B UZZARDS BA Y. 21 piazza. Its walls are adorned with some of the settings of the Heir-at-Law, including a mantel and fire-place. Brie- a-brac and Indian and Turkish wearing apparel give a dash of color. A large easel, on which the actor has painted many a picture, stands in the centre, opposite a north window, from which and from four small stained glass ones, high upon the sides, the light comes in. There is to be no water-tank on the floor above, as leaks are always possible, and the treasures below are valuable. Therefore a tall ordinary mill was afterwards erected near by to supply the buildings with water. From the observatory of this mill you can obtain a comprehensive view of the region, well-repaying one for the climb the woods stretching forty miles from Plymouth to Woods Holl being in sight. Beyond Mr. Jeffersons residence, further along the shore, are the houses of his two sons, and to the south near the Narrows, the estates of Mr. Ellerton L. Dorr and General Whittier of Boston. The present Whittier mansion is the larg- est private summer establishment on the bay. It was built by Eben Wright, on the grounds of the Tisdale Club, an organization of several gentlemen who were among the first to discover the ad- vantages of Buzzards Bay for fishing and shooting. Mr. Wright bought ou~ the interests of the other members and con- structed this great rambling house, spend- ing a hundred thousand dollars on the buildings and grounds. At his death, he gave the place to General Whittiers wife in recognition of her kindly services in his last illness. General Whittiers former house, north of the railroad track, on Buttermilk Bay has been occupied by Mr. Dorr, who has been at the bay since 1870. But the landscape has a past as well as a present interest. We are pointed out the spot on the south bank of the Monu- ment River, about half way from the branch railroad bridge to Gray Gables, where in 1627 the Pilgrims placed their trading post. Here they exchanged goods with the Dutch of New Amsterdam and the colonists of Virginia. We read the story in Bradfords Journal: For our greater convenience of trade, to dis charge our engagements, and to maintain ourselves, we have built a small pinnace at Manomet, a place on the sea twenty miles to the south, to which by another creek on this side [the Scusset,] we trans- port our goods by water within four or five miles, and then carry them overland to the vessel; thereby avoiding the com- passing of Cape Cod with those dan- gerous shoals, and make our voyage to the southward with far less time and hazard. For the safety of our vessel and goods, we there also built a house and keep some servants, who plant corn, raise swine, and are always ready to go out with the bark, which takes good effect and turns to advantage. The post was continued only a few years, and is not considered the first permanent settlement of Sandwich. The roof of the house was blown away in the great storm of 1635, which ravaged the whole Cape be- low. With pleasant memories of our ride we return to Monument Beach. Here, on a clear, cool morning, let us join an excursion party which is to descend the east shore of the bay in a steam-launch and explore the Elizabeth islands. The charming, rounded character of Tobey Island, with its red-roofed club-house, is at once observed. Wenaumet Neck, which projects far into the bay, and has on its point Wings Neck Light, is at last passed. The principal owner of Wenaumet Neck is Rev. Cyrus A. Bartol, the noted Boston clergyman. Coming into sight, both at Wenaumet and Cataumet just be- low, are the summer homes of many culti- vated people who particularly appreciate the climate and scenery of the east side of the bay. At Cataumet Neck, one of the most pleasurable places imaginable, is a little colony from Brookline, Mass., of whom Joshua Crane was the earliest settler, and who was followed by neigh- bors and friends, including the Unitarian clergyman, Rev. Howard N. Brown, and his family. Scraggy Neck to the west was originally owned by one of the first pastors of old Sandwich, and was given him as an inducement to spend his life in his parish. The agreement he ful- filled; and his heirs, about twenty years ago, sold it to Washington Allen, who still A~C ,~ ~24t C4f-L1~.V~ 45 s.. ~/ y 666~ ~ /~* ~i-~ bec 2C47KO~AC VLP 11~4~ fl4~f n-~:~ 4441A~i2 (~. 1V~L ~ IA /L~~;:~lS #f- ~V$ i~& A k~-~ ~ I4~*1C~/Q*7*.B~Vi.~ ~ 74 cJI~ ~-~( of i04~/~~ .7~A& ~ ~ A s~7Isrc.- ,3 ~tf7La ~1 Fac-Simile of a Portion of the Original Grant of West Island hearing the Signatsrea of King Philip and Governor Hinckley. ON THE SHORES OF B UZZARI9S BA Y. 23 lives upon it, though he has sold it re- cently to Mr. Eustis of Milton. The prices, twenty years apart, furnish a good illustration of the rise of values along these shores. Mr. Allen paid fifteen hun- dred dollars for the place, and is reported to have received sixty thousand dollars, or forty times the cost. On the south shores of Cataumet Harbor, in the terri- tory of North Falmouth, is a new and pretty summer settlement called Nonan- tum, after the Indian name of Newton, Mass. The word tells us that the people come from the garden city of the State; and they well represent its culture and refinement. To the west of Nonan- tum is the beautiful Downer estate at Nyes Point, with its cosey cottages. During the long reach from Scraggy Neck to Chapoquoit 1-Jarbor, a well-in- formed companion talks of the Indians who once lived on these shores, and whose soft language is heard in the names of numberless localities. They belonged to the Mashpee tribe, whose few survivors still live in the town of that name, some ten miles to the east. To them went, in 1658, an earnest mission- ary, Richard Bourne, a companion of John Eliot, the apostle to the Indians. He had gathered at Mashpee by 1670 a church of Christian Indians, which has lasted to this day. The town of Bourne, along whose border we have just passed, is named for Jonathan Bourne, a de- scendant of Richard. The Cape Indians were kept at peace with the whites dur- ing King Philips war by the labors of the Christian ministers among them, Bourne at Mashpee, Treat at Eastham, Thornton at Yarmouth, Tupper at Sand- wich, and the Mayhews, father and son, at Marthas Vineyard. Safe at home, the Cape colonists sent forces to the aid of their fellows. Had the numerous tribes of the Cape first massacred the few English there, and joined King Philip, who can say but the result would have been the extermination of the outnum- bered Europeans? It was the mission- aries as xvell as the soldiers who saved New England! At Chapoquoit Harbor there is another village much like those above, made up of red-roofed houses, with their wind- mills and boating wharves. A four mile run has brought us down to Quamquisset Har- bor (shortened usually to , where we stop to take dinner at its large hotel. Not far away from this lovely sheet of water, we find several fine residences, notable among them Gilnochie, owned by John S. Bleakie of Hyde Park, Mass. This fine house stands on the ridge be- tween the bay and the sound, and com- mands views of both. Early in the after- noon, we reach XVoods Holl village, a part of Falmouth, where one can take the cars for Boston, or the steamboat for New Bedford, or for the Vineyard and Nantucket. The southwestern part of Falmouth is a peninsula lying between Buzzards Bay and Vineyard Sound. Along the shores of the Sound are the princely estates of Daniel W. Butler, Ogden Jones, Francis E. Foster, John M. Glidden, Joseph S. Fay, Jr., and Henry H. Fay, the latter the sons of Joseph S. Fay, who owns the greater part of the upper peninsula. John M. Beebe has a handsome home with large grounds on the dividing ridge. On the bay side, where once the Pacific Guano works were situated a nuisance in former days there is a great change in progress. Long Neck has been bought by enterprising parties and rechristened Penzance, from its striking resemblance in form to that peninsula of old Falmouth, England. Here, no doubt, in the near future, will be found some of the finest residences on the bay. But we cannot forego a hurried visit to the buildings of the Fish Commission, where the labors of the late Dr. Spencer Baird and his assistants have so greatly benefited the coast fish- eries, by the millions of young fish and lobsters hatched at the place, nor can we miss a glimpse of those of the Marine Biological Laboratory, with the summer school of able professors and earnest students, who under the lead of Dr. C. 0. Whitman, are carrying out lines of work that, were he alive, would make glad the great heart of Louis Agassiz. The earldom of Naushon Island, as one may well call the noble possession of the Forbes family, is visible from Woods Holl; and, as we approach, a nearer view reveals the houses occupied by S 24 ON THE SHORES OF B UZZARJ9S BAY. the father and the Sons. A whole article might be written about Naushon, which has, by gift, transfer, or sale, been owned since 1641 by the Mayhew, Winthrop, Bowdoin and Forbes families. It was bought by John M. Forbes in 1843, for twenty thousand dollars, as a result of a compromise between the claims of Bow- doin College and the Bowdoin heirs. The suit expected was one for which the most eminent talent of New England Naushon retains much of the old forest, and in the stately groves still roams the red deer, as in the time of Gosnold. The island has interesting associations connected with the British occupation of it in the Revolutionary War. After a visit to Cuttyhunk, we make our home course by way of Penikese, a rocky isle, north of the Elizabeth chain. Here, in 1873, the summer before his death, Louis Agassiz conducted the An- had been engaged, including Daniel Webster, Rufus Choate and Jeremiah Mason. The old mansion on the hill at the eastern end of the island was built by Governor James Bowdoin, and is now used by Mr. John M. Forbes. The sons, Col. William H. Forbes and J. Malcolm Forbes, have large modern houses, the former one on a hill fronting Buzzards Bay, and the latter on the shore of Hadleys Harbor. The fast schooner yacht Merlin lies anchored a half mile out, while the masts of the famous Purl- fan are seen beyond a wooded point further up the harbor. derson School of Natural History, with its fifty enthusiastic students and its dis- tinguished professors. This school did not survive longer than through the next season of 1874, for the expense of main- tenance was great, and the original en- dowment of fifty thousand dollars was spent mostly on the buildings and appara- tus. However, many made there a be- ginning in scientific work whose results are felt to-day in school and university. The new and admirable school at Woods Holl is a natural successor of that at Penikese. The climate of Buzzards Bay, in sum- mer, is soft, equable, and comparatively 41 K ~ACOJlNt 1I- r 5 ONE OF A THOUSAND. 25 cool, because of the southwest winds which blow almost steadily up from the ocean. There is usually a relaxing effect on the nervous system which soon re- freshes the weary. This beautiful climate, with the dry, healthful soil, and the good drinking-water, make the bay an ideal summer resort. While gaining rest, and enjoying the sports, one may see nature face to face and experience peace of mind. With the wise old Autocrat at his breakfast table shall we not ask: Who does not love to shuffle off time and its concerns at intervals, to forget who is president and who is governor, what race he belongs to, what language he speaks, and to listen to the great liquid metro- nome as it beats its solemn measure, steadily swinging when the solo or duet of human life began, and to swing just as steadily after the human chorus has died out, and man is a fossil on its shores? And there are few places where the question is better asked or better ans- wered than on the shores of Buzzards Bay. ONE OF A THOUSAND. By Eben F. Rexford. DONT suppose he thought Dora would care to go, answered Margaret. I didnt. She has never cared to go to school. The idea didnt come into your head that I might have some- thing to say about it! exclaimed Dora, in tones as sharp as her mothers. I dont see what right you have to decide what shall be done. This old Aunt Sophrony is just as much my aunt as she is yours. Margaret made no reply. Things have come to a pretty pass when your father lets you talk him into doing whatever you want without consult- ing me, said Mrs. Grey, angrily. Isnt Dora just as much his daughter as you are? You wasnt willin to wait an talk the matter over with us. You were bound to have your own way. Its a shame, a burnin shame, Margret Grey, for you to take advantage of us as you do, by workin on that old fools mind the way you do. I wont stand it. I wont have Dora treated so. Dont cry, Dora, III. for Dora was pretending to hide her tears behind her handkerchief,it aint all settled yet. The idee o lettin one daughter have evrything her own way an not givin the other a chance to say a word for herself! Its shameful, an hell find out what I think about it. Mrs. Grey, with a black look, left the room. Margarets heart sank. She pitied her poor father. Id like to know what all this means? demanded Mrs. Grey, as soon as she was inside her husbands room. I dont want to talk to-night, Sarah, he answered, without looking up. My head aches. I want to rest. 0, I understand what that means. Ive heard it a good many times before. Ive come to find out if Margret is the only one to be considered in such a case as this. Haint Dora got any rights or privileges? Is Margret to have her say about everything? I thought Dora had her full share, he answered wearily. Thats sayin, I spose, that you think shes had a good many moren Margret. I wish youd say what you mean. I hate insinuatin. I say its a shame, a burnin shame, that when such a chance as this

ONE OF A THOUSAND. 25 cool, because of the southwest winds which blow almost steadily up from the ocean. There is usually a relaxing effect on the nervous system which soon re- freshes the weary. This beautiful climate, with the dry, healthful soil, and the good drinking-water, make the bay an ideal summer resort. While gaining rest, and enjoying the sports, one may see nature face to face and experience peace of mind. With the wise old Autocrat at his breakfast table shall we not ask: Who does not love to shuffle off time and its concerns at intervals, to forget who is president and who is governor, what race he belongs to, what language he speaks, and to listen to the great liquid metro- nome as it beats its solemn measure, steadily swinging when the solo or duet of human life began, and to swing just as steadily after the human chorus has died out, and man is a fossil on its shores? And there are few places where the question is better asked or better ans- wered than on the shores of Buzzards Bay. ONE OF A THOUSAND. By Eben F. Rexford. DONT suppose he thought Dora would care to go, answered Margaret. I didnt. She has never cared to go to school. The idea didnt come into your head that I might have some- thing to say about it! exclaimed Dora, in tones as sharp as her mothers. I dont see what right you have to decide what shall be done. This old Aunt Sophrony is just as much my aunt as she is yours. Margaret made no reply. Things have come to a pretty pass when your father lets you talk him into doing whatever you want without consult- ing me, said Mrs. Grey, angrily. Isnt Dora just as much his daughter as you are? You wasnt willin to wait an talk the matter over with us. You were bound to have your own way. Its a shame, a burnin shame, Margret Grey, for you to take advantage of us as you do, by workin on that old fools mind the way you do. I wont stand it. I wont have Dora treated so. Dont cry, Dora, III. for Dora was pretending to hide her tears behind her handkerchief,it aint all settled yet. The idee o lettin one daughter have evrything her own way an not givin the other a chance to say a word for herself! Its shameful, an hell find out what I think about it. Mrs. Grey, with a black look, left the room. Margarets heart sank. She pitied her poor father. Id like to know what all this means? demanded Mrs. Grey, as soon as she was inside her husbands room. I dont want to talk to-night, Sarah, he answered, without looking up. My head aches. I want to rest. 0, I understand what that means. Ive heard it a good many times before. Ive come to find out if Margret is the only one to be considered in such a case as this. Haint Dora got any rights or privileges? Is Margret to have her say about everything? I thought Dora had her full share, he answered wearily. Thats sayin, I spose, that you think shes had a good many moren Margret. I wish youd say what you mean. I hate insinuatin. I say its a shame, a burnin shame, that when such a chance as this 26 ONE OF A THOUSAND. comes along you let one girl say whats goin to be done xvithout, so much as waitin to let the other know about it. You take advantage of my bein out o the house an have evrything settled be- fore I get an idee o whats goin on, an leavin Dora out o the question, as if she wasnt part o your own flesh an lMood. I didnt think youd go quite so fur as this, Asel Grey. I told Margaret she might go, because she has wanted to get an education ever since she was a little girl, answered Ashael Grey. Margaret has earned the rz~rkt to go, if ever a girl did, he added, turning and looking at her for the first time since she entered the room. You know that, Sarah. I dont know any such thing. Mar- garets only done what she ought to, an you know well enough that shes been an awful trial to me. Her injured look failed now to have any effect on Ashael Grey. Margaret has worked like a slave all her life, he said, and Dora has only done what she liked, though quite as able to work as Margaret. Dora aint able to work like Mar- garet. You know it. I dont know it. You have said so time and again, but I never was able to see why she wasnt able, only she wasnt made to. She never had a days sickness in her life. Its a shame that one girl should be made a drudge and the other allowed to do nothing. Dora is lazy thats it and you have helped to make her so. You hate Dora, cried Mrs. Grey. You always did. I do not hate her; but I never had any great reason to love her, only because she is my child. You have brought her up to think she is better than Margaret or me. For days at a time she doesnt speak to me. Margarets been a good girl to me. What I ask her to do she does without grumbling. Perhaps it would be better all around if I were out of the way; but I am here, and Ive got to stay here till I get through with my trouble. If Margaret wants to go to live with Sister Sophrony, she shall go. Ive told her so, and Ill stick to it. But I dont know how Ill get along without her. Then he turned his face to the wall, and not another word could Mrs. Grey get from him. She went back to the kitchen. Margaret got up and went out. Dora had her face in her apron. Dont cry, said her mother, soften- ing her sharp tones. If you want to go Ill manage it someway so that you shall go. If you cant, Margaret shant thats all there is about it. She had said that she was going to make a lady of Dora, but just how she was going to do it she had never been able to see. Now there was a chance. If she could send Dora to an eastern city, and give her the benefit of a years schooling, it would go very far toward making her a lady according to Mrs. Greys ideas. Id like to know, pouted Dora, if she thinks Im going to take care of father when shes gone? If she thinks shes going to shirk that on me, shell find herself mistaken. Ashael Greys remarks about not know- ing what he should do when Margaret was gone had suggested a plan to his wife. If she could make it appear to Margaret that it was her duty to stay with her father, that would be the strongest influence she could exert. When do you think of going? she asked Margaret in the morning. I dont know, answered Margaret. We did not get as far as that. I dont spose therell be any use o waitin a great while. You wont want to make up many clothes before you go. Itll be better to get em after you get there. Why I asked was, I want to be lookin round to see who I could get to take your place. Margaret looked at her inquiringly. To wait on your father, I mean. Of course I cant, with the housework; an you know he aint willin Dora should do anything for him. Well have to hire a girl, though I dont see where the moneys comm from. Theres Jane Pooler. Father couldnt bear to have her round him, said Margaret. Couldnt you let her see to the housework? Ill see to my own work. said Mrs. ONE OF A TJJIO USA NJ). 27 Grey. I wont have any girl round my kitchen unless Im there to see what shes up to. Weve got to hire some one to take care of your father, and thats all there is about it. Iv. LEAVE it to me. I think I can find some one who will suit him, said Mar- garet, after a moment. Im goin to get some one who suits me, was the sharp reply. I spose your fatherll make a great fuss when youre gone if he aint babied as hes used to hem by you; but I cant help it if he does. Hell have to help himself. Ive always believed he could, if hed try; an now hell have a chance to try. Margaret saw through the plan, and thought about it as she went about her work. Must I give up to her in this way? she anxiously asked herself. She went to her father and talked to him about it. Dont worry, he said, feebly. We can find some one to take your place. Ive been thinking it over, and Ive made up my mind that I shant be as lonesome as I thought. I shall write every week, Margaret said, kissing him and smoothing back the gray hair from his pale face, long letters, you know, father each one will be almost like a visit. But not quite, he answered, draw- ing her face to his. I shall miss you more than you have any idea, Margaret. But its for the best. I shant stand it many years longer, as Uncle Josi said, and a little trouble, more or less, dont matter much. Dont talk so, father, she said, her eyes filling with tears. Id do anything in the world to save you trouble and make your life pleasanter. If I thought youd be so very lonesome after I went away, I wouldnt go at all. I shall be very lonesome, he said, looking out wearily upon the meadows. But its better for me to give you up than it is for you to give up such an opportunity as this. A week went by. Mrs. Grey could not satisfy herself whether she was likely to accomplish her end, for whenever she began to talk, Margaret preserved a silence which baffled her. One day Mr. Grey complained of a pain in his head. He was restless all that afternoon. When night came, he could not sleep. Mar- garet sat by him and bathed his feverish temples. By and by he fell asleep, and then he began to talk in his uneasy slumber. Shes going away, he said. Mar- garets going away! Shes going away I Over and over again he said it. At last he started up with a cry like that of a child waking from a frightful dream, and stretching out his arms he said piteously, 0, Margaret, I cant let you go. I wont leave you, father, she said, her eyes so full of tears that she could not see him. Lie down, father, and sleep. For a long time he lay with his eyes upon her face. Then he did sleep, but it was a troubled, broken sleep, from which he often started up to call her name, and ask if she were there. The next morning he was no better. I am going to send for Doctor Stam- ford, Margaret said. Id like to know what for, said Mrs. Grey. I never could see the sense in traipsing after the doctor every time he gets it into his head that hes worse. Father is really very ill, said Mar- garet firmly. Cannot Will go for the doctor? No, he cant. The boys have got to go berrying. If I thought your father needed the doctor I wouldnt say any- thing; but I know he dont, and I wont humor him. Margaret went for Doctor Stamford herself. Doctor Stamford was a man of sixty years, a genial, old-school physician, with- out whom Waterford would have felt as if something were wrong xvith the social machinery. He stands it better than I thought possible for him, he said as he rode up the hill with Margaret by his side. Poor man, hes had a hard time of it! But Ive never known him to be as you say. Margaret told him about the letter from Aunt Sophronia, and of how she had talked of going away. 28 ONE OF A THOUSAND. Ah! that throws some light on it, said the doctor. Im afraid hes worry- ing himself sick over your going away. Youve been a good girl to your father, Margaret. Im sorry for you and for him. Ive often wished I could help you. If Mary had lived, shed have been more like a mother to you than your fathers wife has ever been. When he came out of her fathers room Margaret looked at him with a i~iute question in her eyes. Yes, he said, hes been worrying himself into a fever. You must keep him quiet, and perhaps we can bring him round in a few days. But, Margaret asked, with a great fear at heart, but if worrying over my going away has brought this on, is there any likelihood of his getting up as long as he has the same thing to worry about. My poor Margaret, the doctor an- swered, reluctantly, after a pause. I cant tell what the consequences will be if he keeps on worrying over losing you. Her last hope died when that was spoken. At that moment it seemed to her as if the very doors of heaven, which had been ajar before her, swung to with a great clang. It was hard. But what she felt to be her duty she would do. Ive been thinking it over, she said to her father the next morning, and Ive concluded not to go away. I think Id rather stay here with you. 0, Margaret, youre a good girl ! he said, and that was all. But presently the restless look faded from his face, and then he fell asleep. I have concluded not to go away, Margaret said to her step-mother. You can let Dora go, if she wants to. I suppose you didnt dare to trust us to take care of your father,. said Mrs. Grey. I am sure we aint quite heathen. Ive changed my mind, thats all, an- swered Margaret quietly. V. ON Monday the preparations for Doras journey began. We shall have to sell one of the cows, Mrs. Grey said. The money Smith paid for the hay wont more than buy the clothes shes got to have. Now Ill tell you what I want you to do, she said to Dora, as they busied themselves over the new garments. I want you to learn to play the piano, and sing, and and so you can take the shine off the Peters girls. Youre ten times as good lookin, and if youve only a mind to take hold you can make ten times as good a show as they can when you come back. Dont you worry about me, said Dora. Hasnt Aunt Sophrony got lots of money? I mean to make her buy me lots of nice things. I only wish I could come back with some better dresses than the Peters girls. Youll have to be kind o careful, cautioned her mother. If shes anything like your father, she may be hard to get along with. A good deal depends on how you start with her. Anyway shell be likely to do some//un for you. Margaret helped in the preparations, with a face that betrayed none of the dis- appointment she felt. She had a knack of putting things together effectively. Mrs. Grey and Dora knew that her taste was better than theirs, and were glad to throw as much of the work as possible on her. Dear me! exclaimed Dora, as she stood before the glass twisting her neck in an effort to get the effect of a new basque, how provoking it is to be obliged to pinch and contrive in order to get a decent dress out of half what one ought to have for it. Ill never get married thats one thing till I can get a man thats got some money. She gave the drab alpaca a contemptuous toss. Its just horrid to be poor! Whats the use of my learning to play the piano? she continued, we cant afford one. I might learn ever so many pieces, and when I come home thered be nothing to play them on. I wont have an organ thats certain. Of course you wont, said Mrs. Grey very decidedly. Organs are so com- mon! The Smith girls have got one, an Lucy Hanchett, an the Delangs are talkin about getting one, an if things go on as they have therell be hardly ONE OF A THOUSAND. 29 a house in the neighborhood without an organ. Mebbe we cant afford a piano, but, you just stick to the piano, Dora, an somethin may turn up. That was a busy week in the household of Ashael Grey. Margaret sat most of the time by her fathers bedside, and sewed on Doras dresses while she talked with him. The look in his eyes recon- ciled her more and more to the giving up of her plan. More than once she won- dered how she could ever have thought of going away and leaving him to the care of others. She began to understand as never before, how much she was to this poor old man whose hold on life was so frail. She could see that he was slowly fading out of life, and she felt sure, now that she thought it over, that, had she gone away as she had planned, the loss would have loosened his grasp on this world. She could never have forgiven herself, she felt sure, if that had happened. It was plainer to her daily that her duty was here. So it came about in those peaceful June days, as she sat by the old mans bed and worked for Dora, that the peace which comes to all of us, after a time, when we have given up a dearly cherished plan for the sake of anothers happiness, came to her and made her heart tenderer and her face sweeter as she talked with him. Margaret, he said suddenly one day, youre almost handsome. Perhaps I am so to you because you love me, she said as she bent to kiss him. VI. DORA went away on the following Mon- day. Uncle Josi came over with his old horse and chaise to take her and her trunk to the depot. Goin to be a fine lady, eh? he said, looking Dora over critically, as she stood in the doorway looking at the seedy turn- out. I dont spose it ud be of any use for me to speak fer the job o cartin you down from the deepo when you come back? I shant be able to afford a new waggin by that time, onless I hey a streak o luck, an this one wont come to your idea then. Uncle Josi grinned, and Dora resented his familiarity. You neednt worry any about me, she said, with a toss of her head. I can take care of myself, I guess. Oh, she added, turning about, Ive forgot my gloves. I left them on the bureau, up- stairs. Run and get them, Margaret. As Margaret went after them, Dora took a step towards her fathers room, and then stopped and looked at her mother. I spose I ought to say good-bye to him, she said. But he wouldnt care and I never did like saying good-bye to anybody. I guess youd better go in and see him, her mother said. Ill go in with you, if you want. They went into the room together, just as Margaret came down with the gloves. So this is how your goin to school comes out, is it? asked Uncle Josi. I didt say nothin about it that day when you was a talkin about goin, but I kep a thinkin, Mrs. Grey, shell hey suthin to say about it; see f she dont. Its a shame ye cant go, Margrit. Twould a done you some good. I could have gone, said Margaret, but I made up my mind that I ought to stay with father. He needs me. Thats so, said Uncle Josi. I can see hes failing fast. Seems to me I never saw him when he looked so peeked. Seems if a puff o wind ud blow him away. Poor Asel! hes had a mighty hard time ont more ways n one. Well, Im ready, said Dora, appear- ing with her mother. Good-bye, Mar- garet; and she really kissed her. Write all the news. Ill try to, said Margaret. Be keerful, there, Mis Grey, said Uncle Josi, warningly, to Doras mother, who was going to the station with them, thers a hole in that side o the xvaggin, and you might put your foot through it an hurt yerself. An Dory, look out or yell sile that new gown on the wheel. The rattling old vehicle moved off slowly in the direction of the station, to which the boys had gone two hours be- fore. A quiet which had not been known for a long time fell upon the household when Dora was gone. Dora made .30 ONE OF A TI-JO USAND. things lively, Mrs. Grey said; and even Margaret found out when she was gone that she loved her after a measure in spite of her qualities. It was not for long that Mr. Grey rallied. One day he said to Margaret. I am failing, Margaret, and fast, too. Cant you see it? I dont think you look quite as well as you did in the spring, she replied. Per- haps youll feel better when the hot weather is over. Doras letters came at intervals of two or three weeks. She would be having just a splendid time, she wrote, if it wasnt for Aunt Sophronia. Upon Aunt Sophronias solemn, sober, stingy ways she poured out such rhetoric as ~he was mistress of. Margarets fa~e burned as she read these confessions of ingratitude, for from the girls own letters she could readily ~ee that Aunt Sophronia was doing a great deal to make her visit pleasant and profitable. One night Margaret woke at the sound of her fathers voice calling her. She sprang up and went to him. He was half sitting up in bed, with a look in his face that frightened her. I cant breathe, he said. She opened the window. The fresh air seemed to revive him. She sat down on the bed and leaned his head against her shoulder. Then a silence fell upon them, which by and by he broke by say- ing in an almost frightened way: Margaret, I think the end is coming. You oughtnt to feel sorry, he added, feeling a tear drop on his cheek. I am not sorry. In the morning Dr. Stamford came. I will come again to-mc~rrow, he said as he went away, and bring Dr. Leith with me. Hes got fresh ideas, and per- haps he can suggest something that will be of benefit. I am afraid I cant. VII. DOCTOR STAMFORD brought the new doctor. For more years than Margaret could remember, Dr. Stamford had held supreme sway in his professional field in Waterford. He was getting old and lazy, he said, and thought it time to take in a partner who would be able to look after the hard work, while he did the easy jobs. Margaret had never met Dr. Leith be- fore. His face was a more cultivated face than she was in the habit of seeing, a face that told that its owner had come from among the men and women she had longed to touch. I hope to see you friends, Dr. Stam- ford said. Ive been sounding your praises to Dr. Leith all the morning, Mar- garet. Dr. Stamford is inclined to look at his friends through rose-colored specta- cles, Margaret said as she shook hands with the young man. I havent flattered you in the least, said the old doctor, smoothing the girls brown hair in a fatherly way. Dr. Stamford has told me of the books you love, said the young man, so I think we shall have some common ground. Margarets face was bright with the thought of talks with a cultivated man like this about George Eliot and Tennyson. Doctor Leith joined Dr. Stamford in the sick-room, and Margaret sat down on the door-step and waited. She knew very well that her father was drifting away from earth. It was nearly an hour before Dr. Leith came out and joined her on the steps. Well, she said, looking away to the hills, with a look that was enough to tell him that she was expecting to hear the worst. Howhow long before Then she stopped, for the tears choked her. Not very long, he answered. He stood quietly beside her while the tears gathered and her lips were pressed tightly together. Something about this simple girl this woman touched a new chord in his heart. I do not think you can wish to keep your father here, he said at last. I am glad he is going, for his sake, she said, but 0 ! she broke into a sob and lifted her eyes to his in a child- like appeal for sympathy, 0, it will be so lonely when he is gone. You dont you dont understand! ONE OF A THOUSAND. 31 Let me be a good friend to you, he said with a warm impulse. Will you not ? Yes, she answered, and that was all that she could say. Mrs. Grey gave way to grief of a most demonstrative kind when Doctor Leith told her that her husband could live but a short time longer. Do you think I ought to send for Dora? she asked of Doctor Stamford as he came from the sick room and joined them. No, I wouldnt advise it, said Doc- tor Stamford, brusquely. He knew as well as she that she had not the remotest idea of doing it. Doctor Leith had gone down the path, and was standing at the gate with Mar- garet. I am not busy, he said, and I shall be glad to be of assistance to you in any possible way. If we are to be friends, you must let me prove my friendship by being helpful. She watched the men as they rode away with strangely blended sensations in her breast. One was the sense of com- ing loss; the other was the hope and prospect of such a friendship as would be to her that which she had longed for through the lonesome years. Then, as the turn in the road hid them from sight, she went back with a feeling of self- reproach to her place by the bedside of the dying man. What right had she to pleasant thoughts when he was dying? And yet, what was death to this weary one, that he or she should sorrow? VIII. THE next day Doctor Leith came, as h.g had promised to do. He sat by Mr. Grey and read to him for an hour, and Margaret, with her work, sat near and listened, enjoying his low voice as one enjoys music. By and by her father fell asleep. Then they went out on the veranda and sat down, talking softly, so as not to wake the sleeper. It was so much like one of her dreams come true that Margaret could hardly remember all they had talked about after he had gone away. It was as if she had spent an hour in an enchanted world. Listening to him, she felt more keenly than ever what her life had missed. Contact with the world had given him culture and refinement of speech and manner that seemed to lift him far above the men who had come across the horizon of her narrow life. If she could have gone away, as Dora had, she thought! But in the pleasure of his companionship she felt that she would not be willing to change places with her sister. After that he came daily, and brought books which he read to her when they were alone. Her life seemed to expand in the sunshine of this new friendship, and she felt, for the first time, that she was beginning to live at all. Robert Leith found her a novel and a pleasant study. Here was a woman who knew by personal experience next to nothing of life, and the world beyond the circuit of the blue Waterford hills, and yet she had all unconsciously contrived, somehow, to make herself a more thought- ful woman, and indeed a woman of more real culture, than most of the women whom he knew. All her life seemed to have been a struggle against an unkind fate, but she had grown to womanhood, notwithstanding, with a rare sweetness of soul. Most women would have been soured and embittered by such surround- ings and such an experience. He won- dered at it more and more, as he saw more of her. Her mind was full of rare promise. He found a broad foundation there upon which she had herself begun to build a structure in which higher thoughts than come to most women would find a dwelling-place. You think you have missed a great deal because you have never studied in the schools, he said, one day, when she told him of the great longing of her life. I dont know. You have studied in the school of life. As for book learning, perhaps you wont believe me, but I mean what I say, there are not a dozen women among my acquaintances whose familiarity with the best books is greater than yours. Dont let yourself think any longer, my friend, that you are ignorant and uncultured, for it isnt true. Margaret answered, with a face like a pleased childs, I dont think you would say that if you didnt mean it, or part of 32 ONE OF A THOUSAND. it. But I cannot understand how women who have the opportunities of learning so many things can be contented with learn- ing so little. I want to know so much. I think you will know how to make some mans home a very happy one, he said, looking down into her eyes, and that, I think, is the best knowledge that can come to any woman. A soft light came into her face. Home I Would she ever know a home that was worthy of the name? Home was a myth, an abstraction, to her. So the days went by, and the life of Ashael Grey ebbed slowly out. Mrs. Grey tried to work herself into the good graces of Dr. Leith. He was worth making friends with, because he was popular in Waterford. If she could not be popular, the next best thing was being on good terms with those who were. Doctor Leith, who readily divined her nature and the truth regarding her treatment of Margaret, was prepared to dislike her from the first. But she could be agreeable when it pleased her, and he did not dislike her as much on longer acquaintance as he had expected to. Mrs. Grey was with her husband a good deal toward the last. Let us do her fullest justice and believe that some feel- ing of remorse for past neglect and ill treatment may have prompted her to take the place, for part of the time, that Mar- garet had filled so long alone. He was in a stupor most of the time, and did not seem to notice her presence. When he rallied, he always wanted Margaret. It was in September when the end came to Ashael Grey. Doctor Leith told Margaret, when he came to make his daily visit, that it was hardly possible her father would live the day out. I will stay with you, if you would like to have me, he said. His presence was the greatest comfort she could have had in that sorrowful time. She felt as if at last, she had something to lean on. Mrs. Grey was there, also, displaying her grief to the sympathizing neighbors who came to offer help. Jest hear the old woman a-goin on to Mis Parker, now, said Uncle Josi, bout Dorys bein gone, an how the poor critterll feel when she hears her fathers dead, an she not here when he died. It makes me all out o patience! All on us know Dory was jest like her mother, an never treated her father decent. Shell be glad she want home, fer fear twould ha put her out. Margaret, said Ashael Grey, faintly, is anybody here? Yes, father. Is there any one you want to see? Who who ? he began, and jeft the question unfinished. Doctor Leith is here, and Mrs. Parker, and Mr. Sheldon, and Uncle Josi, and mother and I. No one else? No one else. I I thought your mother was here, he said, by and by, in broken words. A robin sang his evefr-song in a cherry- tree by the window. He heard it, and smiled. She loved the robins, he said. After that there was silence in the darkening room. Presently he roused again. Are you here, Margaret? I am close by you, father. I cant see you, Margaret,its dark. Youve been a good girl, Margaret, a good girl, a good girl. He is dead, Doctor Leith said, softly. Come away. And Margaret followed him from the room as a child obeys one that it loves. (To be con/inued.) ;s i /~y~ .. ~ -~ REEN meadows stretched in the sunlight, with the horizon of the gently curving hills; a quiet street overarched by mighty elms the rows of stately trunks and the branches meeting overhead, like the pillars and arches of a cathedral aisle; a path be- low in green shadow, with splashes of yel- low light, this is old Deerfield. Though snow and rain come here as elsewhere, we think of Deerfield as always lying in the summer sunshine. On either side the ancestral homes, too much a part of the street to suggest the idea of conscious building, seem rather to have grown with the trees. An atmosphere of perfect quiet reigns, the only hint of labor, a farmers cart rumbling slowly down to the fields, its meditative driver with his el- bows on his knees, the reins hanging loosely from his idle hands. Nowhere a sign of hurry or of worry. This venerable town, and mother of towns, is passing a serene and beautiful old age. Her natural force is not abated, her faculties are unimpaired, but the strenuous season of youth is past. The time for rest and reminiscence is come. A stranger to old Deerfield once said that in his mental picture of the place, wild Indians were always xvhooping through the streets, brandishing toma- hawks. The picture his fancy painted is symbolically true, though time has softened the fierce aspect of the savage. His spirit haunts the village streets, in peaceful companionship with the shades of our ancestors. We harbor no feeling A quet street overarched by mghty e~ms OLD DEERFIELD. By Afa;y E. A/len.

