Scribner's magazine. / Volume 17, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 836 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 AFR7379-0017 /moa/scri/scri0017/

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Scribner's magazine. / Volume 17, Note on Digital Production 0017 000
Scribner's magazine. / Volume 17, Note on Digital Production A-B

Scribner's magazine. / Volume 17, Issue 1 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 836 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 AFR7379-0017 /moa/scri/scri0017/

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

Scribner's magazine. / Volume 17, Issue 1 Commentator Scribner's commentator Charles Scribner's Sons New York January, 1895 0017 1
Scribner's magazine. / Volume 17, Issue 1, miscellaneous front pages i-2

SCRIBNERS MAGAZINE PUBLISHED fIONTHLY WITH I LLUSTRATIQNS VOLUNE xvii JANUARY - JUNE CHARLES SCBJBNERS SONS NEW YORK SAMPSON LOW MARSTON & Co. LIMITED LONDON A. ~-i~i~ COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY CHARLES SCIIIBNERS SONS. TROW DIRECTORY PRINTING AND ROOKOINDING COMPANY NEW YORK CONTENTS OF ScRIBNERS MAGAZINE VOLUME XVII JANUARYJUNE, 1895 AMAZING MARRIAGE, THE. Chapters I.-XXIV., (To be continued through the year.) AMERICAN PARTIES. See American Politics. AMERICAN POLITICS, . With portraits drawn by Otto H. Bacher from his- torical paintings of American statesmen. I THE BEGINNINGS OF AMERICAN PARTIES, II. THE PASSING OF TIlE WHIGS, . III. WHEN SLAVERY WENT OUT OF POLITICS, ART OF LIVING, THE I INCOME Illustrations by Charles Dana Gibson. Ii THE DWELLING Illustrations by Charles Dana Gibson. III. HOUSE-FURNISHING AND THE COMMISSARIAT, Illustrations by Charles Dana Gibson. IV. EDUCATION Illustrations by B. West Clinedinst. V. OCCUPATION Illustrations by B. West Clinediust. Vi THE USE OF TIME Illustrations by B. West Clinediust. ATHLETICS AND OPTIMISM. Point of View, BEDDING-PLANTS Illustrations from photographs taken under the direc- tion of the author, by J. C. Hemment. BEGINNINGS OF AMERICAN PARTIES. See Ameri- can Politics. BESSIE COSTRELL, THE STORY OF. Scenes I.-IV., (To be completed in three parts.) BICYCLE, THE. Illustrations by Childe Hassam, C. D. Gibson, and Kenneth Frazier, and from photographs. THE WHEEL OF To-DAY WOMAN AND THE BICYCLE THE SOCIAL SIDE OF BICYCLING, . A DOCTORS VIEW OF BICYCLING BISNAGAS MADELINE BIT OF CONTRAST, A. Point of View, CARPET - BAG REGIME, DOWNFALL OF. See ilistory. CHICAGO BEFORE THE FIRE, AFTER THE FIRE, AND TO-DAY Illustrated by Orson Lowell. The views of Chicago to-day are from nature; the others from photo- graphs by courtesy of the Dibble Publishing Com- pany, and from the special fire number of the Lakeside Jfonthly, by permission of F. F. Browne. GEORGE MEREDITH, 33, 229, 365, 461, PAGE 640, 774 NOAH BROOKS, ROBERT GRANT, 48 199 338 3 135 305 485 615 752 SAMUEL PARSONS, Jr Superintendent of Parks, New York 792 329 MRS. HUMPHRY WARD, . . 548, 680 PHILIP G. HUBERT, JR., MARGUERITE MERINGTON, JAMES B. TOWNSEND, J. WEST ROOSEVELT, M.D., WOLCOTT LE CL~AR BEARD, MELVILLE B. STONE, 692 702 704 708 165 132 663 iv CONTENTS CIGARETTE HEROINE, A. Point of View,. CIRCLE IN THE WATER, A. 1.-Il. CIVILIZATION AND CULTURE. Point of View, CO-OPERATIVE COURTSHIP, A DECAY OF LETTER-WRITING. Point of View, DOCTORS VIEW OF BICYCLING. See Bicycle. DWELLING, THE. See Art of Living. EASTER PICTURES. A NEW YORK EASTER. Drawn by . PALM SUNDAY AT THE MADELEINE, PARIS. Drawn by THE QUEEN AND HER LADIES CREEPING TO THE CROSS ON GOOD FRIDAY (an old English custom). Drawn by EASTER AT THE HOLY SEPULCHRE IN JERUSALEM. Drawn by EDUCATION. See Art of Living. EGOCENTRICITY. Point of View ELECTRIC MOTOR, WILL THE, SUPERSEDE THE STEAM LOCOMOTIVE END OF THE CONTINENT, THE, . Illustrations drawn by Alfred Brennan, W. C. Pape, and E. B. Child, from photographs by the author. ENGLISH TALKER, THE. Point of View, FAMILY PARTY, THE. Point of View FASHION. Point of View FRENCH POSTERS AND BOOK-COVERS,. With reproductions of originals by Steinlen, Bonnard, De Feure, Grasset, Forain, Willette, and Ch~ret. FROUDE, JAMES ANTHONY, GENIUS OF BOWLDER BLUFF. See Girls College Stories. GENTLEMAN FROM HURON, THE, GIANTS AND GIANTISM Illustrations from pictures of famous giants. GIRLS COLLEGE STORIES I REVENGE Illustrations by Charles Dana Gibson. II LA BELLE H~L~NE, III. A SHORT STUDY IN EVOLUTION Illustrations by Charles Dana Gibson. IV. THE GENIUS OF BOWLDER BLUFF, GOING OF THE WHITE SWAN, THEA STORY OUT OF LABRADOR Illustrations by Albert Lynch. GOLF Illustrations by A. B. Frost, and from photographs. GOOD TASTE AN ADDRESS DELIVERED AT A PLACE OF SECONDARY EDUCATION IN ENG- LAND, GREELEY CAMPAIGN. See History. HAMERTON, PHILIP GILBERTA PORTRAIT, HIS DUCATS AND HIS DAUGHTERS. Point of View, HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY IN THE UNITED STATES, A With portraits, scenes from contemporary photographs or drawn with the co-operation of participants, maps, fac-similes, caricatures, etc (To be continued through the year.) I. AT THE CLOSE OF RECONSTRUCTION, II THE GREELEY CAMPAIGN III. THE DOWNFALL OF THE CARPET-BAG R~GIME, IV. THE YEAR OF A HUNDRED YEARS,. HOLMES, DR., AS PROFESSOR OF ANATOMY, REMINISCENCES OF HOUSEKEEPING AND THE COMMISSARIAT. See Art of Living. HUGHEY W. D. HOWELLS, ANNIE STEGER WINSTON, W. T. SMEDLEY, ALBERT LYNCH, E. A. ABBEY, EDWIN LORD WEEKS, JOSEPH WETZLER, JOHN H. SPEARS, PAGE 264 293, 428 261 767 657 400 402 404 406 129 594 213 131 130 659 603 ARS~NE ALEXANDER, AUGUSTINE BIRRELL, 149 743 179 GEORGE A. HIBBARD, CHARLES L. DANA, M.D., ABBE CARTER GOODLOR, 356 499 8 713 65 GILBERT PARKER, 531 HENRY E. HOWLAND, AUGUSTINE BIRRELL, 115 228 262 E. BENJAMIN ANDREWS, President of Brown UniYersity. 269 44~ 566 720 THOMAS DWIGHT, M.D.,. . . 121 RHODES MACKNIGHT, 316 CONTENTS IMPRESSIONISTS JACKSON, ANDREW. See New Orleans. JAPANESE, MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS OF THE, LA BELLE HELPNE. See Girls Gollege Stories. LEARS FOOL. Point of View, LITERARY ADVANTAGES OF SCOTCH. Point of View MAN AND A WOMAN, A. Point of View, MARTYRDOM OF JOHN THE BAPTIST, THE, MEN WE HALF KNOW. Point of View, MORAL OBLIQUITY, A NEW ORLEANS, WHO WON THE BATTLE OF? An unpublished correspondence of President Andrew Jackson . With introductory note by E. Leslie Gilliams. NORTHERN WATERS, IN OCCUPATION. See Art of Living. OLD LETTERS, SOME. Edited by . ON THE HUSBANDS OF RICH WIVES. Point of View ORCHESTRAL CONDUCTING AND CONDUCTORS. PASSING OF THE WHIGS. See American Politics. PATAGONIA. See End of the Continent. PLEA FOR GOSSIP. Point of View POINT OF VIEW. Athletics and Optimism, 792. Bit of Contrast, A, 132. Cigarette Heroine, A, 264. Civilization and Culture, 261. Decay of Letter-writing, The, 657. Egocentricity, 129. English Talker, The, 131. Family Party, The, 130. Fashion, 659. His Ducats and His Daughters, 262. Lears Fool, 396. Literary Advanta~,es of Scotch, 526. POINT OF VIEW IN LABOR QUESTIONS. Point of View POSTERS. See French. PRINCE CHARLES STUART, Portraits from old miniatures. PRINCETON. See Old Letters. QUESTION IN ART, A RECONSTRUCTION, AT THE CLOSE OF. See ilistory. REPARTEE. Point of View REVENGE. See Girls Golleqe Stories. SALVATION ARMY WORK IN THE SLUMS. SAWNEYS DEER-LICK Illustrations by A. B. Frost. SELF-ILLUMINATED FUTURE, A. Point of View, SHORT STUDY IN EVOLUTION, A. See Girls Uollege Stories. SOCIAL SIDE OF BICYCLING. See Bicycle. STEVENSON, ROBERT LOUIS. Point of View, THOREAUS POEMS OF NATURE With complete poems hitherto unpublished. TIMID RACE, A. Point of View TUSCAN SHRINE, A With a drawing by Harry Fenn, and other illustrations from photographs taken for the author. TYPE CREATED, THE. Point of View, USE OF TIME. See Art of Living. VAST DISTRICTS. Point of View JEAN FRAN~OIS RAFFAELLI, GEORGE TRUMBULL LAnD, WOLCOTT LE CL~AR BEARD, FRANcIS LYNDE, T. C. EVANS, JAMES F. DWIGHT, WILLIAM F. APTHORP, PAGE 630 79 396 526 .790 633 528 189 507 479 247 394 38~ 263 Man and a Woman, A, 790. Men We Half Know, 528. On the Husbands of Rich Wives, 394. Plea for Gossip, A, 263. Point of View in Labor Questions, 527. Repartee, 395. Self-illuminated Future, A, 658. Stevenson, Robert Louis, 393. Timid Race. A, 525. Type Created, The, 789. Vast Districts, 791. 527 ANDREW LANG, ROBERT W. HERRICK, MAUD BALLINGTON BOOTH, CHARLES D. LANIER, F. B. SANBORN, EDITH WHARTON, 408 514 395 162 93 658 393 352 525 23 789 ~91 V CONTENTS VEDDER, ELIHU, RECENT WORK OF, With illustrations from studies and paintings by Mr. Vedder, and portrait by Sergeant KendalL WHEEL OF TO-DAY. See Bicycle. WHEN SLAVERY WENT OUT OF POLITICS. See American Politics. WOMEN AND THE BICYCLE. See Bicycle. WOOD-ENGRAVERS. I. HENRY WOLF With full-page engraving, portrait of Mrs. C, from the painting by W. M. Chase (frontispiece), Chases portrait of Wolf, and typical bits of engraving from his blocks. II. GUSTAV KRUELL With full-page engraving, portrait of James Anthony Fronde (frontispiece), a portrait of Kruell, original sketches, and typical hits of engraving from his blocks. III. F. S. KINo With full-page engraving, Flowers of the Air, from. the painting by F. S. Church (frontispiece), a sketch by King, and a typical bit of his engraving. IV. WILLIAM B. CLOSSON With full-page engraving, The Worshippers, from the painting by F. H. Tompkins (frontispiece), and other original work by Closson. V. STiPHANE PANNEMAKER, With full-page engraving, The Red Pope, from Velas- quez s portrait in the Doria Gallery, Rome (frontis- piece) by Pannemaker, and his portrait, from a paint- ing by himself. VI. FRANK FRENCH With full-page engrav)ng, The Little Beggar Girl, from the painting by Dechamps (frontispiece), and original drawings by French. YEAR OF A HUNDRED YEARS. See History. W. C. BROWNELL, . 20 . 186 . 291 459 . 601 . 689 POETRY BENEVOLENCE, CITY OF DREAM, THE COMPASS, THE EASTER HYMN, AN. Pictures by The words by Thomas Blackburn; by permission of Messrs. Longmans & Co. EDGE OF CLAREMONT HILL, THE, FOOLS GOLD FORGOTTEN TALE, A Illustrations by Howard Pyle. INTO THE DARK LAND-LOCKED LAST PRAYER, THE LUKE XVIII., 11 MEMORY, A NEL MEZZO DEL CAMMIN, . PLAYTHINGS QUESTION OF PRIVILEGE, A REPORTED BY TRUTHFUL JAMES SORRENTO SUNSET SUNSHINE AND SHADOW THREE SONNETS TO A GREEK VICTORY WANDERERS, THE WIND, THE MRS. JAMES T. FIELDS, ROSAMUND MARRIOTT-WATSON, EDITh M. THOMAS, HENRY MCCARTER, HENRY VAN DYRE, EDITH M. THOMAS, A. CONAN DOYLE, WILLIAM WINTER, CHARLES BUXTON GoINo, WILLIAM WILFRED CAMPBELL, INA COOLBEITH, 4~. B. CARE, LOUISE BRTTS EDWARDS, BRET HARTE, JOHN HAY JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY, J. RUSSELL TAYLOR, WII.LIAM MORTON FULLERTON, PITTS DUFFIELD, HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD, H. K. MUNKITTRICK, vi PACE 157 751 156 513 422 773 565 17 628 337 382 399 315 227 614 154 691 114 364 304 497 78 587 w w PORTRAIT OF MRS. C ENGRAVED RY HENRY WOLF From the painting by William M. Chase.