REEN meadows stretched in the sunlight, with the horizon of the gently curving hills; a quiet street overarched by mighty elms the rows of stately trunks and the branches meeting overhead, like the pillars and arches of a cathedral aisle; a path be- low in green shadow, with splashes of yel- low light, this is old Deerfield. Though snow and rain come here as elsewhere, we think of Deerfield as always lying in the summer sunshine. On either side the ancestral homes, too much a part of the street to suggest the idea of conscious building, seem rather to have grown with the trees. An atmosphere of perfect quiet reigns, the only hint of labor, a farmers cart rumbling slowly down to the fields, its meditative driver with his el- bows on his knees, the reins hanging loosely from his idle hands. Nowhere a sign of hurry or of worry. This venerable town, and mother of towns, is passing a serene and beautiful old age. Her natural force is not abated, her faculties are unimpaired, but the strenuous season of youth is past. The time for rest and reminiscence is come. A stranger to old Deerfield once said that in his mental picture of the place, wild Indians were always xvhooping through the streets, brandishing toma- hawks. The picture his fancy painted is symbolically true, though time has softened the fierce aspect of the savage. His spirit haunts the village streets, in peaceful companionship with the shades of our ancestors. We harbor no feeling A quet street overarched by mghty e~ms OLD DEERFIELD. By Afa;y E. A/len. 34 OLD DEERFIELD. of resentment to- ward the red man. He gives a touch of color to the past. George William Curtis said, after a stroll through the old burying- ground, that he, as well as the fore- fathers of the hamlet, was cap- tivated by ye sal- vadges. The haze of those far-off Indian summers still hangs on the town. The first tales of adventure which we who are Deerfield children heard were the stories our grandfathers lived. I re- member lying on the floor, before the open Franklin stove, and reading by the firelight a worn copy of Hoyts Anti- quarian Researches. The book opened of its own accord to the account of the slaying of my own great-great-grand- father by the Indians. The touch of the bloody tomahawk conferred knighthood and renown on its victim. The honors which I tried to bear with modesty are borne by many Deerfield children. Boys at play read history as they run. They gather chestnuts on the low resting-places of the mar- tyrs, and crack the burrs on the mossy stone tables, sacred to their memory. They watch the ploughshare turn up arrow-heads, broken pieces of pottery, and even bits of charcoal from some old wigwam fire. Every bright boy has his private collection of such antiquities. Many of the homes in the street have con- tinued in the same families for gener- ations, so favoring the accumulation of family relics, family traditions and, let us not hesitate to say, family pride. The Pocumtuc Valley Memorial Association is both a result and a cause of this distinctive flavor of the town. Its an- nual meetings on the anniversary of the sacking of the town in 1703 4 keep the memory of our fathers fresh. No one is in danger of forgetting the adven- turous men from Dedham, who came to make a home in this fertile valley, in 1670, or the catastrophe at Bloody Brook, in 1675, and the abandonment of the settlement, or the quick renewal of the attempt to plant an outpost here by men too brave to be discouraged by the constant attacks, or even by the over- whelming disaster of I 704. The story of that fearful February night has been sung almost as fully as the Siege of Troy. The Helen of this war, the bell of St. Regis, which long had the credit, or discredit, of bringing destruc- tion on the town, has, like that other Helen, been con- demned as a myth by our iconoclastic historian, but it still rings in our ears. Prof. James K. Hosmer, in a witty letter written at the time of the Indian Door celebration, professed to have discovered a journal corroborating the legend, and says: There need be no question about the beautiful old traditions. . . . It was really a bell which made the trouble, a bell made for the Canadian missions, taken by a privateer, and brought into Boston, bought by the commis- sioners of Deerfield, set up in the steeple, then fought over and carried off to the banks of the St. Lawrence, through the w/oods, and down the streams. Hertel de Rouville did really have his half-breeds and Indians run over the crust, then halt for a moment, then run again, when they Old Deerfield Academy, now Memorial Hall. Spinet in Memorial Hall. J From Dr. Willards Family. OLD DEERFIELD. 35 were coming on through the north meadows, that the advance of his force might be taken for the rush of the rising wind. These legends are true at any rate in spirit, if they are not in letter, and they ought not to be forgotten; although as matter of fact there is evidence that the expedition against Deerfield was planned by the French, merely to gratify the Abenaki Indians and prevent any pos- sibility of a truce between them and the English. The best-known account of the attack is the quaint narrative of the Redeemed Captive, Rev. John Williams, the minister of Deerfield at the time. We can see through his eyes how the enemy came in like a flood over the palisades on the drifted snow, in that darkest hour before the dawn, waking their sleeping victims by breaking in doors and windows, and pouring into their bedrooms with painted faces and hideous acciamations, before the terrified people could realize what was happening. But one house within the stockade was successfully defended. A few persons escaped to a stockaded house south of the Great Fort, which was unmolested, and one or two ran, half clad, over the snow to Hatfield, fifteen miles away, coming of with frozen feet. The savages did their work quickly, fearing reinforcements from Hadley. About sun an hour up, the plunder was collected and put in packs, and one hun- dred and eleven captives were distributed among their masters ready for the return march of three hundred miles to Canada, through snow knee-deep and thawing. The last of the marauders hurried out of the north gate just as the expected aid came galloping in from the south, too late to rescue their friends. Mr. Williams describes the sorrowful march day by day. His wife was ill, but he was not allowed to walk with her to help her on the way. On the second day, the whole party was obliged to wade a small river above knee-deep and very swift, and then to climb a mountain. Mr. Williams sank down exhausted when he reached the top, and looked back for his wife. I entreated my master to let me go down and help my wife, but he refused. I asked each of the prisoners, as they passed by me, after her, and learned that, passing tbrough tbe above-said river, she fell down and was plunged over bead and ears in the water, after which sbe travelled not far, for at the foot of that mountain the cruel and bloodthirsty savage who took her slew her with his hatchet at one stroke, the tidings of which were very awful. A party of neighbors following the trail of the captives found Mrs. Williamss body and brought it back for burial. The Pocumtuc Valley Memorial Association has placed a monument on the spot where she was killed. The handful of men and women who escaped death and captivity that night wavered. What wonder that the com- parative safety of older settlements tempted them to leave this twice desolated out- post! The Connecticut colonies saw the wisdom of keeping the frontier line as far to the north as possible, and sent help and encouragement, and the hrave men rallied and held the fort. A large pro- portion of the captives were, in course The Indian Door. 36 OLD DEERFIELD. of time, ransomed or exchanged. Some perished on the march. Some children were adopted by the French or Indians, and through a change of name were lost sight of, until Miss Alice Baker, by the aid of old baptismal and marriage records, traced the history of several and found their descendants, still bearing the old Gallicized English names. It is fitting that the home of the Po~ cumtuc Valley Memorial Association, Memorial Hall, should be the first notice- able building a stranger sees, on coming down Academy Lane from the station on the hill. It is chiefly due to Mr. George Sheldon, the head and front of that so- ciety, that so many valuable antiquities have been here collected and classified. The Indian room is filled with the wea- pons, tools, and various belongings of the red man. In the middle of the room is the Indian door, saved from the xvreck of the Old Indian House, when it was torn doxvn forty or fifty years ago. This sturdy old garrison house escaped the flames of 1704, and defied time for a century and a half afterwards. It was built, about i686, by Ensign John Sheldon, an ancestor of our own Mr. Sheldon. It was then the largest and finest house in the village. The walls were filled with brick to turn back the bullets of the enemy. The upper story projected over the lower one three or four feet and had loop-holes command- ing all approaches to the front door or windows. Its strength did not save its inmates. Entrance was made through a back door, and by an irony of fate this house, which was looked to as a refuge in time of danger, was used as a depot for the captives before the march began. The hole through the heavy nail-studded door, now worn smooth by curious hands, was cut by Indian hatchets. A leaden bullet which was fired through the open- ing and imbedded itself in the ceiling, hangs on the door-post; it is said to be the very one which cut short the sorrows of poor sick Mrs. Sheldon, as she sat up in bed, startled from sleep by the furious blows. Two heavy brackets which sup- ported the projecting upper story, and some ornamental pieces of woodwork, are placed over the door. One wonders how those men found time or heart for carving, in their hand-to-hand fight for existence. The room opposite gives an idea of an ancient kitchen, with its high-backed settles drawn up to the fireplace, and dresser laden with shining pewter. The ever ready gun hangs over the mantel. Another room contains all the apparatus for spinning and weaving; another, me- morial tablets and portraits. The library is an interesting medley of past and present. It can shoxv many rare old books and papers and MS. letters and journals dear to the heart of the anti- The old Kitchen in Memorial Hall. OLD J9EERFIELD. 37 quary. The upper hall is full of beauti- ful old china and furniture, and a thou- sand and one treasures. The building itself is a relic. It is the old home of Deerfield Academy, which for years made Deerfield one of the chief educational centres of western Massachusetts. Many well - known men and women look back to the days spent in the shadow of the elms, as the beginning of a broader life. Those were the days when academies prepared young men for life in- stead of for examinations. The older part of the building was dedi- cated on New Years Day, 1799. There is on record a code of by-laws of thirty-six articles, for the govern- ment of the school, passed by the trustees, with that propensity for governing others which the makers of Independence Day~ sometimes shoxved. Absence from meeting, walk- ing on Saturday night or Sunday, play- ing cards, checkers, or backgammon, at any time, were to be punished by a fine of one dollar. Pupils of different sexes were forbidden to meet upon the grounds, or xvithin the walls of the Acad- emy, except at meal times or prayers, or to walk or ride together, under the same penalty of one dollar. A high board fence was finally built across the yard to keep the boys and girls apart; but who doubts that there were knot-holes through which Pyramus and Thisbe could gaze into each others eyes without forfeiting their whole allowance? One of the first preceptors was Hosea Hildreth, father of the historian Richard Hildreth, who was born in the XVillard house. Edward Hitchcock stud- ied and taught here. XVhile teaching, he made the apparatus for the necessary astronomical observations, and for several successive years computed an almanac, an unusual feat for a country school- master. The volumes are arranged after the plan of the common farmers alma- nac, weather predictions and all. The South End of the Street. 38 OLD DEERFIELD. predictions and nuggets of wisdom ap- come to the gambrel-roofed house God- pear on opposite pages in the spaces frey Nims built, early in the seventeen hundreds, on the ruins of the home the Indians burned and over the ashes of three of his children who had hidden in the cellar. Next is the Old Tavern or Frary House our oldest inhabitant. After years of neglect it has fallen into ap- preciative hands, and has been restored to more than its original beauty, while its individuality has still been preserved. In Revolutionary days, Major Barnard kept tavern here. Every other The Willard House. tavern in New England may have sheltered that rest- unoccupied by the moons phases, tides, less traveller, George Washington. This etc., as for instance, August, I 818: claims a rarer fame. Benedict Arnold Relaxing stopped here in 1775 while on his weather way to reduce Ticonderoga. He had The Mexicans succeeded by just received his promotion as colonel. salute their new- much His fame was as untarnished as his new horn infants in thunder. military trappings. People expected much this manner. Some foggy Child! nights of him, and he expected more of him- thou art come particularly self. His business here was to engage into the world near rivers Colonel Thomas Wells Dickinson to fur- to suffer: that run to nish beef for his force of four hundred Endure the south. and hold Cool and clear, men. The bargain was made in the thy peace. Rainy and north front room, then the bar-room. moulding Colonel Dickinson and his fourteen years weather, old brother, Consider, whom we shall Sudden change. hear of again as Uncle Sid, drove President Hitchcocks later work in the cattle through the long stretch of deciphering the secret of the Connecti- Vermont, up hill and down, following the cut Valley red sandstone foundations is hungry four hundred. Somewhere in too well known to need our comment. Rutland County they met men return- The memory of another principal, Mr. Luther B. Lincoln, is revered by all who came under the influ- ence of his gentle spirit. Those of his pupils who are left are now gray-haired men and women. Such teachers as these kept the school for fifty years in the rank of our smaller coleges; and its in- fluence can still be seen. Passing down Academy Lane, by the modern Town Hall and White Church, we The Rear of the Willard House. OLD ])EERFJELD. 39 ing from the already captured fort. Im- petuous Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain boys, in the name of the Great Jehovah and the Continental Con- gress, had snatched the glory Arnold considered already his own. This was one of the first of a series of wounds to Arnolds pride, which ended in his giving up the cause of the colonies. Colonel Wells was at the camp at West Point in September, 1780, and, to quote Mr. Sheldons excellent account, heard read on parade, perhaps from the very orderly book now owned by the Pocumtuc Val- ley Memorial Association, the startling announcement that Treason of file biackest die was yes/erday discovered /// Just north of this old tavern the street widens. The houses stand in an irreg- ular circle around the common and sol- diers monument, as their predecessors used to stand around the meeting-house and within the stockade which encircled Meeting-house Hill. The Old Indian House stood until 1848, a little xvest of the present Brick Church. Its history attracted a constant train of visitors. They flocked from every stage that stopped to change horses, considering this one of the curiosities of the place which must not be missed. The Hoyt family grew weary with the burden of fame. The years which had added interest to the house as a relic had not added to its comfort as a home. Mr. Hoyt, I think, offered the building to the town, if the town would move it away. Strange to say, no one made a move in its behalf, and it was torn down to make room for the present house. Its oaken timbers were still sound. It is said that the old elm which appears in all the l)ictures of this house, and still bears its unnumbered years with vigor and grace, was in its youth the whip- ping-tree, its slender trunk used as a whipping-post in the days when slaves and white sinners were thus publicly taught the error of their ways. Only one other house now standing shares with the Frary house the honor of having been present, in embryo, at the memorable massacre. The Willard house, since grown to grander propor- tions, is one of our most interesting land- marks. Its history has been charmingly told by its present owner, Mrs. Yale, in The Story of the Willard House. The northeast wing, xvith jutting eaves, was, in I 704, the home of Samuel Carter. His wife and six children were among the captives taken to Canada. Soon after he sold the desolate home and moved away. His successor was Samuel Allen, grandfather of Ethan Allen. Ethans father was born here. The Williams House. 40 OLD J9EERFIELD. The main part of the present house was built in pre-revolutionary days. It is said that the builder was thirteen years in selecting the timber, so careful was he that every stick should be free from knot or flaw. The heautiful carving and pan- elling, unharmed by time, shoxv that the workmen were faith- ful to the masters high ideal. In the long list of occupants, Dr. Wil- lard seems to have been the one to fix his name and charac- ter on the house. He came here in the early years of the liberal m o v e in e n t headed by Channing. His opinions were too radical and too honestly expressed to be accepted by the council; but the people recognized the strength of the man and called him. The time was probably ripe for his teach- ing. The conservatives seceded and founded a new society, and the First Congregational Church was henceforth Unitarian. For fifty years Dr. Willard was a trusted guide in matters spiritual and practical. His wisdom is still cited. A faded picture of his benign face people, his son-in-iaxv. Mr. Lincoln, the principal and patron saint of the Acad- emy. The son and grandson of these two men, Mr. Luther J. B. Lincoln, is now making Deerfield a gathering l)lace for writers and readers and all sorts of inter- esting and interested people, by his Sum- mer School of History and Romance, which holds its sessions in Dickinson Hall, on the other side of the Common. During the month of July there are almost daily meetings for lectures, readings, or discus sions, on various sub- jects, usually having some bearing, near or remote, on the growth of American literature, with such men as Mr. Stedman, Mr. Cable, Charles Dudley Warner, and Robert Collyer to lead in the talks. One of the 01(1 houses which used to stand in the circle facing the Common has been moved xvest, down Hitchcock Lane, to make way for the High School building, and it was somewhat mutilated during the removal. It was built, in I 707, by the town town and church were one in those days for its minister, Rev. John Williams, when he came back to begin life over again, with a new wife, in the brave way those old survivors had. It xvas repaired in 1756, but the building is prob- ably substantially as it xvas first built. It was a typical early colonial house, finished with heautiful w o o d xv o r k, carved and fitted by hand. The front rooms are still partly panelled. The win- is treasureu in all the older families, along dows are high and narrow, with deep with Willards Hymns, and Channings windoxv seats. Corner cupboards with Life and Works in nine volumes. He curved shelves and ornamental tops, deli- had but one rival in the hearts of his cately fluted like a shell, xvere built into Dickinson High School. K. The Hitchcock House. OLD DEERFIELD. 41 the walls. The hail stairway is quite imposing, with its wide landing and carved railing. The front doorxvay is finished in a peculiarly elaborate design. The house had the secret chamber with- out which no colonial house seemed to be complete. It was on the second floor, and had no connection with other rooms on that floor, but by an arrangement of trap-doors and secret stairs could be reached both from the cellar and the attic. It contained a fireplace and a closet. What possible use could good Parson Williams have had for such a room unless be desired a secluded spot to xvrite his sermons, secure from interruptions from his ten child- ren, those that were left of his sixteen. These secret rooms are usually explain- e(l as places of refuge when the Indians came; but as the Indians usually burned the houses they came to, the concealment could have been little protection. Parson Williams died suddenly in 17 29. It was a grievous dispensation of Providence to his people. He was laid in the old burying-ground, beside his Vertuos and diesirable Confort, who fell by the rage of yC Barbarous enemy, March I, 17034. Their head- stones are alike, with grinning deaths heads at the top and intricate scroll work around the inscriptions. His second wife lyes the other side. Her headstone is of a later fashion. It is ornamented by a clock-face, one hand at twelve, with a shovel and pickaxe, and crossbones beloxv. Rev. Johns grandson, Esquire John, sold the house, in 1789, to Uncle Sid Dickinson, who spent in it a long life of money-getting and money-saving. These two men have similar claims to the grati- tude of the youth of Deerfield. Esq. John was instrumental in establishing the old academy and left the bulk of his property to its fund. Half a century or more later, Uncle Sids property founded the Dickinson High School and a free library and reading-room. The txvo cor- porations are now united, and Dickinson Academy stands on the site of the old homestead. Uncle Sid was a queer old fellow. He is remembered equally as a teller of funny stories and as a subject for such. His remark on hearing of the suicide of an eccentric neighbor, What zulu that man do next? has become classic. He was a shrewd, careful, hard-working man, who knew from experience the amount of time audI strength a dollar represented. His wealth made him a target for divers de- mands in the name of charity. These he was apt to refuse, and so gained the repu- tation of being close. Those who knew him best say his crabbed manner hid a kindlier heart than he would have cared to acknowledge. Perhaps he heeded Sancho Panzas warning proverb: Make yourself honey and the flies will eat you. His first wife died long before he did. His love for her and hers is touchingly shown by two slabs in the old burying- ground to the memory of her parents. A foot note tells the passer-by: These stones were gratuitously erected by their son-in-law, Consider Dickinson. Uncle Sidi left his large property to his second wife without restriction, though there was a tacit undlerstanding as to its final use. She carried out his wishes faith- The Old Burying-Ground. 42 OLD DEEREJELD. fully. So completely did she identify herself with him that she was known as Aunt Sid. She was for twenty years a trusty guardian of his money, spending no more of it than was absolutely neces- sary to support life. She died in 1875, just one hundred years after the boy Sid took the long tramp after Bene- dict Arnolds cattle. It would be hard to measure the good the money they saved is doing for the boys and girls of T)eer- field. Across the way from the Williams house is a little brown cottage, its door- way nearly hidden by lilacs. We like to call it the birthplace of Edward Hitch- cock though our historian says he was, in fact, born next door. This was, how- ever, the home of his ancestors. It has recently been transformed into a studio. A little farther down the lane is the old burying-ground. The dead of 1704 are supposed to lie together in one corner of the yard. It was the new burying- ground then. The oldest stone is that of Joseph Barnard, killed by the Indians at Indian Bridge in 1695. Ye salvadge foe helped to fill many another grave, as the frequent inscriptions, captivated by ye salvadges, 5 slain by ye ennemy, show. The last victims of that enemy were those who fell in the Bars Fight in i745. The Widow Amsdens two boys lie in a wide grave together. Samuel Allens stone bears this inscription Liften to me ye Mortal men, Beware That you engage no more in direfull War. By means of War my Soul from Earth is fled My Body Logd in Mansions of the Dead. No shadow of those old tragedies darkens the sunshine now. Daisies and golden-rod make every day Memorial Day. The ground is cared for sufficiently to show respect, without being trimmed too closely, a thing more fatal than neglect. In our memory this spot always lies in the warm haze of a fall afternoon. Crickets are always chirping in the dry grass; the soft shadows are growing long on the meadows below; the mountains in the west are blue and indistinct; and the low murmur of the river pervades all. The grass-grown lane that runs past, down to the old ford, was once the beginning of the highway To Albany,~~ so the signboard said. All military ex- peditions for the north or west started here, after being fitted out by Maj& r Williams, son of Rev. John, at the old The Sheldon House. OLD DEERFIELD. 43 Corner Store, which stood, until the building of Dickinson Academy, on the corner next the common. Sergeant John Hanks started here on snowshoes, in the winter of 17478, with but one companion, to go through the wilderness to Canada to exchange a French prisoner for two captive boys. Ensign John Sheldon had made the same journey, for a simi- lar purpose, three times, long before. The place where those travellers crossed the river is mowing land now. The river is continually pilfering from the farmers on one side and bestowing the spoils upon the town land on the opposite side. It used to flow much nearer the burying-ground than it does now. An old lady who belonged to that geologic and theologic age used to tell this story I remember, when I was a child, bearing peo- ple say tbe river was wearing away tbe burying- ground down by tbe ford. I used to lie awake nights, thinking bow dreadful it would be to ride across tbe ford and see the bones of tbe dead lying under tbe water. After a wbile tbe current turned away, and I thougbt tbe Lord changed tbe course of tbe river to save the burying-ground. XVe rejoice that this Gods Acre was spared, and mourn that a still older burial-ground of the Indians, which lay west of it, could not also have been saved. It was a convenient gravel - pit and has been carried away bodily, load by load. There are several more fine old houses in the street left in their primitive state, besides many that have been more or less modernized. The stately gambrel-roofed Stebbins house stands much as it did when Colonel Joseph Stebbins left his wife and babies to go to fight I3urgoyne. If a mans birthplace can determine his natural tendencies, Mr. Sheldon must perforce have been an antiquary. His home is over one hundred and fifty years old. The home-lot has descended to him in a direct line from father to son, back to Ensign John Sheldon, who bought it after his home in the old Indian house was so rudely broken up. Still farther back, the Indians had their wigwams here, if one may judge from the relics brought to light. The back-yard was evi- dently a burial - place. The bones from several graves, with the heads, ornaments, and utensils buried with them, have been placed in Memorial Hall. Mr. Sheldons life has been in harmony with his surroundings. His exhaustive studies of Indian life and customs and of colonial life in the valley have made him an authority. His history of Deerfield, his genealogies, and his numerous papers on disputed points in history are invaluable to the student of that epoch. Another old house is the summer home of J. W. Champney, the artist. It has been in Mrs. Champneys family nearly a century. It used to stand close to the street, under the shadow of a gigantic elm, a tree so noble that the Autocrat of the Breakfast Table mentioned it in his list of mighty elms. Mrs. Champney laid the scene of one of her stories in the old home. The legend which she wove into the tale, Doorway of the Sheldon House. 44 OLD DEERFIELD. When falls one, then fall all three, Deerfields pride and glory. Mr. Fullers Tree and house and family, house stands on the edge of a terrace happily did not hold true. A winter overlooking meadow and river toward storm overthrew the giant tree a fexv Old Deerfield Street, two miles away to the north, and toward years ago. The house has been moved back Stillwater and the from the street and Hoosac Hills on the partly restored, partly west. In the farther remodelled. distance are Arthurs Old Deerfield is Seat and the hills of built on a narrow strip Shelburne and Ley- of land, somewhat den. The old house across the way was for higher than the sur rounding meadows. the last few years of his life, his studio. But The south end of the little of his later work street, like the north remains here, though end, terminates there is in the house abruptly in a terrace, skirted by a row of and the studio an ex- elms, whose trunks t rem ely interesting and valuable collection and droopingbranches of family portraits and make a dark frame for sketches and records the sunny picture be- of his work before he yond. This happy became famous. The valley is protected on house he used as a the east by a range of studio was built, in red sandstone hills, ending in the distance 1739, by Samuel Allen, with Sugar Loaf and George Fufler. who a few years later King Philips Seat. was slain on the mea- The road divides here, turning sharply dow close by while bravely defending his to the right and left. The right, the own life and his childrens as his head- Meadow Road, leads to the Bars, the stone says from a swarm of Indians who home of George Fuller, whose name is poured down from the hills above Stillwater. Home of George Fuller OLD DEEREJELD. 45 One more bloody field claims notice, though it is not within the limits of Old Deer- field. This meadow-road is the one Captain Lathrop and his young men, culled from the towns of the county of Essex, took in the early morning of September x 8, 1675, having under their pro- tection a train of carts loaded with grain to feed the Hadley garrison. We will follow their footsteps afar off up Bars Long Hill and across an up- land plain to Bloody Brook, three miles beloxv. Their journey ended here. There is no need of retelling the sorrows of that day. A flat stone marks the spot where sixty persons were buried in one dreadful grave. A monument with appropriate inscriptions stands on the battlefield. Its corner stone was originally laid Sep- tember i8, 1836, with imposing cere- monies. Edward Everett, the orator of the day, gave one of his eloquent and dramatic addresses. All the people from the towns about flocked to hear him. A stranger who rode through Deerfield streets that day declared that not even a dog was left at home. I have two ac- counts of this memorable day, both writ- ten by eyewitnesses, which are interest- ing as showing the different way different persons see the same thing, and as indi- cating the way in which Old Deerfield must be looked at to be seen at all. Harriet Martineau was then making her tour of America, and chanced to be present. Her critics eye found the scene amusing. She was greatly diverted by the bland manners of the militia, the efforts of the amateur band, the posing and gesticulating of the orator. She 7 Bloody Brook Monument. A Corner of George Fullers Studio. In the old Burying-Ground. 46 OLD DEERFIEL!). could not understand the spirit of the Harriet Martineau was not born in celebration or its purpose. She wrote: Deerfield This (massacre) was a piteous incident in There was in the audience another the history of the settlement, but it is not easy to hearer, a childish idealist, who from her seat on her mothers knees saw and heard everything. Under the spell of the orator, the march of that fated band through the forest on that other ~8th of September be- came a living reality. One page of history became a personal experience. Heroism and self- sacrifice became living virtues. She saw that it was not alone the piteous death of the dower of Essex which was com- memorated, but their brave, self- denying lives spent where such a death was alxvays near. So deep an impression did the day make on see why it should be made an occasion of com- the child, that the woman noxv cites the memoration in preference to many others which occasion as an example of the possihili- have a stronger moral interest. . . . No virtue ties for education in the fit celebration was here to be had in remembrance, nothing but of such anniversaries. All towns with a mere misery. The cOnteml)latiOO of mere misery past like Old Deerfields hold this power is painful and hurtful. The only salutary info- of education. They are pictures on the ence that I could perceive to rise from the occa- pages of History, which bring the past sion was the far-fetched and dubious one thank- before us more vividly than words can do fulness that the Indians are not now at hand to it, if we look at them with understanding molest the white inhabitants. eyes. Deerfield River. George Fullers Studio. AN IMPROVED HIGHWAY SYSTEM. By A. P. Powell. I HE farmer has before him two main problems to solve: how to come out ahead in the struggle with Asiatic invaders in the way of weeds and insects; and how to create a system of highways that will make him the least possible loss in the way of labor, time, force, and wear and tear. The sooner the attention of agri- culturists is fixed on these prime needs, the sooner will they cease to lament that farming is a losing occupation, while the tide of young blood flows on to nourish urban life. Our present road system, as we term it, was never intended by our fathers to be anything more than a makeshift to cover the immediate necessities of pio- neer life. There xvas far more tendency to experiment with an aim to improve- ment in ordinary roads before the advent of railroads. After that, from 1830 to iS8o, we passed through a half century of satisfaction with the expansion of our iron roads. It seemed to us that we should all, sooner or later, be able to bear the engine calling at our doors. It was pleasant to hear the world praising our railroads as surpassing those of all other lands. But latterly we have been compelled to listen to the appendix, that the earth roads of America are the worst under the sun. The path-master or road-master system fails at all points to adapt itself to our increased popula- tion and advanced agricultural necessi- ties. It does not do the work that it is organized to do, but fosters skulking and a popular dulness concerning fraudulent (lealing in public affairs. The work that is done is for the most part wasted, and the money expended is as good as throxvn away, from a lack of knowledge on the part of road-masters of the fundamental principles of road construction. The average path-master has never given one hours study to engineering, but is all the more self-confident that he comprehends all that needs to I)e known. He resents any criticism of the system that makes him a public officer. Whatever may justly be said of Yankee tact and power of putting the hand to any job, our road building has egregiously failed. The poet may be born; the engineer must be made. It is now generally understood that our railroad system has nearly reached its economic limit. We shall not see, at least for a long time to come, any great expansion of railroad building. The iron roads have come as near our farms as possible; we must now go the rest of the way to meet them. The real cost of transportation still remains, in hauling our crops from the fields to the store- house and depots. Whatever dangers we suffer from discriminating rates or high tariffs on railroads, the chief trouble is that as yet we have no method devised for hauling our crops out of the fields to the cars without fatal waste and wears and delay. A large part of our country is so related to markets that in close years, when the margin of profits is small, the crops of those sections are unable to compete. Corn must be used for fuel, and wheat fed to the hogs. Our better located farms must also be considered; for the cost of hauling in wet weather takes off all profit. Our shame is that we are (Irivino our horses in the eiuh- a a teenth century, while our steam-engines run in the nineteenth. The stubbornness of our farmers in resisting a change which will add one fifth to their produc- tive capital in the next half century can be overcome only when they are enabled to ap~)rehend that their losses by the present system far exceed any saving that accrues from being l)ermitted to work out their taxes. Furthermore, they must see that in dollars and cents it xvill pay them to inaugurate a change. I shall now undertake to furnish this demonstra- tion; at least I shall furnish some data and well-considered estimates, that wifl

AN IMPROVED HIGHWAY SYSTEM. By A. P. Powell. I HE farmer has before him two main problems to solve: how to come out ahead in the struggle with Asiatic invaders in the way of weeds and insects; and how to create a system of highways that will make him the least possible loss in the way of labor, time, force, and wear and tear. The sooner the attention of agri- culturists is fixed on these prime needs, the sooner will they cease to lament that farming is a losing occupation, while the tide of young blood flows on to nourish urban life. Our present road system, as we term it, was never intended by our fathers to be anything more than a makeshift to cover the immediate necessities of pio- neer life. There xvas far more tendency to experiment with an aim to improve- ment in ordinary roads before the advent of railroads. After that, from 1830 to iS8o, we passed through a half century of satisfaction with the expansion of our iron roads. It seemed to us that we should all, sooner or later, be able to bear the engine calling at our doors. It was pleasant to hear the world praising our railroads as surpassing those of all other lands. But latterly we have been compelled to listen to the appendix, that the earth roads of America are the worst under the sun. The path-master or road-master system fails at all points to adapt itself to our increased popula- tion and advanced agricultural necessi- ties. It does not do the work that it is organized to do, but fosters skulking and a popular dulness concerning fraudulent (lealing in public affairs. The work that is done is for the most part wasted, and the money expended is as good as throxvn away, from a lack of knowledge on the part of road-masters of the fundamental principles of road construction. The average path-master has never given one hours study to engineering, but is all the more self-confident that he comprehends all that needs to I)e known. He resents any criticism of the system that makes him a public officer. Whatever may justly be said of Yankee tact and power of putting the hand to any job, our road building has egregiously failed. The poet may be born; the engineer must be made. It is now generally understood that our railroad system has nearly reached its economic limit. We shall not see, at least for a long time to come, any great expansion of railroad building. The iron roads have come as near our farms as possible; we must now go the rest of the way to meet them. The real cost of transportation still remains, in hauling our crops from the fields to the store- house and depots. Whatever dangers we suffer from discriminating rates or high tariffs on railroads, the chief trouble is that as yet we have no method devised for hauling our crops out of the fields to the cars without fatal waste and wears and delay. A large part of our country is so related to markets that in close years, when the margin of profits is small, the crops of those sections are unable to compete. Corn must be used for fuel, and wheat fed to the hogs. Our better located farms must also be considered; for the cost of hauling in wet weather takes off all profit. Our shame is that we are (Irivino our horses in the eiuh- a a teenth century, while our steam-engines run in the nineteenth. The stubbornness of our farmers in resisting a change which will add one fifth to their produc- tive capital in the next half century can be overcome only when they are enabled to ap~)rehend that their losses by the present system far exceed any saving that accrues from being l)ermitted to work out their taxes. Furthermore, they must see that in dollars and cents it xvill pay them to inaugurate a change. I shall now undertake to furnish this demonstra- tion; at least I shall furnish some data and well-considered estimates, that wifl 48 AN IMPE 0 VEJ9 FLUff WA Y SYSTEM. convince an intelligent reader of our immediate need of an evolution in road building. Estimating draught on an iron road at one hundred per cent, the percentage that can be draxvn on a good stone way is sixty-four per cent ; on asphalt, sixty per cent; on best block stone, thirty; on common stone, twenty; on Tel- ford pavement and macadamized about eighteen; on cobble stones, thirteen; on gravelled roads, about five and a half to seven. This is the comparative value of different roads, made by competent en- gineers, and attested by experience. That is, throwing out all estimate of the common dirt road, made in the usual manner, of ditch-dirt hauled toxvard the centre of the driveway, and more or less ridged for the shedding of water, a horse can draw more than three times as much on a solid macadamized roadhed as he can on a really first-rate gravelled road. l3ut we know that among our country roads those that are carefully covered with gravel do not constitute one per cent. Clearly, then, we are wasting the larger part of hauling poxver by our present habit of dragging through mud and dust. A recent writer estimates the average life of working horses to be about twelve years, but that, if improved roads would add one more year to this average, it would effect a saving of $50,000 for each of our larger states,, and in proportion for our smaller states. A load for txvo horses on clay is 1400 pounds; on mac- adamized it is 2,180 pounds. The number of loads required, when the produce of a state is three and a quarter millions of tons of produce pcr year, would be on clay, 4,643,000, but on macadamized only 2,981,000. The cost in the first case would be $5,703,750; in the other, $3,726,250. This waste is enough to keep in repair 30,000 miles of turnpike; or it represents 831,000 days of labor, which ought to be and otherwise would be employed in adding to production. Other freights are estimated to swell the waste to $4,000,000 annually. The esti- mate of savings through improved roads in England has been set down at $ Ioo,- ooo,ooo. Nor do I believe this to be an over-estimate, as we shall soon see. The loss on one crop, that of hay, was in one year in Pennsylvania over $i,5oo,ooo. Eut this method of figuring up our losses tells but a fraction of the whole truth. The real loss is not in horse-power alone, but in man-power, and in wear on har- nesses, wagons, and horses; while there is to be a vast addition to the total from the sickness consequent on exposure and delays, and the entire or partial ruin of many crops by cartage over rough road- beds. The wear of animals, with good roads, would in reality be lessened one half in all cases, and in many cases more than that. A team that can draw a ton of coal with ease for five miles in two hours on a macadamized road, will require on a poor road three times the hours, and be worn out at the end. The feed required to keep such a team will at least be doubled; and you are constantly lia- ble to have a horse disabled, or killed outright. The loss on wagons is equally serious. A good wagon costs about eighty dollars. On good roads it will cndure constant use for twenty years; on poor roads it will give out in half that time, without counting cost of repairs. Our expense for vehicles is fully doubled by our present road system. From $5,000,000 to $io,ooo,ooo are annually expended in each of our larger states on road repair, and it is money literally buried in the mud. Each year repeats the same folly, a folly that has gone on at least fifty years longer than we can find a rational excuse. The saving by good roads would be particularly favora- ble to the poor who live by teaming and to those who cannot afford new wagons and horses every five years. One writer ~Lffirms that in the last fifty years, $2 00,- ooo,ooo have been spent on the roads of Pennsylvania, and that $7,000,000 are noxv spent annually, enough indeed to build each year 2,000 miles of stone road. Of all this vast sum at present not ten thousand dollars are rescued from absolute loss; not a mile of permanent road is built. These statistics and estimates are sufficient to illustrate the enormous waste- fulness of our present system of roads. They show us that the true goal isa system of macadamized roads over the AN IMPROVED IrHGRW4Y SYSTEM. 49 whole country, and that while this change is being brought about we must learn how to build at least as good roads as can be made of common dirt. I have no doubt that we shall be able to work out the problem and complete the transformation. So far, American farmers have mastered only one economic revolution. We have tackled the wasteful system of fencing every field from ocean to ocean, and have virtually abolished such barriers. The stock laws have saved from fifty millions to one hundred millions of useless outlay to each of the larger states, besides the expense of labor and of annual repair. We have now on hand the road problem, to be followed at once by a still more vital and penetrating revolution in educa- tion. It may take us fifty years to get out of the woods with all of these, and, at the same time, aid the towns with the equally vast economic problem of salva- tion from saloon power. But these are not unsolvable problems, as I hope to show, at least so far as the construction and maintenance of good and economic roads is concerned. The goal at which we should aim as our ultimate is, as I have said, either the Telford or the Macadam stone road. The cost of these does not seriously differ, the former when well laid costing the larger sum. The grading, draining, and forming of the road bed is of the same character, and each system uses up about the same amount of stone. The Telford, however, as generally laid is made to cost more than twice as much as macadam as generally laid. The latter seems to be considered by most engineers as fully adequate to our needs. It is the plan introduced into Great Britain by John Macadam, in x8i6, although used in France near the middle of the eighteenth century. It consists of a road bed con- structed of stones, never to exceed one and a half inch in diameter. These stones should be crushed granite, if pos- sible, or of argillaceous shale. The hard- ness of the rock is all-important. The thickness of the stone bed should be twelve or fifteen inches, although much is laid but six inches. The Telford road is laid on a bottom of larger stones placed point upward. Macadam boasted that he could lay permanently good roads on his method over bogs; and he did it, using a thickness of only seven inches stone. In this country it is not probable that any such depth of road-bed would suffice, as our severe freezings in winter would break up the solidity. The cost of good macadam varies according to the difficulty of securing material; but the average cost should be about $5,000 per mile for roads thirty feet wide, or $2,500 for roads fifteen feet wide. The country roads proposed by the Richardson Bill for New York State are to be but nine feet wide, at an estimated cost of possibly $2,000 per mile. The cost of annual re- pair of a well-built road need not exceed fifty dollars per mile. Our present road system requires an annual expense of more than double that amount, and little or nothing to show for it. I do not, however, propose in this paper to enter to any extent into a dis- cussion of the methods and cost of build- ing and maintaining a system of stone roads. On this point I shall content my- self with quoting the succinct recom- mendations of the Board of Adjudicators appointed by the University of Pennsyl- vania to examine a series of prize essays on this subject: (s) In the improvement of roads the Mac- adam system, consisting of small angular frag- ments, in sizes not exceeding from two to two and a half inches in their longest dimension, accord- ing to quality, should be used whenever a stone surface is both practicable and justifiable. (2) The minimum width of the metalled surface for a single-track road should be eight and one quar- ter feet, of such depth as the amount of traffic and character of the subsoil require, to be determined by the engineer in charge. (3) The bed to re- ceive the stone must be so prepared that it cannot be saturated with water, and to accomplish this great attention should be paid to the character and drainage of the subsoil. (~) There should be legislative enactment regulating the width of the tires of wheels, and the minimum width for all cart, wagon, or other heavy draught vehicles should be four inches, to be increased when the capacity of vehicle exceeds half a ton per wheel.~ For any further discussion of stone roads, I can refer my readers with great. pleasure to the prize essays already in- dicated. These~ have recently been pub- lished in Philadelphia. It is one of the most hopeful, as well as remarkable features of our times, that the greater 50 AN IMPROVED IrHGhWAY SYSIEM. universities are in all ways reaching out to meet the needs of the people and undertaking the solution of our practical living problems, while possibly retaining their interest in Greek accentuation and other matters more remotely affecting our economic well-being. The matter which I have more at heart to discuss before closing this article is how we may de- vise a transition from the present forlorn mud road to the anticipated stone road. Considering the cost and the length of time involved in construction, we cannot hope for the Macadam system to be in general use before the end of at least a quarter of a century. Meanwhile, we must learn how to make decently usable dirt roads. While one phase of the question is how to secure stone roads and how to build them, another most im- portant point is how to better build our dirt roads until we can get rid of them. I suppose the fundamental principle that underlies a good stone road is also that which underlies a good dirt road; that is, we must secure a positively dry and absolutely drained road-bed. A dry road is not one that is rounded to shed surface water, but one that is so underdrained as to make the subsoil dry. For if the sub- soil be left full of water, a moderate shower will wet through the surface, and there is at once a chaos of mud. The plan adopted by English and Continental engineers to secure solid bottom to their roads is to dig ditches four feet deep on each side, and another down the centre of the road, with cross sections. These are tiled or stoned, and the water carried to sewers or streams. Dirt roads require the same preparation; and it can be made quite as cheaply as the present worthless and superficial method can be carried on. It is impossible to make a good road on a yielding soil. Money spent in securing a good, firm, dry road- bed will save a vast amount of trouble in attempting to maintain a good surface and keep it clean. The construction of ditches or drains is carefully to be con- sidered before all other points; although good drains do not require an expert engineer. Most farmers are good ditch layers and understand the business. But our road-masters do not understand as yet that the mere deposit of gravel or slag or shale on a wet or yielding road- bed will be of no value whatever, but will speedily do more harm than good. The coarser material immediately grinds about and works down into the soil, creating instead of remedying the mud and ruts. The worst possible performance is filling holes with gravel or stone. If roads are not thoroughly drained, they should be worked in the dryest of weather, and all material for improving the surface should be placed when the most solid condition of the roadbed exists. In this way gravel or slag often continues to make a reasonable surface for a year or more. The second important point to secure a good dirt road is to make the drive- way that is dressed with gravel wide enough for at least two teams abreast. The almost universal fault of our country roads is that a strip of gravel is laid on just wide enough to compel all teams to follow in a single track, and so doing to form ruts. Water will soon be held in such ruts, and wheels will work it into the track, deeper and deeper; and there soon follows a complete break-up. Then all that has been drawn on to make a surface becomes a cutting material, and the roads are worse than if nothing had been done. The surface that is improved should be wide enough to allow teams to move over it without following in a single line. But it will still remain impossible for us to secure and maintain improved roads of any kind, until the law and popular sentiment require all persons who use heavy wagons and haul large loads to use tires not less than four inches wide. It seems incomprehensible why our farmers do not voluntarily accept this principle. There is no additional labor to average haulage, and there is but little increase in the cost of wagons; the advantage, however, in the way of preserving good roads is enormous. These are the fundamental require- ments of an improved system of dirt roads. They are easily adopted, and do not involve great expense. Half-way systems between dirt roads and stone roads are in most cases unadvisable. We must look forward to thoroughly TIlE NORTH POLE. 51 Macadamized highways as the only desir- able end of effort. The chief difficulty that now lies in the way of securing re- form is that American farming has never in any phase of it been done on the basis of economy. Even that of New England which has been supposed to be characterized by closeness, has without foresight cut down the hillside forests and caused the denudation of the uplands of all arable soil. The handling of crops has been as careless as the hauling has been expensive. It has been estimated that, first and last, one half our fruit crop is lost by reckless picking and tossing about, or by neglect to prevent the rav- ages of insects. It is possible to dis- cover the causes of farm depression and farmers misery without laying any great share of it on middlemen, on capitalists, on corporations, trusts, or tariffs. The secret lies in lack of rational methods of economy. Weeds not eradicated, insects not overcome, droughts not met by suffi- cient irrigation, direct waste in handling crops, and cost of hauling over mud roads constitute the five secrets of our misery. Model stone roads should at once be begun by every state, and a cen- tral Board of Engineers be created at each state capital to direct engineers in charge of whole counties for the better construction of dirt and gravelled roads. When, however, our people have suc- cessfully grappled with the subject of im proved roads so far as to insist upon hav- ing substantial and economical driveways, they will then just come to the discovery that the whole road question is not in- cluded under the head of utility. The next point will be to make our highways include the esthetic. The time will come without doubt when every public drive will be arranged for the utmost pleasure of those who use it. It will be planned to take advantage of all outlooks over landscapes, and it will thus come about that no educator will be more efficient than our common roads in teaching re- finement and inculcating a love of the beautiful. Pure brooks can often be led along the driveway; while all the borders outside the ditches may justly be devoted to shrubbery or trees. I can already lead you to short bits of country road which for charm of landscape equal the drives in city parks. The people are waking up to the beautiful quite as fast as to the useful. The rank weeds are passing away, and smooth lawn comes down to the ditches. Houses are steadily pushing back from the street; and our environment, as we drive along, will by and by be through broad fields where the scenery over valleys and over hillsides is not cut off by rows of houses and barns. This should be held in mind in our grow- ing enthusiasm, that a solid road bed is the beginning and not the end of high- way improvement. THE NORTH POLE. By C/jar/es Al. Skinner. CROWN of the world, ice jewelled, filling sky with lightning play, Frown as the jealous may, a man will win you one day. Sea or snow, or land or floe, whatever the north road be, He, resolute, goes to the heart of your mystery. Bright though his name then, he recks not, so the thing be done. Right is his aim, stout is his faith, knowledge his sun. Peril is pastime, dangers no ruth; Heros wills Gods will; life is for truth.

TIlE NORTH POLE. 51 Macadamized highways as the only desir- able end of effort. The chief difficulty that now lies in the way of securing re- form is that American farming has never in any phase of it been done on the basis of economy. Even that of New England which has been supposed to be characterized by closeness, has without foresight cut down the hillside forests and caused the denudation of the uplands of all arable soil. The handling of crops has been as careless as the hauling has been expensive. It has been estimated that, first and last, one half our fruit crop is lost by reckless picking and tossing about, or by neglect to prevent the rav- ages of insects. It is possible to dis- cover the causes of farm depression and farmers misery without laying any great share of it on middlemen, on capitalists, on corporations, trusts, or tariffs. The secret lies in lack of rational methods of economy. Weeds not eradicated, insects not overcome, droughts not met by suffi- cient irrigation, direct waste in handling crops, and cost of hauling over mud roads constitute the five secrets of our misery. Model stone roads should at once be begun by every state, and a cen- tral Board of Engineers be created at each state capital to direct engineers in charge of whole counties for the better construction of dirt and gravelled roads. When, however, our people have suc- cessfully grappled with the subject of im proved roads so far as to insist upon hav- ing substantial and economical driveways, they will then just come to the discovery that the whole road question is not in- cluded under the head of utility. The next point will be to make our highways include the esthetic. The time will come without doubt when every public drive will be arranged for the utmost pleasure of those who use it. It will be planned to take advantage of all outlooks over landscapes, and it will thus come about that no educator will be more efficient than our common roads in teaching re- finement and inculcating a love of the beautiful. Pure brooks can often be led along the driveway; while all the borders outside the ditches may justly be devoted to shrubbery or trees. I can already lead you to short bits of country road which for charm of landscape equal the drives in city parks. The people are waking up to the beautiful quite as fast as to the useful. The rank weeds are passing away, and smooth lawn comes down to the ditches. Houses are steadily pushing back from the street; and our environment, as we drive along, will by and by be through broad fields where the scenery over valleys and over hillsides is not cut off by rows of houses and barns. This should be held in mind in our grow- ing enthusiasm, that a solid road bed is the beginning and not the end of high- way improvement. THE NORTH POLE. By C/jar/es Al. Skinner. CROWN of the world, ice jewelled, filling sky with lightning play, Frown as the jealous may, a man will win you one day. Sea or snow, or land or floe, whatever the north road be, He, resolute, goes to the heart of your mystery. Bright though his name then, he recks not, so the thing be done. Right is his aim, stout is his faith, knowledge his sun. Peril is pastime, dangers no ruth; Heros wills Gods will; life is for truth. AN AUGUST DRIVE. By James Buck/zam. Oyou remember, brown eyes, blue eyes, D The drive we took to Brandon town, In the dreamy haze of that August day, While the bells of clover beside the way, So sweet, so sweet, tossed up and down? Do you remember, brown eyes, blue eyes, The drive we took to Brandon town? All about us the air was a-swoon With the brimming wine of midsummer noon, And the August pipers clear and shrill Sang ckzrr, ckirr, ckirr, like a shepherds tune On his oaten pipe, from the greenwood hill. The sky was soft with a silvry mist; The birds in the leafy groves were whist; With glint and gleam ran the winding stream; And the woodbine blushed like a maiden kist. Neck to neck ran the shining bays, And on we flew by cot and croft; The hills loomed up through the silver haze The air blew sweet, and warm, and soft. Far blazed the ranks of the golden-rod; The gentian bloomed by the mossy wall; And the daisies, white as the thoughts of God, Smiled by the wayside, the fairest of all. Do you remember the river-road, Oer-arched with elms, where the silent tide Went shining and slipping along beside The banks of fern and the lilies wide Like golden cups in the water glowed? Oh, there we sang to the lilting string, To the rivers sweep, and the elm-trees swing. In and out, by nook and bend, We swiftly whirled, till the steepled town Out of its hillside grove looked down, And our drive to Brandon was at an end. But oft as midsummer comes again, With its wealth of purple and white and gold, Its roadside splendors, its ripening grain, And odors drifting from field and wold, I shall think of that drive to Brandon town, With the eyes of blue and the eyes of brown: For loves sweet longing forever haunts, And the wine of life is a maidens glance.