Robert Grant Grant, Robert The Art Of Living. I. Income 3-17

SCRIBNERS MAGAZINE JANUARY 1895 THE ART OF LIVING INCOME By Robert Grant ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHARLES DANA GIBSON I ~ OGERS, the book-keeper for the past twenty-two R years of my friend Pat- terson, the banker, told me the other day that he had reared a family of two boys and three girls on his annual salary of two thou- sand two lmndred dollars ; that lie had put one of the boys through col- lege, one through the School of Mines, brought up one of the girls to be a librarian, given one a coining-out party and a trousseau, and that the remaining daughter, a home body, was likely to be the domestic sunshine of his owii and his wifes old age. All this on two thousand two hundred dollars a year. Rogers told nie with perfect modes- ~y, with just a tremor of self-satisfac- tion in his tone, as though, all things considered, lie felt that lie had luau- aged creditably, yet iiot in the least suggesting thai he regarded his per- forniance as out of the common run of happy household annals. He is a neat- looking, respectable, quiet, conserva- tive little man, rising fifty, who, while in the bank, invariably wears a nankeen jacket all the year round, a narrow black necktie in winter, and a narrow yellow and red pongee wash tie in sum ~ mer, and whose watch is no less inva- riably right to a second. As I often drop in to see Patterson, his employer, I depend upon it to keep mine straight, Copyright, 1814, by Charles Scribners Sons. All rights reserved. and it was while I was setting my chro- nometer the other day that he made me the foregoing confidence. Frankly, I felt as though I had been struck with a club. It happened to be the first of the month. Every visit of the postman had brought me a fresh batch of bills, each one of which was a little larger than I had expected. I was correspondingly depressed and re- morseful, and had been asking myself frolu time to time during the day why it need cost so much to live. Yet here was a man who was able to give his daughter a coming - out party and a trousseau on two thousand two hun- dred dollars a year. I opened my mouth twice to ask him how in the name of thrift he had managed to do it, but somehow the discrepancy be- tween his expenditures and mine seemed such a gulf that I was tongue- tied. I suppose, lie added modest- ly, that I have been very fortunate in my little family. It must indeed be sharper than a serpents tooth to have a thankless child. Gratitude too Gratitude and Shakespeare on two thousand two hundred dollars a year. I went my way without a word. There are various ways of treating remorse. Some take a Turkish bath or a pill. Others, while the day lasts, trample it under foot, and shut it out at night with the bed-clothes. Neither course has ever seemed to nie exactly satisfactory or manly. Consequently I am apt to entertain my self-reproach VOL. XVII No. 1 4 INCOME and reason with it, and when one begins to wonder why it costs so mnch to live, he finds himself grappling with the en- tire problem of civilization, and pres- ently his hydra has a hundred heads. The first of the month is apt to be a sorry day for my wife as well as for nie, and I hastened on my return home to tell her, with just a shadow of reproach in my tone, what Mr. Rogers had con- fided to me. Indeed I saw fit to ask, Why cant we (10 the same? We could, said Barbara. Then why dont we Because you wouldnt. I had been reflecting in the brief in- terval between my wifes first and see- onci replies that, in the happy event of our imitating Rogerss example from this time forth and forever more, I should be able to lay up over five thousand dollars a year, and that five thousand dollars a year saved for ten years would be fifty thousand dollars a very neat little financial nest egg. But Barbaras second reply upset my calculation utterly, and threw the re- sponsibilitv of failure on me into the bargain. Mr. Rogers is the salt of the earth, a highly respectable man and, if I am not mistaken, the deacon of a church, I remarked not altogether relevantly. Why should we spend four times as many thousand dollars a year as he? I wonder, answered my wife, if you really do appreciate how your friend Mr. Rogers lives. I aiu quite aware that you are talking now for effect talking through your hat as the chil- dren saybecause its the first of the month and youre annoyed that the bills are worse than ever, and I under- stand that you dont for one moment seriously entertain the hope that our establishment can be conducted on the same basis as his. But I should just like to explain to you for once how peo- ple who have only twenty-two hundred dollars a year and are the salt of the earth do live, if only to convince you that the sooner we stop comparing our- selves with them the better. I say we~ because in my moments of depression over the household expenses I catch myself doing the same thing. Our butchers bill for this month is huge, and when you came in I was in the throes of despair over a letter in the newspaper from a woman who contends that a good housekeeper in modest cir- cumstances can provide an excellent dinner for her family of six persons, including soup, fish, an entr6e, meat, The remaining daughtera home body. pudding, dessert, and coffee, for fifty- three cents. And she gives the din- ner, which at first sight takes ones breath away. But after you prune it of celery, parsley, salted peanuts, raisins, red cabbage, salad, and cheese, all there is left is bean-soup, cod sounds, fried liver, hot gingerbread, and apples. I should dine down town, if you set such repasts before me, I answered. Yes, said Barbara. And there is a very good point of departure for il- lustrating the domestic economies of the Rogers family. Mr. Rogers does dine down town. Not to avoid the fried liver and cod sounds, for prob- ably he is partial to them, but because it is cheaper. When you take what you call your luncheon, and which is apt to include as much as he eats in the entire course of the day, Mr. Rogers dines; dines at a restaurant where he L w / / INCOME 5 can get a modest meal for from fifteen to twenty-five cents. Sometimes it is pea - soup and a piece of squash - pie. The next day perhaps a mutton - stew 4 and a slice of water - nielon, or boiled beef and an (clair. Mrs. Rogers and the children have a pick-up dinner at home, which lasts them very well until night, when they and Rogers sit down to browned- hash mntton and a head of lettuce, or honey- comb tripe and corn- cake, and apple-sauce to wiii(l up with. That isnt so very bad. Why, they have a splendid time. They can abuse their social acquaintance and dis- cuss family secrets with- out fear of being over- heard by the servants because they dont keep any servants to speak of. Probably they keep one girl. Or perhaps Mr. Rogers had a spinster sister who helped with the work for her board. Or it may be Mrs. Rog- ers kept one while the children were little; but after the daughters were old enough to do it themselves, they preferred not to keep anybody. They live extremely happily, hut the children have to double up, for in their small house it is neces- sary to sleep two iii a room if not in a bed. The girls make most of their dresses, and the boys never dream of buying anything but ready-made cloth- ing. By living in the suburbs they let one establishment serve for all seasons, unless it be for the two weeks when Rogers gets his vacation. Then, if no- body has been ill during the year, the family purse may stand the drain of a stay at the humblest watering-place in their vicinity, or a visit to the farm- house of sonic relative in the country. An engagement with the dentist is a se- rious disaster, and the plumber is kept at a respectable distance. The children go to the public schools, and the only club or organization to which Mr. Rog- ers belongs is a benefit association, which pays him so much a week if he is ill, and would present his family with a few hundred dollars if he were to die. The son who went through col- lege must have got a scholarship or taken pu- pils. The girl who mar- ried undoubtedly made the greater portion of her trousseau with her own needle; and as to the coming - out party, some of the effects of splendor and all the de- lights of social inter- course can be produced by laying a white drug- get on the parlor carpet, the judicious use of half a dozen lemons and a mould of ice-cream with angel-cake, and by im- posing on the good nat- ure of a friend who can play the piano for danc- ing. There, my dear, if you are willing to live like that, we should be able to get along on from twenty-two to twenty-five hundred dollars quite nicely. My wife was perfectly correct in her declaration that I did not seriously en- tertain the hope of being able to imitate Mr. Rogers, worthy citizen and upright man as I believe him to be. I certainly was in sonic measure talking through my hat. This was not the first time I had brought home a Rogers to con- front her. She is used to them and aware that they are chiefly bogies. I, as she knows, and indeed both of us, are never in quite a normal condition on the first day of the month, and are liable, sometimes Gratitude and Shakespeare. A Spinster Sister. 6 INCOME the one of us and sometimes the oth- er, to indulge in vagaries and resolu- tions which by the tenth, when the bills are paid, seem almost uncalled for or impracticable. One thing is certain, that if a man earns only twenty-two hun- dred dollars a year, and is an honest man withal, he has to live on it, even though lie dines when others take luncheon, aiid is forced to avoid the dentist and the pluniber. But a much niore serious problem confronts the man who earns four times as niucli as Rogers, more se- rious because it involves an alternative. Rogers could not very well live on less if lie tried, without feeliiig the stress of poverty. He has lived at hard pan, so to speak. But I could. Could if I would, as my wife has denionstrated. I ani perfectly right, as she would agree, in being unwilling to try the experi- nieiit; aiid yet the consciousness that we spend a very large suni of money every year, as compared with Rogers and others like him, remains with us even after the bills are paid and we have ex- changed remorse for contemplation. The moralist, who properly is always with us, would here insinu- ate, perhaps, that Rog- ers is happier than I. But I take issue with him proniptly and deny the impeachment. Rogers may be happier tliaii his eniployer Pat- terson, because Patter- son, though the pos- sessor of a steam-yacht, has a son who has just been through the Kee- ley cure and a daugh- ter who is living apart froni her husband. But there are no such flies in niy pot of ointnient. I d e n y the superior liappiiiess of Rogers in entire consciousness of the moral beauty of his home. I recognize him to be an in- dustrious, self - sacrificing, kind - heart- ed, sagacious husband and father, and I admit that the pen - picture which the moralist could draw of him sitting by the evening lamp in his well-worn dressing gown, with his well - darned feet adorned by carpet-slippers of filial manufacture supported by the table or a chair, would be justly entitled to kin- dle emotions of respect and admiration. But why, after all, should Rogers, en- sconced in the family sitting-rooni with the cat on the hearth, a canary twitter- ing in a cage and scattering seed in one corner, a sewing - macliiiie in the other, and surrounded by all the coin- forts of home, consisting proniinently of a peach - blow vase, a Japanese sun umbrella and engravings of George Washington and Horace Greeley, be re- garded as happier than I in my modern drawing-room in evening dress? What is there moral in the simplicity of his frayed and somewhat ugly establish- ment except the spirit of contentment. and the gentle feelings which sanctify it? Assuming that these are not lack- ing in niy home, and I believe they are The good nature of a friend. not, I see no reason for accepting the conclusion of the moralist. There is a beauty of living which the man with a small income is not apt to compass nil- L INCOME 7 der present social conditions, the Dcc- laration of Independence to the con- My wife was perfectly correct. trary notwithstanding. The doctrine so widely and vehemently promulgated in America that a Spartan inelegance of life is the duty of a leading citizen, seems to be dying from inanition ; and the descendants of favorite sons who once triumphed by preaching and prac- tising it are now outvying those whom they were taught to stigmatize as the effete civilizations of Europe, in their devotion to creature comforts. It seems to me true that in our day and generation the desire to live wisely here has eclipsed the desire to live safely hereafter. Moreover, to enjoy the earth and the fulness thereof, if it be legiti- mately within one~ s reach, has come to be recognized all the world over, with a special point of view for each national- ity, as a cardinal principle of living ~ wisely. We have been the last to rec- ognize it here for the reason that a con- trary theory of life was for several gen- erations regarded as one of the bulwarks of our Constitution. Never was the sympathy for the poor man greater than it is at present. Never was there warmer interest in his condition. The social atmosphere is rife with theories and schemes for his emancipation, and the best brains of civilization arc at work in his behalf. But no one wishes to be like him. Canting churchmen still gain some credence by the assertion that in- digence here will prove a saving grace in the world to come ; but the Ameri- can people, quick, when it recognizes that it has been fooled, to discard even a once sacred conviction, smiles to-day at the assumption that the owner of a log cabin is more inherently virtuous than the owner of a steam-yacht. In- deed the present signal vice of democ- racy seems to be the fury to orow rich, in the mad struggle to accomplish which character and happiness are too often sacrificed. But it may be safely said that, granting an equal amount of virtue to Rogers and to me, and that each pays his bills promptly, I am a more enviable individual in the public eye. In fact the pressing problem which con- fronts the civilized world to-day is the choice of what to have, for so many things have become necessaries of exist- ence which were either done without or undiscovered in the days of our grandmothers, that only the really opu- lent can have everything. We some- times hear it said that this or that per- son has too much for his own good. The saying is familiar, and doubtless it is true that luxury unappreciated and abused will cause degeneration ; but the complaint seems to me to be a Sun- day-school consoler for those who have too little rather than a sound argument against great possessions. Granting that this or that person referred to had the moral fibre of Rogers or of me, and were altogether an unexceptionable character, how could he have too much for his own good? Is the best any too good for any one of us? The sad part of it is, however, that even those of us who have four times, or thereabouts, the income of Rogers, are obliged to pick and choose and can- not have everything. Then is the op- portunity for wisdom to step in and make her abode with us, if she only will. The perplexity, the distress, and 8 INCOME too often the downfall of those who would fain live wisely, are largely the direct results of foolish or unintelligent selection on their part. And converse- ly, is not the secret of happy modern living, the art of knowing what to have when one cannot have every- thing there is? I coupled just now, in allusion to Rogers and my- self, virtue and punctuality in the payment of bills, as though they were not alto- gether homogeneous. I did so designedly, not because I question that prompt pay- ment is in the abstract a leading virtue, nor because I doubt that it has been ab- solutely imperative for Rog- ers, and one of the secrets of his happiness ; but because I am not entirely sure whether, after ten years of prompt payment on the first of every month on my part, I have not been made the sorry v i c t i m of my own righteousness, self - right - eousness I might say, for I have plumed myself on it when comparing myself with the ungodly. Although vir- tuous action looks for no re- ward, the man who pays his bills as soon as they are presented has the right to expect that he will not be obliged to pay anything extra for his hones- ty. He may not hope for a discount, but he does hope and believe at least for a time that beefsteak paid for within thirty clays of purchase will not be taxed with the delinquencies of those who pay tardily or not at all. Slowly but sadly I and my wife have conic to the conclusion that the butch- ers, bakers, and candlestick-makers of this great Republic who provide for the tolerably well-to-do make up their losses by assessing virtue. It is a melancholy conclusion for one who has been taught to l)elieve that punctual payment is the first great cardinal principle of wise living, and it leaves one in rather a wob- bly state of mind, not as regards the rank of the virtue in question, but as regards the desirability of strictly liv- ing up to it in practice. I have heard stated with authority that the leading butchers, grocers, stable - keepers, dry- goods (lealers, dress - makers, florists, and plumbers of our great cities divide There is a beauty of living. the customers on their books into sheep and goats, so to speak; and the more prompt and willing a sheep, the deeper do they plunge the knife. Let one es- tablishi a reputation for prompt pay- ment and make a purchase on the twenty-fifth of the month, he will re- ceive on the first of the following a bill, on the twentieth, if this be not paid, a bill for account rendered, on the first of the next month a bill for account rendered, please remit, and on the tenth a visit from a collector. On the other hand I have known people who seem to live on the fat of the land, and to keep the tradesfolk in obsequious awe of them by force of letting their bills run indefinitely. Abroad, as many of us know, the status of the matter is very different. There interest is fig- L 7 INCOME 9 ured in advance, and those who pay promptly get a handsome discount on the face of their bills. While this ens . toni may seem to encourage debt, it is at least a mutual arrangement, and seems to have proved satisfactory, to judge from the fact that the fashion- able tailors amid dress-makers of London and Paris are apt to demur or shrug their shoulders at immediate payment, and to be rather embarrassingly grate- ful if their accounts are settled by the end of a year. No one would wish to change the national inclination of up- right people on this side of the water to pay on the spot, but the master and mistress of an establishment may well consider whether the fashionable trades- men ought to oblige them to bear the entire penalty of being sheep instead of goats. With this qualification, which is set forth rather as a caveat than a doctrine, the prompt payment of one s bills seems to be strictly co-ordinate with virtue, and may be properly de- scribed as the corner-stone of wise mod- em living. There are so many things which one has to have nowadays in order to be - -- comfortable that it seems almost im- provident to inquire how munch one ought to save before facing the ques- tion of what one can possibly do with- out. Here the people who are said to have too munch for their own good have an advantage over the rest of us. The future of their children is secure. If they dread death it is not because they fear to leave their wives and children unprovided for. Many of them go on saving, just the same, and talk poor if a railroad lowers a dividend, or there is not a ready market for their real estate at an exalted profit. Are there more irritating men or women in the world than the over-conservative persons of large means who are perpetually harp- ing on saving, and worrying lest they may not be able to put by for a rainy day, as they call it, twenty-five per cent. or more of their annual income? The capitalist, careworn by solicitude of this sort is the one fool in creation who is not entitled to some morsel of pity. How much ought the rest of us to save? I know a mannow you do not know him, and there is no use in rack- ing your brains to discover who lie is, Sheep and goats. 10 iNCOME which seems to be a principal motive for reading books nowadays, as though we writers had a cabinet photograph in our minds eye whenever we took a pen in hand. I know a man who di- vides his income into parts. All Gaul is divided into three parts, you will remember we read in the classics. Well, my friend, whom we will call Julius Caesar for convenience and mys- tification, divides his income, on the first of January, into a certain number of parts or portions. He and his wife have a very absorbing and earnest pow- wow over it annually. They take the matter very seriously, and burn the midnight oil in the sober endeavor to map and figure out in advance a wise and unselfish exhibit. So much and no more for rent, so much for servants, so much for household supplies, so much for clothes, so much for amuse- ments, so much for charity, so much to meet unlooked-for contingencies, and so much for investment. By the time the exhibit is finished it is mathemati- cally and ethically irreproachable, and, what is more, Julius C~sar and his wife live up to it so faithfully that they are sure to have some eight or ten dollars to the oood on the morning of December thirty-first, which they commonly ex- pend in a pair of canvas-back ducks and a bottle of champaone for which they pay cash, in reward for their own virtue and to enable them at the stroke of midnight to submit to their own con- sciences a trial balance accurate to a cent. Now it should be stated that Mr. and Mrs. Julius C~sar are not very busy people in other respects, and that their annual income, which is fifteen thou- sand dollars, and chiefly rent from im- proved real estate iii the hands of a trustee, flows on as regularly and sure- ly as a river. Wherefore it might per- haps be argued, if one were disposed to be sardonic, that this arithmetical sys- tem of life under the circumstances savors of a fad, and that Julius and his wife take themselves and their occupa- tion a trifle too seriously, especially as they have both been known to inform, solemnly and augustly, more than one acquaintance who was struggling for a living, that it is every ones duty to lay up at least one-tenth of his income and give at least another tenth in charity. And yet, when one has ceased to smile at the antics of this pair, the conscious- ness remains that they are right in their practice of foresight and arith- metical apportioning, and that one who would live wisely should, if possible, decide in advance how much he intends to give to the poor or put into the bank. Otherwise he is morally, or rather im- morally, certain to spend everything, and to suffer disagreeable qualms in- stead of enjoying canvas-back ducks and a bottle of champagne on Decem- ber thirty-first. As to what that much or little to be given and to be saved shall be, there is more room for discussion. Julius C~sar and his wife have declared in favor of a tenth for each, whuich in their case means fifteen hundred dol- lars given, and fifteen hundred dollars saved, which leaves them a net income of twelve thousand dollars to spend, and they have no children. I am in- clined to think that if every man with ten thousand dollars a year and a fam- ily were to give away three hundred dollars, and prudently invest seven hun- dred dollars, charity would not suffer so long as at present, and would be no less kind. Unquestionably those of us who come out on December thirty-first just even, or eight or nine dollars behind instead of ahead, and would have been able to spend a thousand or two more, are the ones who find charity and sav- ing so difficult. Our friends who are said to have too much for their own good help to found a hospital or send a deserving youth through college with- out winking. It costs them merely the trouble of signing a check. But it be- hooves those who have only four instead of forty times as much as Rogers, if they wish to do their share in relieving the needs of others, to do so promptly and systematically before the fine edge of the good resolutions formed on the first of January is dulled by the press- ure of a steadily depleted bank account, and a steadily increasing array of bills. Charity, indeed, is more difficult for us to practise than saving, for the simplest method of saving, life insurance, is en- forced by the stand and deliver ar- gument of an annual premium. Only he, who before the first crocus thrusts w 9 Worrying test they may not be able to put by for a rainy day. its gentle head above the winters snow has sent his cheek to the needy, and who can conscientiously hang upon his office door Fully insured; life insur- ance agents need not apply, is in a position to face with a calm mind the fall of the leaf and the December days when conscience, quickened by the dying year, inquires what we have done for our neighbor, and how the wife and the little ones would fare if we should be cut down in the strength of our man- hood. And yet, too, important as saving is, there are so many things which we must have for the sake of this same wife and the little ones that we cannot afford to save too much. Are we to toil and moil all our days, go without fresh butter and never take six weeks in Europe or Japan because we wish to make sure that our sons and daughters will be amply provided for, as the obit- uary notices put it? Some men with daughters only have a craze of saving ~ so that this one earthly life becomes a rasping, worrying ordeal, which is only too apt to find an end in the cocKiness of a premature grave. My friend Perkins here is another chance, identity seekers, to wonder who Perkins really is the father of four girls, is a thin, nervous lawyer, who ought to take a proper vacation ev- cry summer; but lie rarely does, and the reason seems to be that he is saddled by the idea that to bring a girl up in luxury and leave her with anything less than five thousand dollars a year is a piece of paternal brutality. It seems to me that a father ought iii the first place to remember that sonic girls marry. I reniinded Perkins of this one day. Sonie dont, he answered niourn- fully. Marriage does not run iii the female Perkins line. The chances are that two of my four will never marry. They might be able to get along, if they lived together and were careful, on seven thousand dollars .~, year, and I must leave theni that somehow. Hoot toot, said I, that seems to nie nonsense. Dont let the spectre of decayed gentlewonien hound you into dyspepsia or Brights disease, but give yourself a chance and trust to your girls to look out for themselves. There are so many things for women to do now besides niarry or pot jam, that a fond father ought to let his ner- vous system recuperate now and then. I suppose you mean that they niighit beconie teachers or physicians or hospital nurses or type - writers, said Perkins. Declined with thanks. Dont you think, I iiiquired with a little irritation, that they would be happier so than in doing nothing on a fixed income, in simply being niildhy cultivated and philanthropic on divi- dends, in nioving to the sea-side in summer and back ~ in in the autumn, 11 12 INCOME and iii dying at the last of some fash- ionable ailment? No I dont, said Perkins. Do you? Were I to repeat my answer to this inquiry I should be inviting a discus- sion on woman, which is not in place at this stage of our re- flections. Let me say, though, that I am still of the opinion that Per- kins ought to give his nervous system a chance and not worry so much about his daughters. II SEEING that there are so many things to have and that we cannot have everything, what are we to choose? I have sometimes, while trudging along in the sleighing season, no- ticed that many m m, whose income I b hieved to be much smaller than mine, were able to ride behind fast trotters in fur overcoats. The reason upon reflection was obvi- ous to me. ~Y~c of a certain class re- gard a ~ nd pin, a fur overcoat, and a fa f~ws~~ as the first necessaries of exstciice after a bed, a hair-brush one maid - of - all - work. In other words, they are willing to live in an in- expensive locality, with no regard to plumbing, society, or art, to have their food dropped upon the table, and to let their wives and daughters live with shopping as the one bright spot in the months horizon, if only they, the hus- bands and fathers, can satisfy the three-headed ruling ambition in ques- tion. The men to whom I am refer- ring have not the moral or ~sthetic tone of Rogers and myself, and belong to quite a distinct class of society from either of us. But among the friends of both of us there are people who act on precisely the same principle. A fine sense of selection ought to govern the expenditure of inconie, and the wise man will refrain from buying a steam- Some dont. yacht for himself or a diamond crescent for his wife before he has secured a home with modern conveniences, an efficient staff of servants, a carefully chosen family physician, a summer home, or an ample margin wherewith to hire one, the best educational ad- vantages for his chil- dren which the com- ti/) munity will afford, and ~ choice social surround ings. In order to have these comfortably and completely, and still not to be within sail- ing distance, so to speak, of a steam- yacht, one needs to have nowadays an in- come of from seven thousand to eleven thousand dollars, ac- cording to where one lives. I make this asser- tion in the face of the fact that our legislators all over the country an- nually decree that from four to five thousand dollars a year is a fat salary in reward for public service, and that an official with a family who is given twenty-five hundred or three thou- sand is to be envied. Envied by whom, pray? By the ploughman, the horse-car conductor, and the corner grocery man, may be, but not by the average business or professiommal man who is doing welL To be sure, five thousand dollars in a country town is affluence, if the bene- ficiary is content to stay there; but in a city the family man with only that in- come,. provided lie is ambitious, can only just live, and might fairly be described as the con sin german to a mendicant. And yet there are sonic worthy citizens still, who doubtless would be aghast at these statements, and would wish to know how one is to spend five thousand dollars a year without extravagance. We certainly did start in this country on a very different basis, and the doctrine of plain livimig was written in between the lines of the Constitution. We were practically to do our own work, to be content with pie and doughnuts as the staple articles of nutrition, to abide in w INCOME 13 one locality all the year round, and to eschew color, ornament, and refined rec- reation. All this as an improvement over the civilization of Europe and a re- buke to it. Whatever the ethical value w of this theory of existence in moulding the national character may have been, it has lost its hold to-day, and we as a na- tion have fallen into line with the once sneered-at older civilizations, though we honestly believe that we are giving and going to give a peculiar redeeming brand to the adopted, venerable cus- toms which will purge them of dross and bale. Take the servant question, for instance. We are perpetually dis- cussing how we are to do away with the social reproach which keeps native American women out of domestic ser- vice; yet at the same time in actual practice the demand for servants grows more and more urgent and wide-spread, and they are consigned still more hope- lessly, though kindly, to the kitchen and servants hall in imitation of English Butlers and other housekeeping soneosories. upper-class life. In the days when our Emerson sought to practise the social equality for which he yearned, by re- quiring his maids to sit at his own din- ner-table, a domestic establishment was a modest affair of a cook and a second girl. Now, the people who are said to have too much for their own good, keep butlers, ladies maids, governesses, who like Mahomets coffin hover b~ween the parlor and the kitchen, s~jiperfine laundresses, pages in buttons,jftnd other housekeeping accessories, a domestic life grows bravely more alA more com- plex. To be sure, too, I m quite aware that, as society is at pre ent constituted, only a comparatively ~ ~ia1l number out of our millions of freeKborn American cit- izens have or are abh~ to earn the seven to eleven thousand d(b llars a year requis- ite for thorough con tfort, and that the most interesting an / d serious problem which confronts hu:fr an society to-day is the annihilation ~or lessening of the terrible existing ii equalities in estate and welllai ~. This problem, absorbir~g as it is, can scarce- ly be 5~olved in our time. But, wh~tever the solution, whether by socialism, gov- ernmen t~ control, or broth- erly lovX, is it not safe to assume tI! ~ when every one shares alik~ I+ ciety is not going to be i ~ied with humble, paltry, ~ ~~ply con- ditions as the univers~al~w~al? If the new dispensation do not provide a style and man: ner of living at least equal in comfort, luxury, and re- finement to that which exists among the well- to-do to-day, it will be a failure. Humanity will never consent to be shut off from the best in order to be ex- erupt fi-om the worst. The millennium must supply not merely bread and butter, a house, a pig, a cow, and a sewing - machine for every one, but attrac- tive homes, gardens, a n d galleries, litera 14 INCOME ture and music, and all the range of ~s- thetic social adjuncts which tend to pro- mote healthy bodies, delightful manners, fine sensibilities, and noble purposes, or it will be iio millennium. Therefore one who would live wisely and has the present means, though he may deplore existing misery and seek to iieheve it, does not give away to others all his substance but spends it chiefly ~n himself and his family until he has s~jsfied certain needs. By way of a house h~ feels tbat he requires not merely a frail, \pnornainental shelter, but a carefully con\tructed, well ventilated, cosily and artis~ically furnished dwel- ling, where his ~mily will neither be scrimped for spac~e nor exposed to dis- comforts, and wh~re he can entertain his friends tastef lly if not with ele- gance. All this c osts money and in- volves large and r. curi~ent outlays for heating, lighting, pholstery, sanitary appliances, silver, c ma, and glass. It is not sufficient for him t~liat his cliil- ciren should be su e of their own fa- tlier; lie is solicitou~ , besides, that they should grow up a~ f ee ~s possible from physical blemishes, and mentally and spiritually soT ;id ~nd attractive. To promote t1 is he m~t needs consult or engage ~tom time ~ time skilled spe- cial ists, ~ ~, dancing and awing ~ private tutors, and ~tisic-te~liers. To enable these same sons ~1daughter~ to make the most of iem~lves, he must, during their -~ ~rlrmanhooJ and womanhood, enable them to pursue professional or other studies, to travel, and to mingle in cul- tivated and well-bred society. He must live in a choice ne hborhood that lie may surrouiicl himself aiid his family with refining influences, and accord- ingly lie must pay from twelve hundred to twenty-five hundred or three thou- sand dollars a year for rent, according to the size aiid clesiral)ility of the prem- ises. Unless he would have his wife and daughters merely household factors and drudges, lie must keep from three to five or six servants, whose wages vary froni four to six or seven dollars a week, and feed them. Nor can the ath- letic ~thetic, or merely pleasurable ne ed~ of a growing or adolescent house- ~i0ld be~ ignored. He must meet the steady and relentless drain from each of these sources, or be conscious that his flesh and blood have not the sanie advantages and opportunities which are enjoyed by their contemporaries. He must own a pew, a library share, a fancy dress costume and a cenietery lot, and he must always have loose change on hand for the hotel waiter and the col- ored railway porter. The family man in a laroc city who meets these several demands to his entire satisfaction will have little of ten thousand dollars left for the purchase of a trotter, a fur over- coat, aiid a dianiond pin. The growing consciousness of the value of these coniplex demands of our modern civilization, when intelligently gratified, acts at the present day as a cogent incentive to make money, not for the mere sake of accuniulation, but to spend. Gross accumulation with scant expenditure has always been sanc- tioned here; but to grow rich and yet be lavish has only within a compara- tively recent period among us seemed reconcilable with religious or national principles. Even yet he who many tinies a millionaire still walks unkempt, or merely plain and honest, has not en- tirely lost the halo of hero worship. But, though the old man is permitted to do as he prefers, better things are denianded of his sons and daughters. Nor can the argument that some of the greatest men in our history have been nurtured and brought up in cabins and away from refining influences be sound- ly used against the advisability of niak- ing the most of income, even though we now and then ask ourselves whether niodern living is producing statesmen of equally firm mould. But we thrill no longer at mention of a log cabin or rail splitting, and the very name of hard cider suggests rather unpleasantly the corner grocery store and the pie-per- nicated, hair- cloth suited New England parlor. Merely because other nations have long been aware that it was wise and not immoral to try to live comfortably and beautifully our change of faith is no less absorbing to us. We confident- ly expect to win fresh laurels by our originality, intelligence, and unselfish- ness in this new old field. Already w have we made such strides that our es- tablislunents on this side of the water make up in genuine comfort what they lack in ancient manorial picturesque- ness and ghost-haunted grace. Each one of us who is in earnest is asking how he is to make the most of what he has or earns, so as to attain that charm of refined living which is civilizations best flowerliving which if merely ma- terial and unaniiuated by intelligence and noble aims is without charm, but which is macic vastly more difficult of realization in case we are without means or refuse to spend them ade- quately. MI this costs money. I A F A FORGOTTEN TALE By X. Conan Doyle ILLUSTRATIONS BY HOWARD PYLE SAY, what saw you on the hill, Garcia, the herdsman? I saw my brindled heifer there, A trail of bowmen, spent and bare A little man on a roan mare And a tattered flag before them. SAY, what saw you in the vale, Garcia, the herdsman? There I saw my lambing ewe, And an army riding through, Thick and brave the pennons flew From the lance-heads oer them. 5AY, what saw you on the hill, Garcia, the herdsman? I saw beside the milking byre, White with want and black with mire, A little man with face afire Marshalling his bowmen. ~j There still remains in one of the valleys of the Cantabrian mountains in northern Spain a small hill called Colla de los Inglesos. It marks the spot where three hundred bowmen of the Rlack Princes army were surrounded by several thousand Spanish cavalry, and after a long and gallant resistance, were entirely destroyed. VOL. XVII.2

A. Conan Doyle Doyle, A. Conan A Forgotten Tale 17-20

A FORGOTTEN TALE By X. Conan Doyle ILLUSTRATIONS BY HOWARD PYLE SAY, what saw you on the hill, Garcia, the herdsman? I saw my brindled heifer there, A trail of bowmen, spent and bare A little man on a roan mare And a tattered flag before them. SAY, what saw you in the vale, Garcia, the herdsman? There I saw my lambing ewe, And an army riding through, Thick and brave the pennons flew From the lance-heads oer them. 5AY, what saw you on the hill, Garcia, the herdsman? I saw beside the milking byre, White with want and black with mire, A little man with face afire Marshalling his bowmen. ~j There still remains in one of the valleys of the Cantabrian mountains in northern Spain a small hill called Colla de los Inglesos. It marks the spot where three hundred bowmen of the Rlack Princes army were surrounded by several thousand Spanish cavalry, and after a long and gallant resistance, were entirely destroyed. VOL. XVII.2 18 A FORGOTTEN TALE SAY, what saw you in the vale, Garcia, the herdsman? There I saw my bullocks twain And the hardy men of Spain With bloody heel and slackened rein, Closing on their foemen. AY, but there is more to tell, Garcia, the herdsman. More I might not bide to view, I had other things to do, Tending on the lambing ewe, Down among the clover. RITHEE tell me what you heard, Garcia, the herdsman? Shouting from the mountain side, Shouting until eventide, But it dwindled and it died Ere milking time was over. A I-I, but saw you nothing more, Garcia, the herdsman? Yes, I saw them lying there, The little man and roan mare, And in their ranks the bowmen bare With their staves before them. AND the hardy men of Spain, Garcia, the herdsman? Hush, but we are Spanish too, More I may not say to you, May Gods benison, like dew, Gently settle oer them. AMERICAN WOOD-ENGRAVERS HENRY WOLF IN 1867 Henry Wolf was at Strasbourg serving an appren- ticeship to become a mechanic when he made the acquaint- ance of an engraver on wood, and hav- ing always had a fondness for drawing was easily persuaded to leave the ma- chine-shop and take up the graver. His newly made friend presented him to the important M. Jacques Levy, ar- tist-engraver, contributor to illustrated Parisian periodicals, and sole illustra- tor of a summer - season paper, LIllus- tratiort de Bade. M. Levy, after the fashion still prevailing among the great commercial engravers of Europe, had a studio full of young fellows who exe- cuted under his direction the work which he signed, and for which he *** The illustrations in this article are typical bits of engraving from blocks by nenry Wolf. monopolized all the credit and the larg- est part of the remuneration. Young Wolf, with an artistic instinct which needed only a chance to assert itself, found readily enough a place among M. Levys boys. Chance had it that one of the first things in which he distin- guished himself was in carefully copy- ing a drawing on wood, using pen-and. ink lines which needed only to be faith- fully followed by the engraver in cut- ting the block. The sad result natur- ally followed that Wolf was kept at that. special thing until a new turn of chance unexpectedly enlarged his horizon. The Franco-German War came, and the se- vere manner in which, as lie says, the Germans tried to win over their lost~ brethren the Alsatians, the bombard- ment of Strasbourg, which destroyed so many fine old buildings and damaged the great cathedral were too much for Wolf. Like thousands of his compa- triots he left his desolated home. In the United States he experienced Hanry Wolf, from tte painting by William M. Ctaae. t

Wood-Engravers. I. Henry Wolf 20-23

AMERICAN WOOD-ENGRAVERS HENRY WOLF IN 1867 Henry Wolf was at Strasbourg serving an appren- ticeship to become a mechanic when he made the acquaint- ance of an engraver on wood, and hav- ing always had a fondness for drawing was easily persuaded to leave the ma- chine-shop and take up the graver. His newly made friend presented him to the important M. Jacques Levy, ar- tist-engraver, contributor to illustrated Parisian periodicals, and sole illustra- tor of a summer - season paper, LIllus- tratiort de Bade. M. Levy, after the fashion still prevailing among the great commercial engravers of Europe, had a studio full of young fellows who exe- cuted under his direction the work which he signed, and for which he *** The illustrations in this article are typical bits of engraving from blocks by nenry Wolf. monopolized all the credit and the larg- est part of the remuneration. Young Wolf, with an artistic instinct which needed only a chance to assert itself, found readily enough a place among M. Levys boys. Chance had it that one of the first things in which he distin- guished himself was in carefully copy- ing a drawing on wood, using pen-and. ink lines which needed only to be faith- fully followed by the engraver in cut- ting the block. The sad result natur- ally followed that Wolf was kept at that. special thing until a new turn of chance unexpectedly enlarged his horizon. The Franco-German War came, and the se- vere manner in which, as lie says, the Germans tried to win over their lost~ brethren the Alsatians, the bombard- ment of Strasbourg, which destroyed so many fine old buildings and damaged the great cathedral were too much for Wolf. Like thousands of his compa- triots he left his desolated home. In the United States he experienced Hanry Wolf, from tte painting by William M. Ctaae. t AMERICAN WOOD-ENGRAVERS HENRY WOLF 21 no difficulty iu finding the work he was accustomed to do, and besides attend- ing life classes at night and otherwise improving every chance lie had to study, he began in earnest to try his hand at en- graving. With Frederick Juengling, the enthusiastic engraver, who put his whole heart and soul in his work, he stayed four fruitful years. After gradual stages of development Wolf found himself with decided notions of his own, radical- ly rebelling against the conventional style of engraving prevalent at that epoch the style of the wood-cutter ; against those cuts which were primarily com- posed of lines run in certain directions according to set rules, and which were never free, elastic, and yet faithful in- terpretations and renderings of an orig- inal. Under the patronage of Seribmers AEon thly (afterward the Century Jilaga- zinc) and Harpers JVEagazine the new school proved, by a succession of splen- did examples, its right to contend that in each case the manner of the engrav- ing ought to be made subservient to, and lose itself in, the subject. The pho- tographing of originals on wood, the perfection in printing and in paper, have been powerful factors in the ad- vance of modern engraving, but it would be irrelevant to attribute this to such purely material causes. Art, like every other expression of life, varies its garbs but not its sub- stance, but because of its close adapta- tion to the conditions of our day it is the more readily appreciated by the people of our day. The American art of wood-engraving, in its variety, its delicacy and fin- ish, set off as it is by fine paper and printing, is prob- ably the most popular as well as one of the most wor- thy and refined expressions of the ~sthetic sense. The unexpectedness, the grace, and the resourcefulness of Mr. Wolfs technique are matters in which the craft find much to admire. How- ever, technique being bnt the means to an end, what is important, after all, is the motive for, and the result of, technique. To his constant and conscientious efforts, to the mans respect for his in- stinct of the best, and his ever striv- ing to follow it unmindful of considera- tions for money and time, Wolf owes his success. Growing steadily he has advanced step by step to the very front ranks of the great engravers of the world, and within the lines he has chosen, as an interpreter of the works of modern painters, if he has peers, he has no superiors. With respect for each new subject and the fear that though trying his best he will not sue- 22 AMERICAN WOOD-ENGRAVERS HENRY WOLF ceed in doing justice to face and hands, the expression! and it, Wolf seeks to enter done in a manner which is Mr. Wolfs into the personality of own. It also suggests admirably Mr. the artist whom he is Chases handling. Examine it close- to engrave. He lyit is sees not simply composed all that the of simple painter has put black lines. into his work, What gives but he feels them such what he has life and sig- wanted to put in it. Going nifican cc, from ensemble to details, and what makes details to ensemble, his work them trem- ends by giving the sensation of ble with the original. It is obvious that suggestive- black and white can never be the ness before copy but only a translation of a our eyes is painting ; and besides, the block the clear being so much smaller than the vision, the original, makes it impossible to fine artistic go into detailsessentials alone perception, can be there, and with them the the quick spirit of the thing. The size of responsive the frontispiece, the engraving sympathy, of the portrait of Mrs. C , the striving is in a proportion to the paint- for perfec ing as 1 to 121, and yet it is that paint- tion of the engraver. Such an engraving ing; it gives its tone, its colors, its quiet is no chance production of a professional values, the delicate lineaments of the hand. It is the work of a great artist. ONE of the rarest and most delicate pleasures of the continental tour- ist is to defy Murray. That ad- mirable cicerone has so completely an- ticipated the most whimsical impulses of his readers that (especially in Italy) it is now almost impossible to plan a tour of exploration without finding, on ref- erence to one of his indispensable vol- nines, that he has already been over the ground, has tested the inns, meas- ured the kilometres, and distilled from the heavy tomes of Kugler, Burckhardt, and Cavalcaselle a portable estimate of the local art and architecture. Even the subsequent discovery of his in- cidental lapses scarcely consoles the traveller for the habitual accuracy of his statements ; and the only refuge left from his oppressive omniscience lies in approaching the places he de- scribes by a route which be has not taken. Those to whom one of the greatest charms of travel in over-civilized coun- tries consists in such momentary es- capes from the obvious will still find here and there, even in Italy, a few miles unmeasured by Murrays seven- leagued boots; and it was to enjoy the brief exhilaration of such a discovery that we stepped out of the train one morning at Certaldo, determined to find our way thence to San Vivaldo. Even Mr. Murray does not know much of San Vivaldo, and such infor By Edith Wharton (