AN AUGUST DRIVE. By James Buck/zam. Oyou remember, brown eyes, blue eyes, D The drive we took to Brandon town, In the dreamy haze of that August day, While the bells of clover beside the way, So sweet, so sweet, tossed up and down? Do you remember, brown eyes, blue eyes, The drive we took to Brandon town? All about us the air was a-swoon With the brimming wine of midsummer noon, And the August pipers clear and shrill Sang ckzrr, ckirr, ckirr, like a shepherds tune On his oaten pipe, from the greenwood hill. The sky was soft with a silvry mist; The birds in the leafy groves were whist; With glint and gleam ran the winding stream; And the woodbine blushed like a maiden kist. Neck to neck ran the shining bays, And on we flew by cot and croft; The hills loomed up through the silver haze The air blew sweet, and warm, and soft. Far blazed the ranks of the golden-rod; The gentian bloomed by the mossy wall; And the daisies, white as the thoughts of God, Smiled by the wayside, the fairest of all. Do you remember the river-road, Oer-arched with elms, where the silent tide Went shining and slipping along beside The banks of fern and the lilies wide Like golden cups in the water glowed? Oh, there we sang to the lilting string, To the rivers sweep, and the elm-trees swing. In and out, by nook and bend, We swiftly whirled, till the steepled town Out of its hillside grove looked down, And our drive to Brandon was at an end. But oft as midsummer comes again, With its wealth of purple and white and gold, Its roadside splendors, its ripening grain, And odors drifting from field and wold, I shall think of that drive to Brandon town, With the eyes of blue and the eyes of brown: For loves sweet longing forever haunts, And the wine of life is a maidens glance. WHAT IS NATIONALISM? By Rabbi Solomon Schindler. NE of the principles of the philosophy of Kant is, that we can- not conceive the thing itself; but that only its qualities can r e a c h our mind through our senses. The name which we give to a thing is only a kind of abbreviation, a sign, by which we signify a bundle of qualities. Hence it is no wonder that it is so difficult to define a word, and that the task becomes impossible when the conversing parties do not hold the same conception of the thing of which they are speaking. I was once present at a minstrel show, and one of the artificial negroes was asked to explain what a piazza is. After a great deal of stuttering and mumbling, he ex- plained finally that a piazza is a piazza. Supposing I should say likewise that Nationalism is Nationalism, even then the answer would not be correct, because there are many kinds of nationalists. There are nationalists in Spain, in Ger- many, in Ireland, and perhaps in many other countries, who all differ in the in- terpretation of the name which they have assumed as widely as does the newly born American party differ from them. I think, therefore, that before I start to expound Nationalism, I should tell what I think Nationalism is not, as it is necessary to disabuse the minds of many readers of many notions which the current of time may have drifted into their thoughts. To begin with, Nationalism is not an endeavor to upset the existing order of things with one turn; it is the endeavor to evolve a new order of things in a quiet, logical, and legitimate manner. National- ism is not the shibboleth of a secret so- ciety, of a few disgruntled persons who wish to bring the rest of humanity down to their own level, because they cannot lift themselves up to theirs; it is an irre- sistible current into which the rising tide of civilization i~ carrying the whole human race. Nationalism is not a Utopia which has its existence merely in the fer- tile imagination of a novel writer; its finishing touches are neither the big city umbrella nor the sermon by telephone. Nationalism is not alone the possibility, it is the reality, of the future, the logical consequence of the inventions of the nineteenth century. Its details can as little be apprehended by us as could the details of our cars propelled by steam or electricity be apprehended by peo- ple who lived a hundred years ago. Their yearning for quicker locomotion took form in the description of a flying carpet, or of the mantle of Faust, or of the seven-mile boots; their desire to obtain quicker information from distant parts of the world gave rise to the de- scription of a magic telescope, or the magic gift of hearing what was spoken at a distance; the slow and tedious pro- cess of sewing created the wish for a magic needle, which would perform in an hour the labor of a day; and the belief which was shared by all people even a hundred years ago, that little spirits were ready to help their favorites, provided they were allowed to do the work unseen by human eyes, is merely a paraphrase of the thought that man can make the secret forces of nature serviceable to him- self. All these hopes and wishes of a past age have been accomplished. More comfortably than upon Fausts mantle, we travel to-day in our cars at a rapidity of a mile a minute; we are able to ex- change news with our antipodes, yea we can even talk with a friend in Chicago by means of a long-distance telephone. Our most wonderful machines are merely the harness into which we have spanned the subtle forces of nature, magnetism, electricity, gravity. But a hundred years ago nobody could have gained a detailed description of our contrivances; and it is equally vain for us to attempt a detailed description of future conditions. Neither is Nationalism a philosophy,

WHAT IS NATIONALISM? By Rabbi Solomon Schindler. NE of the principles of the philosophy of Kant is, that we can- not conceive the thing itself; but that only its qualities can r e a c h our mind through our senses. The name which we give to a thing is only a kind of abbreviation, a sign, by which we signify a bundle of qualities. Hence it is no wonder that it is so difficult to define a word, and that the task becomes impossible when the conversing parties do not hold the same conception of the thing of which they are speaking. I was once present at a minstrel show, and one of the artificial negroes was asked to explain what a piazza is. After a great deal of stuttering and mumbling, he ex- plained finally that a piazza is a piazza. Supposing I should say likewise that Nationalism is Nationalism, even then the answer would not be correct, because there are many kinds of nationalists. There are nationalists in Spain, in Ger- many, in Ireland, and perhaps in many other countries, who all differ in the in- terpretation of the name which they have assumed as widely as does the newly born American party differ from them. I think, therefore, that before I start to expound Nationalism, I should tell what I think Nationalism is not, as it is necessary to disabuse the minds of many readers of many notions which the current of time may have drifted into their thoughts. To begin with, Nationalism is not an endeavor to upset the existing order of things with one turn; it is the endeavor to evolve a new order of things in a quiet, logical, and legitimate manner. National- ism is not the shibboleth of a secret so- ciety, of a few disgruntled persons who wish to bring the rest of humanity down to their own level, because they cannot lift themselves up to theirs; it is an irre- sistible current into which the rising tide of civilization i~ carrying the whole human race. Nationalism is not a Utopia which has its existence merely in the fer- tile imagination of a novel writer; its finishing touches are neither the big city umbrella nor the sermon by telephone. Nationalism is not alone the possibility, it is the reality, of the future, the logical consequence of the inventions of the nineteenth century. Its details can as little be apprehended by us as could the details of our cars propelled by steam or electricity be apprehended by peo- ple who lived a hundred years ago. Their yearning for quicker locomotion took form in the description of a flying carpet, or of the mantle of Faust, or of the seven-mile boots; their desire to obtain quicker information from distant parts of the world gave rise to the de- scription of a magic telescope, or the magic gift of hearing what was spoken at a distance; the slow and tedious pro- cess of sewing created the wish for a magic needle, which would perform in an hour the labor of a day; and the belief which was shared by all people even a hundred years ago, that little spirits were ready to help their favorites, provided they were allowed to do the work unseen by human eyes, is merely a paraphrase of the thought that man can make the secret forces of nature serviceable to him- self. All these hopes and wishes of a past age have been accomplished. More comfortably than upon Fausts mantle, we travel to-day in our cars at a rapidity of a mile a minute; we are able to ex- change news with our antipodes, yea we can even talk with a friend in Chicago by means of a long-distance telephone. Our most wonderful machines are merely the harness into which we have spanned the subtle forces of nature, magnetism, electricity, gravity. But a hundred years ago nobody could have gained a detailed description of our contrivances; and it is equally vain for us to attempt a detailed description of future conditions. Neither is Nationalism a philosophy, 54 WHAT IS NA TIONALISJh such as were in their times Stoicism or Epicureanism. It is more than that, it is a faith, a hope, a religion. Before I take the next step, I wish to brush aside a few more misconceptions. Some say that Nationalism and Socialism are identical, and others say they are not. Others still have an idea that Nationalism, being equal to Socialism, must con- sequently be equal also to Communism and Anarchism. I have found most in- telligent people confound these concep- tions. Let it therefore be understood at the outset, that Nationalism is but an- other name for Socialism, with but a slight modification. What Socialism de- sires to reach in a universal way for the whole world, Nationalism desires to ob- tain within the limits of the nation. In- asmuch as there is a tendency in the human race to crystallize around national centres, Nationalism thinks it best to respect these boundaries. Ultimately, Nationalism would have to reach out, after the universal end. Let it be under- stood, furthermore, that neither National- ism nor Socialism is identical with An- archism or Communism, that, quite to the contrary, they form the opposite pole to Anarchism. While Anarchism is a theory of government which will allow no power whatsoever to any governing body, Socialism or Nationalism will endow the government with greater powers yet than its own. While the former believes that the individual shall take upon himself all the consequences which spring from com- petition, and that according to his oppor- tunities a man shall either succumb in the struggle for existence to survive as the fittest, the latter holds society or the nation responsible for the well-being of every one of its members, as long as the member fulfils his obligation to society. Thus it will be seen that an Anarchist and a Socialist are the most extreme opponents, and it is absurd and shows gross ignorance when people speak of Socialists and Anarchists in the same breath, as if they were representatives of the same doctrine of government, and as if they employed all their leisure time together in the manufacture of bombs. Nationalism is the child of our century. I wish to repeat that when I speak of Nationalism the term covers also the con- ception of Socialism, and Socialism is a scientific, economic theory, not older than a century. It is a fallacy to assume that there have been Socialists in former ages, yea that the early Christian Church was a Socialistic organization. At that time, and up to our present age, Socialism was not dreamed of, and could not have found a place in the minds of people, because the necessary requirements and conditions for it were not fulfilled. The desire of the poor to enjoy the comforts of the rich and the attempt to bring about a division of wealth are not Social- ism or Nationalism. It is only in- cidentally that the question of a fairer division of the wealth of a nation enters into Nationalism. There have ever been people who through their greater physical or mental or material strength have sup- pressed and enslaved those who were weaker physically, mentally, or materially, and it has always happened that while the one enjoyed the fruits of another man s labor, the other complained of his miser- able lot, which denied him opportunities and made him the slave of the stronger. Disparity has made itself felt at all times, and the wisest and the best of people bave ever sought for a solution of the problem; but their efforts could not but remain futile, because they failed to see the root of the evil. All laws which were ever framed origi- nated in the desire to balance somewhat the inequalities of men; and all the religions which ever appeared on earth, from Buddhism down to Mormonism, have grappled with that same question, to fail as thoroughly as did their political confreres. Their miscalculation was due to one slight error, which, however, was excusable in them. As soon as we begin to deviate merely by a hairs breadth from a certain course the angle will widen and the divergence will become greater with every step we take. The slight error, which at its time escaped observation, but which afterwards caused the failure of State and religion to equalize matters, was that they all conceived man simply as an individual, or started from the individual- istic stand-point. There are but few persons in our day WI/IA? IS NATIONALISM? 55 who do not accept the philosophy of evolution. I assume that the intelligent reader has given up the old idea that man was perfect in the beginning, but having fallen from grace has become more and more corrupt. I assume that in place of this theory he has accepted the fact that man began his career at the bottom, and that by stages which must be counted not simply by thousands of years, but by hundreds of thousands, he has ascended step by step until he has reached his present position. The further back we go, the less civilized do we find him, with Fewer needs and wants, with less knowl- edge of the world and poorer conceptions of his relation to it. In those ancient times, as to-day in countries inhabited by savages, man was self-sufficient to supply all his wants. This self-sufficiency he shared with brute creatures from which he sprang. Instinct taught him how to appease his hunger, protect himself against the inclemency of the weather, and defend himself against hostile forces. Even when in later periods families, tribes and nations were formed, through which the individual re- ceived a better protection than he could obtain by his own exertions, he still re- mained self-sufficient. lie could step out of society at any time, as did the ancho- rites of old, and live a hermits life, with- out missing the fellowship of man; and thinkers, philosophers, religionists, and social reformers looked upon him as a self-sufficient individual, who stood in opposition to the other similar individ- uals. From this individualistic stand- point, the strong and the cunning were seen as favorites of a power that stood outside of this world and governed it in an arbitrary manner. If it pleased that arbitrary power to bestow favors upon one and deny them to the other, it was only right that these favorites should make themselves the masters of those who were less favored. From the individualistic stand-point, the one whose physical strength allowed him to subdue his weaker brother and to take his life had a right to impose servitude upon him in ex- change for the life he had left him. From the individualistic stand-point, it was right that the one gifted with superior brain force should rule the weaker mind and make him his slave. From the in- dividualistic stand-point, all human beings separated into two classes: into favorites of God and into those against whom the divinity had turned its face. When it happened that the injustice of such an arbitrary division became too apparent, various subterfuges were invented to reconcile the miseries of life which were caused by this social distinction with the justice of God. It was said that when we suffer from the inequality of station, this is a punishment for some offence by which either the sufferer himself or his ancestors have irritated the divine being. Wealth and social standing were results of virtue. When these explanations would not suffice another subterfuge was ready; they would then say that the miseries of the sufferer ~vere trials by which the divinity desired to test the obedience of a man and for which an ample reward would be given him in a life to come. Wealth and rank were then described as a kind of trap to allure man from the right path, and the enjoyment of these pleas- ures on earth was declared a sin to be punished severely in a future existence. But by all such subtleties the problem was not solved and could not be solved. When in our latest times scientists have depicted this world as a pond, filled with big fish and little fish, in which it is the privilege of the big fish to swallow the little ones,it is a proof that the old in- dividualistic stand-point has not yet been forsaken. In the meantime a slow evolutionary process went on. Every new invention subdivided human labor and made one human being dependent upon the other. Men learned that through a combination of their forces they could reach better re- sults than by remaining alone. Ten men who were set to do a certain work not only produced ten times as much as one man could, but by a proper division of labor a hundred times as much. Society developed and, in course of time reached its present standing. Yet that society, not the individual, is the unit, that the whole human race forms one organism, of which the individual man is but an atom, a cell, was not perceived, and could not 56 WHAT IS NATIONALISM? be perceived, before the invention of modern machinery subdivided all labors into such infinitesimal parts, that it takes a thousand persons sometimes to produce one article; nor before railroads, tele- graphs and telephones had bound the race together into one parcel. In previous ages, even fifty years ago, a per- son who travelled a couple of hundred miles could hardly be tracked; to-day a criminal cannot find a hiding place on the face of the earth. In previous ages even the wisest and most learned knew little of the world outside of the circle of a few miles that surrounded him, and the most fabulous narratives of the cus- toms and habits of foreign nations re- ceived credence. To-day every intelli- gent person is conversant with all that is going on in every part of the world; even the secrets of darkest Africa are brought before his eyes by pictures which cannot lie, because the sun itself has made them. When it is said that one half of the world does not know how the other half lives, it is a mere exaggeration, and proves, on the contrary, that more and more we do become acquainted with the life that is led by the so-called submerged classes. It is from this elevated stand-point which our civilization has reached that we obtain a birds-eye view of humanity, that we have become able to see it as a whole, a plant, of which nations form the branches, and the individuals form the cells. Only in this time have we become able to place ourselves upon the social- istic stand-point, and to start from the idea that it is not individual man to whom the highest importance must be given, but that it is humanity as an organism that concerns us; in other words, that the welfare of humanity does not result from the welfare of the indivi- dual, but the welfare of the individual is the resultant of the welfare of the whole body that at least they stand in such a relation to each other, that the individual has duties to fulfil to society, and society also has duties to fulfil to the individual. Only the first part of this axiom is ac- knowledged. Every person born into this world is held to fulfil his obligations to society, but society does not fulfil its duties to the individual. He who desires to enter into a real understanding of Socialism must make it clear to himself that there is a vast dif- ference between the individualistic and the socialistic conception of humanity. One is synthetic, and the other is analytic. One takes hold of individuals, groups them together and calls ttiat con- glomeration of units mankind; the other beholds in humanity an organism, com- posed of numberless cells. The one per- mits the units which it has drawn pell- mell into one heap to support their own existence at the expense of the rest, and provides only against such disturbances as would break up the conglomeration; the other to use the most physical figure guarantees the safety of all its molecules. The one permits the in- dividual to work for himself; the other demands his best efforts for the social welfare. The one orders the individual to fight against the hostile forces of nature in single combat ; the other attempts to defeat the enemy by a com- mon onslaught. These fundamental differences lead to different conclusions; and as we are con- versant with the conclusions at which in- dividualism has arrived, because we live and act them, it only remains for me to depict the conclusions at which Socialism arrives. When humanity is taken as the unit, and the individual as a part of it, it be- comes evident that the body must guar- antee the safety and security of each of its parts, as long as these cells perform their functions. It is immaterial at what place in the body the cell is situated, what its abilities are, or what service it is expected to render to the body; it must receive its support from the common stock. A tree is an organism which draws its support out of the ground, out of the air, and from the sunlight. It lives and sprouts and blooms, as long as it obtains nourishment from the ground in which it is rooted and from the atmos- phere which surrounds it. Each cell in the tree fulfils a certain function, and the combined efforts of all cells are needed to secure for the tree the needed supply. Whether a cell is situated in the root or in the marrow, or whether it is placed on WHAT IS NATIONALISM? 57 the outside and helps form the bark or a leaf or a blossom, it receives from the emoluments of the whole tree, to obtain which it contributes its share, all that is needed for its support. None is stinted on account of the position which it holds or the accident which has placed it in a more or less conspicuous spot. If one part of a tree should grasp for itself all the sap and allow none to flow to the rest, the tree would soon wither and die. It is precisely the same with humanity. No matter where the accident of birth has placed an individual, no matter with what abilities nature has endowed him, he has a right to ask for his share of sup- port from the common stock, to which he contributes his quota of work. This is the first principle of Socialism, or Nationalism; and its justice must be understood, and, what is more, be felt, before the next step can be taken. Un- fortunately we are not yet accustomed to take this view; we have not yet eliminated from our minds the individualistic con- ception of mankind, and we still base all our decisions upon the right of the pos- sessor to what he possesses. We cannot yet see how unjust it is to deprive a per- son of the enjoyments of life merely be- cause nature has failed to endow him with the same qualities which she has given to another; we fail to see how unjust it is to starve a person on account of the accident of his birth, or to enslave him as a kind of punishment for the neglect of nature to put him into another place. Even when we decide that a person is entitled to such a share of the common wealth as he receives in payment for services which he renders to society, our present social order is found lacking, because it permits people to enjoy the possession of wealth, who have done not the least thing for its accumulation. It permits that a child born into the Astor family may enjoy the pleasure and wield the power which one hundred and fifty million dollars repre- sent, although the child has not done anything whatever to deserve such privi- leges. The first principle of Socialism, which is that all members of the community are entitled to be supported by that body from the hour of birth to the hour of death, evolves most logically its second principle. This is, that a mans duty to the community must not be measured by the kind of work he does, but by how he does it; that it is immaterial what labor a person performs, so long as he performs that labor well, and that, finally, the sup- port of life or the enjoyment of life to which he is entitled stands in no relation whatsoever to the work which he turns out. A man cannot do more than that which his abilities and natural endow- ments permit him to do. Nature endows one with brains, another with muscles, gives talent to one and special abilities to another. Why shall the one whom nature has stinted with her gifts be punished in addition with poverty and slavish dependence upon others? His work is as much needed as is that of another person of higher talents, and if he does his work well he is entitled to the same privileges as his co-laborer. The price for labor must hence be an equal one, because it does not depend entirely upon ourselves whether we will or can perform a certain work; it de- pends upon nature, which arbitrarily dis- penses her gifts; it depends upon the opportunities which we have to develop whatever is in us; and it depends upon circumstances which bring us into this or that position. We are merely responsi- ble for the quality of our work, whether or not we do that well; if a distinction were to be made, it would be that the more distasteful labor should receive a better equivalent than the labor that is pleasant and delightful. Unfortunately our present age is not yet ripe to apprehend this second princi- ple. We are yet too much accustomed to care little for the rest of mankind; we look out only for number one. We are accustomed to estimate the value of labor by what it fetches in the labor market, and to pay for it not its true price, but a price created by various and changing conditions. Inasmuch as it requires a longer time to develop mental qualities, and inasmuch as the outlay in time and means has to be borne by the student, a higher price is paid in many cases for mental labor than for muscular labor; and because of the lower wages which 58 WHAT IS NATIONALISM? physical labor receives, the masses are denied the opportunities to develop mental faculties that might be within them. There is furthermore a large class of mental workers who are permitted to dictate their own price for their labor. This is a class formed of speculators; and it can easily be proven that no man has ever grown rich by means of the price which he has received for his labor, may that have been physical or mental, but that whenever a great fortune has been made it has been made by speculation. Speculation may require sagacity, it may require a developed mind, it may require knowledge of human character, it may require an investment of capital, and it may be accompanied by a great deal of worry and anxiety; but it is not labor, neither does it create wealth; it merely takes away from the one to give to the other, merely impoverishes the many in order to enrich the lucky speculator. Socialism will not receive recognition until this second principle is understood by all, the principle, namely, that all labor is alike and is to be paid alike. The third doctrine of Socialism is, that while man should depend upon society to carry him through life, and society should depend upon the labor of the in- dividual to accomplish this task, none of the individuals should fall into depend- ence upon other individuals, but that each should have the full liberty of choosing the occupation which he likes best and the associations which he desires to form; that children should not suffer for the iniquities of parents, nor parents be ruined by the evil conduct of their children; that women should not be drawn down by their husbands, nor hus- bands by their wives. While there should be an interdependence of all members of the community, there should be no state of dependence which makes one indi- vidual the master and the other the slave. It would be difficult to show in detail within the space of this article how our present social order, which is based upon individualism, does not take these rights of the human being into consideration. All our declarations of equality and of our rights to life and to the pursuit of happiness are empty phrases. Our proud professions that we have the right of choosing our lifes work is self-deception. It depends generally upon conditions into what career we are driven, and the chil- dren of the poor have no choice whatso- ever; they have to take what is offered to them. Our high schools are opened to all, and it is even proposed to estab- lish free colleges; but the poor who are dependent upon the few cents which their labor brings them have to leave school at the age of fourteen, and can never enjoy the privileges that are given to their more fortunate brethren. All these socialistic principles can be realized; and when realized they will usher in an era of human happiness which we at present can scarcely imagine. But their realization depends upon the acknowledgment of a fourth principle, namely, that through combined labor we can prevent not alone a great deal of waste, but produce so large an amount of wealth that it would be sufficient to aholish poverty and all such miseries as are artificially created by us. This is not a mere hypothesis, it is not a mere asser- tion; the truth of it has manifested itself in many institutions which we have organized as if by instinct. The army is one such institution; the mail is an- other socialistic enterprise which has been successful; the introduction of public schools shows a strongly developed so- cialistic tendency, and the formation of companies, syndicates, and trusts shows what can be accomplished when labor is subdivided and the efforts of the many are directed towards one aim. Accustomed to argue always from the individualistic standpoint and to accept as final the right of ownership of land and valuables, Socialism or Nationalism has sometimes been decried as the crazy notion of dissatisfied persons to divide the present wealth among the memhers of the human race, and thus to create a certain temporary equality. It has then been explained with good enough logic that such an equality would not last more than twenty-four hours, and that after that period, the stronger, the wiser, and the more provident would again become the owners of disproportionate shares of wealth. It is this fear of division of 59 WHAT IS NATIONALISM9 property which has kept many well-mean- ing people away from the socialistic camp. But neither Socialism nor Nation- alism desires such a division, nor aims at it. Socialists and Nationalists are gener- ally people whose logic is as sound as that of other people, and they see as well as others how absurd it would be to attempt an amelioration of conditions by a mere division of property. It is the aim of Nationalism to create by united efforts more wealth than can be created under a system of individualistic compe- tition, and thus to enable all human beings to live a more human life. It is the aim and end of Nationalism to avoid waste and to extract from this beautiful world which is so rich in resources all that is needed for the comfortable exist- ence of every member. Let me give but one example. There is more coal in Pennsylvania alone than is needed for all the United States; there are a million of hands idle, waiting for employment; and yet people have to freeze and cannot afford warmth in cold winter weather, because the price of coal is regulated by the coal barons. If these find that more coal is mined than is compatible with good prices, they will send away their laborers and reduce the output. Nation- alism claims that the earth with all that is upon it or in it belongs to the human race and not to individuals, in the same way as does water and air; and it holds that by properly utilizing the wealth of the earth, a population a hundred times as large as the present could be supported in affluence. The aim and end of Nationalism is to make every member of the nation an official, and to burden the government with the care of the production, manu- facture and distribution of all articles needed for the support of life. When nationalists are told that this is Utopian and can never be accomplished, they have the right to ask: Why not? If the nation can carry our mail, why can it not carry as well and as cheaply our parcels? Why can it not carry as orderly our despatches? Why can it not carry our persons? In Europe this part of the problem has been solved. In Germany, for instance, the government controls the mails, inclusive of the express service, the railroads, telegraphs, and telephones. The service is prompt and safe and cheaper than anywhere else, and yet leaves a surplus which, instead of going into the pockets of some speculator, comes back to the people and is suffi- cient to cover all the expenses of educa- tion. Germany would never have been able to stand the burden of her military system, had it not been that savings are made by such socialistic enterprises. If a city can supply economically its citizens with water, if it can undertake to educate their children, and to supply them with books, if it is able to establish and main- tain a fire department, why can it not as well furnish citizens with light and heat? Why can it not afford to supply a gifted child with clothing and food until it has passed the years of study? If a city can build streets, why can it not build tene- ments? There is no end to these ques- tions, until we come to the point that the city, which is but you and I, can com- bine to do all the work of which we are in need together. Unfortunately, again we are yet so much in the thralls of individualistic con- ceptions, we are yet so much accustomed to feel safety only in the possession of money, that we cannot believe that a per- son would work for any other purpose than to obtain money, and that, if he could obtain it without labor, he would always be ready to enrich himself at the expense of others. As I have said before, if we accept the individualistic stand- point it is quite correct that the strong should suppress the weak, the cunning and crafty the unintelligent, and the wealthy the poor; but the socialistic or nationalistic idea foreshadows higher mo- tives than such as were found necessary to extract labor from an individual. As soon as the dread and fear are removed that our next neighbor may betray us, and that the next day may find us suffering from want and dependent upon the charity of others, higher motives will replace these lower ones. There would be no need of greediness and no necessity to accumulate individual wealth. The fear that Nationalism would bring about what generally is called paternalism, that is, the 430 WHAT IS NATIONALISAL? government of a few who could not be trusted to do right, is unfounded; so is the fear that the more officials we should have the greater would be the corruption. This latter point deserves a few special words. In the first place, if we cannot trust officials, why do we not give up at once our mail and allow private corpora- tions to attend to it, or why do we not let private companies protect us against lire, or bring water into our houses, or attend to the sewerage of cities? Why, furthermore, do we object to private schools? If we can stand official cor- ruption so far without becoming bank- rupt by it, could we not take the risk to enlarge upon it? The facts, however, are that it is a mere fable that officials as a class are corrupt. Some individuals may be, and in our present competitive system, ~which does not secure us against the mis- fortunes of the coming day, this is not to be wondered at; but, as a class, they are honest, and by a proper system they can he honest. Supposing, however, that it be true that even as a class they are cor- rupt, I claim that even with that cor- ruption it would be cheaper to carry on our own business than to leave it in the hands of private corporations which first of all look out for themselves, and whose officials are no more incorruptible than are state or city officials. This cry about the corruptibility of officials and about paternalism are merely bugbears with which to scare people. Nothing in nature turns or changes abruptly; a period of transition is needed for every evolutionary step. While Nat- ionalists see that many changes could be made at once, to do away with a great number of evils with which life is beset, they have sufficient common sense to propose a graded process. They are not so selfish or foolish as to expect a great betterment of conditions for themselves; they are satisfied if their children or childrens children may be saved from the inequalities, fears, and worries of life, which are brought about by nothing else than our system of competition. They propose to burden the governments of the nation, of the state, of the city, only with the functions with which they have become familiar. The nation could carry on, besides the mail service, the express service, the telegraph and tele- phone service; the treasury department, which handles thousands of millions already, could be made to handle the whole banking system of the land. The state, which now supervises the insurance business, could just as well handle it. The city, which now has its water de- partment, could have also its gas and electric light departments. The pos- sibilities of uniting a number of com- panies into one large concern and the advantages thereof have been demon- strated by the amalgamation of all Boston street-car companies into one. If the city of Boston were to run them, she would need only to buy the plant, make the superintendent a city official, and have a board of directors elected by the people in the same way that school com- mittees are now elected. Better accom- modations would be obtained, and the immense surplus which now goes to the holders of watered stock would flow back to the citizens and either lessen their taxes or allow them to improve the city. These steps are all that Nationalists are asking the people to take for the present; later it will be time to consider what new enterprises could be transferred in the easiest manner from companies to the citizens themselves. Another step advocated by Nationalists is that gradually the amassing of im- mense fortunes should be hindered, that the heirs of vast fortunes should be held to pay a large tax to the people, because the people grant them the privilege of owning and enjoying wealth which they themselves have not created and for which they themselves have not given an equivalent in labor. They furthermore ask that after a specified time (say one hundred years) the right of inheritance should be entirely abolished, so that three generations could have a chance to pre- pare themselves for the new order of things, and people thua learn that in the future they will have to depend upon themselves and not upon the wealth of their ancestors. While it may be right that a man should enjoy the fruits of his labor as long as he lives, it is unjust that a tribute should be paid by the people to REQUIEM ~ETERNAM. 611 the capitalist who has merely inherited his millions. That is all that Nationalism at present stands for, if it already stands even for so much. It is understood by sober Na- tionalists that no changes can be brought about unless the principles have become flesh and blood with all; that not alone the poor and the middle classes, but also the wealthy must see the advantages of the change which they propose. There- fore, they consider it their first task to teach and their second task to teach; to enlighten people as to the true prin- ciples of Nationalism; to remove their fears that something is proposed which would not be just to all and which woukt not better the conditions of all. REQUIEM zETERNAM. By Ar/hur L. Salmon. ROUND his bier the singers stand, And the tapers at his feet Flicker oer the winding-sheet, Where the form of face and hand May be faintly guessed beneath, In their panoply of death. Rests he now in holy sleep; All his storm and labor cease: God Himself hath whispered peace, Peace eternal, full and deep; Ai1d the singers round his head Chant their music for the dead. Where the torches fitful light Falls upon the arches dim, Stand the monks and chant their hymn Through the solemn hush of night; Singing low their requiem For the father lost to them. Happy those who sleep as he After life of fast and prayer; Happy are the dead who wear Such a role of sanctity, Such a perfect spotless dress Of a lifelong righteousness. Suddenly with hollow sound Comes a voice from him who lies Stiff and cold, with seal& d eyes; And the singers standing round Start with deadly fright to hear Words so terrible and drear.

REQUIEM ~ETERNAM. 611 the capitalist who has merely inherited his millions. That is all that Nationalism at present stands for, if it already stands even for so much. It is understood by sober Na- tionalists that no changes can be brought about unless the principles have become flesh and blood with all; that not alone the poor and the middle classes, but also the wealthy must see the advantages of the change which they propose. There- fore, they consider it their first task to teach and their second task to teach; to enlighten people as to the true prin- ciples of Nationalism; to remove their fears that something is proposed which would not be just to all and which woukt not better the conditions of all. REQUIEM zETERNAM. By Ar/hur L. Salmon. ROUND his bier the singers stand, And the tapers at his feet Flicker oer the winding-sheet, Where the form of face and hand May be faintly guessed beneath, In their panoply of death. Rests he now in holy sleep; All his storm and labor cease: God Himself hath whispered peace, Peace eternal, full and deep; Ai1d the singers round his head Chant their music for the dead. Where the torches fitful light Falls upon the arches dim, Stand the monks and chant their hymn Through the solemn hush of night; Singing low their requiem For the father lost to them. Happy those who sleep as he After life of fast and prayer; Happy are the dead who wear Such a role of sanctity, Such a perfect spotless dress Of a lifelong righteousness. Suddenly with hollow sound Comes a voice from him who lies Stiff and cold, with seal& d eyes; And the singers standing round Start with deadly fright to hear Words so terrible and drear. *32 A LOVERS FANCY Judg& d and condemned am I By the God whose law is just, Comes the murmur from the dust To the mourners gathered by; And their started voices fail In a broken dismal wail. Judged and condemned am I! To the judgment all must go; And the tapers flicker low, And a wind along the sky Rushes with a moan of pain, As of souls that cry in vain. From his side they shrink away, Pale and shuddering in their fright, Dreading now the very sight Of that ghastly sheeted clay. No one prayeth for the dead: For themselves their prayers are said. A LOVERS FANCY. By Harry Romaine. THE withered brown leaves lie In clusters beneath her feet; They were glad to fade and die To make her pathway sweet; And each scattered flake of snow In amorous longing seeks To melt away in the glow Of her warm and crimson cheeks; And the rays of the setting sun Steal ninety billion miles, To catch a sight of one Of her rare and brilliant smiles; And the stars of evening fight, At the close of the dying day, To be first to greet her sight With a feeble twilight ray; And the dull old earth rolls on With a slow and steady gait, And his solemn mind upon His sweet and precious freight. No wonder he seems afraid To enter the comets race He is bearing a queenly maid Through the dizzy realms of space.

*32 A LOVERS FANCY Judg& d and condemned am I By the God whose law is just, Comes the murmur from the dust To the mourners gathered by; And their started voices fail In a broken dismal wail. Judged and condemned am I! To the judgment all must go; And the tapers flicker low, And a wind along the sky Rushes with a moan of pain, As of souls that cry in vain. From his side they shrink away, Pale and shuddering in their fright, Dreading now the very sight Of that ghastly sheeted clay. No one prayeth for the dead: For themselves their prayers are said. A LOVERS FANCY. By Harry Romaine. THE withered brown leaves lie In clusters beneath her feet; They were glad to fade and die To make her pathway sweet; And each scattered flake of snow In amorous longing seeks To melt away in the glow Of her warm and crimson cheeks; And the rays of the setting sun Steal ninety billion miles, To catch a sight of one Of her rare and brilliant smiles; And the stars of evening fight, At the close of the dying day, To be first to greet her sight With a feeble twilight ray; And the dull old earth rolls on With a slow and steady gait, And his solemn mind upon His sweet and precious freight. No wonder he seems afraid To enter the comets race He is bearing a queenly maid Through the dizzy realms of space. RHODE ISLAND. By A. Benjamin Audrews. HETHER or not Rhode Island was the Norse- man s Vinland, it has many of the character- istics ascribed by them ~- ~ to that country. Though no one longer accounts the Old Stone Mill at Newport their handiwork, it is not at all impossible, many think it even probable, that these regions were visited by those hardy navi- gators from the North. Cabot sighted our shores in 1498, and twenty-six years later Verrazani anchored in the waters now called Newport Harbor. Adrian Block, too, ploughed our seas, as Block Island still reminds us. However, the proper history of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations begins with the advent of Roger Williams in 1636. When, in 1631, Roger Williams landed in Massachusetts, he was welcomed as a godly minister. The ship which brought him also brought provisions, which gave much needed relief to colon- ists hard pressed by famine. A day of thanksgiving followed, in which, no doubt, many a saint blessed God not only for the bread, but as well for the new de- fender religion had received in the sturdy young minister. But Williams did not long retain the favor with which he was at first hailed. As assistant pastor at Salem, he incurred the hostility of the Bay, and soon removed beyond its jurisdiction, ac- cepting the office of assistant pastor in more liberal Plymouth. Here he re- mained two years. It was now that he became well acquainted with many chief sachems of the neighboring tribes, knowl- edge which subsequently served him in various negotiations. In 1633, he re- turned to Salem, where he presently as- serted opinions which the rulers of the Bay could not tolerate. Cotton men- 5 in the preparation of this article the author has re- ceived valuahle assistance from Professor Dr. Gen. G. Wilson, of Brown University, and also from that incompar- ahle connoisseur of Rhode Island history, Mr. Sidney S. Rider, of Providence. tions him as a haberdasher of small questions against the power. Williams was several times brought before the court for his opinions, and finally, in 1635, sentenced to banishment on the following charges, as stated by the court: i. That we have not our land by Pattent from the King, but that the natives are the true owners of it and that we ought to repent of such receiv- ing it by Pattent. 2d~ That it is not lawful to call a wicked person to swear, to pray, as being actions of Gods wor- ship. 3d That it is not lawful to hear any of the ministers of the Parish assemblies in England. 4th. That the civil magistrates power extends only to Bodies and Goods and outward state of man. Williams was to depart out of the juris- diction within six weeks, but as his health was at the time very poor the court per- mitted him to remain till spring. He did not cease to teach his dangerous opinions, and was therefore summoned to Boston that he might be sent to England. He refused to obey. The magistrates despatched Captain Underhill with a small sloop to bring him. When the officers arrived in Salem, they found he had gone three days before, but whither they could not learn. Williams had started for the land of the Narragansetts. Of his travel thither he writes, I was sorely tossed for one fourteen weeks in a bitter winter season, not knowing what bread or bed did mean. The Indians cared for him on his way. These ravens fed me in the wilderness, he says. Williams first settled on the east side of the Seekonk river, but his an- cient friend the Governor of Plymouth lovingly advised him that he had fallen into the edge of their bounds, and as they were loth to displease the Bay, if he would but remove to the other side of the water they should be loving neighbors together. Williams obeyed in the early summer of 1636, and made a new settlement at the mouth of the Mooshausick, not far from the present site of St. Johns Church, on