Edith Wharton Wharton, Edith A Tuscan Shrine 23-33

ONE of the rarest and most delicate pleasures of the continental tour- ist is to defy Murray. That ad- mirable cicerone has so completely an- ticipated the most whimsical impulses of his readers that (especially in Italy) it is now almost impossible to plan a tour of exploration without finding, on ref- erence to one of his indispensable vol- nines, that he has already been over the ground, has tested the inns, meas- ured the kilometres, and distilled from the heavy tomes of Kugler, Burckhardt, and Cavalcaselle a portable estimate of the local art and architecture. Even the subsequent discovery of his in- cidental lapses scarcely consoles the traveller for the habitual accuracy of his statements ; and the only refuge left from his oppressive omniscience lies in approaching the places he de- scribes by a route which be has not taken. Those to whom one of the greatest charms of travel in over-civilized coun- tries consists in such momentary es- capes from the obvious will still find here and there, even in Italy, a few miles unmeasured by Murrays seven- leagued boots; and it was to enjoy the brief exhilaration of such a discovery that we stepped out of the train one morning at Certaldo, determined to find our way thence to San Vivaldo. Even Mr. Murray does not know much of San Vivaldo, and such infor By Edith Wharton ( A TUSCAN SHRINE as he gives on the subject is re- vaguely aware that, somewhere among freshingly inaccurate; but that is less the hills between Volterra and the Ar- remarkable than his knowing of it at all, no, there lay an obscure monastery con- since we found, on inquiry in Florence, taming a series of terra - cotta groups that even among amateurs of Tuscan which were said to represent the scenes art its name is unfamiliar, of the Passion. No one in Florence, For some months we had been however, seemed to know much about (Now in the Bargello.) 24 The Presepio of San Vivaldo. A TUSCAN SHRINE 25 them; and many of the people whom we questioned had never even heard of San Vivaldo. Professor Enrico Ri- doll, director of the Royal Museums at Florence, knew by hearsay of the ex- istence of the groups, and assured me that there was every reason to credit the local tradition which has always at- tributed them to Giovanni Gonnelli, the blind modeller of Gambassi, an artist of the seventeenth century. Professor Ri- dolfi had, however, never seen any pho- tographs of the groups, and was, in fact, not unnaturally disposed to believe that they were of small artistic merit, since Gonnelli worked even later, and in a more debased period of taste, than the modeller of the well-known groups at Yarallo. Still, even when I~alian sculpture was at its lowest, a spark of its old life smouldered here and there in the improvisations of the plas- ticatore; and I hoped to find, in the despised groups of San Vivaldo, some- thing of the coarse naivete and brutal energy which animate their more famous rivals of Yarallo. In this hope we start- ed in search of San Vivaldo; and as Murray had told us that it could only be reached by way of Castel Fiorenti- no, we promptly determined to attack it from San Gimignano. At Certaldo, where the train left us one April morning, we found an ar- chaic little carriage, whose coachman entered sympathetically into our plan for defying Murray. He said there was a road, with which he declared himself familiar, leading in about four hours across the mountains from San Gimi- guano to San Vivaldo; and in his charge we were soon crossing the pop- lar-fringed Elsa and climbing the steep road to San Gimignano, where we in- tended to spend the night. The next morning before sunrise the little carriage awaited us at the inn- door; and as we dashed out under the gate-way of San Gimignano we felt the thrill of explorers sighting a new con- tinent. It seemed in fact an unknown world which lay beneath us in the new light. The hills, so firmly etched at mid-day, at sunset so softly modelled, had melted into a silver sea whose farthest waves were indistinguishably merged in billows of luminous mist. VOL. XVJJ.3 Only the near foreground retained its precision of outline, and that too had assumed an air of unreality. Fields, hedges, and cypresses were tipped with an aureate brightness which recalled the golden ripples running over the grass in the foreground of Botticellis Birth of Venus. The sunshine had the density of gold-leaf; we seemed to be driving through the landscape of a missal. At first we had this magical world to ourselves, but, as the light broad- ened, groups of laborers began to ap- pear nnder the olives and between the vines; shepherdesses, distaff in hand, drove their flocks along the roadside, and yokes of white oxen, with scarlet fringes above their meditative eyes, moved past us with such solemn delib- erateness of step that fancy trans- formed their brushwood laden carts into the sacred caroccio of the past. Ahead of us the road wound through a district of vineyards and orchards, but north and east the panorama of the Tuscan hills unrolled itself, range after range of treeless undulations outlined one upon the other, as the sun grew high, with the delicate pre- cision of a mountainous background in a print of Sebald Behams. Behind us the fantastic towers of San Gimi- guano dominated each bend of the road like some persistent mirage of the desert ; to the north lay Castel Fioren- tino, and far away other white villages, embedded like fossil shells in the hill- sides. The elements composing the fore- ground of such Tuscan scenes are al- most always extremely simpleslopes trellised with vine and mulberry, under which the young wheat runs like green flame ; stretches of ash-colored olive- orchard; and here and there a farm- house with projecting eaves and open loggia, sentinelled by its inevitable group of cypresses. These cypresses, with their velvety-textured spires of rusty black, acquire an extraordinary ex- pressiveness against the neutral-tinted breadth of the landscape; distributed with the sparing hand with which a practised writer uses his exclamation points they seem, as it were, to em- phasize the more intimate meaning of 26 A TUSCAN SHRINE the scene; calling the eye here to a shrine, there to a homestead, or testify- ing by their mere presence to the lost tradition of some barren knoll. But this significance of detail is one of the chief charms of the mid - Italian landscape. It has none of the purposeless prodi- gality, the extravagant climaxes of what is called fine scenery ; nowhere is there any obvious largesse to the eye; but the very reticence of its delicately moulded lines, its seeming disdain of facile effects, almost give it the quality of a work of art, make it appear the crowning production of centuries of plastic expression. For some distance the road from San Gimignano to San Vivaldo winds con- tinuously up - hill, and our ascent at length brought us to a region where agriculture ceases and the way lies across heathery uplands, with a scant growth of oaks and ilexes in their more sheltered hollows. As we drove on, these in turn gave way to stone-pines, and presently we dipped over the yoke of the highest ridge and saw below us another sea of hills, with a bare moun- tain-spur rising from their midst like a scaly monster floating on the waves, its savage spine bristling with the walls and towers of Volterra. For nearly an hour we skirted the edge of this basin of hills, in sight of the ancient city on its livid cliff; then we turned into a gentler country, through woods starred with primroses, with a flash of streams in the hollows, and presently a murmur of church- bells came like a mysterious welcome through the trees. At the same mo- macnt we caught sight of a brick cam- panile rising above oaks and ilexes on a slope just ahead of us, and our carriage turned from the high-road up a lane with scattered chapels show- ing their white fa9ades through the foliage. This lane, making a sudden twist, descended abruptly between mossy banks and brought us out upon a grass-plot before a rectangular mon- astery adjoining the church whose bells had welcomed us. Here was San Vi- valdo, and the chapels we had passed doubtless concealed beneath their cu- polas more neat than solemn the terra-cottas of which we were in search. The monastery of San Vivaldo, at one time secularized by the Italian Government, has now been restored to the Franciscan order, of which its pa- tron saint was a member. San Vivaldo was born in San Gimignano in the latter half of the thirteenth century, and after joining the Tertiary Order of Saint Francis in his youth, retired to a hol- low chestnut-tree in the forest of Cam- poreno (the site of the present monas- tery), in which exiguous hermitage he spent the remainder of his life in continual macerations and abstinence. After his death the tree which had been sanctified in so extraordinary a manner became an object of devotion among the neighboring peasantry, and when it disappeared they raised an oratory to the Virgin on the spot where it had stood. It is doubtful, however, if this memorial, which fell gradually into neglect, would have preserved San Vivaldo from oblivion, had not that Senancour of a saint found a Matthew Arnold in the shape of a Franciscan friar, a certain Fra Cherubino of Flor- en6e, who early in the sixteenth cen- tury was commissioned by his Order to watch over and restore the aban- doned sanctuary. Fra Cherubino, with his companions, took possession of the forest of Camporeno, and pro- ceeded to lay the foundation stone of a monastery which was to commemorate the hermit of the chestnut-tree. Such was the eloquence of Fra Cherubino that he speedily restored to popular favor the forgotten merits of San Vi- valdo, and often after one of his ser- mons three thousand people might be seen marching in procession to the river Evola to fetch building materials for the monastery. Meanwhile, Fra Tommaso, another of the friars, struck by the resemblance of the hills and valleys of Camporeno to the holy places of Palestine, began the erection of the devout chapels which were to con tam the representations of the Passion; and thus arose the group of buildings now forming the monastery of San Vivaldo. As we drove up we saw several friars at work in the woods and in the vege - table garden below the monastery. These took no notice of us, but in A TUSCAN SHRINE 27 answer to our coachmans summons there appeared another friar, whose Roman profile might have emerged rom one of those great portrait groups o the sixteenth century, where grave- featured monks and chaplains are gathered about a seated pope. He greeted us courteously, and assuring us that it was his duty to conduct visitors to the different shrines, proceeded at once to lead us to the nearest chapel, with as little evidence of surprise as though the grassy paths of San Vivaldo were invaded by daily hordes of sight- seers. The chapels, about twenty in number (as many more are said to have perished), are scattered irregular- ly through the wood. Our guide, who manifested a most intelligent interest in the works of art in his charge, af- firmed that these were undoubtedly due to the genius of Giovanni Gonnelli. Some of the masters productions had indeed been destroyed, or replaced by the work of qualche muratore; but in those which survived he assured us that we should at once recognize the touch of an eminent hand. As he led the way he alluded smilingly to the leg- endary blindness of Giovanni Gon- nelli, which plays a most picturesque part in the artists biography. The friar assured us that Gonnelli was on- ly blind of one eye, thus demolishing Baldinuccis charming tradition of por- trait busts executed in total darkness to the admiring amazement of popes and princes. Still, we suspected him of adapting his heros exploits to the delicate digestion of the unorthodox, and perhaps secretly believing in the delightful anecdotes over which he af- fected to smile. On the threshold of the first chapel he paused to explain that sonic of the groups had been irrep- arably injured during the period of neglect and abandonment which fol- lowed upon the suppression of the monastery. The Government, he added, had seized the opportunity to carry off from the church the Presepio, which was Gonnellis chef-dceuvre, and to ~ strip many of the chapels of the es- enteheons in IRobbia ware which for- inerly adorned their ceilings. Even then, however, he concluded, our good fathers were keeping secret watch over the shrines, and they saved some of the escutcheons by covering them with whitewash; but the Government has never given us back our Presepio. Having thus guarded us against pos- sible disillusionment he unlocked the door of the chapel upon what he de- dared to be an undoubted work of the master The Descent of the Holy Ghost upon the Disciples. This group, like all the others at San Vivaldo, is set in a little apsidal recess at one end of the chapel. I had expected, at best, an inferior imitation of the groups of Va- rallo; and my surprise was great when I found myself in presence of a much finer and, as it seemed to me, a much earlier work. The illustration on page 30 shows the general disposition of the group, though the defective lighting of the chapel has made it impossible for the photographer to reproduce the more delicate details of the original. The central figure, that of the Virgin, is one of the most graceful at San Vi- valdo; her face austerely tender, with lines of grief and age furrowing the wimpled cheeks; her hands, like those of all the figures attributed to Gon- nelli, singularly refined and expressive. The same air of unction, of what the French call recuejilernent, distinguishes the face and attitude of the kneeling disciple on the extreme left ; indeed what chiefly struck me in the group was that air of devotional simplicity which we are accustomed to associate with an earlier and purer period of art. Next to this group the finest is per- haps that of Lo Spasimo, the swoon of the Virgin at the sight of Christ bear- ing the cross. Unfortunately, owing to the narrow, corridor-like shape of the chapel in which it is placed, it is that which the photographer has been least successful in reproducing. It is the smallest of the groups, being less than life-size, and comprising only the fig- ure of the Virgin supported by the Manes, with a Saint John kneeling at her side. In it all the best attributes of the artist are conspicuous; careful modelling, reticence of expression, and, abdve all, that gift of tears which is the last quality we look for in the plas- tic art of the seventeenth century. 28 A TUSCAN SHRINE Among other groups undoubtedly due to the same hand are those of Christ Before Pilate, of the Ascen- sion, and of the Magdalen Bathing the Feet of Christ. In the group of the Ascension the upper part has been grotesquely restored; but the figures of the Virgin and disciples, kneeling below, are intact. On their faces is seen that look of wondering ecstasy, the light which never was on sea or land which the artist excelled in representing. In every group his Saint John has this luminous look; and in that of the As- cension it brightens even the shrewd, bearded countenances of the older dis- ciples. In the group of Christ Before Pilate the figure of Pilate is especially noteworthy; his delicate, incredulous lips seem just framing the melancholy What is truth? As we stood before this scene our guide pointed out to us that the handsome Roman lictor who raises his arm to strike the Saviour has had his hand knocked off by the indig- nant zeal of the faithful. The repre- sentation of the Magdalen Bathing the Feet of Christ is noticeable for the fine assemblage of heads about the sup- per-table. That of Christ and his host are peculiarly expressive; and Saint Johns look of tranquil tenderness con- trasts almost girlishly with the clus- tered majesty of the neighboring faces. The Magdalen is less happily execut- ed; she is probably by another hand. In the group of the Crucifixion, for the most part of inferior workmanship, the figures of the two thieves are finely modelled, and their expression of an- guish has been achieved with the same sobriety of means which marks all the artists effects. The remaining groups in the chapels are without merit, but under the portico of the church there are three fine figures, possibly by the same artist, representing Saint IRoch, Saint Linus, of Volterra, and one of the Fathers of the Church. There are, then, among the groups of San Vivaldo, five which appear to be by the same master, in addition to sev- eral scattered figures presumably by his hand; all of which tradition has al- ways attributed to Giovanni Gonn~elli, the blind pupil of Pietro Tacca. The figures in these groups are nearly, if not quite, as large as life ; they have all been rudely repainted, and are entirely unglazed, though framed in glazed mouldings. As I have said, Professor Ridolfi, in reply to my inquiries, had confirmed the local tradition, and there seemed no doubt that the groups had always been regarded as the work of Gonnelli, an obscure artist living at a time when the greatest masters produced little to which posterity has conceded any ar- tistic excellence. But my first glance at the groups assured me that if they were modelled in mid-seventeenth cen- tury, then I knew nothing of the Italian sculpture of that period. Neither their merits nor defects seemed to me to be- long to it. I recalled the gigantic swollen limbs and small insipid heads of the pupils of Giovanni Bologna; the smooth, heavy Flemish touch, min- gled with a shallow affectation of refine- ment, which peopled every church and palace in Italy with an impersonal flock of Junos and Virgin Marys, Venuses and Magdalens, distinguishable only by their official attributes. What had the modeller of San Vivaldo in common with such art? The more closely I examined the terra-cottas the more the assurance grew that they were the work of an ai- tist trained in an earlier tradition, the tradition of the later Robbias, whose hand, closely associated with that of the modeller, is every~~here visible in the mouldings which frame the groups and the medallions in the ceilings of the chapels. The careful modelling of the hands, the quiet grouping, so free from a distorted agitation, the simple draperies, the devotional expression of the faces, all seemed to me to point to the lingering influence of the fif- teenth century ; not, indeed, to the in- comparable charm of its prime, but the refinement, the severity of its close. As I looked at the groups I was haunt- ed by a confused recollection of a Pre- sepio seen at the Bargello, attributed to Giovanni della Robbia or his school~ could it be the one which had been re- moved from San Vivaldo? My first thought on returning to Florence was to satisfy my curiosity on this point. I went at once to the Bar- gello, and found, as I had expected, 4, The Ascension. VOL. XVII.4 * Descent of the Holy Spirit. that the Presepio of San Yivaldo was is enhanced by an excessively ornate the one I had in mind. But I was frame of fruit-garlanded pilasters, as startled, on seeing it, by the extraor- well as by its charming predella, sub- dinary resemblance of the heads to divided by panels of arabesque. Alto- some of those in the groups ascrihed gether it is a far more elaborate pro- to Gonnelli. I had fancied that the dnction than the terra-cottas of San modeller of S ~n Yivaldo might have Vivaldo, and some of its most graceful been inspired by the Presepio ; but I details, snch as the dance of angels on was unprepared for the absolute iden- the stable roof, are evidently borrowed tity of treatment in certain details of from the earlier r~pertoire of the Rob- the hair and drapery, and for the re- bias; but, in spite of these incidental currence of the same type of face. Un- arcbaisms, who can fail to be struck by doubtedly, the Presepio shows the likeness of the central figures to greater delicacy of treatment; but certain of the statues at San Vivaldo? then the figures are smaller, and it is a The head of Saint Joseph, in the Pre- relief, whereas at San Yivaldo the figures sepio, for instance, with its wrinkled are so much detached from the back- penthouse forehead and curled and ground that they may be regarded as parted beard, suggests at once that of groups of statuary. Then the glaze the disciple seated on the right of Saint which covers all but the faces of the John in the house of the Pharisee; the Presepio has preserved its original same face, though younger, occurs beauty of coloring, while the groups of again in the Pentecostal group, and San Vivaldo have been crudely daubed the kneeling female figure in the Pre- with fresh coats of paint, and even sepio is treated in the same manner whitewash; and, lastly, the Presepio as the youngest Mary in the group of 30 Lo Spasimo. Even the long, rolled- back tresses, with their shell-like con- volutions are the same. To a person without technical com- petence it was naturally bewildering to trace snch resemblances between works of art differing almost a hulidred and fifty years in age. It was impossible not to reject at once the theory of a seventeenth- century artist content to imitate, with Chinese acenracy, the man - ncr of the iRobbias; yet, how fall back upon the more improbable hypothe- sis that the terra-cottas of San Vi. valdo were really a century older than was popularly supposed? I had been too much impressed by the beauty of the groups to let the question rest, and I therefore determined to have them photographed, that they might be submitted to a more critical exami- nation than mine. As soon as the hotographs were finished I sent them p to Professor iRidolfi, who had listened with the greatest courtesy and patience, but with some natural incredulity, to my description of the terra-cottas. He was kind enough to send inc at once an exhaustive opinion of the groups; and I have no hesitation in quoting from his letter, as I had previously told him that I hoped to publish the result of my in- vestigations. No sooner, Professor iRidolfi writes, had I seen the photographs than I became convinced of the error of at- tributing them to Giovanni Gonnelli, called ii Gicco di Gambassi. I saw at once that they are not the work of an artist of the seventeenth century, bnt of one living at the close of the fifteenth or beginning of the sixteenth century; of an artist of the school of the IRob- bias, who follows their precepts and pos- sesses their style . . . the figures are most beautifully grouped, and mod- elled with profound sentiment and not a little bravura. They do not appear to me to be all by the same author, for the Christ in the house of the Phari- see seems earlier and purer in style, and more robust in manner; also the 31 The Msgdslen in the House of the Pharisee. swoon of the Madonna . . . which is executed in a grander style than the other reliefs and seems to belong to the first years of the sixteenth century. The fact that these terra-cottas are not glazed does not prove that they are not the work of the IRobbia school; for Giovanni della Robbia, for example, sometimes left the flesh of his figures unglazed, painting them with the brush; 32 and this is precisely the case in a Pre- sepio of the National Museum (this is the Presepio of San Vivaldo), a work of the Robbias, in which the flesh is left unglazed. I therefore declare with absolute certainty that it is a mistake to attrib- ute these beautiful works to Giovanni Gonnelli, and that they are a century carlicr in date. Lo Spasimo. THE AMAZING MARRIAGE BY GEORGE MEREDITH CHAPTER I ENTER DAME GOSSIP AS CHORUS EVERYBODY has heard of the beautiful Countess of Cressett, who was one of the lights of this country at the time when crowned heads were running over Eu- rope, crying out for charitys sake to be amused, after their tiresome work of slaughter; and you know what a dread they have of moping. She was famous for her fun and high spirits, besides her good looks, which you may judge of for yourself on a walk down most of our great noblemens collections of pictures in England, where you will behold her as the Goddess Diana fitting an arrow to a bow; and elsewhere an Amazon holding a spear; or a lady with dogs, in the costume of the day; and in one place she is a nymph, if not Diana her- self, gazing at her naked feet before her attendants loosen her tunic for her to take the bath, and her hounds are prick- ing their ears, and you see antlers of a stag behind a block of stone. She was a wonderful swimmer, among other things; and one early morning, when she was a girl, she did really swim, they say, across the Shannon and back, to win a bet for her brother, Lord Levellier, the colonel of cavalry, who left an arm in Egypt, and changed hi~ way of life to become a wizard, as the common people about his neighborhood sup- posed, because he foretold the weather and had cures for aches and pains with- out a doctors diploma. But we know now that he was only a mathematician and astronomer, all for inventing mili- tary engines. The brother and sister were great friends in their youth, when he had his right arm to defend her reputation with; and she would have done anything on earth to please him. There is a picture of her in an im- mense flat white silk hat, trimmed with pale blue, like a pavilion, the broadest VOL. XVJJ.5 brini ever seen, and she simply sits on a chair; and Venus the Queen of Beauty would have been extinguished under that hat, I am sure; and only to look at Countess Fannys eye beneath the brim she has tipped ever so slightly in her artfulness makes the absurd thing graceful and suitable. Oh! she was a cunning one. Bnt you must be on your guard against the scandal- mongers and collectors of anecdotes, and worst of any, the critic of our Gal- leries of Art; for she being in almost all of them (the principal painters of the day were on their knees for the favor of a sitting), they have to speak of her pretty frequently, and they sea- son their dish, the coxcombs do, by hinting a knowledge of her history. Here we come to another portrait of the beautiful but, we fear, naughty Countess of Cressett. You are to imagine that they know everything. And they are so indulgent when they drop their blot on~a ladys character! They can boast of nothing more than having read Nymneys Letters and Correspondence, published, fortunate- ly for him, when he was no longer to be called to account below for his mali- cious insinuations, pretending to de- cency in initials and dashes. That man was a hater of women and the clergy. He was one of the horrid creatures who write with a wink at you, which sets the wicked part of us on fire; I have known it myself and I own it to my shame; and if I happened to be igno. rant of the history of Countess Fanny, I could not refute his wantonness. He has just the same benevolent leer for a bishop. Give me, if we are to make a choice, the beggars breech for decency, I say; I like it vastly in preference to a Nymney who leads you up to the cur tam and agitates it, and bids von retire on tiptoe. You cannot help being an- gry with the man for both reasons. But he is the writer Society delights in,