RHODE ISLAND. By A. Benjamin Audrews. HETHER or not Rhode Island was the Norse- man s Vinland, it has many of the character- istics ascribed by them ~- ~ to that country. Though no one longer accounts the Old Stone Mill at Newport their handiwork, it is not at all impossible, many think it even probable, that these regions were visited by those hardy navi- gators from the North. Cabot sighted our shores in 1498, and twenty-six years later Verrazani anchored in the waters now called Newport Harbor. Adrian Block, too, ploughed our seas, as Block Island still reminds us. However, the proper history of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations begins with the advent of Roger Williams in 1636. When, in 1631, Roger Williams landed in Massachusetts, he was welcomed as a godly minister. The ship which brought him also brought provisions, which gave much needed relief to colon- ists hard pressed by famine. A day of thanksgiving followed, in which, no doubt, many a saint blessed God not only for the bread, but as well for the new de- fender religion had received in the sturdy young minister. But Williams did not long retain the favor with which he was at first hailed. As assistant pastor at Salem, he incurred the hostility of the Bay, and soon removed beyond its jurisdiction, ac- cepting the office of assistant pastor in more liberal Plymouth. Here he re- mained two years. It was now that he became well acquainted with many chief sachems of the neighboring tribes, knowl- edge which subsequently served him in various negotiations. In 1633, he re- turned to Salem, where he presently as- serted opinions which the rulers of the Bay could not tolerate. Cotton men- 5 in the preparation of this article the author has re- ceived valuahle assistance from Professor Dr. Gen. G. Wilson, of Brown University, and also from that incompar- ahle connoisseur of Rhode Island history, Mr. Sidney S. Rider, of Providence. tions him as a haberdasher of small questions against the power. Williams was several times brought before the court for his opinions, and finally, in 1635, sentenced to banishment on the following charges, as stated by the court: i. That we have not our land by Pattent from the King, but that the natives are the true owners of it and that we ought to repent of such receiv- ing it by Pattent. 2d~ That it is not lawful to call a wicked person to swear, to pray, as being actions of Gods wor- ship. 3d That it is not lawful to hear any of the ministers of the Parish assemblies in England. 4th. That the civil magistrates power extends only to Bodies and Goods and outward state of man. Williams was to depart out of the juris- diction within six weeks, but as his health was at the time very poor the court per- mitted him to remain till spring. He did not cease to teach his dangerous opinions, and was therefore summoned to Boston that he might be sent to England. He refused to obey. The magistrates despatched Captain Underhill with a small sloop to bring him. When the officers arrived in Salem, they found he had gone three days before, but whither they could not learn. Williams had started for the land of the Narragansetts. Of his travel thither he writes, I was sorely tossed for one fourteen weeks in a bitter winter season, not knowing what bread or bed did mean. The Indians cared for him on his way. These ravens fed me in the wilderness, he says. Williams first settled on the east side of the Seekonk river, but his an- cient friend the Governor of Plymouth lovingly advised him that he had fallen into the edge of their bounds, and as they were loth to displease the Bay, if he would but remove to the other side of the water they should be loving neighbors together. Williams obeyed in the early summer of 1636, and made a new settlement at the mouth of the Mooshausick, not far from the present site of St. Johns Church, on 64 RHODE ISLAND. North Main Street, in the city of Provi- dence. The name Providence, the pilgrim gave to the spot in grateful re- rnembrance of Gods merciful provi- dence to him in his distress. In banishing Roger Williams, Massa- chusetts Bay had but acted out the spirit of the age. Williams suffered the fate then usually meted out by all religionists to obdurate nonconformists. Yet, whim- sical as some of his contentions seem, his central idea was massive and immortal. Toleration will, so men then thought, make the kingdom a chaos, is the grand work of the devil, is a most transcen- dental, catholic and fundamental evil. The Simple Cobler of Aggawam exclaims: How all Religions should enjoy their liberty, Justice its due regularity, civil cohabitation, moral honesty, in one and the same jurisdiction, is beyond the Ar- tique of my comprehension. What the Simple Cobbler arid his wisest contempo- raries found beyond the Artique of their comprehension was to be made plain in a colony begun and continued with- out their aid. As \Villiams said, his souls desire was to do the natives good. It is not true, he adds, that I was employed by any, or desired any to come with me into these parts. He did not care to be troubled with English company. Yet he soon found a considerable settlement growing up around him, and in framing its government he did not swerve from the principles which he had so boldly preached in Salem. For the first time in human history, religion was sundered from civil government, Church held apart from State. Those who subscribed the so-called original compact promised to be subject to their rulers and laws in active and passive obedience, but only in civil things. The settlement at Providence was soon followed by others within the present limits of the state. Williams had with- drawn from Massachusetts territory, but his freedom of spirit had not. Not a few people still remained there who were apt to raise doubtful disputattons. Mrs. Hutchinsons prophecy was even less welcome than Williamss. The church with one consent cast her out. Those of her belief were numerous, and many of them with other exiles made their way to Providence. John Clark and William Coddington led a hegira of these. They intended to settle near Delaware Bay, but concluded to make the island of Aquidneck their home. The island, called from 1644 Rhode Island, was purchased by love, by love and favour. The settlers, nineteen in number, before ~trriving at their future home at the north end of the island, resolved themselves by a compact into a body politic, agree- ing to be guided and judged by the word of the Bible. This was in 1638. The little colony on Rhode Island grew apace, yet soon developed grave differences of view. A separation took place. Coddington, with fifty-eight others, withdrawing and founding Newport in 1639. Those who first went to prospect at Niew Port reported that the land might reasonably accommodate fifty fam- ilies. The town which they left was now reorganized and named Portsmouth. The government at Newport practically reproduced that which had just been es- tablished. In 1640, the two island towns united, and on August 6 of that year it was determined that each should have a joynt arid an equal supply of the money in the Treasury for the necessary pur- poses of the same. They soon had their seal and the other insignia of a fully equipped government. In 1641, It was further ordered by the authority of this present Courte, that none bee ac- counted a Delinquent for Doctrine: Pro- vided it be not directly repugnant to ye Government or Lawes Established. From this time, therefore, religious and state affairs were here, as in Providence, separate, by law, and the principle of soul liberty was fully established. Yet the political organization was for a long time much more complete on the Island than in the Providence Plantations. In November, 1642, a settlement was made on the Shawamet purchase in War- wick, title being acquired from the In- dians. Among the earliest settlers here was Samuel Gorton. Gorton was a sort of human porcupine. No one could get on with him. His contemporaries called him a most prodigious minister of ex 65 RHODE iSLAND. orbitant novelties, beast, miscreant, and arch-heretic. Even the mild Wil- liams mentions him as having abused high and low at Aquidnek, bewitching and maddening poor Providence. As a recent writer puts it, he might almost be said to have graduated as a disturber of the peace in every colony of New England. But he and his Warwick allies had energy, and their plant grew. The two sovereignties on the Island, with Providence and Warwick, formed the four centres of Rhode Island popu- lation during the early period. The partnership already described as exist- ing between Portsmouth and Newport was for some years the sole bond of general union anywhere prevalent among the four towns. Their own feebleness, with threats from Indians, the Dutch, and the older English colonies, by whom Rhode Island had been refused admission to the New England Confed- eration in 1643, led to the conclusion that, to insure their hold upon the lands which they occupied, these towns must have a charter from the English crown. This kind of government of their owne erection no longer met the needs of the growing commonwealth. Providence The Roger Wi!IiamSS Monument Providence. 66 and the Island accordingly joined in sending Roger Williams to England to obtain the needed parchment. Williams desired to sail from Boston, but the The Old M~lI at Newport. authorities would not allow this, and he was compelled to make the long journey to New York. In the autumn of 1644, he returned, via Boston, bringing the charter of 16434, for The incorpora- tion of Providence Plantations in Narra- gansett Bay in New England. As had been requested, this charter limited to civil matters the authority to be exercised under it, while, beyond this, in the language of Arnold, a silence more sig- nificant than language proclaimed the triumph of soul-liberty. While the charter of 16434 made provision for the union of the four little commonwealths, yet partly the discord within and between them, and, still more, threats from Massachusetts and Plymouth to oppose by force any action under this charter for four years pre- vented such union. In 1647, however, RHODE iSLAND. they handed over a little power to a cen- tral government. It was agreed that the form of government established in Providence plantations is Democraticall; that is to say, a Government held by the free and voluntarie consent of all or the greater part of the free inhabitants; and it was further enacted that all men may walk as their consciences persuade them, every one in the name of his God. At this early day there was here a custom like the Swiss referendum. The people in open town meeting had the power, by a majority vote, to annul or abrogate any and all acts of the General Assembly; and only so long as this was not done was the act of the General Assembly a valid and binding statue. Even the limited harmony of action brought about by the code of 1647 did not long con- tinue. In 1651, the towns fell apart again by twos, the island toxvns remaining united and the mainland towns pre- serving a measure of common action. All were again brought back to a degree of harmony in 1654, largely through the intercession of Wil- liams. Yet, whether betxveen or in the towns, the alliance was more superficial than hearty. The statement of a con- temporary writer that at Providence the Devil was not idle, was equally true for the other communities. Boundary dis- putes, which were at no time wanting, were not more rancorous than the cease- Birthplace of Commodore Perry, South Kiegotoc. k/lODE ISLAND. 67 less domestic dis- sensions, like that between William Harris and Roger Williams. Very al)t was the phrase used in the prayer for the charter of 1663, wherein the Rhode Islanders sought permission to hold forth a lively ex- periment in free government. Many things conspired to make it lively. However, the col- ony in i66o could fairly be said to be well established. The charter of 1663, given by Charles IL, was no less liberal than that of 16434. It acknowledged Williamss early contention concerning the rightfulness of Indian titles to the soil. Fortunately, it defined with some care the colonys boundaries: else Massachusetts and Con- necticut would even now have left it no territory. It assured full enjoyment of liberty in matters of religious concern- ments. Like its predecessor the new charter made the government demo- craticall, although the laws must accord as near as may be with those of England. That this charter remained the ground law of the state until fifty years ago is a testimony to its enlightened character, as is also the fact that those pri- mary Rhode Island principles later found expression far and wide, and are now part of our fundamental law, the Consti- tution of the United States. They were for a century the law of the colony before they thus be- came embedded in the nations great charter. Settlers had been moving into the Nar- ragansett country ever sinee 1641, Wes- terly being the chief centre, situated in the disputed territory to xvhich Connecti- cut laid claim. Tradition says that the first residents here coming so early as 1648 were John Babcock and his wife, Mary Lawton, a couple who had eloped from Newport. By i66o, the settlement was well established, and it was the first to be organized into a town under the charter of 1663. This occurred in 1669. Most of the other Rhode Island towns have arisen by the division of towns exist- ing at the end of the seventeenth century. Bristol, Warren, Barrington, Tiverton, Little Compton, and Cumberland claimed by Massachusetts till the settlement of the Rhode Island boundaries in i 7467. Block Island, previously under Massachu- settss jurisdiction, was, in 16634, an- nexed to Rhode Island, and in 1672 it was made the sixth town of the colony under the name of New Shoreham. In 1675, broke King Philips War. Although it was provoked entirely by the Confederation to which Rhode Island The Attack on the Ganpee. Scene of the great Swamp Fght. 68 RHODE iSLAND. had been refused admission, and although Rhode island did not embark in the war as an active party on the English side but fought solely in self-defence, yet her territory became the field of many battles and her people suffered more bitterly than those of any other colony. Nearly all the towns sustained severe losses, from which they did not recover for years. Before the war ended, Providence had been nearly destroyed. For its own defence in this war, Rhode Island prepared the first naval armament in the history of the colonies a prophecy of the influence the little colony was later to exercise in the naval history of our country. During the years of Sir Edmund Andross government over New Eng- land, the Rhode Island towns settled back into their earlier condition of separate self-government. Andros was reasonably well disposed toward Rhode Island. The fundamental principles of the state he could not change. When he visited Newport he, of course, demanded the charter. A vigorous search was made for it, but conveniently it could not be found. Sir Edmund broke the seal of the colony, but seals could be made more easily than charters. So soon as Andros was at a safe distance the charter reappeared, and its provisions were again put in effect on the downfall of his power in the English revolution of i688. It was natural that Rhode Island should become a leader in naval achieve- ment. No other colony had so much sea-coast in proportion to its land. Har- bors were many and good; ship building was early a staple industry; nautical knowledge plentiful and exact. French privateers harassed the Rhode Island coast in 1690, when our seamen gained a victory over their plundering crews. Narragansett Bay made the entire colony vulnerable, while Block Island was a specially convenient point of attack. The danger of such assaults developed a spirit of naval enterprise. In 1706, Captain John Wanton cap- tured a privateer and her prize. When the news of the declaration of war with Spain reached Rhode Island in i 740, a sloop of war and five privateers were Old Drop Curtain, showing Providence in 1810, RHODE ISLAND. 69 straightway equipped. Again, in 1757, sloops of war and privateers were pre- pared to co-operate with the expedition against Canada. Of the privateers fitted out for this French and Indian War, some, after its close, gave themselves up to smuggling and virtual piracy, lucrative practices in which they found much sym- pathy even from the best citizens. For this the British government viewed Rhode Island with great disfavor, which, how- ever, did not lead to the disuse of Rhode Island privateers. The British vessels Beaver and Gasy5ee found it difficult to enforce the revenue laws in Narragansett Bay. In faithfully endeavoring to do this, Lieutenant Dud- ingston of the royal navy made the mis- take of sending a sloop, which he had seized on the charge of smuggling, to Boston for trial, whereas the British stat- ute requires that in such cases the near- est admiralty court should try. This mistake made Dudingstons act trover, and enabled General Greene, to whom the sloop belonged, to recover the value of sloop and cargo. The Rhode Island authorities did not show great respect to certain of the royal commands. In 1772, Governor Wanton writes Admiral Mon- tagu: I do not receive instructions for the administration of my government from the Kings Admiral stationed in America. The continued difficulties xvith the revenue vessels culminated on the night of June 9, 1772. The sloop I/anna/i, from New York for Providence, was pursued by the Gasy5ee, which, draw- ing more water than the I/anna/i, ran aground on a spur of land now known as Gaspee Point. This fact was at once made known in Providence. A meeting being called, it was determined to de- The Coddington House, Newport. FROM AN OLD PAINTING. Scene at the Brdge Providence, during the great Gale, Srptemher, 1t15. 70 RHODE ISLAND. stroy the troubler ere she floated again. Soon after ten oclock, eight long and well-manned boats rowed quietly down the Bay. The bail of the Gasfees watch was disregarded, that of Lieutenant Dud- ingston himself replied to with a bullet which wounded and disabled him. After the exchange of a few shots the colonists took possession of the vessel, and, re- moving the crew, burned her to the waters edge. This may be regarded as Americas first bloxv for freedom from G r e at Britain. A court of inquiry was instituted to bring to justice the perpe- trators of this open attack on His Maj- estys navy, but evidence sufficient to convict could not be obtained even hy offers of large rexvards. The Gas/ce expedition was headed by Captain Abraham Whipple, afterward so celebrated in the Revolutionary War. He was the first American commander to attack His Majestys navy. After the Gas/ce affair he received the following: You, Ahraham Whipple, on the ioth of June, 1772, horned his Majestys vessel, the Gas/ce, and I will hang von at the yard-arm. JAMES WALLACE. To this Whippie replied: To Sir James Wallace, Sir, Always catch a man hefore you hang him. ABRAHAM WHIPPLE. In 1775, Nicholas Cooke, Deputy Gov- ernor, wrote to Captain Wallace, demand- ing the return of a packet which that officer had taken and was detaining as a tender to his vessel. In replying, Wallace inquired xvho Cooke was and whether the colony still recognized the royal authority. A few hours later Wallaces frigate was attacked by a xvar-sloop of the colony and after a sharp contest the tender was captured. Whipple commanded this ex- pedition also. The war was noxv begun, and Rhode Island at once put two armed vessels into service under YVhipple as commodore. This was the foundation of the American navy. In August, 775, the Rhode Island delegates in Con- gress xvere instruct- ed to press for a united effort to ob- tain a fleet for the defence of the col- onies. Rhode Island influence and initia- tive made the colony the leader in the undertaking. Esek Hopkins was confirmed by Con- gress as the first commander of the fleet. Under Com- modore Hopkins the first American squad- ron sailed from Delaware Bay in February, 1776. Whipple commanded one of the largest vessels of the fleet, and Rhode Island men were among the other officers. The cruise was a success. In April, Hopkins brought back the rich fruit of his victories. During the Revo- lution, money from prizes greatly enriched Rhode Island ship owners. Though Hopkins was relieved of his command in 777, Rhode Island seamen took ac- tive part in nearly all the naval engage- ments of this war. In the War of 1812, it was the same. In the Battle of Lake Erie, the story of which need not be recounted here, Commodore Oliver Haz- ard Perry made Rhode Islands naval re- nown veritably immortal. In the military as in the naval portion I - ~ State Houses, Newport and Providence. RHODE ISLAND. 71 of American history, Rhode Island men have borne honorable part. Colonel Dudley, in command of the English expedition against Acadia in 1706, re- ported that he had received very hon- orable assistance from Rhode Island. In i i o, the colony sent considerably more than her quota of men to Port Royal. In 1745, she sent troops to Louisburg, some of them arriving too The Doss House Providesce on the Site of Roger Willismoo House. late to be of service, and again, in 1755, extra troops to steady the retreat of Braddocks men after his defeat. On various occasions during the Revo- lution, Rhode Island soldiers were called to defend critical points, as the bridges at Springfield and Trenton, New Jersey. Their action in these cases evoked a letter of commendation from General Washington himself. The concluding c]ause of this is as follows: The ready and ample manner in which your State has complied with the requisitions of the Committee of co-operation, hoth as to men and supplies, entitles her to the thanks of the puhlic and affords the highest satisfaction to Your Ex- cellencys most ohedient servant, GEORGE WASHINGTON. The signal and splendid revolutionary services of General Nathaniel Greene are well known to all Americans. Lincoln, then Gates, having proved no match for Cornwallis in the Carolinas, Greene took command there December 4, 1780, and by his skilful and tireless activity, advan- cing, then twice retreating, and twice ad- vancing again, victorious in lost battles as well as in those gained, he conquered the Carolinas and Georgia, forcing Corn- wallis to Virginia, where Washington soon had him in his power. In July, I 777, by a clever plan, Lieu- tenant Colonel Barton, with forty militia- men, crossed over the mainland to New- port, and, passing through the English fleet, made his way unobserved to the headquarters of the British General Prescott. Securing the sentinel, they took the general from his bed, and quietly carried him and his aide, who was also cap- tured, within the American lines. For this exploit, Congress voted Barton a sword. Political activity has at all times High School Procidence. /7 Thomas W. Dorr. 72 RHODE ISLAND. strongly marked Rhode Island life, some- times rising to a morbid pitch of heat. In earlier days constables xvere often required at town meetings to keep the peace. To escape political conflicts Roger Williams was, it seems, once on the point of withdrawing permanently to his little Patience island. Our peace, he says, was like the peace of a man which bath a tertian ague. Po- litical turmoil was not confined to the internal affairs of towns colonial matters ran no more smoothly. Cast out from neighboring communities by the opera- tion of narrow laws and social ideas, many early Rhode Islanders developed almost a hatred of social order, an ultra individualism, a hostility to united action even greater than that which character- ized the average Englishman of the sev- enteenth century. This political disease became so fastened upon the body politic, that it has propagated itself even to the present time. Rhode Island has suffered bitterly in consequence. To establish schools, to reform the laws, to amend evil political and social customs, or to do aught else requiring the co-operation of many individuals, has probably been more difficult in Rhode Island than any- where else in the northern states. Not understanding the causes of this, many outsiders wrongly blanae for it Rhode Island itself, and think the principles on which the state was founded somehow at fault. The true explanation is to be FROM AN OLD PORTRAIT. sought in the backward and unidealistic political thinking of early New England at large. But for this, Rhode Island might have filled up with a normal Nexv England population instead of one com- posed so largely of people whom ostra- cism had rendered suspicious of all political power or social crystallization. This spirit of aggravated non-conform- ity, had as it usually was, at times worked well. Thus Rhode Island declared its in- dependence of Great Britain two months earlier than the nation did so. This declara- tion is a most helpful gloss upon the political theory at the basis of the more famous one which followed. Whereas in all states existing 1w compact, so runs the Rhode Island manifesto, protection and allegiance are reciprocal, the latter heing only in consequence of the former; and whereas, George the Third, King of Great Britain, forgetting his dignity, regardless of the compact most solemnly entered into, ratified and confirmed to the inhahitants of this colony hy his illustrious ancestors, and, till of late, fully recognized hy him, and entirely departing from the duties and character of a good King, instead of protecting, endeavor- ing to destroy the good people of this Colony, and of all the United Colonies, etc. Then follow several enactments vesting the authority in the Governor and Com- pany of the English Colony of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations, in- stead of in the King. This paper was dated May 4, r776. Money, troops Samuel Slater. The old Slater Mill Pawtucket. RHODE ISLAND. 73 and ships were promptly got ready to aid the continental cause, and the General Assemblys records for July 20, 1776, close with God save the United States. This same assembly made the legal title of the government what it still remains, The State of Rhode Island and Provi- dence Plantations. Soon, however, congressional measures calculated to touch the states sense of sovereignty began to meet with the same hostile reception which had earlier greeted those proposed by the king. Thus, when peace seemed to be in sight, Rhode Island refused assent to a national customs duty. It was alleged that such a tax would bear unequally on Rhode Island as a maritime state, and infringe her sovereignty. Howell, one of her delegates in Congress, resolutely op- posed the measure and was seconded by his colleague, Arnold. The dele- gates met with severe handling for the stand thus taken, but the state supported them. The abuse heaped upon the little state for her free trade attitude made it no easier to win her to the new federal con- stitution. She alone of A all the thirteen states refused to join in the constitutional conven- tion of 1787, and in 1788 she declined to call a convention to vote upon the instrument which that convention had framed. It is easy now to see the unwisdom of this course; yet, considering all the circumstances, it was far less senseless than most critics have represented. Its feeblest and least noble occasion was the paper money delusion. In 1710, to meet her part of the expense of the second expedition against Port Royal, Rhode Island had resorted to the issue of credit bills. It was a most disastrous step, its unfortunate effects extending over a full century of the colonys history. The rural population was deeply in debt to the merchants of the towns, and xvished the medium in which they were to pay to be at least no dearer than it was when they ran in debt. As a consequence, all extraordinary and even very ordinary de- mands were met by new issues of paper. If the state entered the Union, of course an end would be put to this system. A far deeper and more honorable motive for Rhode Islands opposition to the First Baptist Church, Providence. I 74 RHODE iSLAND. Constitution was her determination to preserve her religious liberty. The great states of Massachusetts and Con- necticut still had an established religion. So had Virginia, and so virtually, New York. Besides, it will be remembered that until its first amendment xvas adopted, the Constitution gave no guaranty what- ever against religious tyranny. The peo- ple of Rhode Island would have been untrue to all that was most splendid in their history had they hastened into union with numerous powerful states not yet sufficiently educated to believe that re- ligion could get on without support from law. Nor can it be doubted that Rhode Islands unwillingness to confederate be- fore Amendment I. was added to the Constitution did much to make the separa- tion of Church and State part of Ameri- can public law. While, therefore, the Rhode Island Federalists of 1790 favored a policy which history was to justify, it is not so clear that on the whole they ex- celled their opponents in their patriotism or prudence. After nine states had ratified the Con stitution, Rhode Island was left an indepen- dent nation. When, on the first Wednes- day in March, 1789, government under the present Constitution began, John Gardner of Nexvport, the Rhode Island delegate in the Congress of the old Confederation, alone remained to constitute that body. North Carolina, alone recalcitrant at first, ratified in 1789, when Rhode Island had not a single companion in her precarious independence. Whether or not Rhode Islands protest would lead to the amendment of the new Constitution in favor of religious liberty, a point xvhich was still uncertain, when the freshly formed union began to threaten the little nation it was madness for her to hold out longer. Accordingly, late on Saturday afternoon, May 29, 1790, the legislature, by a majority of txvo, viz., thirty-four to thirty-two, voted to adopt the Federal Constitution. Great was the rejoicing of the federal party. Next day, Sunday though it was, a national salute of thirteen guns rent the air of Providence. A period of peaceful development fol Crown University. RHODE ISLAND. 75 lowed, uninterrupted till the war of I 812. This war greatly disturbed commerce, yet the state on the whole bravely upheld the administration. The political com- plication brought on by the anti- masonic excitement which spread over the country and culminated in 1832 took strong hold in Rhode Island. In 1832, five attempts, all without success, were made to elect governor, lieutenant, gov- ernor, and senators. Three parties were in the field, each actuated by typical Rhode Island obstinacy. This imbroglio added intensity to the demand, which many had been urging for years, that the 1663 charter, up to this time the states sole constitution, be revised. In 1834 and 1835, a constitutional convention met and adjourned several times, but did not complete a draft. In 1839, in a population of not far from 108,830 free white adult males, about 9,500 men composed the elec- torate, the freehold qualification being, at this time, $134. In 1841, the Peo- ples Constitution was framed and adopted by the people, 4,960 freemen and 8,984 non-freemen voting for it, while only 52 votes were cast against it. In 1842, the so - called Land- holders Constitution was framed. This also was submitted to the people but rejected. January 13, 1842, pro- clamation was made of the Peoples Constitution, by order of the Con- vention which had drafted it. Civil war was now imminent. Samuel W. King was the governor under the charter. Thomas W. T)orr was elected by the Peoples party. Dorr was deter- mined to maintain the rights of the peo- ple even by arms. On the evening of May, 1842, bloodshed seemed unavoid- able, but a fog came on, and in it many of Dorrs folloxvers vanished. Attempts to maintain the Dorr power were sub- sequently made, notably that at Che- pachet, June 28, but in vain. The Dorr War ended without serious disaster. In 1844, Dorr was tried and condemned to prison for life, but released next year. The Friends School Providence. President Manning. Nicholas Brown. President Weyland. 76 RHODE ISLAND. Better men, said he, have been worse treated than I, though not often in a better cause. The end sought by Dorr and his party, viz., a widening of the franchise, has since been brought about by modifying the constitution, thus justifying the cause for which he staked all; but it has also been made clear that constitu- tional changes must be effected in a constitutional way. Dorrs idea that a new constitution may at any time be launched by the mere flat of the people whether voters or not, without action of the General As- sembly, has not prevailed. Though never established here, re- ligion has always flourished in Rhode Island. Roger Williams was the earliest and, on the whole, the most successful of all the missionaries to the Indians whom the country ever had. He was no mean preacher or theologian either, spite of Neals statement in his History of New Eng- land, that had Wil- I hams never dabbled in / Divinity he would have 7 been esteemed a great and useful man. With eleven others Williams, in 1638, organized in Providence the First Chancing Memorial, Newport. Baptist Church in America. He was its first pastor. Among his successors have been Pardon Tillinghast, James Manning, first president of Brown University, Wil- liam Hague, and Samuel L. Caldwell. The Baptists of various names, among them, promineiitly, the Free and the Seventh Day Baptists, have formed a large element of the states populatioi~. Quakers were numerous in Rhode Island. As early as 1640, and on various occa- sions, George Fox attended meetings here. Many Qua- kers have held honorable places in Rhode Island life. Governor Easton was one of these. The influence of this body has been greatly pro- moted by the excellent A Friends School in Provi- dence, founded in 1784 at Portsmouth, and transferred to its present seat in r8r8. The Congregationa lists in Rhode Island, both Trini- tarian and Unitarian, have at all times had many able clerical lead- ers and an extraordinarily intelligent and influential laity. The distinguished Wil- liam Ellery Channing was born at Newport. The Episcopal Church began its noble career in Rhode Island early in the eigh- teenth century. For the last fifty years its gains have been phenomenal. The state forms a diocese, of which Right Rev. Thomas M. Clark is bishop. Old Globe Bridge, Woonsocket. Trinity Church, Newport. RHODE ISLAND. 77 Providence and Newport have nat- urally been, religiously as in other re- spects, the centres of the state. At the beginning of this century Providence had only six organized congregations, one of Baptists, one of Friends, one of Epis- copalians, and three of Congregationalists. Since then churches have rapidly multi- plied both in the city and throughout the state. The Roman Catholics are now very numerous, Providence being the centre of a large diocese reaching beyond the state limits. For fourteen years Right Rev. Thomas F. Hendricken was its bishop, succeeded at his death by the present bishop, Right Rev. Matthew Harkins. The Methodists, too, have grown strong, and the Presbyterians, the Adventists, and the New Church people all boast numerous adherents. The progress of education in Rhode Island has been slow, hindered, among other causes, by the paucity of educated clergymen of the kind who did so much for the early schools of Massachusetts. Roger Williams was a pedagogue, teach- ing and practising Hebrew, Greek, Latin, and Dutch. I taught two young gentle- men, he says, a parliament mans sons, as we teach our children English, by words, phrases, and constant talk. Here are foreshadowed some of the most approved modern pedagogical methods. In Newport efforts to establish schools were made early. In 1640, Mr. Len- thall was called to keep a public school there for the learning of the youth. In this southern capital culture has always flourished, even when in the other towns dissensions were engaging every ones thought. The aristocratic Narragansett planters followed English customs more extensively, it is believed, than occurred anywhere else in New England, and here we find private tutors living in the fami- lies as in England. The schools at New- port were seriously set back by the cap- ture of the city during the Revolution as were the other schools of the colony, though in this as in other things Newport suffered most. Many school buildings Old Cabinet of the Rhode Island Historical Society. RHODE ISLAND. 78 were given up to the manufacture of ammunition. University Hall, in Brown University, then just erected, became a hospital and barracks for French and American soldiers. Providence and Rhode Island owe n-inch to John Howland, and to James Manning, the first president of Brown University, for the revival of in- terest in education after the Revolution. In r 8oo, the General Assembly passed an act for the establishment of a free school system. This was soon repealed, yet many of its provisions were carried into effect. It was not till 1828 that a per- manent school fund was instituted for the entire state. Since this time, spite of utmost conservatism and too much apathy, there has been a steady progress in educational effort and achievement. In r845, Henry Barnard was made Com- missioner of Public Schools, being the first incumbent of this office which was created that year. For a time before this he had fulfilled the same duties as agent. The office has year by year increased in importance, and been held by a succession of able men. Brown University, incorporated in r764, may claim to have exercised con- siderable influence in Rhode Islands educational advance. The university owed its origin to the happy convergence of two separate lines of events. So early as 1762 a resolution to erect a college and institute a seminary for the education of youth somewhere in North America Purgatory Newport. JUJODE ISLAND. 79 had been formed by the Phila- delphia Baptist Association. As Rhode Island had been settled on the principle of perfect toleration in religious belief, it was decided to apply to its legislature for a charter. Funds for the college came from South Carolina and Georgia, and even from England and Ireland. Ever after the residence here, from 1729 to 1731, of the philo- sophical Dean Berkeley, subse- quently bishop of Cloyne, Newport had been the centre of a pro- nounced intellectual interest, while the memory of Berkeleys scheme to found a college in America, with the actual erection of colleges in several of the other colonies, made it impossible that the suggestion of a college for Rhode Island should be strange or unwelcome to thought- ful people in that colony. The charter was granted, and was at the time far the most liberal instrument of the kind in America or in the world. Students of all faiths and of no faith were placed upon an absolute equality, while no immunity or special privilege whatever was provided for in- tending clergymen. In September, 1765, Rev. James Mann- ing, a recent graduate of the College of New Jersey, was appointed President of the College, Professor of Languages, and other branches of learning. The first commencement was held at Warren, in September, 1769. The papers of the day remark it as proof of their patriotism, that not only the candidates (for de- grees) but even the president was dressed in American manufactures. In the spring of 1770, the college was moved to Providence. The corner - stone of the first building, still standing as the venerable University Hall, was laid on the fourteenth of May that year. During the Revolutionary War, col- lege studies were suspended, to be resumed again at once after its close. In 1804, in view of distinguished beneficence to the college on the part of Mr. Nicholas Brown, the cerporation changed its name to Brown University. Not only have a great majority of the men foremost in Rhode Island profes- sional life been graduates of the uni- versity, but it has been largely through Old Tavern, Kingston. Roman Catholic Cathedral Providence. 80 RHODE ISLAND. the university that the state has exerted its influence upon the nation and the world. The works - not yet superseded of its son, Henry Wheaton, made inter- national laxv a new science. Its great president, Francis Wayland, shaped by his words, spoken and written, and still shapes by his writings, the intellectual and moral lives of multitudes xvho never saw him, while from his initiative have proceeded the great scope and freedom of election in study now characteTizing higher education throughout the United States. Its graduates who have won national renown would form a catalogue far too long for this place. We can re- call but two life-long residents of Rhode Island not graduates of the university, who have attained eminence in intellectual pursuits. They are Stephen Hopkins and Rowland Gibson Hazard. Both of these, hoxvever, were upon the Governing Board of the university and zealous pro- moters of its welfare. For a hundred years judicial functions were, in Rhode Island, everywhere in the hands of men who also made or adminis- tered the laws. In Providence sentences were passed by the major consent of the freemen. Here Joshua Verin was tried, found guilty, and deprived of the liber- tie of voting, for restraining of the libertie of conscience. He had prevented his wife from attending religious meetings. In 1640, a system of arbitration arose. At Portsmouth the town meeting judged alleged criminals, condemning some to the stocks. Newport early made provi- sion for trial by jury. The judicial system developed far more rapidly on the island than on the main land. The code of I647 introduced the General Court of Trials for the whole Colony, the pre- decessor of the present Supreme Court. Between the towns it had a jurisdiction similar to that which the United States Supreme Court exercises in regard to the several states. It made the circuit of the towns. In each the head officers of the town had the privilege of sitting with the court, and in r65o equal authority to vote. Eight oclock in the morning was the farthest time for opening court. Among the early judges were Roger Wil- liams, Samuel Gorton, John Clarke, and William Coddington. The charter of 1663 also provided for a colonial court which was to sit at Newport. As the first judges served without pay, adjourn- ments for lack of quorum were frequent. Pawtucket Falls. RHODE ISLAND. 81 To remedy this a fee of three shillings was appointed for any judge present at any sitting, and a penalty of twice that amount for unnecessary absence. Hitherto the governor, I ieutenant-g& yernor, and ten assistants had formed this upper court, butin 1747 a chief and four asso- ciate judges were constituted The Superior Court of Judicature, Court of Assize, and General Gaol Delivery. The title was changed in 1798 to The Supreme Judicial Court, and this in 1843 to The Supreme Court. A law of 1780 made judicial and legislative offices incompatible. Nature destined Rhode Island for a great commercial and industrial career. Numerous rivers furnish abundant water power; a long coast line, indented with harbors, offers wharfage facilities for innu- nierable water craft of all kinds. Many saw mills and grist mills had been estab- lished by the middle of the seventeenth century. As early as 1646, a ship of one hundred and fifty tons was built in the colony. Before this, Callender says, About 1642 3, there were two trading houses set up in the Narragansett coun- try; one by Mr. Wilcockes and Mr. R. Williams, the other by Mr. Richard Smith. Smiths was the first of these to be established, and Roger Williamss was the second. With which one Wil- cockes was connected, and how, is not known, but it is thought that he was not Williamss partner, as Callenders state- The Burnoide Statue, Providence. ment seems to imply. No seventeenth century .business house remains in the state, but the firm of Brown & Ives runs back, with slight change of name, to 1731. Already by 1658, Rhode Island com- merce was a considerable affair. Wealthy Jewish families began to settle at New- port, aiding the infant trade by their Casino, Narragansett Pier. 82 RHODE ISLAND. means and their shrewdness. Ship build- ing multiplied, and with it naturally the related trades, such as the manufacture of tar, cordage, and general ship stores. During the Revolution a great number of vessels for the defence of the American cause were built and fitted out in Rhode Island. Narragansett Bay, at first a bar- rier keeping the colonists apart, gradually became the highway for easy intercourse among the colonists themselves and be- tween them and the rest of the world. Early in the eighteenth century foundries were es- tablished and axes nad scythes manu- factured. Even so early, bounties Newport Harbor. were offered to induce industries to settle in the state, though when it was found that any did not naturally flourish here the bounties were withdrawn. The slave trade was for years an extensive and profitable Rhode Island industry. In 1790, Providence had a larger ocean tonnage than New York, and more com- merce than any other town of its size in America. Newport had reached the height of its prosperity twenty years before, when it had 17 manufactories of sperm oil and candles, 5 rope walks, i brewery and 22 rum distilleries. By the beginning of the nineteenth century, Rhode Island in- dustry had passed through an agricultural, and was in a commercial stage. Manu- factures were still in their infancy. In the year 1790, Samuel Slater brought into practical use some clumsy machines for spinning by water power, the first successful experiment of the kind in America. This innovation opened a new era in the growth of Rhode Island. Though the state still retained for many years great commercial importance, man- ufacturing was, by Soo, certain to lead. The manufacture of woollens began at city Hall, Providence. Fort Dumpling. Peace Dale in 1804. Looms were used here ten years later, and power looms at North Providence in 1817. RHODE ISLAND. 83 In i8io, sheeting ranged in price from thirty-five to seventy-five cents per yard. Cotton and woollen mills arose with mar- vellous rapidity. In 1807, there were twelve cotton mills, in 1831, one hundred and sixteen. These industries begat others, as the manufacture of machinery, sta- tionary, and locomotive engines, and nearly all sorts of heavy iron goods. The jewelry business, for which Rhode Island is now so celebrated, rose at about the same time with the cotton industry. A system of plating was introduced by Nehemiah Dodge early in this century. Jewelry shops multiplied rapidly, and the skilled workmen necessary in this busi- ness have become an important factor in the population. The artistic silver work of the Gorham Manufacturing Company is known to all. Heavy machinery of the highest quality is turned out in Rhode Island. The Corliss engine is widely known and its work has contributed im- mensely to the material prosperity of the country. The Harris-Corliss and the Armington-Sims engine are highly es- teemed both at home and abroad. The Brown and Sharpe machinery and tools are standards in their kind the xvorld over, having in exactness no rivalry. Locomotives of the greatest excellence are made at the Rhode Island Locomo- tive Works. In the manufacture of screws, files, and fine machinery, Provi- dence is one of the foremost cities of the world. At Bristol, reside and work the Herreshoff brothers, whose yachts more and more surprise the public. Westerly granite has a national reputa- tion; the lime burned in Lincoln is said to be the best made. Rhode Island holds a unique place of honor in the development of the Amen- can fisheries. Till half a century ago, the old barbed hook and shore seine were in use here as elsewhere. Then a great stride forward was made by the invention of the trap and the purse seine. The trap is in the form of a sugar box with top off and one end out. It is an- chored in the water, with a fence of twine from one side of it to the shore. The fish swim to the fence, then turn to swim around it, thus making their way into the trap. The original trap was a crude affair, for the fish could swim out as well as in, making constant attention necessary to capture them before their exit. In 1883, William R. Rose, of Tiverton, set for the first time the famous Rose trap, a marked improvement over the old instru- ment. It holds all the fish that enter it, Truro Street, Newport. RHODE ISLAND 84 and it can be set in the open sea as well Of these 22,694 were making cotton as near land. Another clever Rhode goods; 8,774 woollen goods; 8,486 con- Island invention for catching fish is the structed buiId~ngs; 4,673 made clothing; fyke net, consisting of a series of tunnels 4,524 wrought metals; 4,520 manufac- set in line with each other, and held in tured machines and machinery, and position by stakes, with a twine fence to 4,248 jewelry. The rest, viz., r8,327, inveigle the fish just as in the case of the were distributed among thirty-five other trap. But the greatest labor-saver ever manufacturing or mechanical industries. invented for reaping the harvests of the Of capital, $21,154,255 was employed in sea is the purse seine, devised by the the making of cottons, $8,568,450 in Tallmans, of Portsmouth. To James B. woollens. Messrs. B. B. & R. Knight, Church, of Tiverton, is due the credit of of Providence, are the greatest cotton introducing steamers for menhaden fish- manufacturers in the world, operating ing, xvhich soon revolutionized the xvhole 404,911 spindles, and last year, turning business. The first steamer for this use 53,000 bales of cotton into about 100,- was built by the Herreshoffs, of Bristol, 000,000 yards of cloth. Next (for Rhode the first steam vessel which they ever Island) comes the Lonsdale Company, constructed. She was called The Seven the Goddard Brothers, agents, with 183,- Bro//lers and wa- launched early in 1870. 578 spindles, each revolving 9,600 times It will be seen from all this that inge- a minute during work hours. nuity and industry, not natural resources, Within recent years Rhode Island has have given the state its great wealth. found its Bay a new source of wealth. The population, 345,506 according to A novel industry has arisen, in which the the census of 1890, has an assessed per famous Rhode Island clam nobly does capita valuation of $931.28, a figure his part, that of catering to the comfort higher than that for any other state: In of those who summer on our coasts. The r885, the entire population of the state state, with its numerous islands, has was 304,284, of whom 201,138, or 66.3 about three hundred and fifty miles per cent were engaged in gainful occupa- of salt-water line, an average of about tions. Of these last 71,695 persons, be- one mile for each four miles of area. ing 35.5 per cent., were employed in All along the shore, from Watch Hill manufacturing and mechanical pursuits. round to Seaconnet Point, and on Block View in Roger William Park Providence MRS. REXS BRAIJMIN. 85 Island people find delightful oppor- tunities for rest. For miles charming villas and cottages dot the sides of the Bay. Narragansett Pier, Block Island, and Watch Hill are sought by great com- panies each season; yet Newport still denies the existence of her rival as a watering place. The main business of this city is done during the warm months, when its population is swollen by guests from all parts of the world. With its wide beaches, beautiful walks and drives, elaborate summer homes, and unsurpassed natural beauties, it so attracts, that people who visit it once come again and again. The Old Stone Mill invests the place wit}i an air of mystery, while Fort Adams; opposite its wharves and the naval vessels; frequently in its harbor give it much of the dignity of a national capital. MRS. REXS BRAHMIN. By Mrs. Kate Gannett Wells. RS. REXS temper was often severely tried, for she was a cottager on a small income. There is no American social problem greater than that of seeming at ease when xvondering how to make the remnants of Sundays dinner appear like a fresh sup- ply from the New York market. Mrs. Rex depended upon the products of her own garden, but the cows had bent themselves under the loxvest bar of the fence until they invaded her rows of early peas. Then her strawberry drills had not been treated rightly, for the fruit-raisers of the place, who until the cottagers appeared had monopolized the sale of fruit and vegetables, had given her such contradic- tory advice, which she had followed by turns, that not a plant bore; and without peas and berries a dinner cannot be ~esthetic. Worse still, every quart of milk from her Jersey cow cost her as much as if it were champagne that the creature gave. Yet all these troubles were nothing compared with her inward discontent. How could she adjust herself to circum- stances Summer life seemed such a feint. She always apologized for taking her breakfast early and requesting one of her guests to pour the coffee, on the plea that she had orders to give, while in reality she stole up stairs and did the chamber work. Then she called her noonday meal an English lunch, in order that her guests might wait on themselves; and the later dinner was termed a tea, as thereby she avoided the formalities of a changing menu. All this was done under the general assumption that cottage life by choice was one long picnic, and that guests preferred freedom to conventional- ity. Her acting always deceived others~ sometimes herself. Lately her guests had not mated to- gether well. People came at the wrong time. South-enders and Back-bayers had been mixed. Mr. Rex had asked those to stay who should have gone, while she herself never believed in philanthropy carried to an extreme. They had begun the season with a literary man whom no one knew, but whom Mrs. Rex had so skilfully heralded among her friends that he was ranked as one of the younger literary men of America. He was am idealist; therefore he ate eggs and wore patent leather boots. Both these habits; were convenient to a hostess. Realists; wear leather boots, which require daily care, eat a great deal, and never know- when a woman is beautiful. Mrs. Rex~ abhorred them and cultivated idealists, who were airy and capable of fitting themselves into the halos provided for them by flattering friends. But her last one had gone; therefore Mr. Rex pro- posed that he should ask a Mr. Jehosophat

MRS. REXS BRAIJMIN. 85 Island people find delightful oppor- tunities for rest. For miles charming villas and cottages dot the sides of the Bay. Narragansett Pier, Block Island, and Watch Hill are sought by great com- panies each season; yet Newport still denies the existence of her rival as a watering place. The main business of this city is done during the warm months, when its population is swollen by guests from all parts of the world. With its wide beaches, beautiful walks and drives, elaborate summer homes, and unsurpassed natural beauties, it so attracts, that people who visit it once come again and again. The Old Stone Mill invests the place wit}i an air of mystery, while Fort Adams; opposite its wharves and the naval vessels; frequently in its harbor give it much of the dignity of a national capital. MRS. REXS BRAHMIN. By Mrs. Kate Gannett Wells. RS. REXS temper was often severely tried, for she was a cottager on a small income. There is no American social problem greater than that of seeming at ease when xvondering how to make the remnants of Sundays dinner appear like a fresh sup- ply from the New York market. Mrs. Rex depended upon the products of her own garden, but the cows had bent themselves under the loxvest bar of the fence until they invaded her rows of early peas. Then her strawberry drills had not been treated rightly, for the fruit-raisers of the place, who until the cottagers appeared had monopolized the sale of fruit and vegetables, had given her such contradic- tory advice, which she had followed by turns, that not a plant bore; and without peas and berries a dinner cannot be ~esthetic. Worse still, every quart of milk from her Jersey cow cost her as much as if it were champagne that the creature gave. Yet all these troubles were nothing compared with her inward discontent. How could she adjust herself to circum- stances Summer life seemed such a feint. She always apologized for taking her breakfast early and requesting one of her guests to pour the coffee, on the plea that she had orders to give, while in reality she stole up stairs and did the chamber work. Then she called her noonday meal an English lunch, in order that her guests might wait on themselves; and the later dinner was termed a tea, as thereby she avoided the formalities of a changing menu. All this was done under the general assumption that cottage life by choice was one long picnic, and that guests preferred freedom to conventional- ity. Her acting always deceived others~ sometimes herself. Lately her guests had not mated to- gether well. People came at the wrong time. South-enders and Back-bayers had been mixed. Mr. Rex had asked those to stay who should have gone, while she herself never believed in philanthropy carried to an extreme. They had begun the season with a literary man whom no one knew, but whom Mrs. Rex had so skilfully heralded among her friends that he was ranked as one of the younger literary men of America. He was am idealist; therefore he ate eggs and wore patent leather boots. Both these habits; were convenient to a hostess. Realists; wear leather boots, which require daily care, eat a great deal, and never know- when a woman is beautiful. Mrs. Rex~ abhorred them and cultivated idealists, who were airy and capable of fitting themselves into the halos provided for them by flattering friends. But her last one had gone; therefore Mr. Rex pro- posed that he should ask a Mr. Jehosophat 86 MRS. REXS BRA JIMIN from Arabia to stay with them a couple of weeks. What does he do? inquired Mrs. Rex. The last man you had was an Armenian, who was interested in cere- monials and tried to find relics of canni- balism and marriage by capture lurking among the kitchen-pots and tool-chest. He thought we were neither Christian nor Pagan, and that Congregationalism was the roaring lion which would devour Armenian and all other bishops. I agree with you that he was a trial, especially as he was inclined to regard you as a fetish. Does this man belong to the realistic school? Thats the point, there I draw the line, interrupted Mrs. Rex. I cannot have another realist in my house. The cook had to bake Graham bread for that last one, and he asked for West India molasses when maple syrup was on the table! Again I agree with you, my dear. There is no worse class of visitors than realists. They have no regard for the binding and typography of a book. They hurt your feelings, and ask if all ones little habits are indigenous ways. This Mr. Jehosophat, however, has descended from King Solomon and his family via Free Masonry, and wants to study the American Lodge in its entirety. It sounds to me as if he were a fraud. I wish he were only that. I fear he is a crank; but the fact is, he is poor and learned, and we ought to take him in. XVhy couldnt you have said so at once? If he can be made of use, we need say nothing of his poverty, though he might give a reading from the Koran on our piazza. I wish we could ask some one else at the same time, who would not care much about the table. This last month has been hard, for though our young literary man did not eat much, being an idealist, he liked constant chang- ing of plates, threw his napkin crumpled on the table instead of folding it to be used again, and required lots of towels. You might ask my sister, said Mr. Rex. I could, but she is such an incarnate Working Girls Club in herself that I dont want her influence in the kitchen. My dear, you would not expect my sister to eat in the kitchen, off a canvas cloth! Dont my dear me! Of course she would eat with us. What a horrid realis- tic expression! But she would talk to the girls and ask them to join her Club and then when the winter came they would think it bad political economy for you to be late at dinner, for it would make them late at the Club. Mutual rights cannot exist in a well ordered family. I am willing to economize and all that, but I do not want a domestic upheaval in the interest of literature and equality. Besides those Clubs encourage realism and dignify everyday life. If you do not want Matilda, ai:d if my mother is too old, I dont object to age, Archibald, but you see really the way in which we live in summer, your mother would well she might tell some realist about it, and he would write us up as a typical family; and I dare say we are but I do not want it known. We could ask Viola. She has not any newspaper connections. Now this was an unkind thrust at Mr. Rex. Because he was a newspaper man his income was small; because he wrote also for magazines, he knew the second class literati of New York and Boston; and because his heart had been cultivated by Free Masonry, he endeavored to live up to its principles, and invited to his home those who should have taken lodg- ings in side streets. Too wise, however, to notice his wifes remark, he appealed to her conscience, by asking her if she ought not to do something for their pres- ent guest before he left. I had thought of that; but whatever I do I want to be original a duff cult art. My dear, nothing is easier for you. And so it came to pass that on the last evening of the visit of the young literary man Mrs. Rex gave a moonlight haycock party in the field; she had no lawn. The women came in Russian blouses and the men in tennis suits. They tried to disport themselves in the hay and play hide and seek among the cocks. Some- how it did not seem natural to be young. Let us cap verses, exclaimed Miss AIRS. REXS BRALIMIN. 87 Treat, who had just won a college prize for a versified translation. Each line must be either in English and original, or if a quotatioa it must be from a foreign language.~~ There must be no quotations from the Psalter or the Hymnal, interposed Mrs. Jones, who was lady protector of High Church interests. Oh, if we are to be both secular and unclassical it is hardly worth while. I had far rather lay back in the hay and think; and Miss Treat carefully as- su ned the position of Mary Magdalene in Correggios picture, and studied instead of an open book the bald head of the elderly man below her, as she lightly threw the hay over him, murmured: as Goethe would say, We/eke elne Na /ur! By Jove! exclaimed the prostrate man, starting, I dont want any Chris- tian Science incantations uttered over my head. Im a natural, maam, if that is what you meant; and in his energetic protest he sent the hay wildly over the sitters. Oh, Mr. Jones! Dont. Oh, you naughty man! These and similar commonplace words caught the ear of Mrs. Rex, who quickly feared that her literary moonlight enter- tainnaent would sink into a maudlin village medley, and hastened to the hero of the evening. At a preconcerted signal he rose out of the depth of a tall hay-mound. and stretched his arms. His rising was so deliberate, his attitude so calm, that no one thought he was mad as he recited an original ode to the moon, ending with a sonnet improvised for the occasion, which in other words could be explained as due to unconscious plagiarism. Thank you so much, remarked the hostess to her guest of honor when the others had gone. It has been done, it never was done before, and it never will be done again by me. Your visit has been so pleasant. You have made your- self at home, which is so hard to do. We know you better, and when you re- turn from Europe as poet laureate, come to us. It was a failure, she said sternly to her husband, as the young literary man took his candle and went upstairs; but it cost very little money. It was a failure, thought the poet within himself. I would rather have had a Welsh rarebit indoors. The next evening there was a para- graph in the newspapers, from the Asso- cia/ed Press~ concerning the bucolic party given by Mrs. Rex to the modern Horace. A few days intervened before the com- ing of the Arabian, which gave Mrs. Rex opportunity for interludes of domestic affairs and mental supplies. She selected appropriate subjects, choosing her con- versational menu as carefully as her gas- tronomic list. Jellies and cake, cold pressed meat and salad dressing were not more carefully prepared than were her stories, ~on mo/s and quotations, though, of course, such a system did not enable her to ask the same friends to make an- nual visits. In due time the Arabian arrived. Dear Mr. Jehosophat, inquired Mrs. Rex as they sat on the piazza with a prayer rug under their feet your Caaba is it blacker than ever? Ah, madam, it can never recover the pristine whiteness of the days of Adam and Eve, though the Holy Book tells us that when it is white again our present earth will be as the primitive paradise. It is an Americanism, Mr. Jehoso- phat, to say one is in paradise when one visits a cottage, interrupted Viola, who had also arrived. It is the eternal truth, he answered, with subtle deference. If Viola had considered herself snub- bed in being invited as the vis-a-vis of an Arabian for a weeks visit, he felt annoyed at the easy manners of a girl, who with silken hose and shining slippers perched herself on the piazza railing with the lightness of a bird and cross-questioned and contradicted him. It was almost the dinner hour when Viola found Mrs. Rex in the pantry. Dont ring the bell ; dont call thein down; it wont do. He isnt an Ara- bian nor a Free Mason, though he wants to know about Masonry. He is a Brah- mm, a high priest. He can/ eat meat; he lives on rice and it has to be cooked just sixteen minutes and a half, hes particular about the half. 88 AIRS. REXS BRA fIMIN Viola, dont. Be quiet, he is nt and rice has to be soaked three hours and the water changed each hour. I cant do it all in fifteen minutes. Youve got an extra minute and a half. You must think of other things to say. Tell your husband, or hell ask him also about Caaba, added the girl saucily. This from a biennial guest, when Mrs. Rex purposely avoided annual visitors! But the rice must be boiled without being soaked, and Mr. Rex corrected. Viola says, began the lady, while her husband was brushing his boots for there was no inside man that he isnt an Arabian, hes a Brahmin. I know, my dear, I got them mixed up. Both men are in town; somehow the Brahmin got here, his name is Sahib, and the Arabian has gone to the Grand Masters. Perhaps we can get them exchanged. Don.t make a bungle out of what Providence has done. He eats rice. We can live cheaper and save up for the next year. I do wish I had known it sooner, on account of the boiling, but its such a relief to have a man eat rice. He might like tomato with it, sug- gested Mr. Rex, thankful to escape the verbal castigation he had expected. And then you went to a course on eastern religions, so youll be equal to him. Dont tell Viola, but Ill let that rice boil a minute longer and look at my notes on Brahminism. You are sure he hasnt any title? Perfectly sure, replied her husband solemnly. He would have much preferred the Arabian to the Brahmin, but he re- joiced that his wifes regard for economy made her ignore the carelessness by which he and the Grand Master had exchanged guests. At dinner the Brahmin seemed gratified with his rice, and gave interesting facts about the cooking of eastern food in an ex cathedra manner which elevated his formal receipts into the enunciation of principles. Mrs. Rex felt that at last she had met a man who through herself com- prehended her sex. You do recognize then the co-identity of man and woman? she asked. Ah, madam, your sex! The generic woman, in her alone lies personality, separating her from man, from and his voice dropped from Brahminism. Do you feel it as antagonism or as loneliness? He glanced at Viola; he gazed at Mrs. Rex, whose soiA thrilled under such subtle flattery. Ah, madam, the mission of America to the East is not that of woman suffrage nor of co-education, but to show us Brahmins that femininity is the entity of personality. Oh! exclaimed Viola, I thought Nirvana was the final emancipation of woman, when she no longer desires the society of man. You ladies are teaching me, replied the Brahmin with a suddgn fiery uplifting of his eyelids, that to have the charming personality of a woman absorbed in totality would be pain. Im so glad you are not an astral body, sighed Mrs. Rex. The part of a hostess would then be so difficult. Let me learn from you. I am always search- ing for the reconciliation between the duties of Martha and Mary. You have seen our New Testament? Ah, madam, what Brahmin would not understand your allusion! Are you a Christian? asked Viola bluntly. My dear, replied Mrs. Rex, all men are Christians in the historic sense. Will you not read to us from the Vedas ? You do not wish to! Tell us of yourself, then. While the Brahmin talked, she listened and made notes for future use; but Mr. Rex tilted back his chair and smoked in silent indignation. I do not like him, he said frankly to his wife when they were alone. I pre- fer the Arabian. He saw that he would have made love to Viola. He had been told that Brahmins care only for middle- aged women. He is a fraud, he said to himself;. but he dared not admit his suspicion as he had made the mistake in inviting him. Mr. Rex, said Viola the next morn- ing, I dont like your guest, but Im going to have some fun out of him. Im going to make him fall in love with me. MRS. REXS BRAJIMIN. 89 Im going to be abstractedpermeated! Hes going to sing Odd Fellows Hall and dance the galop with me before I get through with him. Go ahead I Ill back you up. Viola was a great relief to Mr. Rex. Her freedom from any desire to create a salon, her sense of fun and her constant escapades, which always ended in some graceful act of kindness, kept alive his waning belief in feminine single-hearted- ness. Viola, called Mrs. Rex, come and take care of Mr. Sahib. I want to put his rice in soak. Dear madam, if it might be boiled just sixteen minutes and a half, then it becomes food for the brain, as I hear your fish is. Do you really long for Nirvana, and yet care about the consistency of rice ? asked Viola. How can I crave to be desireless? Nirvana is plenitude of being. Am I not in it? he answered. You sing Vedic hymns; come and try one with me. The girls gesture was imperative. You are fond of music. What will you have, love songs, psalm tunes, college melodies ? I miy not yet hear the first, I do not like your slow movements, and I do not know your third. What are they? Ill give you Mother Goose, to begin with. You must turn the leaves for me, said Viola, half frightened at having a mm from the Hindoo temples perform a duty which required such propinquity. As you read music, she added, for she saw he needed no sign from her to tell him when to turn the pages, you must sing by note or ear. Try this air with me. The rice had passed through the changing waters, when Mrs. Rex found the Brahmin and Viola still in the music room. His swarthy face was flushed. Your friend has an American tenor voice quite unusual in the East; Ive been prop9sing that he should sing in the choir next Sunday, remarked Viola se- renely. I beg first for more lessons, for a Brahmin has yet to learn of love songs ni Protestant hymns. His heart has so long rested in impersonal love which has neither subject nor object, that I understand you, interrupted Mrs. Rex, with an ineffable smile. That is what so many of us married women long for. In Nirvana, how is it there? Ah, madam, I am a man more than a Brahniin; a man thinks not of Nirvana in such a home as this. To have all sepa- rate consciousnesses lost in totality never, madam. Thanks I said Mrs. Rex with un- feigned gratitude. Then fearful lest she should compromise herself in some subtle manner, she became metaphysical; and as the conversation gradually assumed an astral character Viola wandered off by herself. She was satisfied with the result of the morning. Two or three more days passed, in which Mrs. Rex listened to her teacher, and he in turn became Violas pupil, sang duets with her, and once softly hummed a college chorus. He even went with them to the Casino, and from the gallery, with Mrs. Rex as guardian, studied the American summer hop. Have you ever been to a dance before? she asked, as she noticed the eagerness with which his eyes wandered over the floor. That is a square dance they have just finished,now it is a waltz. Isnt it divine? inquired Viola sweetly of the Brahmin, as her partner brought her to Mrs. Rex. That man, he is not old enough for your father; is he your brother? said the I3rahmin, in a voice hoarse either from confused mental sensations or from the difficulty of speaking loud amidst so much music. That fellow who has just left me? Oh, I never saw him before. Dont they dance in India? How dreadful! Try it with me; you thought you couldnt sing and you have almost learnt Odd Fellows Hall. If I dared I escaped impetuously from his lips. Mrs. Rex looked aghast, ami a quick change passed over his face. Ah, madam, I see it is one of your pe- culiar institutions, this hop. The out- ward act may not be sinful here, but in Karma it must be expiated, but as her next neighbor spoke to Mrs. Rex, the 90 MRS. REXS BRA JIMIN Brahmin turned to Viola. Will you teach me? he asked, so earnestly that she was discomfited. Oh, it is nothing to learn, one, two three ! I have promised the next dance ; and with a glance at him which almost made him forswear his caste, she was again lost in the whirl. Cant you accustom yourself to it? inquired Mrs. Rex, who was conscious that there had been a little scene about something which had attracted attention to her group, and who accordingly felt she was fulfilling her mission. Is it the dress which disturbs you? I dont like it myself. I draw the line at V-shaped necks. But our American men are so different; they dont think anything about the waltz and polka it is just so much exercise. Mr. Sahib, you are not well! she added hastily for the man had grown pale and his hands were tightly clasped. She put her fingers on them, and even through her kid gloves she felt how cold they were. Madam, it has unsettled me. What a fearful Karma I have engendered for my- self! I am so sorry you are ill. Your rice was not boiled enough, and it has given you indigestion. Can you forgive me? Can I forgive myself? said the Brahmin with genuine emotion, for Viola had waved her hand to him. I will never again let any one but my- self prepare your rice, continued Mrs. Rex. Thank you, madam, that will be so kind. That rice must have been boiled twenty minutes; it always affects me thus when it is overdone. The rest of the evening he was his calm impersonal self, and held a small levee of thoughtful persons, who listened to the gems of philosophy which fell in ca- denced sentences from his thin lips, to the music of the band. Even Viola, as she flitted back and forth, could not win a smile from him, though she knew that he was watching her from beneath his eyelids. I do believe he has a heart, she confided to Mr. Rex on her return. You have not lost yours? he asked a little anxiously. I confess I always did enjoy mental squirming, but you need not be afraid, though he is awfully interesting. The surprises of that day were not at an end for Mr. Rex. When the house- hold was asleep Mrs. Rex stole back to the parlor to find her husband. My dear, she began, moving his feet from the chair on which they were resting and seating herself upon it, dont you like him? No, I dont! he is making love to you or Viola; I dont approve. My dear, Viola is not capable of comprehending him, and as for me why well I want to tell you Out with it! was the gruff reply. Oh, it is not that, what you think, only he has told me his history. He is high caste and poor, and would rather live here than in India; he doesnt want to be a minister, and he is not fitted for business only if he could earn just enough to live here, and study our habits, and help us all to make a noble Karma for ourselves! Fudge! Now cant you get him a job, and so help him and us? He is so poor. He does not want to marry yet, all that can come in another incarnation. If you will get him a place Ill never ask for any one else, said she pleadingly; but as her husband looked unrelenting she turned away, he hoped not to reappear again that evening, and so relighted his cigar. In a few minutes, however, she came back, with a bottle of lager beer and two glasses. We can never go to sleep with this on our minds. Dont you want some lager? Then you can think what to do. That rascal is going to leave this house to-morrow. He is making a fool of you. Just now you almost thought he was in love with me. He does comprehend mewellas I never was beforeand it is such a comfort to have him eat rice. What are you doing? exclaimed her husband, starting up and throwing back her arm roughly to reverse the bottle, which she was unconsciously holding neck downwards. MRS. REXS BRAHMIN 91 Oh, thats my best rug! Put your hand over the mouth! Oh, its gone all over your shirt cuffs itll make another shirt in the wash. Oh, dear! and the beer having poured forth its foam settled down in the bottle as if nothing were the matter. Mr. Rex took up the paper, too angry to speak; and his wife, equally angry, mopped up the spilt lager in silence. When early the next morning Mrs. Rex visited the parlor, the Brahmins prayer-rug had a large brilliant blue spot upon it. That never was the lager, thought she, bending down to smell of the place, though it is where the beer went. As she rose, her eyes fell on a small empty vial on the mantel-piece, marked oxalic acid. A gleam of triumph came into her eyes, as she reasoned: He was sorry then for his treatment of me; he tried to take out the spot, and made it xvorse. He will never tell me he is sorry, and I will never let him guess that I know he is. Ill just keep on being dignified. Oh, the teachings of the Vedas help me so much! Mr. Rex studied his wifes counten- ance at the table, and decided she had not yet been into the parlor. Your friend tells me he is going to-day, remarked Viola; but he cannot go till he has sung Odd Fellows Hall, can he, Mr. Rex? It is as he likes about that, answered the host, so coolly that they all looked at each other and then silently ate their oatmeal. When did my husband tell him to go? thought Mrs. Rex indig- nantly. Has Viola refused him? wondered Mr. Rex. Does mine host think I am in love with that man and so is sending him away? wondered Viola. The Brahmin himself concluded that Mr. Rex knew he was in love with Viola and wished him to go. When they had left the breakfast room, however, Viola pouted and joked by turns, till she beguiled him into the chorus. Now for the waltz, she exclaimed. Play for us, dear Mrs. Rex. As Viola approached him with dancing step, he drew back. Try! she urged coaxingly, and hummed the air. But as she caught the mute appeal of his eyes, she feigned dizziness and stopped, and Mrs. Rex with unconscious benevolence remarked: The waltz brings to mind your beautiful couplet. All is evolution and so incarnation. Will you not give us another Vedic hymn? I will sing yesterdays duet with Miss Viola. The girl still dizzy with the sudden revelation which had come to her dared not falter before Mr. Rexs mocking gaze, and only he guessed how much there was of reality in the passion with which the American girl and the eastern Brahmim sang of renunciation. Why not leave your trunk here, said Mr. Rex an hour later, till you know where you are to settle? A valise is enough to carry in travelling West. Thanks, replied the Brahmin, who instantly felt as if the trunk might serve him as an anchor in the household, while he drifted for go he must. With charming inconsequence Mrs~ Rex explained to her friends that Mr. Sahib had been called West on impor- tant business, but that she was so glad she had studied Brahminism in the origi- nal, for it helped her to get along with her husband on the plane of this life; while Viola consoled herself with the re- flection that as she had not fallen in love with him, she need not learn to boil rice. Mr. Rex waited. After a while there came a letter with the Brahminic symbol, in which Mr. Sahib bade Mrs. Rex thank her husband for the position he had obtained for him, which would enable him to survey the realm of criminal con- sciousness and to judge of the effect of the American jury as a totality of twelve personalities. Mrs. Rex flew to her hus- band. Oh, how I have wronged you! You not only tried to take out that lager beer stain with oxalic acid, but you got him this place ! Ill neTer misinterpret you again. Dont try to understand me, that is all I ask, he replied, anxious to escape Violas observation. Just one question. Arent you glad it wasnt the Armenian? Yes, replied Mr. Rex absently. Is he really a Brahmin? inquired Viola. 92 SORROW TRANSFORMED. Who the Armenian? No. As the weeks passed into months, and the instruction from the Vedas faded from memory, Mrs. Rex became embit- tered towards foreigners. On her return to her cottage the following summer, her closets seemed smaller and her boxes and dresses more numerous than ever. It was a hot day, and she was heated with sweeping and dusting, when she inwardly vowed that she would no longer keep the Brahmins trunk in her closet. She pulled at it with a jerk; the strap gave way, and as she put it on end to turn it out of the narrow door the top flew back. There was nothing in it. The impudence of that man! I dont believe he was a Brahmin, she said aloud in her wrath, and with her foot gave the trunk a vigorous thrust which sent it out of the room, across the narrow entry, and down the stairs, until its progress was checked. She looked over the banisters to see what had stopped it, and there directly behind it stood the Brahmin and Viola. Tell her, whispered Viola. I came for my trunk, Mrs. Rex. Thank you so much for keeping it; but as Miss Viola and I are engaged, as you American people call it engaged I will not trouble you with it any longer. You have been so divinely good to me, madam. SORROW TRANSFORMED. By Elizabeth C. Cardozo. LET us be friends, oh, sorrow of my life! Why should we not be friends? Thou who with artful turnings of thy knife Hast served me friendships ends, Thou who hast torn me from the quiet place Where pleasure held me fast, Thou to whose force my every good I trace, Let us be friends at last. Let us be friends: I would not we should part, Thou source and soul of song; I would not have thee other than thou art, Loves foster-mother strong. If thou shouldst leave me I should surely miss Thine ever watchful eyes. Alas! What mockery of fate is this, That thou shouldst don Loves guise!

92 SORROW TRANSFORMED. Who the Armenian? No. As the weeks passed into months, and the instruction from the Vedas faded from memory, Mrs. Rex became embit- tered towards foreigners. On her return to her cottage the following summer, her closets seemed smaller and her boxes and dresses more numerous than ever. It was a hot day, and she was heated with sweeping and dusting, when she inwardly vowed that she would no longer keep the Brahmins trunk in her closet. She pulled at it with a jerk; the strap gave way, and as she put it on end to turn it out of the narrow door the top flew back. There was nothing in it. The impudence of that man! I dont believe he was a Brahmin, she said aloud in her wrath, and with her foot gave the trunk a vigorous thrust which sent it out of the room, across the narrow entry, and down the stairs, until its progress was checked. She looked over the banisters to see what had stopped it, and there directly behind it stood the Brahmin and Viola. Tell her, whispered Viola. I came for my trunk, Mrs. Rex. Thank you so much for keeping it; but as Miss Viola and I are engaged, as you American people call it engaged I will not trouble you with it any longer. You have been so divinely good to me, madam. SORROW TRANSFORMED. By Elizabeth C. Cardozo. LET us be friends, oh, sorrow of my life! Why should we not be friends? Thou who with artful turnings of thy knife Hast served me friendships ends, Thou who hast torn me from the quiet place Where pleasure held me fast, Thou to whose force my every good I trace, Let us be friends at last. Let us be friends: I would not we should part, Thou source and soul of song; I would not have thee other than thou art, Loves foster-mother strong. If thou shouldst leave me I should surely miss Thine ever watchful eyes. Alas! What mockery of fate is this, That thou shouldst don Loves guise! BIRD TRAITS. By Frank Bo/les. IHILE birds as a race have many habits and instincts in common, their family differences are strongly marked. The hawk and the humming-bird answer equally well to the scientists definition of a bird, but Napoleon and a bon-bon maker answer equally well to his definition of man. The destroyer and the confectioner, whether among men or birds, have differ- ent ways of looking at life, and of dealing with their animate and inanimate sur- roundings. In human communities the principal actors are the farmers, artisans, merchants, priests and teachers, soldiers, mariners, artists, knaves, and idlers. Perhaps I am over fanciful, but against each of these classes save one the mer- chant I can set without hesitation a group of birds whose life currents seem to me to run in as various channels as those of the great groups in human so- ciety. My abstract farmer is a burly fellow who rises early, whistles cheerily if the sun be bright, works in all weather, keeps to the fields rather than to the forest, and to whose senses nothing is more pleasant than the rustle of corn leaves and the sheen of grain undulating in the breeze. He is slow, persistent, grammvorous. Against him in the bird creation I set the sparrow. The sparrows, buntings, and finches love the sunshine. They are interested in the crops; as a rule shun the gloom of the forest, and make their homes in fields and meadows. Before sunrise, in May, the clear whistle of the white throat welcomes the coming dawn. When the snow first melts in April, or if by chance it wastes away in December or January, the snow buntings and juncos are promptly at work in the ploughed fields or among the weeds left in the potato patch. Winter does not see the farmer moving to Florida or Cuba. He stays under the shadow of Chocorua, breaking the ice in the pond for his cattle, scattering corn to his fowls, listen- ing to the voice of the ice in the night, and having a gun ready for the fox prowl- ing about the barnyard at dawn. The birds around him in these wintry days are not warblers and swallows, vireos and thrushes; they are sparrows. Nine- tenths of them are pine grosbeaks, cross- bills, snow buntings, siskins, or those joyous creatures of the snow country the confiding red - poll linnets. Truly farmers and sparrows belong to the land, cling to it, live by it, love it. Their acts and instincts are inspired by it and have its color. How different from the farming spar- rows are the gulls and terns children of sky and ocean, bred to the storm. They have no music. Their voices are shrill like the boatswains. They have no home save a spot of sand or rock where their young are reared near thun- dering surf and moaning tides. Their lives are long-continued buffetings with wind and wave, voyages under white wings across monotonous wastes of water. They are the mariners among birds, and all their ways have the mark of the sea upon them. The sea rules them, charms them, binds them to itself and robs them as it robs their human counterparts of much of the sweetness and rest of home. Not all of the birds which live among forests and flowers share in the sweetness of home life. There are among them, as elsewhere, discordant creatures who seem to draw no joy from joyous sur- roundings and whose deeds are full of selfishness and misappropriation of others hopes and rights. Some of these birds carry their true character clearly written upon their faces. The cowbird is a sneak. Her glances are furtive. When seeking the home of a vireo or warbler, with the intent to thrust her egg upon the mercies of a stranger, she tells in every motion of her body the tale of her in- herited wretchedness and conscious guilt.

BIRD TRAITS. By Frank Bo/les. IHILE birds as a race have many habits and instincts in common, their family differences are strongly marked. The hawk and the humming-bird answer equally well to the scientists definition of a bird, but Napoleon and a bon-bon maker answer equally well to his definition of man. The destroyer and the confectioner, whether among men or birds, have differ- ent ways of looking at life, and of dealing with their animate and inanimate sur- roundings. In human communities the principal actors are the farmers, artisans, merchants, priests and teachers, soldiers, mariners, artists, knaves, and idlers. Perhaps I am over fanciful, but against each of these classes save one the mer- chant I can set without hesitation a group of birds whose life currents seem to me to run in as various channels as those of the great groups in human so- ciety. My abstract farmer is a burly fellow who rises early, whistles cheerily if the sun be bright, works in all weather, keeps to the fields rather than to the forest, and to whose senses nothing is more pleasant than the rustle of corn leaves and the sheen of grain undulating in the breeze. He is slow, persistent, grammvorous. Against him in the bird creation I set the sparrow. The sparrows, buntings, and finches love the sunshine. They are interested in the crops; as a rule shun the gloom of the forest, and make their homes in fields and meadows. Before sunrise, in May, the clear whistle of the white throat welcomes the coming dawn. When the snow first melts in April, or if by chance it wastes away in December or January, the snow buntings and juncos are promptly at work in the ploughed fields or among the weeds left in the potato patch. Winter does not see the farmer moving to Florida or Cuba. He stays under the shadow of Chocorua, breaking the ice in the pond for his cattle, scattering corn to his fowls, listen- ing to the voice of the ice in the night, and having a gun ready for the fox prowl- ing about the barnyard at dawn. The birds around him in these wintry days are not warblers and swallows, vireos and thrushes; they are sparrows. Nine- tenths of them are pine grosbeaks, cross- bills, snow buntings, siskins, or those joyous creatures of the snow country the confiding red - poll linnets. Truly farmers and sparrows belong to the land, cling to it, live by it, love it. Their acts and instincts are inspired by it and have its color. How different from the farming spar- rows are the gulls and terns children of sky and ocean, bred to the storm. They have no music. Their voices are shrill like the boatswains. They have no home save a spot of sand or rock where their young are reared near thun- dering surf and moaning tides. Their lives are long-continued buffetings with wind and wave, voyages under white wings across monotonous wastes of water. They are the mariners among birds, and all their ways have the mark of the sea upon them. The sea rules them, charms them, binds them to itself and robs them as it robs their human counterparts of much of the sweetness and rest of home. Not all of the birds which live among forests and flowers share in the sweetness of home life. There are among them, as elsewhere, discordant creatures who seem to draw no joy from joyous sur- roundings and whose deeds are full of selfishness and misappropriation of others hopes and rights. Some of these birds carry their true character clearly written upon their faces. The cowbird is a sneak. Her glances are furtive. When seeking the home of a vireo or warbler, with the intent to thrust her egg upon the mercies of a stranger, she tells in every motion of her body the tale of her in- herited wretchedness and conscious guilt. 94 BIRD TRAITS. The hawks and owls bear in their faces the imprint of evil. There is something in the expression of a dying bird of prey which suggests the agony of sin buried in remorse which comes too late. Owls and hawks are murderers by night or robbers by day. There is some- thing inspiring in the sight of a great bird with wonderful powers of vision and flight soaring higher and higher towards the sun. Man cannot imitate his flight; but there are men who do in spirit what the hawk or eagle does in the flesh. They withdraw their business plans and purposes far from the ken of their fellows and expected victims, and then from their vantage point descend to strike suddenly with the swiftness and cruelty of the plundering eagle. The owl reminds me of some men whom I have had the misfortune to know silent and sinister by day or when exposed to the scrutiny of their fellows; taking without reply or blow the taunts and abuse of those whom they have wronged; but by night devils in thought, purpose, and action. To the owl every- thing which possesses the power of motion is, presumably, fit to be devoured: quadruped, bird, fish, reptile, insect, mollusk, any or all, unless specially pro- tected, invite to murder; so with some men, nothing is too pure, too beautiful, too defenceless to be sacrificed to their selfishness. One owl is enough for many miles of forest. Fortunately for society, owlish men are similarly scarce. There are some birds of deservedly bad repute who wear an attractive ex- terior and maintain jaunty manners. The blue jay, for instance, though somewhat flashy in his dress and loud in his voice, passes with the unsuspecting as a bird worthy of confidence, if not of admira- tion. Yet if ever there was a scoundrel in feathers, he is one. He is my ideal pickpocket, shoplifter, smuggler, and con- fidence man. Most people think his cousin,the crow, an undoubted villain; yet he is considerably better off in morals than his gayly dressed relative. This is not saying that the crow is not a black- leg. Among men the class usually victimized by rogues is that which is dressed and fed well and luxuriously housed. There is such a class among birds, as the rogues rejoice to know. The warblers toil little,. talk much, live well, dress gayly, always ~ la mode, and live in elaborate and beautiful houses. Redstarts, yellow-~ rumps, blackpolls, and baybreasteds make elaborate changes in their costumes. The parula lives in the most dainty of summer houses. The Canadian warbler wears a necklace of black pearls. The Maryland yellowthroat goes to a masque ball in a black domino every night in the season There is nothing solemn or melancholy to these light hearted, frivolous little birds. No sooner is there a chill in the air, a breath of something coming after August sunshine, than these children of the world start southward, not to return until all traces of snow have vanished. Truly the warblers must be counted the elite of bird society; but they are as surely the frequent victims of its knaves. The surest way to tell shoddy is to hold it against the true fabric. The same is true of shoddy people and shoddy birds. Mr. and Mrs. Tanager, he in scarlet coat and she in yellow satin, are best measured by contrast with the re~ fined warblers. Their voices are loud,. their manners brusque, their house with- out taste or real comfort. Thy have no associates, no friends. They never seem at ease, or interested in the misfortunes or joys of those beneath them. Unfor- tunately there are other Tanagers in the world than those who wear feathers. If the sparrows are by nature children of the soil and the warblers children of the world, the thrushes are without doubt the artists, the musicians of the wood. I have never met a lover of New Eng land bird music who would hesitate a moment about placing the hermit thrush and his next of kin foremost among the songsters of this pa~t of the continent They are true artists. Their music is ex quisite in itself, and their rendering of it is sincere and emotional. The hermit thrush resting upon the low, leafless limb of a pine in the northern wilder-- ness, and rendering his several phrases deliberately, smoothly, pathetically, is as true a musician after his kind as the first tenor in the great cathedral ch6ir, whose BIRD TRAITS. 95 sweet, sad tones vibrate through vaulted nave, carrying to listening hearts the in- terpretation of the composers immortal passion. Again and again, summer after summer, as I have heard the song of this thrush, varying from the low, tremulous notes in his first phrase to the high, clear notes in the third, it has seemed to me that his song is to bird music what the Cujus animam in Rossinis Stabat Ala/er is to the music of the Christian Church. The first tenor and the cobbler may live in the same street and be good neighbors to the extent of a cordial Good morning or Merry Christmas. So the hermit thrush and the yellow- bellied woodpecker are neighbors and acquaintances. This woodpecker, com- monly and justly known as the sap- sucker, is the noisiest fellow with his awl and hammer in the whole forest. He wears a red and black cap and a yellow apron. His voice is loud and unmusical. His motions are ungraceful and full of jerks. He is inquisitive and loquacious. If a brawl between an owl and a mob of chickadees and nuthatches breaks the stillness of the swamp, his work is for- gotten, and off he rushes full of noise to have a hand in the quarrel. His cobbling is effective. The second summer after his tapping and girdling of a canoe birch, from which he and his associates have drawn the sap, is usually marked by the unmistakable failure of the trees vitality. All the woodpeckers are artisans. They love the resonant tones of the trunks they tap or hammer, as the smith loves the ring of his anvil and the cooper the song of his hoops and staves. The largest among them is most like the blacksmith. He is the log cock of the great northern forests. Black and strong, with a big voice and a temper, his eyes flash and his blows echo and cause ruin where they fall. He suggests an older age than this of steam saw-mills and wasting forests protected against Canadian lumber. Just so the blacksmith seems a survivor of the age before machinery, when in- dividual men made individual things, and division of labor and machines with re- placeable parts were unknown. Among the other artisan birds are the brown creepers, perpetually winding im aginary spirals round the trunks of the hemlocks; the nuthatches, titmice, and wrens. Fortunately for the trees, these little workers know nothing of strikes or lockouts. If the first tenor ever goes in search of bright eyes among the artisans daughters, he must be charmed by the rippling, rollicking trill of the winter wren. Like the brook which flows through the forest, now underground, now rippling across a patch of sunlight, cold as ice, interrupted by darting trout, so the song of the wren comes, goes, flashes, dis- appears, rises into bold prominence, is varied by sudden changes and whims, and then ripples off into silence. The teachers and preachers among men, who go about dispensing advice as to the way to avoid trouble, are well matched among birds by the vireos. The red-eyed vireo is merely prosy. His mild, tuneless platitudes soon become unbearable. The yellowthroated and warbling vireos are more effective. They touch the heart by the purity and gentle- ness of their chiding. But the solitary vireo is needed to play the riVe of the re- vivalist. When he sees that arch fiend in feathers, an owl, anathema pervades the neighborhood, and the bird popula- tion is treated to the most effective kind of dogmatic declamation. The blue-bird is, however, my favorite reformer. There is a gentleness, a sweet persuasiveness to her discourse, even when a crime-soaked owl is addressed, that is very conducive to neighborly living. It is not war-worn veterans who have counterparts among the birds, but the gay soldiery of the parade ground. How impressive is the charge of the neatly uniformed cavalry, with colors flying, sabres flashing, and hoofs pounding on the cropped turf! The men lose indi- vidual life and move merely as part of the charging column. They are thrilled by the rush of air in their ears, and the glitter and flash of metal and color around them. So it is with the swallows and swifts charging through the summer sunshine and carrying dismay and death to the insect ranks before them. On a July evening I have seen four-score barn swallows with long slender forked tails, chestnut waistcoats and blue jackets ap 96 BIRD TRAITS. pear with even ranks and uniform flight, sweep down upon the lake, skim its calm surface, and then, by some mysterious coincidence of will, wheel to right and upwards and soar far into the upper air, where sunlight still lingered upon Cho- corua s summit. There is the same thrill, flash of color, presence of united determination and losing of the indi- vidual in the charging column, which are the special characteristics of cavalry. Late in August it is common to see great numbers of night hawks, gathering from a hundred pastures for migration, sail across the sky from west to east, with open ranks and even flight. I once saw a flock of nearly fifty red-wing black- birds, all males, in full breeding plumage, rise at once from a meadow, fly north, wheel, fly west, wheel again, careening so that the afternoon sunlight flashed on every scarlet epaulet, and then fly south- ward and downward into the grass. If they had been held equidistant by wires and guided by one mind, they could not have moved with any greater regularity. At the time, and since, they have re- minded me of crack companies of in- fantry wheeling at the word of command. I remember once, on a March morning, counting a flock of cedar birds, which alighted in an ash tree by my window. They all faced in one direction, and num- bered one hundred and forty. As I finished my count it seemed as though every bird in the tree was moved by a single spring, for they went off so nearly together that I was unable to note the slightest difference in their start. There are also birds which act the part of border pickets and sentries. The tyrant flycatchers, especially the pugna- cious and keen-eyed kingbirds, are noted for their readiness to warn their neigh- borhood of danger and to engage an in- truder in single combat, no matter what his size or strength. I have named farming sparrows, arti- san woodpeckers, preaching vireos, sea- faring terns, music - loving thrushes, frivolous warblers, martial cedar birds, swallows, and blackbirds, and the crimi- nal owls, crows, jays, and cowbirds. It would be easy to go on and compare the humming-bird to a French dancing-mas- ter, the whippoorwill to an auctioneer, the bittern and heron to a patient angler, the woodcock with his bill in the mud to a tippler with his straw in the cider, the bobolink with his interminable and over- cheerful talk to a book agent or drummer. But these minor resemblances are less real and more whimsical. The ocean has really modified the character of the gulls and grebes, as it has the men and women who live upon it or near it. Life in the open field, pasture, and ploughed land has had a certain clear and distinct influence upon the sparrows and finches, just as it has had upon those who drive the harrow or sow the seed. But per- haps the clearest example of all of the influence of environment is afforded by the English sparrow, a bird which it is hardly necessary to say I did not have in mind when I wrote of his American rela- tives. City-bred man without knowledge of lake and forest, mountain and ocean, is an inferior product of the race; but disagreeable as he is, the city-bred bird is worse. The English sparrow stands to me as the feathered embodiment of those instincts and passions which belong to the lowest class of foreign immigrants. The Chicago anarchist, the New York rough, the Boston pugilist can all be identified in his turbulent and dirty so- ciety. He is a bird of the city, rich in city vices, expedients, and miseries. The farmers son who takes to drink and the East end makes a hard character. The sparrow who has taken to a simi- lar form of existence is equally despi- cable. AN OLD NEW HAMPSHIRE MUSTER. By Horatio T Perry. [From the late Mr. Perrys MS. Reminiscences.] WAS born in the pleasant valley of the Ashuelot River, at Keene, in New Hampshire, and among the earliest scenes which my memory retains is that of an old New Eng- land muster in that beautiful region. I am in a great field, where is a crowd collected from all the country round. Showbooths and hucksters stalls, ped- lers, peanuts and watermelons, ginger- bread and new cider are confused with farmers~ wives and wagons ranged along one side of the field. An encampment runs along the other side, and in front of the tents drawn up in line is a regiment of about a thousand men with muskets standing at ease. We occupy the middle of the field, but between us and the line of bayonets is a broad open space kept by men detached from the front of each company, who pace majestically up and down, holding the admiring crowd to its limits. This was muster day, the annual muster of the th Regiment New Hampshire Mili- tia a holiday before whose glories even Independence and Thanksgiving paled their lesser lights, and Election Day with its varnished buns was wholly out of count. It seems I was old enough to be let go to muster, and a servant led me by the hand over the field. Suddenly there was a buzz and a move- ment everybody pressed to the line kept by the soldiers. The general is coming! As I was small I was allowed a place at the very edge, and could see down the whole length of the open space in front of the regiment. Presently a dozen horsemen appeared at the farther end of the field, and came on rapidly, brave in colors and floating plumes. In front rode alone at a hand gallop a tall man on a fine horse, which he sat admir- ably and to the evident satisfaction of the crowd. Hurrah for the general ! Hurrah! and they were nearly up to us, when suddenly a little boy not bigger than my- self darted out from the mass, and before the servant or the soldiers could stop him was in the middle of the open space, under the feet of the horses, with out- stretched arms, crying, Pa! Pa! Take me up! How he was not trampled under foot I cannot explain; but he stopped the cav- alcade. The general reined up sharply, and the staff succeeded in doing the same. It is clear that the father must have been guilty of having his boy up on his saddle-bow before that day, but of this I keep no remembrance. That day, however, something in the expression of the generals face as the child was taken back safely in arms, and the deprecating tone with which some one explained to the indignant crowd, It is the generals little son! stamped his image upon my memory indelibly. I see the whole scene as if it were yesterday, and the revulsion it produced in my ideas is not forgotten. The child was safe, the chief incident of the day was over, and I felt strangely like going home. The whole aspect of the show was changed. The idea that a general could also be a father and a kind, warm-hearted man came over me queerly. It took all the wickedness out of the thing. The aspect of the regiment was different; my conviction that all those men were capable of firing their ramrods straight into a crowd of men, women, and children was shaken; my whole concep- tion of the nature of the citizen soldier was overturned. The regiment was still a thing to be patted on the back and feasted, perhaps, but it was no longer to be feared. The boy who darted out was no other than myself, and the general who reined up in time not to trample his son under his horses feet was my father. Indeed, it was a notable institution that of the New Hampshire militia. What boy of three or even four years could ever