George Meredith Meredith, George The Amazing Marraige 33-48

THE AMAZING MARRIAGE BY GEORGE MEREDITH CHAPTER I ENTER DAME GOSSIP AS CHORUS EVERYBODY has heard of the beautiful Countess of Cressett, who was one of the lights of this country at the time when crowned heads were running over Eu- rope, crying out for charitys sake to be amused, after their tiresome work of slaughter; and you know what a dread they have of moping. She was famous for her fun and high spirits, besides her good looks, which you may judge of for yourself on a walk down most of our great noblemens collections of pictures in England, where you will behold her as the Goddess Diana fitting an arrow to a bow; and elsewhere an Amazon holding a spear; or a lady with dogs, in the costume of the day; and in one place she is a nymph, if not Diana her- self, gazing at her naked feet before her attendants loosen her tunic for her to take the bath, and her hounds are prick- ing their ears, and you see antlers of a stag behind a block of stone. She was a wonderful swimmer, among other things; and one early morning, when she was a girl, she did really swim, they say, across the Shannon and back, to win a bet for her brother, Lord Levellier, the colonel of cavalry, who left an arm in Egypt, and changed hi~ way of life to become a wizard, as the common people about his neighborhood sup- posed, because he foretold the weather and had cures for aches and pains with- out a doctors diploma. But we know now that he was only a mathematician and astronomer, all for inventing mili- tary engines. The brother and sister were great friends in their youth, when he had his right arm to defend her reputation with; and she would have done anything on earth to please him. There is a picture of her in an im- mense flat white silk hat, trimmed with pale blue, like a pavilion, the broadest VOL. XVJJ.5 brini ever seen, and she simply sits on a chair; and Venus the Queen of Beauty would have been extinguished under that hat, I am sure; and only to look at Countess Fannys eye beneath the brim she has tipped ever so slightly in her artfulness makes the absurd thing graceful and suitable. Oh! she was a cunning one. Bnt you must be on your guard against the scandal- mongers and collectors of anecdotes, and worst of any, the critic of our Gal- leries of Art; for she being in almost all of them (the principal painters of the day were on their knees for the favor of a sitting), they have to speak of her pretty frequently, and they sea- son their dish, the coxcombs do, by hinting a knowledge of her history. Here we come to another portrait of the beautiful but, we fear, naughty Countess of Cressett. You are to imagine that they know everything. And they are so indulgent when they drop their blot on~a ladys character! They can boast of nothing more than having read Nymneys Letters and Correspondence, published, fortunate- ly for him, when he was no longer to be called to account below for his mali- cious insinuations, pretending to de- cency in initials and dashes. That man was a hater of women and the clergy. He was one of the horrid creatures who write with a wink at you, which sets the wicked part of us on fire; I have known it myself and I own it to my shame; and if I happened to be igno. rant of the history of Countess Fanny, I could not refute his wantonness. He has just the same benevolent leer for a bishop. Give me, if we are to make a choice, the beggars breech for decency, I say; I like it vastly in preference to a Nymney who leads you up to the cur tam and agitates it, and bids von retire on tiptoe. You cannot help being an- gry with the man for both reasons. But he is the writer Society delights in, 34 THE AMAZING MARRIAGE to show what it is composed of. A man brazen enough to declare that he could hold us in suspense about the advent- ures of a broomstick, with the aid of a yashmak and an ankle, may know the world; you had better not know him that is my remark; and do not trust him. He tells the story of the Old Buc- caneer in fear of the public, for it was general property; but, of course, he finishes with a Nymney touch: So the Old Buccaneer is the doubloon she takes in exchange for a handful of sil- ver pieces. There was no such hand- ful to exchangenot of the kind he sickeningly nudges at you. I will prove to you it was not the Countess Fannys naughtiness, though she was, indeed, very blamable. Women should walk in armor, as if they were born to it; for those cold sneerers will never waste their darts on cuirasses. An indepen- dent brave young creature exposing herself thoughtlessly in her reckless in- nocence is the victim for them. They will bring all Society down on her with one of their explosive sly words, appear- ing so careless, the cowards. I say without hesitation, her conduct with re- gard to Kirby, the Old Buccaneer, as he was called, however indefensible in it- self, warrants her at heart an innocent young woman, much to be pitied. Only to think of her, I could sometimes drop into a chair for a good cry. And of him too! and their daughter Carinthia Jane was the pair of them, as to that, and so was Chillon John, the son. Those critics quoting Nymney should look at the portrait of her in the Long Saloon of Cressett Castle, where she stands in blue and white, completely dressed, near a table supporting a couple of holster pistols ; and then let them ask themselves whether they would speak of her so if her little hand could move. Well, and so the tale of her swim across the Shannon River and back drove the young Earl of Cressett straight over to Ireland to propose for her, he saying that she was the girl to suit his book; not allowing her time to think of how much he might be the man to suit hers. The marriage was what is called a good one: both full of frolic, and he wealthy and rather handsome, and she quite lovely and spirited. No wonder the whole town was very soon agog about the couple, until at the end of a year people began to talk of them separately, she going her way, and he his. She could not always be on the top of a coach, which was his throne of happiness. Plenty of stories are current still of his fame as a four-in-hand coachman. They say he once drove an Emperor and a King, a Prince Chancellor and a pair of Field-Marshals, and some ladies of the day, from the metropolis to Rich- mond Hill in fifty or sixty odd minutes, having the ground cleared all the way by bell and summons, and only a donkey- cart and man, and a deaf old woman, to pay for; and went, as you can imagine, at such a tearing gallop that these Grand Highnesses had to hold on for their lives and lost their hats along the road; and a publican at Kew exhibits one above his bar to the present hour. And Countess Fanny was up among them, they say. She was equal to it. And some say that was the occasion of her meeting the Old Buccaneer. She met him at Richmond, in Surrey, we know for certain. It was on Rich- mond Hill, where the old King met his Lass. They say Countess Fanny was parading the Hill to behold the splendid view, always admired so ranch by for- eigners, with their Achs and Hechs! and surrounded by her crowned cour- tiers in frogged uniforms and mus- tachioed like sea-horses, a little before dinner-time, when Kirby passed her, and the Emperor made a remark on him, for Kirby was a magnificent figure of a man, and used to be compared to a three - decker entering harbor after a victory. He stood six feet four, and was broad-shouldered and deep-chested to match, and walked like a king who has humbled his enemy. You have seen big dogs. And so Countess Fanny looked round. Kirby was doing the same. But he had turned right about, square- chested, and appeared transfixed, and like a royal beast angry with his wound. If ever there was love at first sight, and a dreadful love, like a runaway mail- coach in a storm of wind and lightning at black midnight by the banks of a THE AMAZING MARRIAGE 35 flooded river, which was formerly our comparison for terrible situations, it was when those two met. And, What! you exclaim, Buccaneer Kirby, full sixty - five, and Countess Fanny, no more than three-and-twenty, a young beauty of the world of fashion, courted by the highest, and she in love with him! Go and gaze at one of our big ships coming out of an engagement home with all her flags flying and her crew manning the yards. That will give you an idea of a young woman s feelings for an old warrior never beaten down an inch by anything he had to en- dure; matching him, I dare say, in her womans heart, with the Mighty High- nesses who had only smelt the outside edge of battle. She did rarely admire a valiant man. Old as Methuselah, he would have made her kneel to him. She was all heart for a real hero. The story goes that Countess Fanny sent her husband to Captain Kirby, at the Emperors request, to inquire his name; and on hearing it, she struck her hands on her bosom, telling his Majesty he saw there the bravest man in the Kings dominions; which the Emperor scarce crediting, and observing that the man must be, then, a superhuman being to be so distinguished in a nation of the brave, Countess Fanny related the well- known tale of Captain Kirby and the shipful of mutineers; and how when not a man of them stood by him, and he in the service of the first insurgent State of Spanish America, to save his ship from being taken over to the enemy, he blew her up, fifteen miles from land; and so he got to shore swimming and floating alternately, and was called Old - Sky- High by English sailors, any number of whom could always be had to sail un- der Buccaneer Kirby. He fought on shore as well; and once he came down from the tops of the Andes with~a black beard turned white, and went into action with the title of Kirbys Ghost. But his heart was on salt water; he was never so much at home as in a ship foundering or splitting into the clouds. We are told that he never forgave the Admiralty for striking him off the list of English naval captains: which is no doubt why in his old age he nursed a grudge against his country. Ours, I am sure, was the loss; and many have thought so since. He was a mechanician, a master of stratagems, and would say, that brains will beat Grim Death, ~f we have enough of them. He was a standing example of the lessons of his own Maxims for Men, a very curious book, that fetches a rare price now wherever a copy is put up for auc- tion. I shudder at them as if they were muzzles of firearms pointed at me; but they were not addressed to my sex; and still they give me an interest in the writer who would declare that he had never failed in an undertalcing without stripping bare to expose to himself where he had been wanting in Intention and Determination. There you may see a truly terrible man! So the Emperor, being immensely taken with Kirbys method of preserv- ing discipline on board ship, because (as we say to the madman, Your strait- waistcoat is my easy-chair) monarchs have a great love of discipline, he begged Countess Fannys permission that he might invite Captain Kirby to his table; and Countess Fanny (she had her name from the ballad: fern the star of Prince and Czar, 211y light is shed on many, But I wait here till my bold Buccaneer, Makes prize of Countess Fanny: for the popular imagination was extra- ordinarily roused by the elopement, and there were songs and ballads out of number) Countess Fanny despatched her husband to Captain Kirby again, meaning no harm, though the poor man is laughed at in the songs for going twice upon his mission. None of the mighty people repented of having the Old Buccaneerfor that night, at all events. He sat in the midst of them, you may believe, like the lord of that table, with his great white beard and hairnot a lock of it shedand his bronzed lion-face, and a resolute but a merry eye that he had. He was no deep drinker of wine, but when he did drink, and the wine champagne, he drank to show his disdain of its powers; and the Emperor wishing for a narrative of some of his exploits, particularly the blowing up of the ship, Kirby paid his 36 THE AMAZING MARRIAGE Majesty the compliment of giving it him as baldly as an official report to the Admiralty. So disengaged and calm was he, with his bottle of champagne in him, where another would have been sparkling and laying on the color, that he was then and there offered Admirals rank in the Imperial Navy; and the Old Buccaneer, like a courtier of our best days, bows to Countess Fanny, and asks her if he is a free man to go ; and, No, says she, we cannot spare you! And there was a pretty wrangle be- tween Countess Fanny and the Emper- or, each pulling at the Old Buccaneer to have possession of him. He was rarely out of her sight after their first meeting, and the ridiculous excuse she gave to her husbands family was she feared he would be kidnapped and made a Cossack of. And young Lord Cressett, her husband, began to grumble concerning her intimacy with a man old enough to be her grand- father. As if the age were the injury! He seemed to think it so, and vowed he would shoot the old depredator dead if he found him on the grounds of Cres- sett, like vermin, he said ; and it was considered that he had the right, and no jury would have convicted him. You know what those days were. He had his opportunity one moon- light night, not far from the castle, and peppered Kirby with shot from a fowl- ing-piece at, some say, five paces dis- tance, if not point-blank. But Kirby had a maxim, Steady shaves them, and he acted on it to receive his enemys fire; and the young lords hand shook, and the Old Buccaneer stood out of the smoke not much injured, except in the coat-collar, with a pistol cocked in his hand, and he said: Many would take that for a declara- tiou of war, but I know its only your lordships diplomacy ; and then he let loose to his mad fun, astounding Lord Cressett and his gamekeeper, and vowed, as the young lord tried to relate subse- quently, as well as he could recollect the words here I have it in print: That he was a man pickled in saltpetre when an infant, li/ce Achilles, and proof against powder and shot not marked with cross and key, and fetched up from the square magazine in the central dep6t of the infernal factory, third turning to the right off the grand arcade in Kingdom - come, where the night-porter has to wear wet petticoats, like a Highland chief, to make short work of the sparks flying about, otherwise this world and many an- other would not have to wait long for corn bustion. Kirby had the wildest way of talking when he was not issuing orders under fire, best understood by sailors. I give it you as it stands here printed. I do not profess to understand. So Lord Cressett said: Diplomacy and infernal factories be hanged! Have your shot at me; its only fair. And Kirby discharged his pistol at the top- twigs of an old oak-tree, and called the young lord a Briton, and proposed to take him in hand and make a man of him, as nigh worthy of his wife as anyone not an Alexander of Macedon could be. So they became friendly, and the young lord confessed it was his family that had urged him to the attack; and Kirby abode at the castle, and all three were happy, in perfect honor, I am con- vinced; but such was not the opinion of the Cressetts and Levelliers. Down they trooped to Cressett Castle with a rush and a roar, crying on the disgrace of an old desperado like Kirby living there; dukes, marchionesses, cabinet ministers, leaders of fashion, and fire- eating colonels of the Kings body- guard, one of whom Captain John Peter Kirby laid on his heels at ten paces on an April morning, when the duel was fought, as early as the blessed heavens had given them light to see to do it. Such days those were! There was talk of shutting up the in- fatuated lady. If not incarcerated, she was rigidly watched. The Earl, her hus- band, fell altogether to drinking and coaching, and other things. The ballad makes her say: My family my gaolers be, iWy husband is a zany~ Naught see I clear save my bold Buccaneer To rescue Gountess Fanny. And it goes ou: O little lass, at play on the grass, Come earn a silver penny, And youll be dear to my bold Buccaneer For news of his Countess Fanny. THE AMAZING MARRIAGE 37 In spite of her bravery that poor wom- an suffered! We used to learn by heart the ballads and songs upon famous events in those old days when poetry was worshipped. But Captain Kirby gave provocation enough to both families when he went among the taverns and clubs, and vowed before Providence over his big fist that they should rue their interference, and he would carry off the lady on a day he named; he named the hour as well, they say, and that was midnight of the mouth of June. The Levelliers and Cressetts foamed at the mouth in speak- ing of him, so enraged they were on ac- count of his age and his passion for a young woman. As to blood, the Kir- bys of Lincolushire were quite equal to the Cressetts of Warwick. The Old Buccaneer seems to have had money too. But you can see what her people had to complain of; his insolent con- tempt of them was unexampled. And their tyranny had roused my ladys high spirit not a bit less, and she said right out: When he comes I am ready and will go with him. There was boldness for you on both sides! All the town was laughing and betting on the event of the night in June; and the odds were in favor of Kirby, for though Lord Cressett was quite the popular young English noble- man, being a capital whip and free of his coin, in those days men who had smelt powder were often prized above titles, and the feeling, out of society, was very strong for Kirby, even pre- vious to the fight on the heath. And the age of the indomitable adventurer must have contributed to his popularity. He was the hero of every song. Whats age to me! cries Kirby, Why, young and fresh let her be, But its mighty better reasoned For a man to be welt seasoned, And a man she has in me, cries Kirby. As to his exact age: W~ite me down si ty-three, cries Kirby. I have always maintained that it was an understatement. We must remember, it was not Kirby speaking, but the song-writer. Kirby would not, in my opinion, have numbered years he was proud of below their due quantity. He was more, if he died at ninety-one; and Chillon Switzer John Kirby, born eleven months after the elopement, was, we know, twenty-three years old when the old man gave up the ghost and be- queathed him little besides a law-suit with the Austrian Government, and the care of Carinthia Jane, the second child of this extraordinary union; both chil- dren born in wedlock, as you will hear. Sixty-three, or sixty-seven, near upon seventy, when most men are reaping and stacking their sins with groans and weak knees, Kirby was a match for his juniors, which they discovered. CHAPTER II MI5TEE55 GOSSIP TELLS or THE ELOPE- MENT OF THE COUNTE55 or CEE55ETT WITH THE OLD BUccANEER, AND OF CHARLES DUMP, THE PO5TILION, cONDIJOT- 1KG THEM, AND or A GEEAT COUNTY FAM- ILY HE twenty-first of June was the day appointed by Captain Kirby to carry off Countess Fanny, and the time, mid- night; and ten minutes to the stroke of twelve, Countess Fanny, as if she scorned to conceal that she was in a conspiracy with her gray-haired lover, notwithstanding that she was watched and guarded, left the Marchioness of Ar- pingtons ball-room and was escorted downstairs by her brother, Lord Level- her, sworn to baffle Kirby. Present with him in the street, and witness of the shutting of the carriage-door on Countess Fanny, were brother officers of his, General Abrane, Colonel Jack Potts, and Sir Upton Tomber. The door fast shut, Countess Fanny kissed her hand to them and drew up the window, seeming merry, and as they had expected indignation, and perhaps re- sistance, for she could be a spitfire in a temper, and had no fear whatever of fire- arms, they were glad to have her safe on such good terms; and so General Abrane jumped up on the box beside the coachman, Jack Potts jumped up be- tween the footmen, and Sir Upton Tom- 38 THE AMAZING MARRIAGE ber and the one-armed lord, as soon as the carriage was disengaged from the ruck two deep, walked on each side of it in the road all the way to Lord Ores- setts town-house. No one thought of asking where that silly young man was probably under some table. Their numbers were swelled by quite a host going along, for heavy bets were on the affair, dozens having backed Kirby; and it must have appeared seri- ous to them, with the lady in custody, and constables on the lookout, and Kirby and his men nowhere in sight. They expected an onslaught at some point of the procession, and it may be believed they wished it, if only that they might see something for their money. A beautiful bright moonlight night it happened to be. Arm in arm among them were Lord Pitscrew, and Russell, Earl of Fleetwood, a great friend of Kirbys; for it was a device of the Old Buccaneers that helped the Earl to win the great Welsh heiress who made him, even before he took to hoarding and buy- ing, one of the wealthiest noblemen in England; but she was crazed by her marriage, or the wild scenes leading to it; she never presented herself in Society. She would sit on the top of Estlemont Towers as they formerly spelt itall day and half the night in midwinter, often, looking for the moun- tains down in her native West country, covered with an old white flannel cloak, and on her head a tall hat of her Welsh womenfolk; and she died of it, leaving a son in her likeness, of whom you will hear. Lord Fleetwood had