AN OLD NEW HAMPSHIRE MUSTER. By Horatio T Perry. [From the late Mr. Perrys MS. Reminiscences.] WAS born in the pleasant valley of the Ashuelot River, at Keene, in New Hampshire, and among the earliest scenes which my memory retains is that of an old New Eng- land muster in that beautiful region. I am in a great field, where is a crowd collected from all the country round. Showbooths and hucksters stalls, ped- lers, peanuts and watermelons, ginger- bread and new cider are confused with farmers~ wives and wagons ranged along one side of the field. An encampment runs along the other side, and in front of the tents drawn up in line is a regiment of about a thousand men with muskets standing at ease. We occupy the middle of the field, but between us and the line of bayonets is a broad open space kept by men detached from the front of each company, who pace majestically up and down, holding the admiring crowd to its limits. This was muster day, the annual muster of the th Regiment New Hampshire Mili- tia a holiday before whose glories even Independence and Thanksgiving paled their lesser lights, and Election Day with its varnished buns was wholly out of count. It seems I was old enough to be let go to muster, and a servant led me by the hand over the field. Suddenly there was a buzz and a move- ment everybody pressed to the line kept by the soldiers. The general is coming! As I was small I was allowed a place at the very edge, and could see down the whole length of the open space in front of the regiment. Presently a dozen horsemen appeared at the farther end of the field, and came on rapidly, brave in colors and floating plumes. In front rode alone at a hand gallop a tall man on a fine horse, which he sat admir- ably and to the evident satisfaction of the crowd. Hurrah for the general ! Hurrah! and they were nearly up to us, when suddenly a little boy not bigger than my- self darted out from the mass, and before the servant or the soldiers could stop him was in the middle of the open space, under the feet of the horses, with out- stretched arms, crying, Pa! Pa! Take me up! How he was not trampled under foot I cannot explain; but he stopped the cav- alcade. The general reined up sharply, and the staff succeeded in doing the same. It is clear that the father must have been guilty of having his boy up on his saddle-bow before that day, but of this I keep no remembrance. That day, however, something in the expression of the generals face as the child was taken back safely in arms, and the deprecating tone with which some one explained to the indignant crowd, It is the generals little son! stamped his image upon my memory indelibly. I see the whole scene as if it were yesterday, and the revulsion it produced in my ideas is not forgotten. The child was safe, the chief incident of the day was over, and I felt strangely like going home. The whole aspect of the show was changed. The idea that a general could also be a father and a kind, warm-hearted man came over me queerly. It took all the wickedness out of the thing. The aspect of the regiment was different; my conviction that all those men were capable of firing their ramrods straight into a crowd of men, women, and children was shaken; my whole concep- tion of the nature of the citizen soldier was overturned. The regiment was still a thing to be patted on the back and feasted, perhaps, but it was no longer to be feared. The boy who darted out was no other than myself, and the general who reined up in time not to trample his son under his horses feet was my father. Indeed, it was a notable institution that of the New Hampshire militia. What boy of three or even four years could ever 98 AN OLD NEW HAMPSHiRE MU%fER. have recognized in those red-breasted soldiers marching to drum-beat and mak- ing such a fearful noise and smoke with their old brown-Bess muskets, the quiet artisans of the village, or the jolly young farmers of the surrounding hills? In those days every man in uniform wore in his shiny leathern h~t a tall, round brush of feathers sticking up about three feet high, and officers had each a sort of Prince of Waless arrangement of three black ostrich plumes, most gallant to be- hold. Two leathern straps, laid over scale on scale with glittering brass, helped them to keep their hats on in a breeze. We were told that this handsome head gear was designed for resisting cavalry, and it was clear to me that no horse of any spirit would ever have stood a brush in the face from those far reaching feathers. You should have seen them at their exercise, resisting the cavalry! The first rank, with knee to earth and musket-stock set firm, leaned forward, nodding defiance to the foe; the second laid their heads along their levelled tubes, ready to sweep him from the earth. In that position the whole visible front was but a cloud of waving plumes. Nothing so effective has ever been invented in China; and even in the epop~e of Rome that cloud in which the goddess mother wrapped her hero son whenever things were getting too warm for him was not so dense. Such infantry must have been singularly perplexing to horsemen; and so it happened that no cavalry were ever seen within the limits of the State of New Hampshire. Unhappily, this whole system has since been criticised as good for nothing prac- tically; but I cling to my early impres- sions. Purblind reformers have evidently mistaken the grand object of the New Hampshire militia. What enemy had those brave battalions ever to meet more terrible than the bevies of bright-eyed country lasses, whom they really did maintain in a state of submissive awe? If merit is to be measured by success, that soldiery was eminently successful. The spring, the summer, and the autumn trainings, all leading up to the cr0wning day of muster, were simply the bright side of life for thousands of that hardy yeomanry who peopled the New Hampshire hills, and amongst whom it was my good fortune to be born. The Keene light infantry, the West- moreland light infantry, the Gilsuni grays, the Sullivan blues, the Swanzey artillery, with their two old smooth-bore guns dragged by ropes to which the gallant fellows harnessed themselves, all are part and parcel of my youth; and I have always felt for them a degree of admira- tion which I could never since accord to any other army, not even to the Prus- sians whom I met under the Crown-Prince Frederick in the lines before Paris. Looking back upon it coolly, I must now confess that there was no appreciable difference between the Keene light in- fantry and the Westmoreland light infan- try, except that the latter wore red woollen braid laid in stripes like a herring bone upon their cotton-padded breasts, whilst Keene wore one broad patch like a full moon of that same warlike color. But always where the points of difference are few the rivalry is enormous. It would be difficult to conceive the depth of popular feeling when Keene turned out one hundred and four muskets, and Westmoreland appeared with one hundred and nine. We boys were natu- rally in favor of our own light infantry, but there were occasions when we could not but acknowledge that if Keene were out of the way Westmoreland would have had our approval. And those days when both met in Keene for the exhibition of marching tactics, each with a big band of bugles, trombones, and ophicleides, set off by clarionets and fifes and at least a dozen drums! The involutions and evolutions, progressions, retrogressions, and gyrations practised by those crack companies, in and out and up and down the main street and central square of Keene, New Hamp- shire, can rarely have been equalled else- where. The game must be acknowledged to have been well sustained, no giving in on either side; both bands blowing and beating each a different quick-step in irreconcilable discord to see whose noise could drown the other; Keenes files sometimes slipping off into West- AN OLD NEW hAMPSHIRE MUSTER. 99 morelands step, and anon Westmoreland tripping to the beat of Keene; the men sweaty and breathless, the movement vertiginous, it was certainly a most admirable display. But we had seen all that before, and there was little to choose between them, till at length, at the very height and climax of the day, while Keene was working away at the ordinary wheeling and turning, opening and shutting, West- moreland suddenly caine into line facing the Orthodox Church, with the old Court-house on the left, and quick as thought a half-dozen tall fellows detached themselves to the rear diagonally. Hullo, whats up now? Then they tossed the butts of their muskets in air and stood stiff as pike staffs, and then, almost before they were posted, away went Westmoreland, ranks broken, men run- ning like mad, a field ~f tall plumes on rapid legs streaking diagonally across the Central Square and quickly forming up on a new line, their backs to Prentisss print- ing office and the Ashuelot Bank, with Elliots store on the right, and the left resting steady on Wilders corner. Phe blasts of that brazen music and the beat of those big drums still shook the win- dows of the village but it was all over. Westmoreland had triumphed, and for a whole season we of Keene did not re- cover the prestige which our former merit had so justly earned. But let me not forget the slambangs How can we advert, however cursorily, to the New Hampshire militia without men- tioning that somewhat helter-skelter un- uniformed residue which formed at the tail of the regiments, made up of all who were of age for military service and were not patriotic enough to stand the charges for membership in a uniformed company, all these, supplemented by some few who dearly loved a joke? The slam- bangs, I am convinced to-day, were at bottom as good as any of them, though by no means so pretty; I, too, have trained in the slambangs, and I have had the honor to carry a musket in the Keene light infantry. But that is antici- pating; and my first use of arms was not on the muster field. It was on my fourteenth birthday that my father presented me with my first rifle, manufactured at Windsor, in Ver- mont. It consisted merely of a long iron tube without any stock, except the breech of walnut wood screwed to the breech- pin. In that breech there was a little box for the patches, and the hammer struck the cap on the under side of the barrel, upon which the fore and back sights were both immovable. A long hickory rod served to drive home the bullets, and must be carried in the hand in ranging; at other times it was left in the bore with a bit of oiled flannel to lubricate the twist. We have improved greatly on that type since, and yet those old Windsor rifles made excellent practice in the woods. What sense of life and power come to the American boy with his rifle The world was sensibly enlarged for me. I soon learned to use the gun, and brought down my game with commendable cer- tainty. My good friend, George A. Wheelock, ten years my senior, a graduate of Harvard and a barrister, but a true lover of the hills, taught me the finesse of the art. He made me to see a par- tridge before I was myself seen, and showed me how to take off the heads of the birds without harming their precious bodies. He taught me to bark the squirrels, and bring them down from their airy heights dead without a wound. What walks we took with the rifle over Beech Hill, then thickly wooded, to Roxbury or to Sullivan; up the Gilsum road and through thick woods and hill pastures down to the Walpole road; or across the Ash Swamp and over the West Mountain, to ret urn by the Winchester road To the summit of Monadnoc and back again was about twenty-five miles as the crow flies a glorious walk for a long summers day. Away at sunrise and back in the cool of the evening, there was time for shooting and for fishing too. The mid- day lunch on the mountain side, where we baked our trout or our game wrapped in oak leaves and laid in the hot ashes could it ever be excelled? Again, in winter, when the snow lay deep and the trees were bare, and, the par- tridges were up in the branches bud 100 PA ThENCE. ding, the silhouette of these fine birds bold against the gray sky at nightfall was a sight to be toiled for and taken calmly. In this situation, I have sometimes dropped two or three out of a pack of five or six by successive rifle shots. Mine, too, was the first and then the only boat on the upper Ashuelot. Start- ing above the weir at the end of West Street, and leaving the noise and rattle of Colonys mills behind us, what splendid rows past the green meadows, past the old wooden bridge which marked the first mile, past the sand bluffs, up into the silent woods the rifle always ready, and always some incautious animal or bird caught enjoying the riverside as well as we. There were raccoons and porcupines in those days, as well as hares and rabbits. Listening in the woods, the fall of a nut would reveal where a squirrel was feeding, or the distant drum of the male partridge would lead the practised ear to the log on which he was strutting. It was my fathers custom once or twice in the year to have the carriage round for a drive to Boston eighty miles. Starting early, the road lay through the Troy notch over the western spur of Monadnoc, leaving that mountain to the left and taking us to Jaifrey, where we had lunch and the horses rested for a couple of hours. In the afternoon we would reach Groton, to sup and sleep. The next morning the horses would be early in harness, and passing over the battlefields of Concord and Lexington we would drive across the long Cambridge bridge into Boston by five or six oclock in the afternoon. Whatever my thoughts as we passed over the fields of Lexington and Concord, or as I may have glanced from Cambridge bridge toward Bunker Hill, surely the scenes once enacted in these historic places could hardly have been more impressive to my mind than the scenes which I witnessed with my eyes at those old Keene musters. PATIENCE. By Edward U. Barnard. WHEN one is loved and loves, and alls confessed, With cheek to cheek and throbbing heart to heart, That sweet, sad-eyed divinity thou art Which brings us Peace for regent of the breast, While friends and kin mistakenly protest Against our choosing, till the salt tears start; Which teaches us to play a sunny part, And smile at grief when grief is bitterest. Seen through thy glass each dun cloud parts in twain And shows the blue sky of a future year; Content we have of thee when tearful eyes Look sad farewells; endurance for each pain. Love quick would languish, shouldst thou disappear: Art thou not Love itself in other guise?

100 PA ThENCE. ding, the silhouette of these fine birds bold against the gray sky at nightfall was a sight to be toiled for and taken calmly. In this situation, I have sometimes dropped two or three out of a pack of five or six by successive rifle shots. Mine, too, was the first and then the only boat on the upper Ashuelot. Start- ing above the weir at the end of West Street, and leaving the noise and rattle of Colonys mills behind us, what splendid rows past the green meadows, past the old wooden bridge which marked the first mile, past the sand bluffs, up into the silent woods the rifle always ready, and always some incautious animal or bird caught enjoying the riverside as well as we. There were raccoons and porcupines in those days, as well as hares and rabbits. Listening in the woods, the fall of a nut would reveal where a squirrel was feeding, or the distant drum of the male partridge would lead the practised ear to the log on which he was strutting. It was my fathers custom once or twice in the year to have the carriage round for a drive to Boston eighty miles. Starting early, the road lay through the Troy notch over the western spur of Monadnoc, leaving that mountain to the left and taking us to Jaifrey, where we had lunch and the horses rested for a couple of hours. In the afternoon we would reach Groton, to sup and sleep. The next morning the horses would be early in harness, and passing over the battlefields of Concord and Lexington we would drive across the long Cambridge bridge into Boston by five or six oclock in the afternoon. Whatever my thoughts as we passed over the fields of Lexington and Concord, or as I may have glanced from Cambridge bridge toward Bunker Hill, surely the scenes once enacted in these historic places could hardly have been more impressive to my mind than the scenes which I witnessed with my eyes at those old Keene musters. PATIENCE. By Edward U. Barnard. WHEN one is loved and loves, and alls confessed, With cheek to cheek and throbbing heart to heart, That sweet, sad-eyed divinity thou art Which brings us Peace for regent of the breast, While friends and kin mistakenly protest Against our choosing, till the salt tears start; Which teaches us to play a sunny part, And smile at grief when grief is bitterest. Seen through thy glass each dun cloud parts in twain And shows the blue sky of a future year; Content we have of thee when tearful eyes Look sad farewells; endurance for each pain. Love quick would languish, shouldst thou disappear: Art thou not Love itself in other guise?

100 PA ThENCE. ding, the silhouette of these fine birds bold against the gray sky at nightfall was a sight to be toiled for and taken calmly. In this situation, I have sometimes dropped two or three out of a pack of five or six by successive rifle shots. Mine, too, was the first and then the only boat on the upper Ashuelot. Start- ing above the weir at the end of West Street, and leaving the noise and rattle of Colonys mills behind us, what splendid rows past the green meadows, past the old wooden bridge which marked the first mile, past the sand bluffs, up into the silent woods the rifle always ready, and always some incautious animal or bird caught enjoying the riverside as well as we. There were raccoons and porcupines in those days, as well as hares and rabbits. Listening in the woods, the fall of a nut would reveal where a squirrel was feeding, or the distant drum of the male partridge would lead the practised ear to the log on which he was strutting. It was my fathers custom once or twice in the year to have the carriage round for a drive to Boston eighty miles. Starting early, the road lay through the Troy notch over the western spur of Monadnoc, leaving that mountain to the left and taking us to Jaifrey, where we had lunch and the horses rested for a couple of hours. In the afternoon we would reach Groton, to sup and sleep. The next morning the horses would be early in harness, and passing over the battlefields of Concord and Lexington we would drive across the long Cambridge bridge into Boston by five or six oclock in the afternoon. Whatever my thoughts as we passed over the fields of Lexington and Concord, or as I may have glanced from Cambridge bridge toward Bunker Hill, surely the scenes once enacted in these historic places could hardly have been more impressive to my mind than the scenes which I witnessed with my eyes at those old Keene musters. PATIENCE. By Edward U. Barnard. WHEN one is loved and loves, and alls confessed, With cheek to cheek and throbbing heart to heart, That sweet, sad-eyed divinity thou art Which brings us Peace for regent of the breast, While friends and kin mistakenly protest Against our choosing, till the salt tears start; Which teaches us to play a sunny part, And smile at grief when grief is bitterest. Seen through thy glass each dun cloud parts in twain And shows the blue sky of a future year; Content we have of thee when tearful eyes Look sad farewells; endurance for each pain. Love quick would languish, shouldst thou disappear: Art thou not Love itself in other guise? SIGNAL SERVICE. By Ellzalle//z and Anne Gleason. [Scene, small room adjoining a ball-room.] CHARACTERS. MR. EVERMORE NAPPING. MISS VERNAL PARAGON a bud. MR. RELIANCE PARAGON her brother. AN USHER. Mr. A/a/ping, alone, at rise of curtain. ME. N. Heigho, another tedious hour remains, In which I must forego the use of brains; i\Iust force a lumberiug tougue to social talk, And drag a faltering foot through waltz and york. What evil fiend induced me to appear, Another fool to swell the numbers here? Why does this herd from homes mild bond- age break, To press and struggle for the struggles sake? A wild stampede with Folly for its guide, And him who would resist it, woe betide! [Pause.] That pretty girl with poppies in her hair Is laughing shrill above the musics blare. She seems all ears, all eyes for him alone, That imbecile who bows before her throne; And yet, one foot impaticut taps the floor, One eye, with eager longing, seeks the door: That door, oh irresistible its arch, Upheld by caryatides in starch! Should I step forth to set her victim free, As now she smiles on him, shed smile on me, Content that I can dance and flap a fan, I meet the sole requirement, a man. - I. K

SIGNAL SERVICE. By Ellzalle//z and Anne Gleason. [Scene, small room adjoining a ball-room.] CHARACTERS. MR. EVERMORE NAPPING. MISS VERNAL PARAGON a bud. MR. RELIANCE PARAGON her brother. AN USHER. Mr. A/a/ping, alone, at rise of curtain. ME. N. Heigho, another tedious hour remains, In which I must forego the use of brains; i\Iust force a lumberiug tougue to social talk, And drag a faltering foot through waltz and york. What evil fiend induced me to appear, Another fool to swell the numbers here? Why does this herd from homes mild bond- age break, To press and struggle for the struggles sake? A wild stampede with Folly for its guide, And him who would resist it, woe betide! [Pause.] That pretty girl with poppies in her hair Is laughing shrill above the musics blare. She seems all ears, all eyes for him alone, That imbecile who bows before her throne; And yet, one foot impaticut taps the floor, One eye, with eager longing, seeks the door: That door, oh irresistible its arch, Upheld by caryatides in starch! Should I step forth to set her victim free, As now she smiles on him, shed smile on me, Content that I can dance and flap a fan, I meet the sole requirement, a man. - I. K SiGNAL SERVICE. r ~vnselooks at wa/eli. It must be late. Just twelve! Ye gods, how slow! Ill hang around a while and then Ill go. This flippant dust from off my shoes Ill wipe, And fly unto my paradise, my pipe. [Exit.] En/er, in great haste, an usher. USHER. Good heavens! so he has departed! I saw him a second ago; I fondly had planned to present him To some of those girls in that row. There are some that have sat all the evening With such a disconsolate air: I have danced with them all in succession, And I cant keep it up, I declare. Sits, wearily. Oh, there he is now! I must seize him Or hell join with the non-dancing men, And then theres no hope of extraction. If ever I usher again! [Exit.] Enter hiss Vernal Paragon and Air. lieu- ance Para6 072. Miss P. Im perfectly certain you saw me; I think you were awfully mean. Id danced with that man two whole dances, And such a long wait in hetween. You said if I waved my fan, this way, And tapped with my foot on the floor [motioning] Youd instantly come to relieve me. MR. P. Oh, well, we can try it once more. Miss P. What use is a hrother at parties, Who cant take the trouble MR. P. Great Scott! I say, lets go out where its cooler; This room is infernally hot. Miss P. Of course I wont signal too often, But only in case of distress; And then you will come to my rescue; Now promise, you will, wont you? MR. P. Yes. Miss P.And dont come unless I do signal You only would be in the way; For when girls have plenty of partners, Their brothers seem sloxe. MR. PI dare say. Miss P. All right, then, remember, youve pron~ised. MR. P. Say, Vein, whos that seraph in blue? Miss P. Why, thats Molly Smith. MR. P. Introduce me. Ill do a like favor for you. Miss P. Oh, will you? Thats just what I wanted. You saw him, that man sitting here, With sort of a tired expression, And just the least bit of a sneer? MR. P. Oh, yes, that was Evermore Napping, An old collage classmate of mine. Miss P. Delightful! You must introduce him; I think he looked perfectly fine, Unusual, aristocratic. MR. P. Hes terril)ly bored here to-night; Says girls should be viewed from a distance, Like mountains. Miss P. How awfully bright! MR. P. Hes really a capital fellow; He used to row stroke in our crew; You wait here while I go and find him. [Exit.] Miss P. I dare say my hairs all askew; Mv train is a wreck I cant help it. Next time I shall mark it in black: Look out for the train, it is coming; Take warning, dont walk on the track. Aaj/zests dress, looking in glass. Enter Air. ~Yapping, front, Air. Paragon meeting hint. MR. P. Youre just the chap Im looking for. I want to introduce you to - MR. N. A girl ! I cant, I really cant, dont ask me. MR. POh, come on. 102 4/ You said if I waved my fan this way SIGNAL SEE VICE. 103 MR. N. Its twelve; you must excuse me, Para- MR. N. [cautiously] You know it is already gon; late. For twelve oclock is very late for me, I cant stay long, and when I want to go I get so sleepy then. I must arrange some way to let you know, So you can take her off my handsyou see? MR. P. But, dont you see? I said Id introduce you if shed wait MR. P. All right. One moment here. MR. N. I tell you its too late. Mr. N. Then on some signal lets agree. MR. P. But I cant tell her that you wouldnt MR. P. Thats easy; wave her fan like this, on come, high, That you refused to meet her. And make your foot go, thus, when I pass hy~ Youre just the chap Im looking for. MR. N. No, but some Ma. N. But wont she think my actions some- Neat, plausible excuse you might contrive, what queer? Ive sprained my ankle, gone Ma. P. Why, man alive, MR. P. Why should she? No. How can I, when shes right hehind us MR. N. Youll not forget? there? Mr. N. [looking] That silly girl with poppies MR. P. No fear in her hair? [Pause.] Of that. Oh, no. Since there is no escape, lead on hut wait! MR. N. I wish you could invent MR. P. What now? Some simpler ~O4 present MR. P. Vein allow me to Evermore; sin My old friend, Mr. Napi g, ~ with- Miss Vernal Paragon, my sister, draw. EExit.Z1 MISS P. Ins very glad to meet you, for Pvc heard So much about MR. N. His sister, on my word! fjn desPsir.1 MISS P. About your rowing in the college crew; And did you play in the eleven, too? MR. N.~The ~ yes, Miss P. And did you row that day The rudde broke? MR. N. ~3obsentlYI1 I really couldnt say. MISS P. [enthUsiostiK~ Oh, such a crowd, and every one you knew, with red and And all the place just crausnied blue, And ra~ra-rS like thunder in the air, And peanuts and popcorn. MR. N. 1eoiieetiiighillselfI~ ~~~Iwasnt there. Size sits. Pause. MR. N. Er-well, its very pleasant here to~night. Miss P. Eesidell Good Heavens and I thought the man was bright. ~AloUd.I1 Yes, very pleasant. When ones in the mood waltz. j~asideI1 I-low Theres nothing like a very rude nd not ask me down Of him to stand there a To dance! He seems to be a perfect clown. MR. N.1 do not like to waltz,it5 such a bore. ~IJe sits.Z~ MISS P. Do tell me what you come to parties for. MR. N. I hardly know. MISS P. ~ Von play, or like to listen. MR. N.~Not at all. ive al ays hated music. MISS P. Why, how ~trange! Our seats are rather near it; we might change. EPastse~i Shall we stay here or wander towa d tbc stair? MR. N. We may as well stay here as anywhere. They settle beck in else rs, gazing into vacanCY. MR. N. So late! LAsidKl SIGNAL SERVICE. Three caer~0t taR to advantage SIGNAL SER VICE. 1 O~ Miss P. [aside] I think theres something on his mind, Some sad misfortune surely lurks hehind. Perhaps hes lost his money on the street, Or staked it on the team that didnt beat. And yet, such deep dejection must denote Some deeper grief, more sacred, more re- mote Than money brings, some hopeless love or prayer, A yearning for MR. N. [aside] My pipe and easy chair, All empty, at my coming to he filled. Ill put my mammoth slippers on and build A roaring blaze to make the fire-dogs grin, The smiles flit over Shakespeares brazen chin, The shadows dance and play at peek-a-boo. From sympathy Ill sit and chuckle, too. He chuckles aloud. MR. P. [aside] He laughs! Oh Heaven, what can the matter be! Theres nothing to arouse his mirth but me. [Aloud]What is so very funny, may I know? MR. N. Why, nothing. Miss P. Then why were you laughing so? MR. N. I wasnt laughing. [aside] Five more minutes gone! Miss P. [aside] Perhaps he did it to conceal a yawn. Well, let him yawn. Ive done my very best To draw him out Ill let him do the rest. She leans hack, silent. Pause. MR~ N. [arousing himself] I think the musics very good, dont you? Miss P. I thought you hated music. MR. N.Yes, I do. Pa se silence. Miss P. [aside] He has no more remarks to venture on. Mr. N. [aside] Id like to lay my hands on Paragon. [Silence] i\IR. N. Perhaps wed find it warmer over there. Miss P. We may as well stay here as anywhere. Silence. Both [aside] If he would pass, id try that little plan, And make the signal. MR. N. [seeing Paragon outside] Let me take your fan. Its very hot. Miss P. No, thanks. MR. N. [eagerly] Oh, do. Miss P. [suspecting~ What for? She looks around. MR. N. [aside] I see that brother just outside the door. MIss P. [aside] I see my brother just outside the door. Enter Reliance Paragon with cloak over his arm, whereupon both make the si~nal wildly. He crosses, grinning with satisfaction and unre- sponsive. They continue to sz~nal in blank dc- spair, then look at each other, and understand. Gradually a smile steals over their faces and they 1 ugh aloud. Miss P. [convulsed with laughter] Oh dear, it was awfully funny! MR. N. A simply ridiculous scene! [la ugh- ing] But so rude, can you ever forgive me? So stupid, so boorish, so mean! [Gon- trite] Miss P. Oh, please dont say that, Mr. Napping; Were fellow companions in crime. Our plan was not very successful; Perhaps twill work better next time. MR. N. I dont think it could have worked better; Suppose we dont try it again; For next time your brother might answer The moment you signalled, and then Miss P. And then youll be filled with rejoicing, Give thanks to your stars for such luck, And always avoid me in future, For fear youd be hopelessly stuck. MR. N. While you would sail off with your brother, Pretending it happened by chance, And say you were really too tired, The next time I asked you to dance. Miss P. Do be more consistent. You said you Thought dancing and parties a bore. MR. N. I never had any feeling Of interest in them before. Perhaps I shall see you to-morrow. Miss P. To-morrow? MR. N. At Mrs. Van Dolts. Miss P. Why, yes, I shall probably be there. MR. N. I hope you will give me a waltz. [Earnestly.] Miss P. With pleasure, on this one condition If no one should happen to come To ask me ~c dance and relieve you When doubt of escape makes you dumb, Just tell me dont trust to a signal; Be honest and frank, I beseech. MR. N. Agreed; but I claim a condition, Youll practise yourself what you preach. Consider me sort of a fortress Where you can retreat from the fray And, weary of wiles and of tactics, Escape from the trumpets coarse bray, Till the clarion clatter of teaspoons Inspires your spirit anew; Then the fortress will open its portals And let the bold warrior pass through.. 106 A PLEA FOR TIlE GERMAN ELEMENT IN AMERICA. Miss P. But perhaps the redoubtable warrior Still longed for protection and rest, And found when he caine to desert it He liked the kind fortress the best. MR. N. [ardently] Why, tben, if that happened, the fortress Seeing Paragon. That brother, Good Heavens, I say, Why cant he stay elsewhere? Miss P. [aside] I told him He only would be in the way. Both glare at Paragon, who comes to the front, beaming. MR. P. Shell say I was horrid to do it. But oh I twas a capital joke I couldnt resist, and Miss Snobbins Was freezing and wanted her cloak. But Vernals expression of anguish, That fan fluttering wildly on high, The despair and the horror of Napping, As I, unresponsive, passed by. [Laughs.] Poor Vernal must be almost frantic; And Napping is swearing, no doubt; Theyll hail my approach with thanksgiving And gratitude deep and devout. To Vernal. Ill dance with you now, if you want to. Miss P. [to brother] Dont bother. [To Napping] Im sure youll confess That men MR. P. I have come. Miss P. [to brother] Well, what of it? To Nappin& . Whenever they wish to possess MR. P. But Vernal, I came Miss P. Yes, I know it. MR. P. And Napping, you said MR. N. Yes, I know. To Miss P. But three cannot talk to advantage. The musics still playing. Lets go And try a plain waltz. Im so rusty I fear that I cannot reverse; But if youll accept such a partner Miss P. Well try it. MR. N. For better or worse. Exeunt Mr. Napping and Miss Paragon. Mr. Paragon gazes after. Curtain. A PLEA FOR THE GERMAN ELEMENT IN AMERICA. By W. L. Sheldon. THE wish has for a long time been very strong within me to give utter- ance to some impressions on be- half of the element that is coming to our shores from Germany. It is of pe- culiar importance that people in the East should thoroughly appreciate the true character of that particular race. Cir- cumstances of a rather unusual kind have brought me into intimate contact with the German element in the West, after my early life had been saturated with the influences of New England. It is im- possible for me not to think after this experience that we of Anglo-Saxon parent- age have failed a little to value or under- stand the especial characteristics of this other race. It is inevitable that they will have a great deal to do with shaping the future of our nation. Probably they constitute at the present moment nearly one-eighth of our population. It is not inconceivable that within half a century even one-quarter of the people in this country will trace their ancestry to Ger- many. It becomes, therefore, a very seri- ous question what is going to be the in- fluence of this great element on our life and institutions. Many persons are dis- posed to judge of the future in this re- spect from present conditions; and so they take a melancholy view of the situa- tion. It is said that this race is peculiar- lyforeign. The New England element has had heretofore a great predominance in moulding and guiding our customs and the people who come from that sec- tion of the country to not take kindly to what the German people are doing in America. It is said that they have