lost none of his faith in Kirby, and went on book- ing bets, giving him huge odds, thou- sands! He accepted fifty to one when the car- riage came to a stop at the steps of Lord Cressetts mansion; but he was anxious, and well he might be, seeing Countess Fanny alight and pass up be- tween two lines of gentlemen, all bowing low before her: not a sign of the Old Buccaneer anywhere to right or left! Heads were on the lookout, and vows offered up for his appearance. She was at the door and about to en- ter the house. Then it was that, with a shout of the name of some dreadful heathen god, Colonel Jack Potts roared out: Shes half a foot short o the mark! He was on the pavement, and it seems he measured her as she slipped by him, and one thing and another caused him to smell a cheat; and General Abrane, standing beside her near the door, cried: Where art flying now, Jack ? But Jack Potts grew more positive and bellowed: Peel her wig! were done! And she did not speak a word, but stood huddled-up and hooded; and Lord Levellier caught her by the arm as she was trying a dash into the hall, and Sir Upton Tomber plucked at her veil and raised it, and whistled Phew! which struck the rabble below with awe of the cunning of the Old Buccaneer; and there was no need for them to hear General Abrane say : Right! Jack; weve a dead one in hand, or Jack Pottss reply: Its ten thousand pounds clean winged away from my pocket, like a string of wild geese! The excitement of the varletry in the square, they say, was fearful to hear. So the principal noblemen and gentle- men concerned thought it prudent to hurry the young woman info the house and bar the door; and there she was very soon stripped of veil and blonde false wig with long curls, the whole framing of her artificial resemblance to Countess Fanny, and she proved to be a good-looking foreign maid, a dark one, powdered, trembling very much, but not so frightened upon hearing that her penalty for the share she had taken in the horrid imposture practised upon them was to receive and return a salute from each of the gentlemen in rotation, which the hussy did with proper sub- mission; and Jack Potts remarked that it was an honest buss, but dear at ten thousand! When you have been the victim of a deceit, the explanation of the simplicity of the trick turns all the wonder upon yourself, you know, and the backers of the Old Buccaneer and the wagerers against him crowed and groaned in cho- rus at the maids narrative of how the moment Countess Fanny had thrown up the window of her carriage she sprang out to a carriage on the off side, con- taining Kirby, and how she, this little French jade, sprang in to take her place. THE AMAZING MARRIAGE 39 One snap of the fingers and the trans- formation was accomplished. So for another kiss all round they let her go free, and she sat at the supper-table prepared for Countess Fanny and the party by order of Lord Levellier, and amused the gentlemen with stories of the ladies she had served, English and foreign. And that is how men are taught to think they know our sex and may despise it! I could preach them a lesson. Those men might as well not believe in the steadfastness of the very stars because one or two are reported lost out of the firmament, and now and then we behold a whole shower of frag.. ments descending. The truth is, they have taken a stain from the life they lead, and are troubled puddles, inca- pable of clear reflection. All that Lord Cressett said, on the announcement of the flight of his wife, was: Ah! Fan, she never would run in my ribands. He positively declined to pursue. Lord Levellier would not attempt to follow her up without him, as it would have cost money, and he wanted all that he could spare for his telescopes and experiments. Who, then, was the gen- tleman who stopped the chariot, with his three mounted attendants, on the road to the sea, on the heath by the great Punch-Bowl? That has been the question for now longer than half a century, in fact, ap- proaching seventy mortal years. No one has ever been able to say for cer- tain. It occurred at six oclock on the sum- mer morning. Countess Fanny must have known him, and not once did she open her mouth to breathe his name. Yet she had no objection to talk of the adventure, and how Simon Fettle, Cap- tain Kirbys old ships-steward in South America, seeing horsemen stationed on the ascent of the high road bordering the Bowl, which is miles round and deep, made the postilion cease jogging, and sang out to his master for orders, and Kirby sang back to him to look to his priming, and then the postilion was bidden proceed; and he did not like it, but he had to deal with pistols behind, where men feel weak, and he went bob- bing on the saddle in dejection, as if upon his very heart he jogged, and soon the fray commenced. There was very lit- tle paricying between determined men. Simon Fettle was a plain, kindly creature without a thought of malice, who kept his masters accounts. He fired the first shot at the foremost man, as he related in after days, to reduce the odds. Kirby said to Countess Fanny, just to comfort her, never so much as imagining she would be afraid: The worst will be a bloody shirt for Simon to mangle ; for they had been arranging to live cheaply in a cottage on the Continent, and Simon Fettle to do the washing. She could not help laughing outright. But when the Old Buccaneer was down striding in the battle, she took a pistol and descend- ed likewise; and she used it, too, and loaded again. She had not to use it a second time. Kirby pulled the gentleman off his horse, wounded in the thigh, and while dragging him to Countess Fanny to crave her pardon, a shot intended for Kirby hit the poor gentleman in the breast, and Kirby stretched him at his length, and Simon and he disarmed the servant who had fired. One was insen- sible, one flying, and those two on the ground. All in broad daylight; but so lonely is that spot nothing might have been heard of it, if at the end of the week the postilion, who had been bribed and threatened with terrible threats to keep his tongue from wagging, had not begun to talk. So the scene of the en- counter was examined, and on one spot, carefully earthed over, blood-marks were discovered in the green sand. People in the huts on the hill-top a quarter of a mile distant spoke of having heard sounds of firing while they were at breakfast, and a little boy named Toninmy Wedger said he saw a dead body go by in an open coach, that morning, all bloody and mournful. He had to ap- pear before the magistrates, crying ter- ribly, but did not know the nature of an oath, and was dismissed. Time came when the boy learned to swear, and he did, and that he had seen a beautiful lady firing and killing men like pigeons and partridges; but that was after Charles Dump, the postilion, had been telling the story. 40 THE AMAZING MARRIAGE Those who credited Charles Dumps veracity speculated on dozens of great noblemen and gentlemen known to be dying in love with Countess Fanny. And this brings us to another family. I do not say I know anything; I do but lay before you the evidence we have to fix suspicion upon a notorious char- acter, perfectly capable of trying to thwart a man like Kirby, and with good reason to try, if she had bewitched him to a consuming passion, as we are told. About eleven miles distant, as the crow flies and a bold huntsman will ride in the heath country, from the Punch- Bowl, right across the mounds and the broad water, lies the estate of the Fa- kenhams, who intermarried with the Coplestones of the iron-mines, and were the wealthiest of the old county-families until Curtis Fakenham entered upon his inheritance. Money with him was like the farm-wifes dish of grain she tosses in showers to her fowls. He was more than what you call a lady-killer, he was a woman-eater. His pride was in it as well as his taste, and when men are like that, indeed they are devourers! Curtis was the elder brother of Com- modore Baldwin Fakenham, whose off- spring, like his own, were so strangely mixed up with Captain Kirbys children by Countess Fanny, as you will hear. And these two brothers were sons of Geoffrey Fakenham, celebrated for his devotion to the French Countess Jules dAndreuze, or some such name, a courtly gentleman, who turned Papist on his death-bed in France, in Brittany somewhere, not to be separated from her in the next world, as he solemnly left word; wickedly, many think. To show the oddness of things and how opposite to one another brothers may be, his elder, the uncle of Curtis and Baldwin, was the renowned old Admiral Fakenham, better known along our sea-coasts and ports among sailors as Old Showery, because of a remark he once made to his flag-captain when cannon-balls were coming thick on them in a hard-fought action. Hot work, sir, his captain said. Showery, re- plied the admiral, as his cocked-hat was knocked off by the wind of a cannon- ball. iTe lost both legs before the war was over, and said, merrily, Stumps for ife! while they were carrying him below to the cockpit. Well now, the Curtis Fakenham of Captain Kirbys day had a good deal of his uncle as well as his father in him the spirit of one and the outside of the otherand favored or not, he had been distinguished among Countess Fannys adorers; she certainly chose to be silent about the name of the assailant. And it has been attested on oath that two days and a night subsequent to the date furnished by Charles Dump, Cur- tis Fakenham was brought to his house, Hollis Grange, lame of a leg, with a shot in his breast that he carried to the family vault; and his head game- keeper, John Wiltshire, a resolute fellow, was missing from that hour. Some said they had a quarrel, and Curtis was wounded and John Wiltshire killed. Curtis was known to have been ex- tremely attached to the man. Yetwhen Wiltshire was inquired for, he let fall a word of having more of Wiltshire than was agreeable to Hampshire his county. People asked what that meant. Yet, according to the tale, it was the surviving servant by whom he, or who- ever it may have been, was accidentally shot. We are in a perfect tangle. On the other hand, it was never denied that Curtis and John Wiltshire were in Lon- don together at the time of Countess Fannys flight; and Curtis Fakenham was one of the procession of armed gentlemen conducting her in her car- riage, as they supposed; and he was known to have started off, on the dis- covery of the cheat, with horrible im- precation s against Frenchwomen. It became known, too, that horses of his were standing saddled in his inn-yard at midnight. And more, Charles Dump, the postilion, was taken secretly to set eyes on him as they wheeled him in his garden walk, and he vowed it was the identical gentleman. But this coming by and by to the ear of Curtis, he had Charles Dump fetched over to confront him; and then the man made oath that he had never seen Mr. Curtis Fakenham anywhere but there, in his own house at Hollis! One does not really know what to think of it! This postilion made a small fortune. THE AMAZING MARRIAGE 41 He was everywhere in request. People were never tired of asking him how he behaved while the tight was going on, and he always answered that he sat as ~ close to his horse as he could, and did not dream of dismounting; for, he said, He was a figure on a horse aod naught when off it. His repetition of the story, with some adornments, and that same remark, made him the popular man of the county; people said he might enter Parliament, and I think at one time it was possible. But a great success is full of temptations. After being hired at inns to fill them with his account of the battle, and tipped by travellers from London to show the spot, he set up for himself as innkeeper, and would have flourished, only he had contracted habits on his rounds, and he fell to contradicting himself, so that he came to be called Lying Charley; and the people of the county said it was he who drained the Punch-Bowl, for though he helped to put the capital into it, he took all the interest out of it.~ Yet we have the doctor of the village of Ipley, Dr. Cawthorne, a noted botan- ist, assuring us of the absolute credi- bility of Charles Dump, whom he at- tended in the poor creatures last ill- ness, when Charles Dump confessed he had lived in mortal terror of Squire Curtis, and had got the trick of lying through fear of telling the truth. Hence his ruin. So he died delirious and contrite. Cawthorne, the great turfman, inher- ited a portrait of him from his father, the doctor. It was often the occasion of the story being told over again, and used to hang in the patients reception- room, next to an oil - painting of the Punch - Bowl, an admired landscape picture by a local artist, highly toned and true to every particular of the scene, with the bright yellow road winding uphill, and the banks of brill- iant purple heath, and a white thorn in bloom quite beautiful, and the green fir-trees, and the big Bowl, black as a caldronindeed, a perfect feast of har- monious contrasts in colors. And now you know how it is that the names of Captain Kirby and Curtis Fa- kenham are alive to the present mo- ment in the district. We -lived a happy domestic life in those old coaching days, when county affairs and county people were the top- ics of firesides, and the country inclosed us, to make us feel snug in our own im- portance. My opinion is, that men and women grow to their dimenTsions only where such is the case. We had our alarms from the outside now and again, but we soon relapsed to dwell upon our private business and our pleasant little hopes and excitements; the courtships and the crosses and the scandals, the tea-parties and the dances, and how the morning looked after the stormy night had passed, and the coach coming down the hill with a box of news, and perhaps a curious passenger to drop at the inn. I do believe we had a liking for the very highwaymen, if they had any reputation for civility. What I call human events, things concerning you and me, instead of the deafening catastrophes now af- flicting and taking all conversation out of us, had their natural interest then. We studied the face of each morning as it came, and speculated upon the secret of the thing it might have in store for us or our heroes and heroines; we thought of them more than of ourselves. Long after the adventures of the Punch- Bowl, our county was anxious about Countess Fanny and the Old Buccaneer, wondering where they were and wheth- er they were prospering, whether they were just as much in love as ever, and which of them would bury the other, and what the foreign people abroad thought of that strange pair. CHAPTER III CONTINUATION or THE INTRODUCTORY MEAN- DERING5 or DAME 00551P, TOGETHER WITH HER 5UDDEN EXTINCTION I HAVE still time before me, according to the terms of my agreement with the person to whom I have, I fear foolishly, entrusted the letters and documents of a story surpassing ancient as well as modern in the wonderment it causes; that would make the law courts bless their hearts, judges no less than the bar- risters, to have it running through them 42 THE AMAZING MARRIAGE day by day, with every particular to wrangle over, and many to serve as a text for the pulpit. So to proceed. Charles Dump left a child, Mary Dump, who grew up to become ladys-maid to Livia Fakenham, daughter of Curtis, the Beauty of Hampshire, equalled by no one save her cousin, Henrietta Fakenham, the daughter of Commodore Baldwin; and they were two different kinds of beauties, not to be compared, and differ- ent were their fortunes; for this lady was likened to the sun going down on a cloudy noon, and that lady to the moon, riding through a stormy night. Livia was the young widow of Lord Duflield when she accepted the old Earl of Fleet- wood, and was his third Countess, and again a widow at eight-and-twenty, and stepmother to young Cromus, the Earl of Fleetwood of my story. Mary Dump testifies to her kindness of heart to her dependants. If we are to speak of good- ness, I am afraid there are other wit- nesses. I resent being warned that my time is short, and that I have wasted much of it over the attractive Charles. What I have done I have done with a purpose, and it must be a story-teller devoid of the rudiments of his art who can com- plain of my dwelling on Charles Dump, for the world to have a pause and pin its faith to him, which it would not do to a grander personthat is, as a peg. Wonderful events, however true they are, must be attached to something common and familiar, to make them credible. Charles Dump, I say, is like a front-page picture to a history of those old, quiet, yet exciting days in England; and when once you have seized him the whole period is alive to you, as it was to me in the delicious dulness I loved, that made us thirsty to hear of adventures and able to enjoy to the utmost every thing occurring. The man is no more attractive to me than a lump of clay. How could he be? But supposing I took up the lump and told you that there where I found it, that lump of clay had been rolled over and flung off by the left wheel of the prophets chariot of fire before it mounted aloft and disap- peared in the heavens above /you would examine it and cherish it, and have the scene present with you, you may be sure; and magnificent descriptions would not be one - half so persuasive. And that is what we call in my profes- sion, Art, if you please. So to contin uc. The Earl of Cressett fell from his coach-box in a fit, and died of it, a fortnight after the flight of his wife; and the people said she might as well have waited. Kirby and Countess Fanny were at Lucerne, or Lausanne, or some such placethey are so near upon alike in soundin Switzerland when the news reached them, and Kirby, without losing an hour, laid hold of an English clergyman of the Established Church, and put him through the ceremony of celebrating his lawful union with the beautiful young creature he adored. And this he did, he said, for the world to guard his Fan in a wider circle than his two arms could compass, if not quite so well. So the Old Buccaneer was ever after that her lawful husband, and as his wed- ded wife, not wedded to a fool, she was an example to her sex, like many another woman who has begun badly with a light- headed mate. It is hard enough for a man to be married to a fool, but a man is only half-cancelled by that burden, it has been said; whereas a woman finds her- self on board a rudderless vessel, and often the desperate thing she does is to avoid perishing! Ten months, or eleven, some say, following the procla- mation of the marriage-tie, a son was born to Countess Fanny, close by the castle of Chillon on the lake, and he had the name of Chillon Switzer John Kirby given to him to celebrate the fact. Two years later the girl was born, and for the reason of her first seeing the light in that Austrian province, she was christened Carinthia Jane. She was her old fathers pet; but Countess Fanny gloried in the boy. She had fan- cied she would be a childless woman be- fore he gave sign of coming; and they say she wrote a little volume of Medita- tions in Prospect of Approaching Moth- erhood, for the guidance of others in a similar situation. I have never been able to procure the book or pamphlet, but I know she was the best of mothers, and of wives too. And she, with her old husband, grow- ing like a rose out of a weather beaten THE AMAZING MARRIAGE 43 rock, proved she was that, among those handsome foreign officers poorly re- markable for their morals. Nor once had the Old Buccaneer to teach them a lesson. Think of it and you will know that her feet did not straynor did her pretty eyes. Her heart was too full for the cravings of vanity. Thnocent ladies who get their husbands into scrapes, are innocent perhaps; but knock you next door in their bosoms, where the soul resides, and ask for information of how innocence and uncleanness may go together. Kirby purchased a mine in Carinthia, on the borders of Styria, and worked it himself. His native land dis- pleased him, so that he would not have been unwilling to see Chillon enter the Austrian service, which the young man was inclined for, subsequent to his re- turn to his parents from one of the English public schools, notwithstanding his passionate love for Old England. But Lord Levellier explained the mys- tery in a letter to his half-forgiven sister, praising the boy for his defence of his mothers name at the school, where a big brutal felloW sneered at her, and Chillon challenged him to sword or pistol; and then he walked down to the boys home in Staffordshire to force him to fight; and the father of the boy made him offer an apology. That was not much balm to Master Chillons wound. He returned to his mother quite heavy, unlike a young man; and the unhappy lady, though she knew him to be bitterly sensitive on the point of honor, and especially as to everything relating to her, saw herself compelled to tell him the history of her life, to save him, as she thought, from these chivalrous vindications of her good name. She may have even painted her- self worse than she was, both to excuse her brothers miserliness to her son and the worlds evil speaking of her. Wisely or not, she chose this coUrse devotedly to protect him from the perils she fore- saw in connection with the name of the once famous Countess Fanny in the British Isles. And thus are we stricken by the days of our youth. It is impos- sible to moralize conveniently when one is being hurried by a person at ones elbow. So the young man heard his mother out and kissed her, and then he went secretly to Vienna and enlisted and served for a year as a private in the regiment of hussars called, my papers tell me, Liechtenstein, and what with his good conduct and the help of Kirbys friends, he would have obtained a com- mission from the Emperor, when, at the right moment to keep a sprig of Kirbys growth for his country, Lord Levellier sent word that he was down for a cornetcy in a British regiment of dragoons. Chillon came home from a garrison town, and there was a consul- tation about his future career. Shall it be England? Shall it be Austria? Countess Fannys voice was for Eng- land, and she carried the vote, knowing though she did that it signified separa- tion, and it might be alienationwhere her son would chance to hear things he could not refute. She believed that her son by such a man as Kirby would be of use to his country, ~nd her voice, against herself, was for England. It broke her heart. If she failed to receive the regular letter, she pined and was disconsolate. He has heard more of me! was in her mind. Her husband sat looking at her with his old, large, gray, glassy eyes. You would have fancied him awaiting her death as the signal for his own release. But she, poor mother, behind her weeping lids beheld her sons filial love of her wounded and bleeding. When there was anything to be done for her, old Kirby was astir. When it was nothing, either in physic or assistan cc, he was like a great corner of rock. You may indeed imagine grief in the very rock that sees its flower fading to the withered shred. On the last night of her life this old man of past ninety carried her in his arms up a flight of stairs to her bed. A week after her burial Kirby was found a corpse in the mountain forest. His having called the death of his dar- ling his lightning - stroke must have been the origin of the report that he died of lightning. He touched not a morsel of food from the hour of the dropping of the sod on her coffin of ebony wood. An old crust of their mahogany bread, supposed at first to be a specimen of quartz, was found in one of his coat pockets. He kissed his 44 THE AMAZING MARRIAGE girl Carinthia before going out on his last journey from home, and spoke some wandering words. The mine had not been worked for a year. She thought she would find him at the mouth of the shaft, where he would sometimes be sitting and staring, already dead at heart with the death he saw coming to the beloved woman. They had to let her down with ropes, that she might satisfy herself he was not below. She and her great dog and a faithful man- servant discovered the body in the for- est. Chillon arrived from England to see the common grave of both his par- ents. And now good-by to sorrow for a while. Keep your tears for the living. And first I am going to describe to you the young Earl of Fleetwood, son of the strange Welsh lady, the richest nobleman of his time, and how he pur- sued and shunned the lady who had fascinated him, Henrietta the daughter of Commodore Baldwin Fakenham; and how he met Carinthia Jane; and con- cerning that lovely Henrietta and Chil- Ion Kirby-Levellier; and of the young poet of ordinary parentage, and the giant Captain Abrane, and Livia the widowed Countess of Fleetwood, Hen- riettas cousin, daughter of Curtis Fak- enham, and numbers of others; Lord Levellier, Lord Brailstone, Lord Simon Pitscrew, Chumley Potts, young Am- brose Mallerd, and the English pugi- list, such a man of honor though he drank; and the adventures of Madge, Carinthia Janes maid. Just a few touches. And then the marriage di- viding Great Britain into halves, taking sides. After that, I trust you may go on as I would (say you) were we all twen- ty years younger, had I but sooner been in possession of these treasured papers. I promise you excitement enough, if justice is done to them. But I must and will describe the wedding. This young Earl of Fleetwood, you should know, was a very powder-magazine of ambition, and never would he break his word: which is right, if we are proper- ly careful; and so he. She ceases. According to the terms of the treaty the venerable ladys time has passed. An extinguisher descends on her, giving her the likeness of one under condemnation of the Most Holy Inquisition, in the ranks of an auto da f6: and singularly resembling that vic- tim at the first sharp bite of the flames she will be when she hears the version of her story. CHAPTER IV MORNING AND FAREWELL TO AN OLD HOME ROTHER and sister were about to leaye the mountain- land for England. They had not gone to bed overnight, and from the windows of their deserted home, a little before dawn, they saw the dwindled moon, a late riser, break through droves of hunted cloud, directly topping their ancient guardian height, the triple peak and giant of the range, friendlier in his name than in aspect for the two young people clinging to the scene they were to quit. His name recalled old daysthe apparition of his head among the heavens drummed on their sense of banishment. To the girl this parting was a divis- ion of her life, and the dawn held the sword. She felt herself midswing across a gulf that was the grave of one half, without a light of promise for the other. Her passionate excess of attachment to her buried home robbed the future of any colors it might have worn to bid a young heart quicken. And England, though she was of British blood, was a foreign place to her, not alluring; her brother had twice come out of England reserved in speech; her mothers talk of England had been unhappy; her father had suffered ill-treatment there from a brutal institution termed the Admiralty, ahd had never regretted the not seeing England again. The thought that she was bound thitherward enfolded her like a frosty mist. But these bare walls, these loud floors, chill rooms, dull win- dows, and the vault-sounding of the ghostly house, everywhere the absence of the faces in the house, told her she had no choice, she must go. The ap- pearance of her old friend the towering mountain-height, up a blue night-sky, compelled her swift mind to see herself w THE AMAZING MARRIAGE 45 far away, yearning to him out of exile, an exile that had no local features; she would not imagine them to give a centre of warmth, her wilful grief preferred the blank. It resembled death in seeming some hollowness behind a shroud, which we shudder at. The room was lighted by a stable- lantern on a kitchen-table. Their seat near the window was a rickety garden- bench rejected in the headlong sale of the furniture; and when she rose, un- able to continue motionless while the hosts of illuminated cloud flew fast, she had to warn her brother to preserve his balance. He tacitly did so, aware of the necessity. She walked up and down the long seven-windowed saloon, haunted by her footfall, trying to think, chafing at his quietness and acknowledging that he did well to be quiet. They had finished their packing of boxes and of wearing apparel for the journey. There was nothing to think of, nothing further to talk of, nothing for her to do save to sit and look, and deaden her throbs by counting them. She soon returned to her seat beside her brother, with the marvel in her breast that the house she desired so much to love should be cold. and repel her now it was a vacant shell. Her memories could not hang within it anywhere. She shat her eyes to be with the images of the dead, conceiving the method as her brothers happy se- cret, and imitated his posture, elbows propped on knees to support the chin. His quietness breathed of a deeper love than her own. Meanwhile the high wind had sunk; the moon, after pushing up her with- ered half to the zenith, was climbing the dusky edge, revealed fitfully; threads and wisps of thin vapor travelled along a falling gale, and branched from the dome of the sky in migratory broken lines, like wild birds shifting the order of flight, north and east, where the dawn sat in a web, but as yet had done no more than shoot up a glow along the central heavens, in amid the waves of deepened clouda mirror for night to see her dark self in her own hue. A shiver between the silent couple pricked their wits, and she said: Chillon, shall we run out and call the morning? It was an old game of theirs, encour- aged by their hearty father, to be out in the early hour on a rise of ground near the house and call the morning. Her brother was glad of the challenge, and upon one of the yawns following a sleep- less night, replied, with a return to boy- ishness: Yes, if you like. Its the last time we shall do her the service here. Lets go. They sprang up together and the bench fell behind them. Swinging the lantern he carried inconsiderately, the ring of it was left on his finger, and the end of candle rolled out of the crazy frame to the floor and was extinguished. Chillon had no match-box. He said to her: What do you think of the window? weve done it before, Carin. Better than groping down stairs and passages blocked with lumber. Im ready, she said, and caught at her skirts by instinct to prove her readi- ness on the spot. A drop of a dozen feet or so from the French window to a flower-bed was not very difficult. Her father had taught her how to jump, besides the how of many other practical things. She leapt as llghtly as her brother, never touching earth with her hands; and rising from the proper contraction of the legs in taking the descent, she quoted her father: Mean it when youre doing it. For no enemys shot is equal to a weaJ~ heart in the act, Chillon pursued the quotation, laying his hand on her shoulder for a sign of approval. She looked up at him. They passed down the garden and a sloping meadow to a brook swollen by heavy rains; over the brook on a narrow plank, and up a steep and stony path- way, almost a water-course betWeen rocks, to another meadow, level with the house, that led ascending through a fir- wood; and there the change to thicker darkness told them llght was abroad, though whether of the clouded moon or the first gray of the quiet revolution was uncertain. Metallic llght of a sub- terranean realm, it might have been thought. You remember everything of father, Carinthia said. We both do, said Chillon. 46 THE AMAZING MARRIAGE She pressed her brothers arm. We will. We will never forget anything. Beyond the fir-wood light was visibly the dawns. Halfway down the ravines it resembled the light east off a torrent water. It lay on the grass like a sheet of unreflecting steel, and was a face without a smile above. Their childhood ran along the tracks to the forest by the light, which was neither dim nor cold, but grave, presenting tree and shrub and dwarfed growth and grass austerely, not deepening or confusing them. They wound their way by borders of crag, seeing in a dell below the mouth of the idle mine begirt with weedy and shrub- hung rock, a dripping semicircle. Far- ther up they came on the flat juniper and crossed a wet ground-thicket of the whortleberry; their feet were in moist moss among sprigs of heath, and a great fir-tree stretched his length, a peeled multitude of his dead fellows leaned and stood upright in the midst of scattered fire-stained members, and through their skeleton limbs the sheer precipice of slate-rock of the bulk across the chasm, nursery of hawk and eagle, wore a thin blue tinge, the sign of warmer light abroad. This way, my brother! cried Ca- rinthia, shuddering at a path he was about to follow. Dawn in. the mountain-land is a meet- ing of many friends. The pinnacle, the forest-head, the latchen-tufted mound, rock bastion and defiant clifi~, and giant of the triple peak, were in view, clearly lined for a common recognition, but all were figures of solid gloom, unfeatured and bloomless. Another minute and they had flung off their mail and changed to various indented, intricate, succinct in ridge, scar, and channel ; and they had all a look of watchfulness that made them one company. The smell of rock waters and roots of herb and moss grew keen; air became a wine that raised the breast high to breathe it ; an uplifting coolness pervaded the heights. What wonder that the mountain.bred girl should let fly her voice. The nat- ural carol woke an echo. She did not repeat it. And we will not forget our home, Chillon, she said, touching him gently to comfort some saddened feeling. The plumes of cloud now slowly en- tered into the lofty arch of dawn and melted from brown to purple - black. The upper sky swam with violet ; and in a moment each stray cloud-feather was edged with rose, and then suffused. It seemed that the heights fronted east to eye the interflooding of colors, and it was imaginable that all turned to the giant whose forehead first kindled to the suna greeting of god and king. On the morning of a farewell we fluc- tuate sharply between the very distant and the close and homely; and even in memory the fluctuation recurs, the grandest scene casting us back on the modestly nestling, and that, when it has refreshed us, conjuring imagination to embrace the splendor and wonder. But the wrench of an immediate division from what we love makes the things within reach the dearest, we put out our hands for them, as violently parted lovers do, though the soul in days to come would know a craving and imagi- nation flap a leaden wing if we had not looked beyond them. Shall we go down? said Carinthia, for she knew a little cascade near the house, showering on rock and fern, and longed to have it round her. They descended, Chillon saying that they would soon have the mists rising, and must not delay to start on their journey. The armies of the yoring sunrise in mountain-lands neighboring the plains, vast shadows, were marching over woods and meads, black against the edge of golden; and great heights were cut with them, and bounding waters took the leap in a silvery radi- ance to gloom; the bright and dark- banded valleys were like night and morning taking hands down the sweep of their rivers. Immense was the range of vision scudding the peaks and over the illimitable eastward plains flat to the very East and sources of the sun. Carinthia said: When I marry I shall come here to live and die. Her brother glanced at her. He was fond of her, and personally he liked her face, but such a confident anticipation of marriage on the part of a portionless girl set him thinking of the character of her charms and the attraction they w THE AMAZING MARRIAGE 47 would present to the world of men. They were expressive enough ; at times he had thought them marvellous in their clear cut of the animating mind. No one could fancy her handsome ; and just now her hair was in some disorder, a night without sleep had an effect on her complexion. Its not usually the wife who de- cides where to live, said he. Her ideas were anywhere but with the dream of a husband. Could we stayon another day? My dear girl! Another night on that crazy stool! Besides Mariandi is bound to go to-day to her new place, and whos to cook for us? J)o you pro- pose fasting as well as watching? Could I cook? she asked him, humbly. No, you couldnt; not for a starv- ing regiment! Your accomplishments are of a different sort. No, its better to get over the pain at once, if we cant escape it. That I think too, said she, and we should have to buy provisions. Then, brother, instantly after breakfast. Only, let us walk it. I know the whole way, and it is not more than a two days walk for you and me. Consent. Driv- ing would be like going gladly. I could never bear to remember that I was driven away. And walking will save money; we are not rich, you tell me, brother. A few forms more or less! he re- joined, rather frowning. 7 You have good Styrian boots, I see. But I want to be over at the Baths there soon; not later than to-morrow. But, brother, if they know we are coming they will wa4t for us. And we can be there to-morrow night or the next morning! He considered it. He wanted exer- cise and loved this mountain-land; his inclinations melted into hers, though he hal reasons for hesitating. Well, well send on my portmanteau and your boxes in the cart; well walk it. Youre a capital walker, youre a gallant com- rade: I wouldnt wish for a better. He wondered, as he spoke, whether any true-hearted gentleman besides himself would ever think the same of this lone- ly girL Her eyes looked a delighted No really? for the sweetest on earth to her was to be prized by her brother. She hastened forward: We will go down and have our last meal at home, she said in the dialect of the country. We have five eggs; no meat for you, dear; but enough bread and butter, some honey left, and plenty of coffee. I should like to have left old Mariandl more, but we are unable to do very much for poor people now. Milk, I cannot say. She is just the kind soul to be up and out to fetch us milk for an early first breakfast; but she may have overslept herself. Chillon smiled. You were right, Janey, about not going to bed last night; we might have missed the morn- ing. I hate sleep; I hate anything that robs me of my will, she replied. Youd be glad of your doses of sleep if you had to work and study. To fall down by the wayside tired outyes, brother, a dead sleep is good. Then you ate in the hands of God. Father used to say four hours for a man, six for a woman. And four - and -twenty for a lord, added Chillon; I remember. A Lord of that Admiralty, she ap- pealed to his closer recollection. But I mean, brother, dreaming is what I de- test so. Dont be detesting, my dear; re- serve your strength, said he. I sup- pose dreams are of some use now and then. I shall never think them useful. When we cant get what we want, my good Carin! Then we should not waste ourselves in dreams. They promise falsely sometimes. Thats no reason why we should reject the consolation when we cant get what we want, my little sister. I would not be denied. Theres the impossible. Not for you, brother. Perhaps a half minute after she bad spoken, he said, pursuing a dialogue within himself aloud rather than reveal- ing a secret: You dont know her position. Carinthias heart stopped beating. 48 THE BEGINNINGS OF AMERICAN PAR TIES Who was this person suddenly conjured up? She fancied she might not have heard correctly; she feared to ask; and yet she perceived a novel softness in him that would have answered. Pain of an unknown kind made her love of her brother conscious that if she asked she would suffer greater pain. The house was in sight; a long white building with blinds down at some of the windows, and some wide open, some showing unclean glass; the three as- pects and signs of a houses emptiness when they are seen together. Carinthia remarked on their having met nobody. It had a serious meaning for them. Formerly they were proud of outstripping the busy population of the mine, coming down on them with wild wavings and shouts at sunrise. They felt the death again, a whole field laid low by one stroke, and wintriness in the season of glad life. A wind had blown and all had vanished. The second green of the year shot lively sparkles off the meadows, from a fringe of colored globelets to a warm silver lake of dews. The fir-wood was already breathing rich and sweet in the sun. The half-moon fell rayless and paler than the fan of fleeces pushed up west- ward, high overhead, themselves dis- persing on the blue in downy feath- ers, like the mottled gray of an eagles breast ; the smaller of them bluish, like traces of the beaked wood-pigeon. She looked above, then below on the slim and straight-grown flocks of naked purple crocuses in bud and blow abounding over the meadow that rolled to the level of the house, and two of these she gathered. (To be continued.) THE BEGINNINGS OF AMERICAN PARTIES By Noah Brooks HE student of American politics must needs notice the great influence which questions growing out of our foreign relations exerted in the po- litical affairs of the young republic. After we had achieved our independence and were yet strug- gling to get upon our feet, political parties were divided, not only by the question of the adoption or rejection of the newly framed Constitution, but by their friendship or their hostility for certain foreign nations with whom we were forced to have more or less close political and commercial relations. Indeed, there was a time when the Fed- eralists were stigmatized as being pro- English, and the Antifederalists were more French than the Frenchmen, although not a man among them could speak a word of the French language. From the end of the Revolution to the beginning of Andrew Jacksons ad- ministration, let us say, foreign ques- tions cut a bigger figure in our domes- tic politics than they ever have since, although the primary development of parties was along the lines of the de- bate that sprung up as soon as the new Constitution was submitted~to the sev- eral States for approval. The names of Whig and Tory, so freely bandied dur- ing and immediately after the War for Independence, lost their significance when the wam~ was over and the Cow- boys had been hanged and the more pestilent of the Tories had been ex- pelled from the country whose success- ful rebellion had disappointed their hopes. Before we rail at the Antifed- eralists for their lack of patriotism in opposing the adoption of the Gilded Trap, or New Roof, as they called the present palladium of our liberties, we should recall the fact that that won- derful instrument was as yet an experi