106 A PLEA FOR TIlE GERMAN ELEMENT IN AMERICA. Miss P. But perhaps the redoubtable warrior Still longed for protection and rest, And found when he caine to desert it He liked the kind fortress the best. MR. N. [ardently] Why, tben, if that happened, the fortress Seeing Paragon. That brother, Good Heavens, I say, Why cant he stay elsewhere? Miss P. [aside] I told him He only would be in the way. Both glare at Paragon, who comes to the front, beaming. MR. P. Shell say I was horrid to do it. But oh I twas a capital joke I couldnt resist, and Miss Snobbins Was freezing and wanted her cloak. But Vernals expression of anguish, That fan fluttering wildly on high, The despair and the horror of Napping, As I, unresponsive, passed by. [Laughs.] Poor Vernal must be almost frantic; And Napping is swearing, no doubt; Theyll hail my approach with thanksgiving And gratitude deep and devout. To Vernal. Ill dance with you now, if you want to. Miss P. [to brother] Dont bother. [To Napping] Im sure youll confess That men MR. P. I have come. Miss P. [to brother] Well, what of it? To Nappin& . Whenever they wish to possess MR. P. But Vernal, I came Miss P. Yes, I know it. MR. P. And Napping, you said MR. N. Yes, I know. To Miss P. But three cannot talk to advantage. The musics still playing. Lets go And try a plain waltz. Im so rusty I fear that I cannot reverse; But if youll accept such a partner Miss P. Well try it. MR. N. For better or worse. Exeunt Mr. Napping and Miss Paragon. Mr. Paragon gazes after. Curtain. A PLEA FOR THE GERMAN ELEMENT IN AMERICA. By W. L. Sheldon. THE wish has for a long time been very strong within me to give utter- ance to some impressions on be- half of the element that is coming to our shores from Germany. It is of pe- culiar importance that people in the East should thoroughly appreciate the true character of that particular race. Cir- cumstances of a rather unusual kind have brought me into intimate contact with the German element in the West, after my early life had been saturated with the influences of New England. It is im- possible for me not to think after this experience that we of Anglo-Saxon parent- age have failed a little to value or under- stand the especial characteristics of this other race. It is inevitable that they will have a great deal to do with shaping the future of our nation. Probably they constitute at the present moment nearly one-eighth of our population. It is not inconceivable that within half a century even one-quarter of the people in this country will trace their ancestry to Ger- many. It becomes, therefore, a very seri- ous question what is going to be the in- fluence of this great element on our life and institutions. Many persons are dis- posed to judge of the future in this re- spect from present conditions; and so they take a melancholy view of the situa- tion. It is said that this race is peculiar- lyforeign. The New England element has had heretofore a great predominance in moulding and guiding our customs and the people who come from that sec- tion of the country to not take kindly to what the German people are doing in America. It is said that they have A PLEA FOR THE GERMAN ELEMENT IN AMERICA. 107 brought over the Continental Sunday. Jt is assumed that they are materialistic in their ways, and inclined to worship physical comfort. It is asserted that they are almost aggressive in their sociability, and most fixed in their purpose of pre- serving their own manners and habits on this soil. They are not acquainted with our literature and do not talk English. Furthermore, it is charged that they have had an unfortunate effect on the religious condition of the country. They do not like to go to church. It is said that they lean to materialism in philosophy. Was not Germany the home of Strauss, Buech- ner, and Feuerbach? Worse still, we have had it intimated that they are bring- ing socialism and the revolutionary spirit to our shores. Was not Germany the home of Lasalle and Karl Marx? Altogether this would be a very serious array of charges, if it were not for the one fact that some of us have a way of confusing the transient with the perma- nent influences which may come from that particular race. Perhaps we forget that if we desire to understand what is to be the abiding work of this people among us, we must first go back and judge of them and their characteristics in their own home in Germany. It is probable that the long existing traits they have ex- hibited on their own soil will be just the traits which they will preserve, and by which they will influence us, in America. We venture on the most inspiring of all problems in approaching the question what r6le is to be played by the different race elements now coming to our land. Only once in past times has there been an epoch so eventful in this particular direction. History is probably as much influenced by changes in races as by changes in institutions~ For a time it was taken for granted that the foreign element would be something that could be received among us, absorbed and made over again by our customs and in- stitutions, practically shaped and de- veloped into Anglo-Saxons. But the laws of social evolution make that possi- bility doubtful. Those very races will soon be native on our soil. They must to some extent give as well as receive, in- Iluence as well as be influenced. It is difficult to suppose that some degree of change will not take place from these new conditions, in the character of the whole people which is to constitute the population of these United States. What a melancholy feeling it would give to an emigrant as he landed on our shores, if he had to assume that all that he brought with him in the history and growth of his own nationality was utterly to fade out and perish, while he was just to be moulded and shaped over again by new institutions! Undoubtedly many of the people who have settled here are dis- turbed and anxious over this very thought. They notice that their language is less and less used by their own children. The literature they have loved is no longer the chief study of the people around them. The customs and usages which they brought over with them appear less and less noticeable even in their own families. Naturally they must feel themselves being lost, dying out as an influence, while yet alive and full of interest in what is going on in the world. It takes a long while for a new race to domesticate itself. Millions of our population at the present moment must be more or less conscious of this peculiar sense of homelessness or isolation. They are not any longer wholly European. It is quite impossible for them to become wholly and entirely American. A strong people with marked race characteristics cannot help but desire to be an influence on the new home where they are trying to domesticate them- selves. The first instinct must be for them to endeavor to exert their power in establishing and preserving their own customs. We must forgive them for this natural desire. A race, if it is good for anything, must believe in itself. It is quite certain however that this people, n spite of their vast numbers and tena cious instincts, are not going to materi- ally alter or modify our common speech or political institutions. Those two features come essentially from England. They are fixed and are going to stay. They were established before this other race began to come to this country. We shall always trace these special features of our life to the original influence of 108 A PLEA FOR TITlE GERMAN ELEMENT IN AMERICA. the Anglo - Saxon element in America. But the language as well as the broad lines of our political customs, after all, constitute only a part of what belongs to the coming history of our institutions. An influence does not have to be direct in order to be of enormous consequence. There is to be developed in this land a distinct American race, a type of citizen quite different from the races or types of Europe. is It by their race characteristics rather than by their language or their political institutions, that this people who are ultimately to number upwards of one quarter of our population, will be an in- fluence on the future of this country. It is the tyje of character which they bring, that is to play the great r6le in a later period of history. This feature may to a certain degree exert itself and display its power without any definite forethought or reflection. It is an agency which can- not be checked or hindered by legislation. It may slip out of sight for a time, but it cannot pass away. That race character has been developed out of a thousand years of history on another continent. It is therefore an element which does not alter in a year, or even in a century. The German people have their own type of manhood and womanhood. It is in the features of the face, the tones of the voice, the very carriage of the body. It may be noticed even in their way of view- ing the world. These peculiarities can only be observed through a long period of years. It is necessary to live for a time with a stranger, if we are ever to truly understand him. I can but appeal to their whole past history, in urging that we do not be un- fair in misjudging the influence of this people that is coming to us from Ger- many. It is natural, and yet most unfor- tunate, that we should form our opinions about them from the surface characteris- tics. A man is not his real and best self where he is not altogether domesticated. Many peculiarities which we have noticed about this people will have quite passed away in the course of another century. It is noticeable even now that the Anglo- Saxon feels more at home with the Ger- mans when he meets them in their own country, where the people are their natural selves. It is to be remembered, also, that this element has been coming to us at a time of transition in their own social and political institutions. For my own part, after studying them closely in this country as well as in their home in Germany, I cannot believe that they are going to be necessarily as radical an influence upon us as has been feared, either in politics or religion. On the contrary, the more closely we observe this particular race, the more carefully we note the way it conducts itself among us, the more deeply we go into its past history in its own country, the more will come home to us the conviction that the German people will be here on this soil conspicuously a conservative element in America. We can see this tendency underneath the surface in all the details of the private life of this people, as well as in their own national history. In- stinctively they prefer to stay where they are; they are not restless and changeable. They are disposed to keep to the old. habits and customs. They are by nature anything but revolutionary. Conser- vatism appears to be in every element of their character. They are not fond of novelty, like the French; they even hesitate to push forward or advance in. their political life, as do the English. They are a slow and long-suffering people. I doubt whether any other civilized country of Europe would have stood the strain which they have experi- enced during the last few months, and. settled down so quietly after it was over. What other people would have endured so patiently the late despotism of the new Emperor, after once having tasted so much previous freedom? Indeed, what else but a conservative instinct could hold them so firm, in spite of the extraor- dinary amount of radical doctrine that would appear to be spreading among the people? Even when they change their minds, they are slow to take positive action, or move on to revolution. I believe a time will come when we shall be very glad of this peculiar kind of influence here in this country. We have been as a people fond of making new experiments, of having new laws. We A PLEA FOR TIlE GERMAN ELEMENT IN AMERICA. 109 are loth to wait and try sufficiently the ci~stoms or laws we already possess. It is essential for that reason that there should be one great element among us that by its very nature insists on conser- vatism. That special race will be a check on too rapid changes. Their his- toric sense is keen and strong; they are already taking great interest in the past development of our country. It is a Ger- man, Von Holst, who has written the greatest constitutional history of the United States. It has struck me that they are particularly fond of going back and reading the lives and the writings of the American statesmen. They like to talk of Jefferson and Hamilton and Web- ster. They are fond of celebrating the anniversaries of great events in the last hundred or two hundred years of America. They are proud of our Constitution. The more thoroughly they settle themselves among us and grow up in our midst, the more disposed they are to preserve intact our past institutions. They have brought with them from their own country the idea of nationality. Their conservative instincts are leading them for that very reason to implant that principle here, and to transfer their feelings to a great and unified State in America. If they as a people ever insist on changes or altera- tions in our customs or institutions, it is more likely to be practically along the lines already suggested and marked out by previous statutes, legislation, or the principles of our Constitution. It is true that we hear it commonly assumed as a fact that the influence of this people has been precisely in the ccw- trary direction. It is said that most of the radical or revolutionary element among us comes from Germany. We are reminded of the iconoclastic doc- trines as well as leaders, that have been conspicuous in Germany. We have to admit that such teachings have had their origin largely on that soil. But it ~s fairly questionable whether they have brought the revolutionary spirit to this country. Those doctrines as well as that spirit developed out of the conditions of their own land. They were symptoms of in- evitable revolution there, from out-worn hereditary customs as well as from an imperfect paternal government. Inevi- tably a people must bring with them their social doctrines as well as their language. Persons who have chafed in mind and are sore at heart under injustice and oppression cannot at once get over the irritated feelings. It would not be quite fair to expect that they should recognize at a glance the difference in the condi- tions between this and their own country. What they have endured has led them to feel that the whole system of the world is wrong. We must allow time for that spirit to change. It is surprising after all to observe that, with the spread of revolutionary doctrine among the people, they are so conservative about putting it into active practice. It goes to show that such an attitude of mind is largely a transitional phase which they will rapidly outgrow. It is the restless element of the popu- lation that offers the possibility of a revolution, much more than the individ- uals who furnish the doctrine. While it is true that a vast number of the people that come from that country are more or less imbued with radical opinions, they quietly settle down among us and do be- come exceptionally industrious. It is noticeable that the German element rarely if ever settles to the bottom of society. National economy for that rea- son almost compels us to encourage their coming; for we cannot have too many actual workers. It is a striking circumstance, to the observation of those who are studying these people, that the children, born on this soil of German parentage are much less radical than their fathers. This simply implies that they are reverting to the natural conservative type of their race. It was only the most unusual con- ditions that shook that people from their disinclination to change. For that reason the race is made up of two different elements at the present time among us, a younger and an older generation. The contrast is striking. It is by this younger generation that we are to judge of the future influence of the race on our country. We must not forget that their language makes it difficult for us to enter into 110 A PLEA FOR TITLE GERMAN ELEMENT IN AMERICA. quick sympathy with their spirit or under- takings. What they are trying to do is often commendable, when it may not impress us favorably because they do it in their own way. Their Turner socie- ties, for example, are worthy of serious consideration. By this means they are inducing their young men and young women to train in physical culture. They have by such methods been able to arouse enthusiasm among mechanics, office men, and the younger element in business life, such as exists among our- selves only in the colleges and universi- ties. It is interesting to observe that they are in this manner developing the same excellent physique which is de- veloped in such a remarkable way by the military system of their own country in Europe. Furthermore, as they come to blend with us in speech and social institutions, they are liable to be a greater and greater influence in encouraging industrious habits among the rising generation. This, too, is an illustration of their natural con- servatism. Their children do not so readily depart from the steady character and disposition of their fathers. It has been remarked, for example, that the young native-born Anglo-Saxon on this soil is losing the old saving habits that were usual half a century ago. The Benjamin Franklin type of character has been rapidly disappearing. It is this other element, from that other country, which is reviving it among us. Young men of to-day who call themselves Amer- ican are accustomed to spend as they go. They live up to the extent of their in- comes. They are acquiring the unfor- tunate habit of wanting to make a display. The German people have been slow to catch that disposition. Their children in this regard keep up the habits of their fathers. They are saving and indus- trious; they want to have a little capital in reserve. It is a surprising discov- ery oftentimes to learn how well-to-do many German families in our large cities actually are, who have been living quietly, modestly and without any display or ostentation. They have kept their capital in reserve. They use it rather to produce still more wealth. The me- chanics among them are liable always t~ have a little money saved for an emer- gency. It has been noticed how ready and prompt they are to meet the bills of their physicians. This quality of char- acter inevitably has its objectionable as- pects. It oftentimes makes them seem narrow and close; it checks them in the spirit of enterprise. Nevertheless for the great mass of wage-earners it would cer- tainly be preferable if this habit could be encouraged. If any class of persons are to preserve among us the steady, cautious and industrious type of character, as ex- hibited in Benjamin Franklin, it will be the people whose fathers have come tc~ us from Germany. There is another consideration with re- gard to their influence, about which there may be very diverse opinions. Unques- tionably this element is unlike the Anglo- Saxon in sociability. He does not like to be alone. Whatever the German doesr he wants to do in company. Comrade- ship marks every feature of his life. The Anglo-Saxon, on the other hand, is naturally reserved, if not a little cold. Individualism is very strong in him; it goes at times almost to the very verge of indifference to the welfare of his fellows. Neither of these traits is altogether sat- isfactory by itself. There is something rather hard in the clannishness and re- serve of the Anglo-Saxon. It makes him unsympathetic. He does what he thinks is right; but he is liable to stop at that limit.. On the other hand the almost aggressive sociability of the German de- tracts from his fineness of character. I4~doubtedly the two elements here must help and develop each other. But I d~ believe that the comradeship spirit of the Teutonic race is going to be of real value as an influence upon this country. It is going to display itself and its worth in the social problem of the day. In- deed it has often struck me that there was a closer and warmer feeling of inti- macy or relationship between the laborer and the employer among the element that has come to us from Germany. It is true the two classes may live in dif- ferent kinds of homes; the distinction in that respect is apparent enough. But there is no marked difference in their A PLEA FOR ZYTIE GERMAN ELEMENT IN AMERiCA. 111 bearing when they meet in the shop or the office. The German, it strikes me, appears a little less disposed than the Anglo-Saxon, to display the sense of aris- tocracy toward the class out of which he himself has risen. It is true he, too, is an individualist to the core. He stands by his own rights, and when he is indig- nant he strikes from the shoulder. The fellowship spirit in him, the fraternal spirit which characterizes him, does not lead him to want to surrender his just privileges. He is much less of a social- ist in a free country than on his own soil where he has been used to paternal gov- ernment. Independence characterizes both his conduct and his thinking. It is interesting to observe how each man among them chooses his own political party. We have all noticed the fact that they have divided almost equally in that regard in this country. Furthermore they cannot be led to obey the will of a machine. The mugwump spirit is in them very wrong. They show the deter- mination to stand by principles, and will turn from one party to another, in a way that indicates that paternalism has com- paratively little hold upon them here in America. But this comradeship spirit, which ex- hibits itself in the extreme form of almost radical sociability, is certainly of great value in softening the rather sharp dis- tinctions which are now rapidly develop- ing between class and class in America. If anything will save us from catastrophe from this line of cleavage, it will not be some new social ism, but the kind of cor- dial fellow feeling displayed between the two classes who are on either side of the gulf which divides people according to their degree of material prosperity. It will be a long time before these various influences will exhibit themselves in full force upou the people in this coun- try. The Germans are still strangers among us. What they do now mostly affects their own number. They will not exert their real power until they have thoroughly adopted the language of our land. But when they let slip the exter- nal differences and contrasts of nature, then the internal and abiding race-char- acter will begin to display its marked influence. Just at the very time when they appear to be losing their peculiari- ities, at the very epoch when their language is vanishing and they are in dread lest they be lost as a direct power, at the moment when they show them- selves on the surface the least German just then we shall begin to feel the vast influence of the people whose fore-fathers have come to us from Germany. As to the other and momentous ques- tion, what they are doing by encouraging love for physical comfort, indifference to religion, materialism in philosophy, and all that goes to make serious people uneasy, this strictly belongs to the surface qualities of that people. It would be difficult for a person who knows them well to have any anxiety about them in that respect. We must not judge them by the last twenty-five years. Can it be conceived for a moment that the race who gave birth to Goethe and Schiller, who own in their ancestry Mozart and Beetho- ven and Wagner, are going to be per- manently an influence for materialism? On the contrary, if we go back-and study their history and their prominent race characteristics for the last few hundred years, we discover that the abiding ele- ment of their nature is rather idealism. It is true, at the present moment they are not interested in the church or the sub- ject of religion. But that implies merely that they are going through a transition phase in their life. Why not judge them rather from their whole past history? Would any one say that Martin Luther was not religious, that Schleiermacher was not religious, that Schiller and Less- ing were not religious? Idealism has gone with them so far as to pass to the verge of mysticism. The great mystics for the last two centuries have been Germans. Again, look at their poets. What about Goethe? He it was who composed the wonderful monologue about God, Who dare name Him, who confess I believe Him not? as spoken by Faust. Who was it that composed the Ninth Symphony, and the musi- cal sonatas now rendered all over the world? What nation gave birth to Pars~fal and Tannkduser? Surely that music is the very soul of religion. Who 112 A PLEA FOR TILE GERMAN ELEMENT IN AMERICA. wrote the great Masses for the Church? Chiefly the Germans. Over against Buechner, Feuerbach and Strauss, I place Beethoven, Schiejermacher and Wagner. The point I would like to emphasize is that just as the Anglo-Saxon race has taken the lead in the development of political institutions, precisely in the same way the German element has been the first to advance in similar development in religious thought and institutions. The theologians have always drawn more or less from that country. The late Dean Stanley confessed that the great Broad Church movemenvjn England, as repre- sented by himself and Maurice, and now inspiring the utterances of such men as IPhillips Brooks in America, had its ori- gin and first home in Germany. It would be unfair to that people to judge them in this great sphere of thought and influence by their teachings or atti- tude at a time when they have been going through such a complete political and social transformation. The reversion or the development among them to a higher standpoint is already manifest in their own country. Naturally it would be slower to display itself among people of the same kind here in America. It will be a long period before the new agency at work in their former home will begin to influence them or reappear among them in this country. Another fact to be remembered is that these people have been casting their su- preme enthusiasm for a long while in another direction. I am inclined to think that their religious spirit has been drawn off for a long time to the sphere of music. All their instinctive idealism has in the last years cast itself in this form. While the Italian race has thrown its ardor into making a new nation, while the English people have been es- tablishing their empire and wor~ng out social reforms, while France has given itself supremely to painting and politics, while America has devoted itself to in- ventions and everything that is practical, music has drawn off the ardor and much of the best spirit of the people of Germany. It is not impossible that with- in the next half century this special and rather one-sided enthusiasm for music may advance to a broader idealism and give that people once more the leader- ship in religion. There is of course one danger ahead. They are showing the effects of their own negative work. They do care very much now for physical comfort. They have be- come practical almost too fast. The crisis is there. What are they going to do? We in this country have been anxious be- cause of the surface aspects we have seen in their character. But over against fifty years of their life I place a thousand years of their past history. The voice of Martin Luther, of Lessing and Schil- ler, of Fichte and Kant, will again be heard. The philosophy and religion of their forefathers will gradually reappear, not perhaps as a direct teaching or doc- trine, but as a trait in their character. I make this plea in behalf of the Ger- man people among us, because there is a danger of misjudging them. it is an old saying, that those who trust us educate us. If the Anglo-Saxon element cares to preserve its influence on the new race coming to this soil, it can only do so by showing sympathy rather than antago- nism when the people are once here. What I have been saying is known per- fectly well to close observers. But we are all conscious that there is an unfor- tunate prejudice with a great many, which I only hope will change. It will be the masses who are to meet and influence the masses. It is but just and right, therefore, that we should undertake to remove a little of that unfavorable impression among the great body of persons who regard themselves as the original or true Ameri- cans. As an Anglo-Saxon, I believe first and foremost in my own race and the worth of its influence. But my personal experience has taught me, to a certain degree, humility; and I have come to feel that it would be worth our while to be willing to receive a certain degree of influence also from the great element coming to us from Germany. THE TENDENCIES OF OTHELLO PERKINS. By Re/en Ga nip bell. HE long line of windows in ~ the new hospital flashed red in the setting sun, the stone that composed the building giving back little _ warm gray of the rough K / scintillations from countless sparks of mica, each one with its answering throb of light the new hospital, yet rising from its massive foundations in the solid rock of the hill on which it stood with such settled repose, such sense of almost an- tiquity, as belongs only to the work of the sole master American architecture has yet known. Thank Heaven, Dr. Minturn had said, there is one man who knows that a mushroom, while very well in its way, is not the best type of growth, and that a mountain means more to tired brains than a sand-heap, even though your sand- heap may answer best as a childs play- thing. At last there is one substantial -thing in this nest of shams, sham archi- tecture, sham everything, but for a few honest souls that save it. We are lucky -to have solid foothold at last. Solid, indeed, from gray walls to the -tower at the end. Within, as without, -the spotlessness of the new, in which every appliance of art had been brought to bear, was dominated by the same spirit of perfect adaptation of means to ends light where light was needed, softest shadow where shadow might be, and everywhere the sense of something that had grown by intrinsic right, the flower and fruit of science and art conjoined. The town smiled approval ot the finished -work, oblivious of the fact that it had Routed the designer and haggled over every dollar used in construction, till Drumdarrow, owner of half the real estate in the county, had come to the rescue and said: Let the city and its ring ot ~scoundrels and idiots, that your fine political system allows to govern you, go hang! Draw on me for what you want, and spend no more time ko-towing to fools and knaves who wouldnt know a fine thing if they saw it. Thus it chanced that, by no will of its own, the city now rejoiced in a hospital already famous, and two surgeons whose names went far to make it so, 1)r. John Minturn and his colleague, Ambrose Brown, enticed thither from the college which still sought to wile them back again. The two men were in Dr. Minturns private room, the one standing at the broad window, his eyes on the swiftly changing sky, flushed now to deepest crimson, the other in his office chair by the table. Whats up, Minturn? Dr. Brown said at last, turning from the window, his keen eyes full of the peace of the sunset, but rousing suddenly to the consciousness that something was out of joint. Tomp- kins hasnt died, after all, has he? Tompkins be hanged! Id carve up him and the entire penitentiary, if I could get at them. The words were bloodthirsty, but the speaker sat with his head down, his legs thrust out, and his hands in his pockets, in deep dejection. A good fellow, he went on, but no help for it! I did want to show the old hospital what we could do. Its a fact; Baxter will crow over us, his companion said. He neednt, though. Dont mind, Minturn. You have raised heaven and earth to save the man. Whats the use if, after all, I cant save him? There is only one way left, Brown, and to compass that there will have to be a special act of legislature. Hang philanthropy and modern squeam- ishness! I want a square yard of skin; and where am I going to get it? Not from me, said the elder man smiling, but still sympathetic. Now, Minturn, dont worry over this one mo- ment longer. You have got to lose a case now and then as well as the rest of us.

THE TENDENCIES OF OTHELLO PERKINS. By Re/en Ga nip bell. HE long line of windows in ~ the new hospital flashed red in the setting sun, the stone that composed the building giving back little _ warm gray of the rough K / scintillations from countless sparks of mica, each one with its answering throb of light the new hospital, yet rising from its massive foundations in the solid rock of the hill on which it stood with such settled repose, such sense of almost an- tiquity, as belongs only to the work of the sole master American architecture has yet known. Thank Heaven, Dr. Minturn had said, there is one man who knows that a mushroom, while very well in its way, is not the best type of growth, and that a mountain means more to tired brains than a sand-heap, even though your sand- heap may answer best as a childs play- thing. At last there is one substantial -thing in this nest of shams, sham archi- tecture, sham everything, but for a few honest souls that save it. We are lucky -to have solid foothold at last. Solid, indeed, from gray walls to the -tower at the end. Within, as without, -the spotlessness of the new, in which every appliance of art had been brought to bear, was dominated by the same spirit of perfect adaptation of means to ends light where light was needed, softest shadow where shadow might be, and everywhere the sense of something that had grown by intrinsic right, the flower and fruit of science and art conjoined. The town smiled approval ot the finished -work, oblivious of the fact that it had Routed the designer and haggled over every dollar used in construction, till Drumdarrow, owner of half the real estate in the county, had come to the rescue and said: Let the city and its ring ot ~scoundrels and idiots, that your fine political system allows to govern you, go hang! Draw on me for what you want, and spend no more time ko-towing to fools and knaves who wouldnt know a fine thing if they saw it. Thus it chanced that, by no will of its own, the city now rejoiced in a hospital already famous, and two surgeons whose names went far to make it so, 1)r. John Minturn and his colleague, Ambrose Brown, enticed thither from the college which still sought to wile them back again. The two men were in Dr. Minturns private room, the one standing at the broad window, his eyes on the swiftly changing sky, flushed now to deepest crimson, the other in his office chair by the table. Whats up, Minturn? Dr. Brown said at last, turning from the window, his keen eyes full of the peace of the sunset, but rousing suddenly to the consciousness that something was out of joint. Tomp- kins hasnt died, after all, has he? Tompkins be hanged! Id carve up him and the entire penitentiary, if I could get at them. The words were bloodthirsty, but the speaker sat with his head down, his legs thrust out, and his hands in his pockets, in deep dejection. A good fellow, he went on, but no help for it! I did want to show the old hospital what we could do. Its a fact; Baxter will crow over us, his companion said. He neednt, though. Dont mind, Minturn. You have raised heaven and earth to save the man. Whats the use if, after all, I cant save him? There is only one way left, Brown, and to compass that there will have to be a special act of legislature. Hang philanthropy and modern squeam- ishness! I want a square yard of skin; and where am I going to get it? Not from me, said the elder man smiling, but still sympathetic. Now, Minturn, dont worry over this one mo- ment longer. You have got to lose a case now and then as well as the rest of us. 114 TILE TENDENCIES OF OTIIELL 0 PERKINS. Its his patience that makes such a demand on one, Brown. The big fellow confound his size! its that that makes the difficulty, lies there in torture, and never a word. An inch or two anybody would give up, but a yard! and he shook his head in despair. Conie, come, this wont do, his companion said seriously. Theres the other ward still to see, and Bates is wait- ing about the cancer-wing, and those fellows are coming over from Tusculum at noon. Where is Bates, by the way? There in the corner, and has been for half an hour, said Dr. Minturn, rising reluctantly and showing a tall, broad- shouldered form and a face that carried consolation to whoever looked upon it, in the wards or out. His colleagues swore by him and even his opponents admitted his merits; the trustees of the new hos- pital were his allies; and if the patients adored him, the nurses followed close behind. He was accustomed to see difficulties vanish at will. His creed was that of a ccinquerer before him, There is no such word as impossible. Yet now the impossible faced him. Bates lingered when the directions as to the cancer-wing were given, a sage little Devonshire carpenter, who rejoiced in a perfect mortice or an evenly planed surface, as if Ruskin himself had been his teacher. Ive an idea, sir, if you dont mind my mentioning it, he said, with a defer- ence of which America had never been able to rob him. I suppose you know, sir Perkins is a Knight of Pythias and an Odd Fellow. I am too, sir. Well, Bates, Dr. Minturn said ab- stractedly, there cant be any objection to that. No, sir. On the contrary, there may be a great advantage. I am an officer in both, sir, and so is Perkins on account of his size partly, sir, he do show off the regalia so well. I suppose you know we are bound to count each other as brothers. An inch isnt much, and with all of us together it wouldnt be more than that, I take it. What! shouted Dr. Minturn. You dont meanby the great Horn Spoon! Whoever would have thought of that! Bates, you are a genius! Now, when? It must be quick, you know. A meeting to-night, sir. Ill put it to them. Ill do the best I can and let you know before I turn in, sir. I should say there isnt much doubt, but I like to be certain. It come to me like a flash, sir, when I heard you wanting to carve up. the penitentiary, that there was honest skin enough might serve the purpose. Its well Ive had so much to do with the hospital, Bates added with modest pride, else if I hadnt had some ex- perience I wouldnt have known what you~ meant, sir. You wouldnt mind my hav- ing a hextra look at Othello? Its out of hours, Bates, but hes fondi of you, and he needs a bit of comfort. Mind youre not to speak to him of this. There may be nothing in it. Not I, sir. I want to look again just to fill me up with the measure of the need,, sir. They say hes awful bad to-day. Dr. Minturn nodded and opened the door into the ward, hesitated a moment,. then followed Bates, who stood now by one of the beds, looking into the round,. innocent face and pale, blue eyes of the giant who lay there and smiled faintly up. at him. Never had the swarthy and warlike Moor a more preposterously dissimilar namesake; but Othello himself never sus- pected any incongruity, and bore his title peacefully into the bosom of the Primi- tive Methodist connection entered on. his marriage, his early years having beem spent with the Christians. A fixed routine made his happiness. He had not a thought beyond it; and he had married a wife of the same mind; a meek and. orderly little sister, who led him to ex- perience meetings and whispered her own confession of faith, a faint accom- paniment to the mighty voice that told. his own. He is as heavy and big and simple as an English farm hand, and as susceptible and full of resources as a nervous Yan- kee, Dr. Minturn had summed him up.. He has the patience of a Jew, the pluck of a Dane, and the unconsciousness~ of a well-fed ox. A shouting Methodist and an Odd Fellow! What do you make of a combination like that? TITLE TENDENCIES OF OTI.-IELL 0 PERKINS. 11~i The result of his name, perhaps, Dr. Brown answered. The madness that gave him the first, struggles with the practical tendencies inevitable with the last; but I am afraid neither will save his legs. Few cases in the new hospital at C had ever excited more interest. The bursting of a defective boiler in the mill he served as engineer had scalded Othello Perkins so frightfully that he had been brought in with the skin falling from his unhappy half-cooked legs. Dr. Minturn had pulled him through, enthusiastic over his calm endurance, till the crisis seemed past; but when healing had well begun, a sudden change showed itself, and the raw surface ulcerated more and more deeply each day. Mortification must end it if this went on, unless grafting on fresh skin could be accomplished. But who had skin enough to spare for the legs of an Anak? This was the problem that Dr. Minturn had faced, and that Bates pro- posed to make plain, who, when his few words with Othello were over, and he had been allowed to look for a moment at the sorry sight, went away, intent upon his errand. At nine that evening the bell rang and Bates was shown into the private office. It is all settled, sir, he said with mild triumph. A good many of the Knights of Pythias belong to the lodge too, which in this case isnt as convenient. I put it to them strong as to Othellos legs, and after we had it up for discussion they took a vote on it. Forty-seven of them will be on hand, sir, whenever you want them, for as much as you want. I explained to them what you explained to me, and said you probably wouldnt want the forty-seven at once, but they seemed to think it would go off better if they came in a body, sir. Im to run back and let them know. Would it set Othello up a bit do you think, sir, if they came in full regalia? XVelI, no, Dr. Minturn answered. You are sure they can get off from work, Bates? For that kind of an errand, yes, sir, returned Bates with solemnity. Theyd be skittish somehow about com- ing alone, one to a time. Tisnt much, and yet its considerable, when you think. To-morrow morning, then, at ten, Bates,and dont let there be any slip. Go back and make sure. I believe we can pull him through yet; and as Bates made haste to do his errand, Dr. Minturn first rubbed his hands, and then suddenly broke into strange laughter, which burst out at intervals even on the way to bed. There were doubts even now. It was possible Bates had been hoaxed. In any case he must wait and see. Hope, how- ever, was uppermost, and before he slept he had confided his hopes to his wife, but declined to state why he had laughed till matters were further advanced. With early morning he sent a note to the two assistant surgeons, called in only in special emergencies, and had notified Dr. Brown that his utmost was to be re- quired of him at ten A. M. There was no time for further explanation. It is positively unfeeling and out- rageous, this continual chuckling, his wife said reproachfully, as he put down his coffee cup suddenly. What can you be thinking of, Jack? Dr. Brown met him at the hospital gate. I dont know whether its a target party or the congregation of Abimelech Chapel come to offer consolation to Othello, he said, but the waiting-room is packed and they are all gloomy as death. Whats up? Its the subjects for dissection, Dr. Minturn replied. Bates has provided the offering, and were going to save Othellos legs. For the details of the operation the reader is referred to the medical journals of that date, and of succeeding months, all of which chronicle at length every stage of the proceedings. Unhappily, science deals only with the principal facts bearing upon the thing to be proved, and thus the forty-seven ways in which the forty-seven victims met their fate have no mention in the record. I wouldnt have believed it, was Batess final summary. The big men hadnt the courage of kittens, and a dozen of them flunked and turned sick. It is rather nasty, to be sure, to stand and see 116 TILE TENDENCIES OF OTLIELL 0 FERKINS. a square inch or two of yourself sliced off. I gave four, so I ought to know; and if the forty-seven had done the same, hed have been covered sooner. They wouldnt. I had to go round drumming up every Odd Fellow and Knight of Pythias within ten miles of the city, and if it hadnt been that some Knights of Labor took hold, it couldnt have been done. Theres nearly a thousand grafts on Othellos legs, for a good many wouldnt take; but hes sound now and going out to-morrow. Till the hospital walls fall and the foundations cease, the day of Othellos going out will be remembered. The knights scarred in his cause, every Odd Fellow that had bled for him, and many who might have bled but flinched, chose now to march under his banner and assembled at the gates. The drums beat, the fifes and bugles blew, and even the city paused for a moments proud obser- vance and congratulated itself that these legs were its own and not anothers. For Othello himself he was perfectly placid and calm in the acceptance of the honors; a mixture of terror and delight to his trembling little wife, who fled before the drums and knelt down in the back hall to pray that they might be delivered from pride and vanity. She had been six months without him, and day by day the excitement had increased, with a gradual diminution as it finally became plain that he would come out whole and in the best condition. She had sat by his bedside daily; but she met him now as a Greek wife m~y have met the hero of many wars and weary wanderings. Her tongue was silent as his own, but they none the less rejoiced that old habits could be resumed, and settled at once into peaceful and unruffled routine. What was the change, or was there a change? Othello had seemed the same, down to the precise amount of sugar in his tea. He lumbered calmly away to work and lumbered back again at meal times, with the usual ponderous quiet. Yet little Drusilla, as she thought it over, knew that below the surface something serious must be going on. Othello himself began to give tokens of this same conscious- ness. His tastes changed and became erratic. One day he demanded four lumps in his coffee, and later denied that he ever took but one or took any. He came home with packages which, un- folded, showed mysteries of food unknown to any well-ordered Primitive Methodist household strange salads from lunch counters, bottles of ale, and at last a frag- ment of Limburger, that forced Drusilla to open every window and cast the evil sub- stance with loathing into the ash-barrel next door. There were unholy gleams in Othellos pale eyes. His legs had more than once kept time to the sound of ungodly fiddles in the dance hall they passed on the way to chapel, and he hummed bars of songs no less ungodly. A theatre ticket dropped out of his pocket one night, at which he looked with a surprise Drusilla felt must be assumed. More than once he came home a good fifteen minutes late, and consternation filled her mind as she heard him roar a mighty roar of laughter and slap the back of some departing friend. He began trifling and jocular re- marks, and checked himself with sudden wonder and perplexity on his face, looking furtively at Drusilla, who turned away and feigned not to see. It is a vale of tears; we are to walk softly before the Lord, she ventured one evening, as on their way to chapel he suddenly whistled and executed a step or two of what she felt in her soul must be a jig. He checked himself on the instant and ran his hands through his hair in a wild way that alarmed her still more, for his hat flew off and rolled before the wind till rescued. Dont you think youd better see the minister, Othello? she asked with a sudden sob; but she turned pale and stood there quite desperate as he faced her suddenly and said distinctly and positively, D n the minister I A thunderbolt could not have brought with it such consternation. We cant go to experience meeting after that, Othello, she said, repressing her tears; and Othello with a groan turned about and walked home in silence. You dont feel to think you are going out of your mind, Othello? Drusilla said, when she had taken off her bonnet THE TENDENCIES OF OTHELLO PERKINS. 117 and sat down before him, her meek eye- lids red with crying. Oh, what does it mean? You act crazy, Othello! You get more different every day. You aint yourself. Do you suppose anything you took in the hospital has gone to your head? I feel sometimes as if my legs had gone to my head! returned Othello darkly; and going up the stairs he locked himself into the spare room. Drusilla sat in the dark and prayed. There was dead silence above. Perhaps Othello was praying too. Perhaps and here she caught her breath in sudden terror, and crept up the stairs to listen perhaps he might do something to him- self. It was a case for interference. The brethren had a right to speak. They must be called in. Open the door, Othello, she said, with the command born of this thought. It opened even before she spoke, and Othello with a brisk and jaunty air went down the stairs. Im going out a minute or two to see a man, he said. Ta-ta, Drusilla. The bell rang as she looked after him in deeper dismay, and Othello opened it with a fling. By George, old fellow! Youre just the one. Come on and have a nip ! he said. Drusilla screamed, or gave what in a stronger woman might have been a scream. In her case it was a squeak, as of an indignant mouse, and she looked and wrung her hands, for the little min- ister of Abimelech chapel faced her, and gazed with wonder and a touch of anger at his wandering sheep. This is not the habitual method, brother Perkins, he said. I would fain think it has never before occurred. It is possible that sickness may be the cause. The Lord knows what it is, said Othello in deep confusion. I feel to confess to the brethren that my evidences are shaky and my peace of mind tee- totally upset; and yet its off and on, as if more than one had their say about it. It is the liver, most probably, the little minister said, after a serious pause, slightly reassured by the contrition of tone, but looking doubtfully at both. I would advise liver-pills of some nature. But, brother, confession may be a means of cure. In the hour to-night there might have been escape from the adver- sary. It is well to confide in the brethren. The brethren be blowed! said Othello, and then with a groan and a wild look he fled up the stairs and locked the door. Dr. Minturn, passing out from the ward next morning, encountered Bates, who stood waiting and touched him on the arm. A private interview -if you please, sir, at your leisure, he said; and the doctor motioned toward the office. Anything wrong, Bates? Not for me, sir. Its Othello and his legs. XVhat about his legs? There are no signs of ulcers, are there? Worse than that, sir. Mwch worse. Theyve gone to his head! Dr. Minturn looked at him attentively. What has gone to yours, Bates? Do you know what you are talking about? I do, sir, but it isnt me ; it is Othello. He swears that his legs have gone to his head, and that he would like to have it out with the whole hospital. He seems to think, sir, that somehow or other youve mixed him up with so many folks, he aint certain any more whether hes himself or some of the rest. I tried to make him come along and tell you himself, but he was ashamed. He says he cant face anybody, and hes gone to bed. The brethren have been there praying with him, and his wife is most as distracted as he is. What do you think it is, sir? What have you been thinking your- self, Bates? You generally have an opinion. ii so be, mixing could be, returned Bates deferentially, I should say he was right; for while I sat there, he talked to me for five minutes as like Pete Dorrance as two peas; and then he kicked off the clothes and said hed fight the whole hospital if it didnt undo the mess it had made. Do you suppose, sir, those grafts have struck in? 118 TITLE TENDENCIES OF OTITIELL 0 PERKINS. Dr. Minturn turned his back for a moment; then he looked with a grave countenance on the speaker. Tisnt in reason, sir, there could be enough of each one to go far, said Bates seriously. But it is singular, sir, that those that parted with the most of themselves are the very identical ones he goes on like. Its that that makes me feel as if they might have struck in, since he mentioned it himself, sir. But a word from you would settle it. If they havent, hes crazy as a bedbug. I will go round there this afternoon, said Dr. Minturn, reflectively. Drusillas distressed countenance cleared for the moment as she opened the door that afternoon to Dr. Minturn. Oh, sir! this is a blessing ! she said; for I dared not send, Othello is that set. Im fearful he wont let you up. Thats our affair, replied the doctor. Now, I want to know what has been going on here; and Drusilla led the way into the little parlor, from whence began to issue the subdued hum of narrative. The door reopened presently, and - Dr. Minturn stole up the stairway and turned the knob of the bedroom door. Othello, unconscious of any move- ment, sat up on the bed and put his head between his hands. Its the numbers of them thats kill- ing, he said. Nine hundred and sixty- seven ! thats the figures on the books, for they told me so. If theyve all struck in, the Lord have mercy on my soul ! Whats the difficulty, Perkins? With a howl Othello thrust his head into the pillows; then he turned help- lessly on his back, like a monster turtle, and gazed at the ceiling. Now, Othello, out with it all, said the doctors cheery voice, comforting to the very marrow. You cant be cured till you have told just what you suppose is the matter, and the cure can begin just as soon as you have made a clean breast of it. Othello sat up suddenly, and his pale eyes fixed themselves reproachfully on the doctors face. Youd ought to have told what might happen, he said, before ever you begun on rae. What has happened? Its turned out as he said it would, and I thought he was fooling. Who? That youngest one that come to the clinics, Hopkins, him with the wicked eye. He was always wanting to see how them grafts come on; and when the last set took he said to me and I never so much as thinking of it till trouble begun You must be on the lookout, Perkins. Heres nine hundred and sixty-seven of these things, and nigh two hundred men have given them. You dont know, maybe, he says, that each inch has its own nerves, and every man has his own set of nerves that makes him different from every other man. You look out or youll be taking to the shindys of some of them, and then he went off. I didnt pay much attention, doctor, after the first minute that he startled me. How should I when he was always fooling? Kind as could be, but always fooling! I wouldnt believe it for days, till I caught myself at things which never entered my mind since I was born, and wanting things I didnt want and couldnt abide the minute I had em. I began to study it out then; and sure as youre alive, doctor, I knew I was Pat Dorrance or one of the lot, I knew as well as I knew my own name. But theres a lot I dont know. The Lord knows what may come of the pieces of them, set in! Doctor, aint there any way you can kind of scrape it all down till you come to mc? Ill stand any- thing. Othellos mighty frame shook. A great sob came from his throat. The doctor laid his hand on his arm and spoke seriously. Suppose it were all true, he said, all true, that that rascal of a Hopkins had said to you. Suppose you had had a bit, or four, or five bits of the real nature of another man woven into yours. Suppose, as every nerve cell took hold and grew into yours, that you had just so much of that man to deal with. We will admit that there was just enough to have its own little impulse and to give you its own action for the time being. Admit that the whole nine hundred and sixty- seven must work themselves out. Now, TI/F TENDENCIES OF OTIJELL 0 PERKINS. 119 look at it for yourself. It is two months since you left the hospital, cured. Every day, I suppose, you have done something unlike yourself; perhaps a dozen things I should judge so. Now, how long is it going to take you at that rate to work out the whole lot? Great C~esars ghost, cried Othello with a look of joy; then he added de- jectedly, that was Billings, our book- keeper, sir; I heard his very tone. Then you are through with him, said Dr. Minturn composedly. Now, suppose you make a calculation of how long it is going to take you to work the rest off. Thats the seventeenth to-day, sir, and its just four oclock by the tower bell. Very well. Allow twenty a day, and its sixty days since you began. Call it six weeks, sir, for I didnt begin to count up till the first week was over, and aint at all sure about the second. Very well, then. Six weeks forty- two days. Multiply by twenty. That proves you are through with eight hun- dred and forty. At the worst then, you have only got to deal with one hundred and twenty-seven more, and as a good many must be duplicates, you can make it even lower. Then it dont strike all the way through? It aint bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh, like like my wife, that I couldnt get taken off my hands on any terms? Lord save us, that I should even think of Drusilla like that 1 added Othello, with a look of horror at his ending. Who that was I dont know, and wouldnt, but its one more off; one hundred and twenty-six to come. Doctor, hadnt I better, perhaps, go away a spell? Who knows what I may do and Drusilla distracted, and Abimelech chapel on its knees for me this very even- ing! Just as you please, answered Dr. Minturn calmly; but its strongest when its freshest, like any other medicine, and of course it loses a little every day. But go away if you like; the change may be very good for you. Othello meditated a moment. Then Im settled, he said. I dont want to go. Ill stay and fight it out on this line if it takes me all summer. Thats Smith; I know his way. One hundred and twenty- five! I think Id better put it eight hun- dred and forty- two ; its more encouraging to think whats off than whats coming. Tell Drusilla, doctor; and if she stops looking so distracted, not but what she has reason enough, Ill do better. Its a load off my mind. If Id known you knew, Id have told before. Othellos joy had made him incoherent, but he followed the doctor down and listened to the explanation made to the weeping Drusilla, who dried her tears and fell on his neck to weep again, this time for joy. Dr. Minturn drove homeward even faster than his wont, flung reins and whip to the waiting boy and rushing up his own steps threw himself on the office lounge almost in convulsions. Mrs. Mm- turn surveyed him from the open doorway. I suppose these are the manners of the heroes of Homer, she said, as he sat up at last. Do you suppose there is a reputable physician in the United States who spends his time making game of his patients as you do? I can assure you there isnt one that has a case within a thousand miles of Othellos legs. Do you remember, he added when he had told the story, the night I laughed and wouldnt tell at what? There are so many of them, Jack ! But there was good reason that time. I had said to myself, Suppose Perkins takes on the characteristics of every one who lends him a patch ! and instantly my mind went off seeing every kind of complication that might arise. If I had gone on, it might have come over me while I was cutting the next morning. I didnt dare, for my hand might have shaken, and so I said the bones of the ear till I went to sleep. Thats the only thing that ever saves me. Now the question is, how much of all this was expectant attention, put on the alert by that rascal of a Hopkins, and how much was actual fact? Jack! You cant possibly suppose any of it was fact? PROFIT SHARING IN THE UNITED STATES. By Nicholas Paine Gihinan. ~HE industrial system known as profit sharing has been defined by myself as The division of realized profits between the capi- talist, the employer, and the employee, in addition to regular interest, salary, and wages; or, more exactly, by the International Congress of Profit Sharing held in connection with the Paris Expo- sition in the summer of 1889, as a voluntary agreement under which the employee receives a share, fixed before- hand, in the profits of the busines~. It is the purpose of this article to give in a compact form the principal facts relating to the history and present standing of this admirable modification of the wages system in this country. Participation of the workmen in the profits of business undertakings is, his- torically, a method first prominently as- sociated with the name of the Parisian house painter and decorator, Edme-Jean Leclaire. The eminent success of the Maison Leclaire has led to a wider adop- tion of profit sharing in France than has yet been seen in any other country. In England, however, where the system re- ceived a serious set-back in the abandon- ment of the Briggs Colliery scheme, there have been within the last three years a large number of new cases of the adoption of the method. In these United States the first publication that called general attention to profit sharing was the Seventeenth Annual Report of the Massachusetts Bureau of the Statistics of Labor. Hon. Carroll D. Wright, now the United States Commissioner of Labor, was at that time at the head of the Massachusetts Bureau, and the material for this report was collected chiefly by Mr. F. H. Giddings, now Professor of Political Economy in Bryn Mawr College, near Philadelphia. The number of busi- ness houses in which profit sharing was at that time practiced in Massachusetts was but small, and there were scattered in- stances beyond the borders of the State.. This report, embodied the following warm commendation of the system by the Chief of the Bureau, in addition to the favorable judgments given by such em- ployers as the Messrs. Hazard of Peace Dale, R.I. Among the European firms and cor- porations that have most thoroughly and patiently tried industrial partnership there is unanimous agreement that it promotes zeal, efficiency, and economy, and thereby increases the profits of business; that it is a moral educator, and that it substi- tutes harmony and mutual goodwill for distrust and contention in the relations of employers and employed. Wh~re it has failed, the failure has been due to extrinsic causes, or to a too hasty aban- donment before the full educational re- sult has been attained. . . . Partici- pation by workmen in profits in addition to wages is a true harmonizer of the in- terests of capital and labor. It does in fact identify the interest of the employ~ with the interest of the employer. It converts the industrial association of em- ployer and employ~s into a moral organ- ism, in which all the various talents, services, and desires of the component individuals are fused into a community of purpose and endeavor. The dividend to labor is not usually an increase of pay, services remaining the same, but a form of extra pay for extra services, and an inducement calling them out. The extra services called out, and the manner in which they are called out, constitute an invaluable educational discipline. They develop the whole group of industrial virtues: diligence, fidelity, caretaking, economy, continuity of effort, willingness to learn, and the spirit of co6peration. In his favorable disposition toxvard this moderate reform in the existing wages- system, Commissioner Wright has not wavered in the subsequent six years. On the contrary, his notable report as U.S. PR Of 1? SHARING IN TILE UNiTED STA TES. 121 Commissioner of Labor in i886 on In- dustrial Depressions, emphasizes profit- sharing as one of the most feasible and satisfactory methods of preventing strikes and other labor troubles. What is known as industrial copartner- ship, involving profit sharing and embody- ing all the vitality there is in the principle of codperation, offers a practical way of producing goods on a basis at once just to capital and to labor, and one which brings out the best moral elements of the capitalist and the workman. This system has been tried in many instances, and nearly always with success. . . . In the United States but little has been done in this direction, but wherever the principle has been tried there have been three grand results: Labor has received a more liberal share for its skill, capital has been better remunerated, and the moral tone of the whole community in- volved raised. Employment has beet steadier and more sure. The interest of all has been given for the general welfare. Each man feels himself more a man. The employer looks upon his employ~s in the true light, as associates. Conflict ceases, and harmony takes the place of disturbances. In my volume on Profit Sharing be- tween Employer and Employee, which had the sub-title, A Study in the Evolu- tion of the Wages System, published in March, 1889, I was able to enumerate thirty-seven American cases of business firms and corporations then practising the method, in addition to the dozen or so of cases in which the system had been tried and abandoned for various reasons. The volume in question, it may be noted simply for the information of the reader in respect to the history of this move- ment, has had a sale of some 3,300 copies, a quarter part of which have been sold in England. The general disposition of the press of England and America toward profit sharing, as shown in the reviews of this book, one may also note, is exceedingly friendly. In the last three years the number of instances of American firms adopting profit sharing has been considerably in- creased; but, for several good reasons, it does not seem advisable to enter here, or elsewhere, in print, into such details as would at once identify these firms to the public. More than one promising move- ment of this kind has been injured by the premature publicity of which the enterprising reporter of the daily news- papers has been the agent. At this com- paratively well advanced, stage of the development of the reform, it will suffice to state the number of firms engaged in the trial of profit sharing, the lines of business which they follow, and, in a general way, the section of the country in which they are located. The few excep- tions which I shall make in the course of this article are of firms which have al- ready attracted no small amount of atten- tion from the reports of their doings in the daily papers. Of the thirty-seven American houses named in my list in 1889, nine have discontinued the method of dividing profits. Of these nine in- stances, one was of six years standing, and, apparently, one of the most success- ful cases. The occasion of the abandon- ment of the method was a strike which induced the majority of the members of the firm, who had not been in hearty sympathy with the movement, to put an end to it. over-ruling the one member whose zeal had procured its adoption. Two other instances of abandonment are large companies in the same line of busi- ness in which the N. 0. Nelson Company of St. Louis is making the most pro- nounced success of the plan. One dis- continuance is owing simply to a change of ownership. Of another I was not able in 1889 to procure any satisfactory infor- mation from the proprietor, who has since sold out his concern. The smallest firm among these nine has failed to make any profits within the last few years, and the largest has endeavored to reach the aim of profit sharing by various other methods which it now considers better adapted to its peculiar conditions. Owing to the great size of our territory, and the comparative lack of publicity which has recently and unfortunately ac- companied most of the new instances, I am not in a position to state with abso- lute accuracy the number of new cases in the United States. I am acquainted, 122 PROFIT SZIAIUA7G IN TIlE UNITED STA TES. more or less in detail, with some thirty instances of firms which have divided profits with their working-men for the first time within the last three years. Some of these cases have come to my knowledge almost by pure accident. In view of the comparatively slight effort which has been made to take a census, I consider myself fuljy within bounds in estimating that there are now one hun- dred cases at least of profit sharing houses in this country. Desiring to repeat as little as possible of what I have previously written on this branch of the general subject, in my chapter on American Experience in Profit Sharing, to which I may refer my readers, I will first give a few particulars in regard to the cases there sketched. The Peace Dale Manufacturing Company, the first to establish participation in profits in this country, in 1878, still maintains, as in 1889, its regulations on this subject; but the woollen manufacture has not been sufficiently prosperous there to allow the payment of a bonus; this will be paid, however, in any year in which the balance sheet will allow. Although the great Pillsbury flour mills at Minneapolis have been purchased by an English syndicate, the Hon. Charles A. Pillsbury and his associates in the opera- tion of the mills continue the plan of profit sharing, with which they express their entire satisfaction.2 The large majority of the other firms named in the chapter mentioned have likewise continued to share profits with their employees with a favorable result, various modifications of the plans adopted having been suggested by ex- perience. The system which Mr. Alfred Dolge, the large manufacturer of piano 1 In England the list carefully made by Messrs. Schloss and Bushill in the autumn of 1891 specifies four cases of industrial partnership proper where four hundred men are employed, and fifty-seven profit sharing firms with some 12,ooo employees: eight cases have since been reported. These figures do not include the considerahle number of co- operative productive societies which give a honus to the workmen, and the large number of firms which regularly pay a bonus in addition to wages at the end of the year where the amount is not fixed beforehand. In France there are now some one hundred cases of profit sharing. Taking into account the instances in Germany, Switzer- land, Holland and Italy, it is entirely safe to say that there are now between two hundred and fifty and three hundred firms, in Europe and America, conducting their busi- ness according to the principle of the division of profits with the employee. tSee, for the latest statement of this case, an article in the Review of Reviews for 1891. felt and felt shoes at Dolgeville, New York, has satisfactorily developed in an admirable way, includes provision for pen- sions and life insurance, in addition to a division of profits among the foremen chiefly; and a club house, a library, and a gymnasium are maintained in the vil- lage. Mr. Dolge does not accept the name Profit Sharing as best suited to these methods, which he considers to be demanded by justice, but his excellent institutions are all supported, of course, out of the profits of business. Other American firms which were practising industrial partnership before 1889 have found the pathway to entire success more difficult than they had an- ticipated, but are persevering in the hope that the educating results of time and experience will be great. The manu- facturing company, the head of which is Mr. N. 0. Nelson, of St. Louis,in sev- ~ral ways the most conspicuous of all American profit sharing enterprises has, however, gone on its way triumph- antly for the last three years, its previous record having been one of unbroken suc- cess. I have before this taken occasion to remark that of all the American profit sharers Mr. Nelson comes nearest to the standard set by Leclaire, Laroche-Joubert, Boucicaut and Godin; Mr. Nelson has confirmed this estimate by the note- worthy manner in which he has been de- veloping his system. Mr. Nelson and Mr. Dolge are both self-made men, the one a Scandinavian and the other a Ger- man, who came to this country poor, and in their great prosperity, attained by legiti- mate and sagacious methods, have not for- gotten, any more than did Leclaire, that they are made of the same dough as their workmen. The N. 0. Nelson Manu- facturing Company has been transferring its works gradually to a suburb of Ed- wardsville, Ill., situated within an hours ride of St. Louis. The village of Le- claire, which bears the name of the father of profit sharing, thus far com- prises three large brick shops and several small ones belonging to the firm; the process of the transfer of the industry from St. Louis is yet going on. A dozen or more neat houses are already occupied by employees and their families; the PROFIT SHARING LV TIlE UNITED STA TES. 123 building of a home is rendered easy by a Co-operative Building Association and special facilities provided by the com- pany; a large club house is managed by a considerable number of men who lodge and board in it at a moderate price. All these buildings are provided with water, steam heat, electric light, good drainage, and nearly every other conyenience of a city house. Provision for amusements has not been overlooked; one of the build- ings contains a billiard-room and a bowl- ing alley, in addition to a reading-room. On the i8th of December last, ex- ercises took place at Leclaire which de- serve the most careful attention of the great body of employers of labor in this country, as well as of all students of practical social reform. An excursion train from St. Louis carried to Leclaire the city employees of the N. 0. Nelson Co., and some forty invited guests. At the business meeting, held during the day, one of the employees was elected chair- man, and Mr. Nelson gave his annual re- port, from which these sentences are taken: The annual meeting this year has been turned over to the employees of the company. The officers are here as your guests, with no duty on their hands except to enjoy themselves and an- nounce the result of the years business. The year just closed has been one of depression and low prices, especially the last half of the year. Construction of all classes has been neglected, owing to the scarcity of investment capital. Under the circumstances we deem it a matter of congratulation that the company is able to declare a dividend of 7 per cent on wages and 14 per cent on capital. This makes a total of 50 per cent dividend on wages paid during the six years of profit sharing. Those of you who have in- vested your dividends from the beginning in the stock of the company have up to date received just 72 per cent on your wages, or $z~z~9.2S on $12 a week wages, $561.25 on $15 a week wages, and $io8o on a $i5oo salary. Later in the day, the employees, with their guests, assembled and passed the following most significant resolutions. They may have a precedent in the his- tory of American labor movements, but I am not aware of the fact. Certainly they are the best expression yet given of the sober judgment of employees under profit sharing; and the thoroughness with which they commend the system is strik- ing. There has been no utterance from any body of working people in this coun- try in recent years which more deserves to be pondered alike by employers of labor and by their employees than these resolutions, so different in their tone from the fiery and indiscriminate denuncia- tions of the employing class with which too many organizations have made us familiar. This is the full text, Inasmuch as society in general, and the wage- earning class in particular, have an interest in know- ing the practical results achieved through any marked departure from ordinary business methods; and, inasmuch as the profit-sharing plan of manu- facturing and merchandizing is a comparatively unknown thing in the United States, we, the employees of the N. 0. Nelson Manufacturing Company, deem it proper to put upon record some expression of our views in relation thereto, based upon years of experience with it. There- fore, be it Resolved, that the system of profit sharing con- stitutes, in our judgment, a long step toward that emancipation of labor for which wage-workers have for generations prayed, fought, and hoped, with but pitiful results. Resolved, that while, on its face, profit sharing seems to take from the employer a part of his rightful share, and to give to the employee that which is in excess of his due, yet we are con- vinced that it does neither, but conduces to the betterment of both when both act with an honest conception of the responsibility which it imposes. Resolved, that in our judgment, profit sharing means the application to the every-day business of the world of those governmental principles independence, justice, and equality for which men have fought through all ages; and that when these principles have been as firmly established between employer and employee as they have been between the government and the governed, there will be little occasion for apprehension concern- ing the future of our country or the character of its citizenship. Resolved, that in our opinion, profit sharing, when generally adopted, will give to the broad- gauge, liberal capitalist the advantage over a selfish, narrow business rival which should be his by right, but which is denied him under the com- mercial system prevailing to-day; and that when this new departure becomes the rule, prosperity will come only to those who live fully up to its spirit. Resolved, that we recognize that profit sharing puts new obligations upon labor as well as upon capital; that it emphasizes the fact that there is a moral as well as a mathematical element in the contract between the two; that to make success possible the wage-earner must enlist the earnest- ness, the vigilance, and the industry which too often are absent where there is no proprietary in- terest. But we confidently believe that these qualities will develop rapidly in the wage-earners of America under opportunity and education. Because, therefore, we appreciate such oppor- tunity, and because we know how tardy is the 124 PR OFf? SRARING IN TIlE UNITED STA TES. reward of the pioneer, we gladly record this declaration of our esteem for the employer whose sense of right and justice is sufficiently strong to move him to the adoption of this system. Resolved, that a system which demonstrates the possibility of reducing the working hours from ten to nine, without any reduction in the wage standard; which, in addition, gives every man an interest in the profits, proportioned to the salary he earns; which creates a community such as this about us, with its opportunities for independence and comfort such as a city does not afford; and which steadily prospers in a commercial way from year to year, a system which does this is no fabric of a dream, no evolvement of the impracti- cal enthusiast. It is business; it is humanity. As these resolutions are so explicit in their judgments upon profit sharing, after a trial of six years in an important indus- try, I shall refrain from even the briefest repetition in my own words of the points which they make in favor of the system. Let us take another example, this time from New England, to show the good opinion which employers who have given the plan a thorough trial have of it, and the results to which such a trial is likely to lead in numerous instances. With the Page Belting Company of Concord, N. H., profit sharing has been practised for five years in a modest way. The com- pany has gone along very carefully, con- sidering the problem one yet to be solved as to the best methods in detail, while believing in the system of profit sharing and co6peration. Two of the workmen were from the beginning chosen to act with the president and the super- intendent of the company as a committee to award the bonus to the workmen on the basis of merit, and especially for good and valuable service in the suggestion of practical improvements in the machinery or of any process by which money could be saved. Beginning with very simple regulations to this effect, the company has been encouraged by its experience to establish this present season what it calls a Co-operative Union of Employees connected with the office and factory. I dxvell upon this case, not because of the largeness of the sum given to the em- ployees, but to indicate the way in which profit sharing may develop in the minds of the employer. The following are some of the details of the plan. The officers of the company do wisely in following the numerous cases in France and England where profit sharing has been made a directly moralizing agent. Only such employees can join this Union as are persons of good moral charaeter, able to read and write, and at least twenty-one years old. They must he diligent, and their zeal in the busi- ness must be manifest. They must be soher. No persons addicted to the use of intoxicating liquors, even to the extent of the slightest incon- venience or injury to the business, will be con- sidered eligible as candidates for membership. At the end of each business year, after certain percentages on the capital of the company have been set aside for interest, the reserve fund, depreciation of plant and repairs out of the net earnings of the year, the remaining profits are divided between capital and wages pro ra/a. The executive committee of the Union, it is provided, shall see the semi-annual statement giving the profits or losses of the business, and have full opportunity to ascertain the correctness of the distribu- tion of the profits accruing to the mem- bers. One-half of the sum going to the Union is to be paid in cash; the other is to go to a reserve fund, which is the property not of the company, but of the Union. Provision is made to regard seniority among the members of the Union, so that they receive shares of the profits varying according to the length of their employment by the company. The reserve fund of the Union is subject to these dispositions. In the first place five per cent, increased by an equal amount from the company, goes to a library fund; the company is to provide a con- venient room where magazines and books of special interest to the employees shall be kept for use during intermission hours and, perhaps, some evenings of the week. Second, ten per cent is to go to a relief fund for sick members and the families of deceased members; this amount is, like the library fund, doubled by a contribution from the company. The remaining eighty-five per cent of the bonus to each member, not paid in cash, is credited to him, to accumulate at com- pound interest. Provision is made by which any member of the Union may draw upon this account in case of sick- ness or long service; in the event of his death the balance goes to his estate; in case of discharge from the company for PROFIT SNARiNG IN THE UNITED STA TES. 125 cause, his portion of the reserve fund falls to the Union. The company reserves the right to abandon this profit sharing at any time by the action of the board of directors, by paying up all sums that are credited to the different members of the Cobperative Union as accounts stand at that time. A full body of by-laws pro- vides for the organization of the Union and for the continuance of it, by the election of new members, and for expul- sion from the Union on account of dis- obedience or bad habits of any kind (though one may afterward be restored to membership, under certain circum- stances). Four points of importance are covered by the final paragraphs of this scheme. A committee on homes for members of the Union and for other employees is recommended, which may ultimately grow into a local building association. The company recommends that members of the Union become as far and as fast as possible, stockholders, and when stock is offered for sale application from members of the Union will have preference over all others. Every member is advised to secure life insurance and accident insur- ance to the extent of his means, and it is pointed out that the bonus will be help- ful in this direction. Circulars of infor- mation will be - issued at various times and conferences held with the executive committee and members of the Union, in order to insure a complete understanding of the scheme and the best results. It has been stated that there are now at least one hundred cases of profit-shar- ing houses in the United States. New instances are quite steadily becoming known to me in the most unexpected ways. Three cases, for example, in the City of Boston, of which I have learned in the last few months, have been going on for a year or two, with no mention of them in the newspapers. One of these became known to me by the way of Colo- rado, and another is one of the oldest established houses in the city in its line of business. The system, as a system, had received three years ago sufficient confirmation from experience in various lines to demonstrate the feasibility of its application to a great number of occupa tions, productive or distributive. A stage has now been reached in the development of the reform at which it is for several reasons undesirable to have any degree of publicity that can be avoided. The recently formed Association for the Pro- motion of Profit Sharing therefore pur- sues the policy of refraining, except for special reasons, from giving the names and locations of firms entering upon the practice of the system. It will, however, be a benefit to all concerned to have an accurate list of all American cases of profit sharing kept, whether of consider- able standing or of recent date; from this, information of practical assistance to firms in the practice of the plan may be derived. I will here ask, then, that all firms practising profit sharing in the United States, or persons acquainted with the circumstances of such experiments, place themselves in communication with myself at West Newton, Mass., as the secretary of the association, that a com- plete list of such houses, as far as possible, may be kept. The name of no house will be published without its express con- sent. The moderate expectations and the cautious temper of the advocates of profit sharing in this country are indicated by the comparatively late date at which the association just mentioned has been established. Englishmen are always credited by foreign observers with great facility in forming societies and associa- tions of various kinds for the promotion of any desired improvement, religious, industrial, political, or social; and Eng- lishmen themselves are struck by the quickness with which in this country we Americans get together to form such associations, with the vigor and sagacity which generally characterize these bodies when once formed, and with the energy with which they proceed to develop a public opinion favorable to their purpose. Profit sharing is entirely free, however, from the reproach which might be brought against a considerable propor- tion of these associations, that they were instituted too soon, with no obvious cause for their existence, and conse- quently died early, after an ineffective career. Although the American friends 126 PROFIT SHARING IN THE UNITED STA TES. of this system had from the first con- sidered the desirability of an association for the promotion of it, nothing was actu- ally done until last winter. In January of this year the Association for the Pro- motion of Profit Sharing was formed in New York City; the particulars of the organization were soon afterwards given to the newspapers. The sober character of the association, in contrast with such organizations as those of the Nationalists and Christian Socialists, for instance, is shown to some extent by the list of its officers. Hon. C. D. Wright, United States Commissioner of Labor, is the President; the first Vice-President is Francis A. Walker, the head of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, undoubtedly the leading economist of this country, and the second is Mr. N. 0. Nelson of St. Louis. The executive committee is headed by a railroad di- rector, whose road is intending to put a plan of profit sharing into execution be- fore long; of the other five members, four are prominent manufacturers in as many different lines of business, and the fifth is a professor of political economy in a Pennsylvania college; my own work on Profit Sharing will sufficiently indicate the opinions and spirit of the secretary and treasurer. The annual fee for member- ship, open to all interested, is three dol- lars. The more active work of this association will begin next winter, after Presidential politics have subsided. But it may here be said that the intention of this Association is to establish a medium of communication between firms already practising profit sharing and members of firms contemplating the introduction of the system ; it is in this direction that the association desires to make itself especially felt as a friend and helper. Reform of this kind is advanced to no small extent by the presentation of it to clubs, consisting of business and profes- sional men, in addresses delivered after those club dinners which are such a fea- ture of modern city life. This coming season the officers of the association will welcome opportunities from such organi- zations, and will be prepared to furnish speakers able to present the matter in a profitable manner. The Association will, of course, publish from time to time vari- ous documents relating to its work. But thus far the literature of profit sharing which it specifies to firms interested in the matter is comparatively limited in extent. My own volume is recommended by it to all inquirers; a pamphlet on the Sharing of Profits by Mary Whiton Cal- kins, A. M., of Wellesley College, I may commend as a kind of primer of the system (Ginn & Company: twenty-five cents) ; an address by myself on Indus- trial Partnership or Profit Sharing, in a little pamphlet, will be sent free to any person on application. It should be understood that this new Association is not limited to the advance- ment of profit sharing as it was defined by the International Congress at Paris in 1889, A voluntary agreement under which the employee receives a share fixed beforehand in the profits of the business. Some of the English advo- cates of the method, like Mr. David F. Schloss, for example, 1 would limit the term strictly to cases in which the bonus is there fixed beforehand the so- called determinate bonus. Yet while I accept the definition just given of profit sharing in its logical completeness, I recognize the fact that there is a great variety of stages in the development of such a logical system from the unmodified wages contract; the important point at any and every stage is not that the share of the employee in the profits be fixed beforehand, and the percentage made known to him, but that he actually re- ceive a bonus regularly at the end of the year. Undoubtedly, it may be better in not a few cases that this bonus should not be fixed at a definite percentage on profits or wages at the beginning of the year; at the same time, the determinate bonus is the more developed and logical form of the system, and it should, there- fore, be held in view by those who practice the indeterminate bonus, as a desirable outcome of their plans in time. The new Association, for these and other reasons, does not limit itself to profit sharing scientifically defined. The sec- ond article of its Constitution states that See his resent valuable work on Methods of Industrial Remuneration. G. P. Putnams Sons.

126 PROFIT SHARING IN THE UNITED STA TES. of this system had from the first con- sidered the desirability of an association for the promotion of it, nothing was actu- ally done until last winter. In January of this year the Association for the Pro- motion of Profit Sharing was formed in New York City; the particulars of the organization were soon afterwards given to the newspapers. The sober character of the association, in contrast with such organizations as those of the Nationalists and Christian Socialists, for instance, is shown to some extent by the list of its officers. Hon. C. D. Wright, United States Commissioner of Labor, is the President; the first Vice-President is Francis A. Walker, the head of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, undoubtedly the leading economist of this country, and the second is Mr. N. 0. Nelson of St. Louis. The executive committee is headed by a railroad di- rector, whose road is intending to put a plan of profit sharing into execution be- fore long; of the other five members, four are prominent manufacturers in as many different lines of business, and the fifth is a professor of political economy in a Pennsylvania college; my own work on Profit Sharing will sufficiently indicate the opinions and spirit of the secretary and treasurer. The annual fee for member- ship, open to all interested, is three dol- lars. The more active work of this association will begin next winter, after Presidential politics have subsided. But it may here be said that the intention of this Association is to establish a medium of communication between firms already practising profit sharing and members of firms contemplating the introduction of the system ; it is in this direction that the association desires to make itself especially felt as a friend and helper. Reform of this kind is advanced to no small extent by the presentation of it to clubs, consisting of business and profes- sional men, in addresses delivered after those club dinners which are such a fea- ture of modern city life. This coming season the officers of the association will welcome opportunities from such organi- zations, and will be prepared to furnish speakers able to present the matter in a profitable manner. The Association will, of course, publish from time to time vari- ous documents relating to its work. But thus far the literature of profit sharing which it specifies to firms interested in the matter is comparatively limited in extent. My own volume is recommended by it to all inquirers; a pamphlet on the Sharing of Profits by Mary Whiton Cal- kins, A. M., of Wellesley College, I may commend as a kind of primer of the system (Ginn & Company: twenty-five cents) ; an address by myself on Indus- trial Partnership or Profit Sharing, in a little pamphlet, will be sent free to any person on application. It should be understood that this new Association is not limited to the advance- ment of profit sharing as it was defined by the International Congress at Paris in 1889, A voluntary agreement under which the employee receives a share fixed beforehand in the profits of the business. Some of the English advo- cates of the method, like Mr. David F. Schloss, for example, 1 would limit the term strictly to cases in which the bonus is there fixed beforehand the so- called determinate bonus. Yet while I accept the definition just given of profit sharing in its logical completeness, I recognize the fact that there is a great variety of stages in the development of such a logical system from the unmodified wages contract; the important point at any and every stage is not that the share of the employee in the profits be fixed beforehand, and the percentage made known to him, but that he actually re- ceive a bonus regularly at the end of the year. Undoubtedly, it may be better in not a few cases that this bonus should not be fixed at a definite percentage on profits or wages at the beginning of the year; at the same time, the determinate bonus is the more developed and logical form of the system, and it should, there- fore, be held in view by those who practice the indeterminate bonus, as a desirable outcome of their plans in time. The new Association, for these and other reasons, does not limit itself to profit sharing scientifically defined. The sec- ond article of its Constitution states that See his resent valuable work on Methods of Industrial Remuneration. G. P. Putnams Sons. PROFIT SHARING IN TILE UNITED STA TES. 127 The object of this Association is the promo- tion and extension of such methods of uniting the interests of employers and employees as profit sharing, industrial partnership, gain sharing, earnings sharing, the premium system, and kindred systems. Whatever it may there lose by imper- fection in logical definition of its sphere, it xviii certainly more than counterbalance by increased usefulness in the different directions which it names. I enumerated three years ago the various occupations in which profit shar- ing has been put in practice. The list of these occupations has been considera- bly increased by the numerous additions of the last three years. Without making a specific enumeration of all the lines of industry where the system is now in effect, it may be well to put in another form some indications of its range at the present time in the United States. As I shall not give the names of any of the firms mentioned or their locations in different states, the discerning reader will at once see that I have no thought of asking any one to boycot the firms which do not practice profit sharing, or of advo- cating a practice similar to that of the Trade Union label! But if any American citizen should desire, although at undue expense of time and trouble, to patronize only those industries in which profit sharing is now practised, he could satisfy a large number of his innumerable wants as a civilized man. From firms which actually practice the system of giving their employees a portion of the profits of the years business he could buy his flour, his butter and cheese, his soap, candles and tobacco; he could purchase cottons and woollens for cloth, or buy his clothing ready made; he could furnish his house with mouldings, sashes and blinds, and with everything that it needs in the way of plumbing and brass or iron work; he could provide his family with shoes and slippers; he could get all his printing done in the best manner; he could take one of the best newspapers in the country and one of the leading maga- zines, and buy his books bearing the im- print of one of the most prominent publishing houses in the country; his doors could be furnished with a Yale lock; he could buy paper, stationery, chemicals, drugs, oils, shovels, and groceries of all kinds; he could patronize profit-sharing bankers, and probably he will soon be able to ride on a profit-sharing railroad. Such a system as industrial partnership (on this side of the Atlantic this term is synonymous with profit sharing) has, I venture to think, certain numerous fea- tures which will commend it strongly to the American mind. The chief of these is its practical conciliation of the claims of hand and head in modern industry. An immense amount of unfavorable ex- perience has sufficiently demonstrated that mankind is not yet ready for the complete application of the democratic principle to commercial undertakings. Codperative production has almost in- variably failed in this country, from the fact that the system usually implies greatly divided responsibility in the commercial department of the business. A concern so administered has little chance of con- tinued existence when competing with firms in which the responsibility is con- centrated in the one person who has shown himself the most capable in con- ducting the operations of buying and selling. As a point of actual fact, no people in the world has more respect for brains and more willingness to give to skill and faculty their appropriate place of leadership than the American people. While then the democratic principle will theoretically lead us to favor any plan which tends to an approach of the em- ployer and the employee, the shrewd American intellect readily recognizes that a limit is soon reached at which the inevitable claims of aristocracy make themselves felt. If these are disregarded and the natural leaders are not allowed to lead, then all fall into the ditch to- gether. It is for the obvious interest of every employee in a cotton mill, for in- stance, that there should be the strictest discipline and the most thoroughly hier- archical system, running from the lowest capacity up to the highest capacity, in the conduct of the manufactory. Unless this is so, the result inevitably follows that the mill is closed and the whole body of employees is throWn out of work. The profit-sharing plan allows the 128 PROFiT SHARING IN THE UNITED STA TES. leaders to lead, as they have done; but it emphasizes the fact which the leaders are too apt to forget, that the great body of employees are made of the same human nature as themselves. Industrial partnership, is the best phrase of all employed to cover the notion of admitting the employee to a share in the actually realized profits of any business. A little reflection will soon convince a practical person that the partnership into which it is advisable, for the interest of the employee him- self, to admit him must be of a limited character; this limitation is well denoted by the qualifying word industrial, which indicates that the employee becomes the maker of extra profits in his own depart- ment, of production or distribution, and that the commercial partners recognize this fact, and therefore gladly allot him a portion of the profits made. It is, in- deed, a problem to be settled by actual experience how far the employees in a business may be admitted into any kind of partnership, with the result of actually increasing the compensation which they receive either in wages or in wages and the bonus at the end of the year. I have no hesitation in declaring that in many instances the so-called profit sharing sys- tem has worked out, in actual life, the solution to this problem, and indicated the limitations and regulations which must te observed by both master and man. Profit sharing is, in fact, an exten- sion of the democratic principle so far as this is consistent with the natural aris- tocracy of nature, who has not allotted brains to every human being alike, and has strictly decreed that executive ca- pacity in the conduct of large business shall be the possession of comparatively few persons. There is, of course, a great variety of applications of the fundamental principle of partnership, but so long as the prin- ciple is observed of admitting the em- ployee to a share in the profits of business due to his increased interest and industry, the argument holds good. Undoubtedly, as President Walker has observed, there will be found in time a wealth of instances of the application of the system to modern industry. No wise advocate of the scheme represents it as a cure-all for industrial troubles; but it has this extreme advantage over the un- balanced proposals of the socialist that it accepts the existing industrial situation, would work upon human nature as it is, would apply the principle of equality and democracy with discrimination to the extent which experience dictates, and would, in all probability, so ameliorate the industrial situation as to make other and further reforms more easy. It is not, then, on the ground of abstract justice or inherent right, these are matters about which it is very easy to be mistaken, but on the ground of ordi- nary human nature and actual experiment, that the advocate of profit sharing bases his confidence in its gradual diffusion. Very many things are excellent in this world which will never, probably, become universal; and, certainly, many of the best things in this world are those which the individual procures for himself without recourse to a change in statute law and without waiting for immense modifica- tions of existing conditions. The way is open to a great number of captains of industry at the present day to try, each for himself, how much the profit- sharing system can do in his own individual es- tablishment. It certainly is not one of the least commendations of this reform that it thus comes home to the individual intelligence and conscience of the em- ployer. Its logic is the same as that of Christianity when, in its adaptation to en- tire human nature, it not only insists that we are members one of another, but also exhorts each man to work out his own salvation. If modern industrial warfare is to cease, legislation will have its part, of course, to play; but there is just as little doubt that the individual employer must do his part, if he would be con- sidered an intelligent leader, understand- ing the signs of the times. Such an em- ployer may not adopt the system of profit sharing in his business, but he will cer- tainly be entitled to small respect if, after considering it carefully, he does not adopt some plan which experience has demonstrated to be more satisfactory. -hi C, 7-. ~ MW THE END OF CHILDHOOD. By Grace Mac Gowan Cooke. I SPED down a green lane with eager feet When day was young, a sweet Joy at my side. On either hand the fields of yellow wheat Spread shimmering far and wide, And Joy and I made merry company; From out the wheat we plucked the poppies red And decked us in their glowing bravery, Till Joy unto me said, The way by which we came is very long; We started when each bird was in its nest, And now the air is full of flight and song; Do let us stop and rest. The way we travelled came here to a stile Set like a tomb a single broad gray stone. I said, Do you sit here and rest a while; I will go on alone. I passed and left him sitting quietly, Cheek upon hand in that green shady place; Nor turned athwart my shoulder back to see Again his pleasant face. But, as upon my way I fared alone, My thoughts grew sombre and I missed the boy, And hurried back, to find upon the stone Engraved, Here lieth Joy. And while I gazed upon the words aghast, Pale Pain and Care came up and said to me, Thou needst not walk alone, for to the last We two will go with thee. EDITORS TABLE. THE attitude of the better newspapers of the country with reference to the recent unhappy affair at Homestead has been such as to afford some en- couraging indication that the American people are gradually getting educated upon industrial questions, and getting clearer ideas of relative justice and of some simple matters of right and wrong. The clear headed men of the press have seen plainly, and have said plainly, as most men of the pulpit have said, and most men who have to do with law and legislation, that whatever else is to be said about the Homestead strike and its re- sults, the one matter of serious moment and the one great wrong, so great as almost to excuse in- attention to all else, was the organization of a private military force by the Carnegie Company, or its manager for the time, a private little army of its own, and the attempt to smuggle this armed force into its fortified works, on its own account, to cope with the disaffected workmen, instead of calling for such protection as was needed upon the constituted authorities of the State. The strike itself may have been wise or it may not have been; the strikers ought to have stood still, submissive nonresistants, while the little army with its rifles landed and marched behind the wooden walls with their portholes, or they ought not; the creelties inflicted upon the company after its surrender, during its march to its place of refuge, can only be condemned by every man in the severest measure and are condemned by none more severely than by the workmen themselves and their leaders: it was not these, but the pack of wolves and hoodlums who always hang about the outskirts of every great disorder, who were the perpetrators of the cruelties. But all these things are unimportant compared with the spectacle in this republic of a great corporation, in its dispute with its workmen, undertaking, without counsel with any government authority, to organize a military force of its own, to do the work both of the local police and of the state militia. We have seen exhibitions of Pinkerton men~~ in some previous struggles between em- ployers and employees in this country and it should be said that there have been few such ex- hibitions, or none at all, which have not had de- plorable and mischievous results. But we have never had a wholesale exhibition of the character of that which has just been witnessed at Home- stead, and for the credit of the republic it is to be hoped that we shall never have another. We venture the opinion that there is not another nation on the face of the earth, claiming to be civilized, where such an exhibition would be pos- sible, or where such a private military or police movement would ever be undertaken. No one who is familiar with the government and the social conditions of England or France or Ger- many can conceive of a great corporation in Liverpool or Lyons or Leipzig, whose property was in any real danger, doing anything but apply to the State for protection and for the suppression of disorder. Should such a corporation under- take to collect a little army or police force of its own, by advertising in the Manchester or Mar- seilles or Munich newspapers; should it, much more, mobilize such a force behind redoubts of its own, and set to firing upon masses of men under its own captaincy, we may be very sure that there would be such a descent upon that place from the regular police authorities or from the regular army as would show the American traveller that the governments of the Old XVorld are not yet altogether effete nor unable to take care of the rights of their people. The Fort Frick and Pinkerton exhibition which we have just been witnessing at Homestead shows that we are not in advance of the nations of western Europe, but in important respects behind them, in the securi- ties for liberty, equality, and real democracy. It is an exhibition befitting only the feudal middle age, when every little baron on the Rhine from Mayence to Cologne had his own battlemented castle and his own gang of archers and spearmen, and robbed and warred at his own will. It is in- sufferable and a thing not to be endured in a democracy, that any men or any companies of men, for whatever purposes incorporated, should have the power of organizing and arming military and police forces of their own, to act in the settlement of affairs in which they are themselves interested parties, and to shoot men when and how they may direct. A State in which such things are possible or are apologized for is, we say, but the parody of a democracy; and if the savage massacre and rout of the unfortunate Pinkerton men at Homestead is the means of waking the country up to the seriousness and true significance of this whole question, the violence and the bloodshed will not have been in vain. It is foolish and feeble business to discuss the details of the horror, to ask what sort of brutality this one showed, or that, when the bad blood was once up, or to ask whether this side or that fired first. It matters very little who fires first in an irrepres- sible conflict. That the conflict occurred when and where it did, at the river bank, and not after the force had intrenched itself behind the port- holes, is the chief thing for the humanitarian to rejoice at; for had it been so deferred, it cannot be doubted that the results would have been vastly graver than they were. It was a case of lawlessness meeting lawlessness, where convention ceased and there was a return to the first principles of the struggle for justice; and each incident fol- lowing the first collision is to be judged not as an incident in a generally legal status, but as an in- cident in the strife of tribes who are yet in the ignominies of faust recki. To indict the working- men for murder, as has been proposed and even attempted, and do nothing to stamp the crime of the other side as vastly the greater, would be to bring our machinery of justice into contempt; and this can safely be left to the common sense of the country. The common sense of the country has settled one thing, and that is, that Pinkertonism

EDITORS TABLE. THE attitude of the better newspapers of the country with reference to the recent unhappy affair at Homestead has been such as to afford some en- couraging indication that the American people are gradually getting educated upon industrial questions, and getting clearer ideas of relative justice and of some simple matters of right and wrong. The clear headed men of the press have seen plainly, and have said plainly, as most men of the pulpit have said, and most men who have to do with law and legislation, that whatever else is to be said about the Homestead strike and its re- sults, the one matter of serious moment and the one great wrong, so great as almost to excuse in- attention to all else, was the organization of a private military force by the Carnegie Company, or its manager for the time, a private little army of its own, and the attempt to smuggle this armed force into its fortified works, on its own account, to cope with the disaffected workmen, instead of calling for such protection as was needed upon the constituted authorities of the State. The strike itself may have been wise or it may not have been; the strikers ought to have stood still, submissive nonresistants, while the little army with its rifles landed and marched behind the wooden walls with their portholes, or they ought not; the creelties inflicted upon the company after its surrender, during its march to its place of refuge, can only be condemned by every man in the severest measure and are condemned by none more severely than by the workmen themselves and their leaders: it was not these, but the pack of wolves and hoodlums who always hang about the outskirts of every great disorder, who were the perpetrators of the cruelties. But all these things are unimportant compared with the spectacle in this republic of a great corporation, in its dispute with its workmen, undertaking, without counsel with any government authority, to organize a military force of its own, to do the work both of the local police and of the state militia. We have seen exhibitions of Pinkerton men~~ in some previous struggles between em- ployers and employees in this country and it should be said that there have been few such ex- hibitions, or none at all, which have not had de- plorable and mischievous results. But we have never had a wholesale exhibition of the character of that which has just been witnessed at Home- stead, and for the credit of the republic it is to be hoped that we shall never have another. We venture the opinion that there is not another nation on the face of the earth, claiming to be civilized, where such an exhibition would be pos- sible, or where such a private military or police movement would ever be undertaken. No one who is familiar with the government and the social conditions of England or France or Ger- many can conceive of a great corporation in Liverpool or Lyons or Leipzig, whose property was in any real danger, doing anything but apply to the State for protection and for the suppression of disorder. Should such a corporation under- take to collect a little army or police force of its own, by advertising in the Manchester or Mar- seilles or Munich newspapers; should it, much more, mobilize such a force behind redoubts of its own, and set to firing upon masses of men under its own captaincy, we may be very sure that there would be such a descent upon that place from the regular police authorities or from the regular army as would show the American traveller that the governments of the Old XVorld are not yet altogether effete nor unable to take care of the rights of their people. The Fort Frick and Pinkerton exhibition which we have just been witnessing at Homestead shows that we are not in advance of the nations of western Europe, but in important respects behind them, in the securi- ties for liberty, equality, and real democracy. It is an exhibition befitting only the feudal middle age, when every little baron on the Rhine from Mayence to Cologne had his own battlemented castle and his own gang of archers and spearmen, and robbed and warred at his own will. It is in- sufferable and a thing not to be endured in a democracy, that any men or any companies of men, for whatever purposes incorporated, should have the power of organizing and arming military and police forces of their own, to act in the settlement of affairs in which they are themselves interested parties, and to shoot men when and how they may direct. A State in which such things are possible or are apologized for is, we say, but the parody of a democracy; and if the savage massacre and rout of the unfortunate Pinkerton men at Homestead is the means of waking the country up to the seriousness and true significance of this whole question, the violence and the bloodshed will not have been in vain. It is foolish and feeble business to discuss the details of the horror, to ask what sort of brutality this one showed, or that, when the bad blood was once up, or to ask whether this side or that fired first. It matters very little who fires first in an irrepres- sible conflict. That the conflict occurred when and where it did, at the river bank, and not after the force had intrenched itself behind the port- holes, is the chief thing for the humanitarian to rejoice at; for had it been so deferred, it cannot be doubted that the results would have been vastly graver than they were. It was a case of lawlessness meeting lawlessness, where convention ceased and there was a return to the first principles of the struggle for justice; and each incident fol- lowing the first collision is to be judged not as an incident in a generally legal status, but as an in- cident in the strife of tribes who are yet in the ignominies of faust recki. To indict the working- men for murder, as has been proposed and even attempted, and do nothing to stamp the crime of the other side as vastly the greater, would be to bring our machinery of justice into contempt; and this can safely be left to the common sense of the country. The common sense of the country has settled one thing, and that is, that Pinkertonism EDiTOR S TABLE. must ~o. If there is any shooting to he done after this, any police or military service for keep- ing turbulent poor men or turbulent rich men in order, the people will attend to that themselves, by their regularly constituted authorities. All parties in need of battalions with Winchester rifles will hereafter apply at the City Hall or the State House instead of advertising in the New York and Chicago newspapers. That is one im- portant conclusion to come to by a people having aspirations after civilization; and we think there is not much doubt that the affair at Homestead has brought the American people to that conclu- sion. Another conclusion to which this startling affair has done much to bring most people of common sense is that, while our present industrial system continues, with the constant liability of sharp differences between employer and employed, there shall be State boards of arbitration with large powers, before which contending parties shall bring their claims when they cannot adjust them themselves. The personal element is an element of immense importance in nine-tenths of the col- lisions between capital and labor. In the case at Homestead, had the reprcsentatives of the work- ingmens union had to deal with one respecting and sympathizing with their own principles as to the organization of labor, as Mr. Carnegie, for in- stance, claims to do, instead of with a personally unpopular man like Mr. Frick, with whose opposi- tion to their particular demands not alone did they have to cope, but whose pronounced hostility to their organization itself they also had to en- counter, it cannot be doubted that common ground would much more easily have been found. As it was, the personal relations were such as to pour sand instead of oil upon the grinding wheels, and every act and proposition of the manager was viewed, not independently, but as having the ulterior aim of breaking up their organization. Mr. Carnegie, the writer, has trenchantly defended and commended the organization of labor, and has even criticized our own workingmen for being behind the workingmen of England in the com- pactness and efficiency of their organization; and the dictum that workingmen shall not combine to promote their own interests certainly comes with bad grace from a great combination of capitalists like that represented by Mr. Frick. This is a large question, upon which we do not here propose to en- ter. What we do desire to say, however, is that since, as has just now been pretty effectually demonstrated before our eyes, the interests of our great corporations and the interests of their work- men are not their interests alone, but also the in- terests of the general public, the public, which at last is getting its eyes open to this simple fact, will hereafter have something to say before the recklessness or biliousness or whims of any set of men, whether a thousand puddlers or a dozen directors, are permitted to plunge a community into suffering and tumult; and it will more and more provide effectual means for making its voice respected. Speaking in these pages two years ago of the strike on the New York Central Rail- road, we said: How many voices spoke for the poor man in connection with the recent great railroad strike in New York for the three thousand workmen who, rightly or wrongly, de- ceived or not by any of their leaders, believed that injustice was being done them? Chiefly we witnessed only curiosity in the strategy and the rhetoric with which vice-grand-masters and rail- road magnates fought it out: little care for the thousands of honest men, misled or not, whose bread hung on the rhetoric. Chiefly we heard voices of admiration for a third vice-president, who had nothing to arbitrate, but only to issue mandates that any who did not come back to work by Saturday night should never come at all.. Most men like these displays of the Napoleonic, good or bad; they appeal to that love of power which is in men. It was a triumph for good gov- ernment in America when this particular little Napoleon appeared before the State Board of Arbitration by command. It may be well for all third vice-presidents of great railroads in this country to learn that they hold their great high- ways in trust for the people, and that when grave issues arise, on which they may be right or may be wrong, there will be arbitration to-morrow morning, or their occupation will be gone. A great railroad, whoever is down in the books as its owner, is peculiarly a public concern. It is peculiarly amenable to public surveillance and control, because the privileges which make it profitable are public grants. But every great in- dustry and enterprise in the country is, in its measure, a public concern, becoming more and more so in the proportion in which it becomes great; nothing of importance, nothing at all, is a matter simply between wage-payer and wage- earner. An immense industry like that repre- sented by the Carnegie Company becomes a matter of public concern in almost as great measure as even a great railroad; and it is the more amenable to the State for its just and proper conduct, and the State is under the greater obligation to exercise a firm control over its pro- ceedings and policy, by so much as it is chiefly marIe profitable our protectionist brethren themselves like to say possible by the privileges conferred upon it by the State through its pro- tective laws. But this is only an emphatic illus- tration of the right and of the need of compulsory arbitration before State boards, in such collisions between wage-payers and wage-earners as are likely to threaten the public peace or endanger the welfare of a busy community. If, in addition to bringing the country to the resolution that our barons shall now at least be stopped from the in- dulgence in private armies, among their other feudal practices, the tragical affair at Homestead also hastens the day of compulsory arbitration and a more efficient supervision of industries by the State, it will have accomplished something in two very important directions. The reference which we have just made to the strike on the New York Central Railroad two years ago, and the condition of public opinion with reference to it, suggests, when we compare public opinion then with public opinion now with reference to the Homestead collision, another quarter in which, as well as in the press, the two years have done a great work of education; and that quarter is the pulpit. It will be remembererl that in that collision, also, a force of Pinkerton 131 EDITOR S TABLE. men was called into service, and that these men, controlled and paid not by the State but by the railroad officials, fired into a body of the strikers and killed some of them, and innocent by- standers as well fired in what the officials chose to define as the interests of order, but really in a manner so hasty and reckless that the regular police, coming at once upon the scene, could in simple propriety do nothing else but arrest them and march them to the lock-up: truly an edifying spectacle in a democratic community! In all this there was nothing to win sympathy for the Pinkerton men. They were not first fired upon, as they doubtless were at Homestead, they were not fired upon at all; they had no oppor- tunity to exhibit bravery, as their fellows at Home- stead certainly did exhibit bravery, but merely bravado. The private army appeared in its most unattractive and most offensive form. Yet we remember but one man among all men in pulpits who, if he had eyes clear enough to see, bad tongue free and hold enough to declare what an enormity had been enacted there in the State of New York, and that if such things were to be possible here, if they were not instantly to be made an end of by a great wave of public wrath, then we might instantly begin to make ready to see an end of free democracy in America. That man was William Elliot Griffis of Boston. Let it be remembered that as he entered the pulpit of Shawmut Church on that Sunday morning two years ago, with the burden of that public iniquity upon his mind, he would give no time to the exegesis of Amos or Micah or of Jesus Christ, but in the spirit and with the insight of Amos and Micah and Jesus devoted that Sunday morning sermon to Pinkertonism, to telling his people plainly what right is and what tyranny is, and what things would surely come to pass in America if men were not wise in time. It seemed remarkable to good Christians at the time that such a man should preach such a ser- mon in church, too, and not on the Common! Why should anybody finely criticise any means taken to suppress any pestiferous strikers? What matter the shooting of a few dozen of these low-priced and surplus people, for the sake of order? The people without bowels, who read the report in the newspapers, called it a piece of sentimentalism. If the editor of the Nation read it, he undoubtedly called it so. He would cer- tainly have called it a very rare and remarkable sermon two years ago. But this year he would not find it rare or remarkable at all. He laments in set terms, in a special article on The Pulpit on the Homestead Riots, that he has had to read as many as a score of sermons on the riots, all of this sort, and this score is but a sample of hundreds such preached all over the country. Few of them, we should agree, have been as strong as the sermon by Dr. Griffis, two years ago; we should agree with the Na/ions criticism of the rhetoric and effusiveness of many of them; but we rejoice, as the Na/ion is unable to, that they show the hearts of the preachers to be in the right place; they show that a great work of educa- tion has gone on among them in these two years; and they furnish a new ground of hope that the American Church will not commit the error and the crime in the impending crisis which it com- mitted in the Anti-slavery conflict. The word spoken by Dr. Griffis two years ago was not a bolder or a better word than this, spoken on the Sunday following the fight at Homestead by Rev. Charles G. Ames: I think it is impossible to learn the Pennsyl- vania lesson or to comprehend the general situa- tion, unless we try to look through the working- mans eyes and see sympathetically the causes of his discontent. To every man whose daily bread comes from his daily earnings, the question of em- ployment is simply a question of life and death, and any reduction of wages