Noah Brooks Brooks, Noah American Politics. I. The Beginnings Of American Parties 48-65

48 THE BEGINNINGS OF AMERICAN PAR TIES Who was this person suddenly conjured up? She fancied she might not have heard correctly; she feared to ask; and yet she perceived a novel softness in him that would have answered. Pain of an unknown kind made her love of her brother conscious that if she asked she would suffer greater pain. The house was in sight; a long white building with blinds down at some of the windows, and some wide open, some showing unclean glass; the three as- pects and signs of a houses emptiness when they are seen together. Carinthia remarked on their having met nobody. It had a serious meaning for them. Formerly they were proud of outstripping the busy population of the mine, coming down on them with wild wavings and shouts at sunrise. They felt the death again, a whole field laid low by one stroke, and wintriness in the season of glad life. A wind had blown and all had vanished. The second green of the year shot lively sparkles off the meadows, from a fringe of colored globelets to a warm silver lake of dews. The fir-wood was already breathing rich and sweet in the sun. The half-moon fell rayless and paler than the fan of fleeces pushed up west- ward, high overhead, themselves dis- persing on the blue in downy feath- ers, like the mottled gray of an eagles breast ; the smaller of them bluish, like traces of the beaked wood-pigeon. She looked above, then below on the slim and straight-grown flocks of naked purple crocuses in bud and blow abounding over the meadow that rolled to the level of the house, and two of these she gathered. (To be continued.) THE BEGINNINGS OF AMERICAN PARTIES By Noah Brooks HE student of American politics must needs notice the great influence which questions growing out of our foreign relations exerted in the po- litical affairs of the young republic. After we had achieved our independence and were yet strug- gling to get upon our feet, political parties were divided, not only by the question of the adoption or rejection of the newly framed Constitution, but by their friendship or their hostility for certain foreign nations with whom we were forced to have more or less close political and commercial relations. Indeed, there was a time when the Fed- eralists were stigmatized as being pro- English, and the Antifederalists were more French than the Frenchmen, although not a man among them could speak a word of the French language. From the end of the Revolution to the beginning of Andrew Jacksons ad- ministration, let us say, foreign ques- tions cut a bigger figure in our domes- tic politics than they ever have since, although the primary development of parties was along the lines of the de- bate that sprung up as soon as the new Constitution was submitted~to the sev- eral States for approval. The names of Whig and Tory, so freely bandied dur- ing and immediately after the War for Independence, lost their significance when the wam~ was over and the Cow- boys had been hanged and the more pestilent of the Tories had been ex- pelled from the country whose success- ful rebellion had disappointed their hopes. Before we rail at the Antifed- eralists for their lack of patriotism in opposing the adoption of the Gilded Trap, or New Roof, as they called the present palladium of our liberties, we should recall the fact that that won- derful instrument was as yet an experi THE BEGINNINGS OP AMERICAN PAR TIES 49 ment, and the system of government proposed under it was a novelty upon the face of the earth. With that delightful independence of judgment which is one of the legit- imate characteristics of the Anglo-Sax- on race, our forefathers, the founders of the republic, insisted that the new Constitution was a thing of shreds and patches and would be the fruitful George Washington. From a picture, by Gilbert Stuart. (The Gibbs Portrait.) source of abuses; or they extolled it as the sum of human wisdom and the only rock of salvation. It is not certain that the papers now known as The Feder- alist (the larger number of which were written by Alexander Hamilton for the purpose of convincing men that the new Constitution was worthy of adoption) were greatly influential in securing the end for which they were written; but those papers, if they did not convince the Antifederalists, have VOL. XVJJ.6 survived unto this day to interpret for us the Federal Constitution. They were chiefly written by men who helped to frame the fundamental law of the re- public. When the Federal Constitution had been finally adopted, party lines were drawn between those who favored a strict construction of its provisions and a large predominance for the reserved rights of the States, and those who looked for a loose, or liberal, construc- tion of that instrument and a somewhat centralized na- tional government. T h e Antifederalists would have said, The United States are, and the Federalist.s would have used the form, The United States is. Alexander Hamilton was the leader of the Federal- ists. Thomas Jefferson be- came the chief, the apostle of the party opposed to a strong and centralized gov- eminent. Both of these men. so unalterably differ- ing with each others views, were members of Washing- tons cabinet. In like man- ner, Lincoln, in later years, framed his cabinet to in- elude non-assimilable ele- ments and called his council The Happy Family. But the time came when Hamilton, with his talent for management, was able to secure the aid of Jeffer- son in his famous log- rolling scheme by which his own darling financial projects were accepted by Congress; Jeffersons friends voted for those propositions in return for the location of the national capital on the banks of the Potomac. Congressmen of a later day and generation, who exchange votes as pioneer American builders changed work, may console themselves with the reflection that the pioneers of American politics did pre- cisely the same thing when log-roll- ing was one of the first inventions in Congress. 50 THE BEGINNINGS OF AMERICAN PAR TIES Later on, it was the Federalists who were most forward in plans and schemes for building the capital by such aids as lotteries and loans; and it was the business of the Antifederalists to cry out why did a Government loaded down with a debt of seventy millions plunge the citizens into this bottomless pit of lotteries and archi- tecture? In the intemperate language of the time, it was openly charged that votes were influenced in Congress by the holding of certificates of indebted- ness made valuable by the funding bill of Hamilton; and much of the political talk of the time, whether Federalist or Antifederalist, resembled that of our own day, although it was certainly more acrimonious and uncharitable than any- thing that the present generation has ever known. Even so elegant a gentle- man and sincere a patriot as William Maclay, then a senator from Pennsyl- vania, stanch Antifederalist that he was, could set down in his diary that he considered President Washington to be playing a game in what he re- garded as a disreputable business; and Maclay, working himself up to a high pitch of indignation, finally declared that the President has become, in the hands of Hamilton, the dishelout of every dirty speculation, as his name goes to wipe away blame and silence all murmuring. Federalists and Antifederalists di- vided again, naturally enough, on the propositions to levy an excise on cer- tain articles of domestic production and to establish a National Bank. The necessity of collecting a tariff on for- eign goods imported was early recog- nized; and when James Madison intro- duced in the First Congress the first tariff bill, the commotion that ensued was not so much caused by opposition to the measure as by those shrieks of locality which have never since ceased in the National Congress. Although there was some difference of opinion among the statesm en of the time as to the expediency of framing the Impost Bill so as to protect American manu- factures, the claims of the States for favors to be granted by the bill made more noise than all the other causes of the hot debate combined. Hamiltons famous report on manufactures, then sent to Congress, was the first argu- ment in favor of the policy of protec- tion, and is still entitled to respect in these later days. And it is fair to say that the chief opposition to the protec- tive principle and to the Impost Bill came from men who hated Hamilton because they hated a Federalist. Nor was the charge that men vote in Congress in a way to subserve their own private interests left to be invented by those who, in this year of grace, take this means to harass their political foes. While the Impost Bill was pending in Congress, it was alleged that sundry members hindered its progress in order that importers might hurry in their du- tiable cargoes; and the good Maclay records his suspicion, well-nigh belief, that one of his own colleagues in the Pennsylvania delegation in Congress was doing his best to hinder the pas- sage of the bill in order~ that his own Indiamen might get in with their car- goes before the tariff should become operative. Again, in 1791, when Hamilton pro- posed his scheme for a National Bank, party fury ran high over domestic ques- tions. Once more the extent of the Federal powers and the expediency of their exercise was debated with great heat and acrimony. This was not a national banking system that was planned, but a bank which should be the financial agent of the Government. The Federalists, regarding the collec- tion of the revenues as one of the nec- essary functions of the Government, urged that Congress might constitu- tionally charter a bank for that pur- pose; and the Antifederalists, while they were willing to adniit that such a bank would be a great public conven- ience, insisted that it was not absolute- ly needed ; and therefore, they said, it would not be lawful. This subtle hair- splitting, sophistical though it may ap- pear, really opened a conflict of opinion which lasted for more than a half-cen- tury, and, during the administration of Andrew Jackson, raged with prodigious heat. Nevertheless, although the Na- tional Bank issue was fought over with a closer and yet closer drawing of the lines of Federalist and Antifederalist, THE BEGINNINGS OF AMERICAN PAP TIES 51 it was evident that the time had come for the choice of a new name for the party in opposition. The Constitution having been adopted, and all of Hamil- tons financial projects having been carried, the questions that had agitated the strict constructionists and the loose constructionists were in a fair way to a settlement that might be regarded as permanent. New issues demanded a new title for the party. Jefferson, returning from a long so- John Adams. From a copy by Jane Stuart, about 1874, of a painting by her father, Gil- bert Stuart about 1 800in the pouueuuion of Henry Adams. journ in France, and deeply imbued with the most fantastic and radical no- tions of democracy and the rights of men, had been rewarded with a place in the cabinet; the French Revolution had rolled to its highest tide the theory and practice of popular government; and, now that domestic questions were not so imminent, the American people were invited to consider their relations to the struggles of other nations for lib- erty and equality. Sympathizing with the French in their hottest republican ex~esses and hating the English with virulence, Jefferson gave the party of which he became the acknowledged head the name of Democratic - Republican. The tirst member of this compound title was soon dropped, and we must here- after know the Antifederalists as Re- publicans. Before this, however, rival factions in Pennsylvania were known as Constitu- tionalists and Republicans. Heretofore the Antifed- eralists had been divided into several separate squads. Now, under Jeffer- sons management, they were welded into one ho- mogeneous mass, and al- though the Federalists had managed, while their ad- versaries were not united, to get possession of and hold both branches of Con- gress, the Federal Judi- ciary, and most of the State Legislatures, the n e w 1 y baptized Republican party was b e i n g organized for victory. Washington was first called to the chair by acclamation. B e f o r e his second election came on, party divisions began to show themselves in his cab- inet, and the Arcadian sim- plicity of American politics forever disappeared. Henceforth there was to be no unanimity in anything that could be lugged into politics; a readiness to make a live issue of ev- erything possible replaced the patriotic unity that had held the people together while they had been threatened by the total destruc- tion of their liberties. Political parties were born. The quarrels of Jefferson and Hainil- ton, grievous as they were to their illus- trious chief, were the natural result of this new formation of parties. Person- ally antagonized although the two cab- 52 THE BEGINNINGS OF AMERICAN PARTIES met officers had been (pitted aoainst each other like game-cocks, Jefferson had said), their separation on party lines was logical and inevitable. It was lamentable that one of the first evi- dences of p a r ty develop- ment was seen in the wicked and mendacious a t t a c ks upon the personal cliarac- ter of Washington, who was a Federalist although he did not appear to have known it. At first these at- tacks were oblique. Vice- President John Adams, who was a candidate for re-elec- tion when the time for an- other election drew near, was roundly abused for his coldness, his hanteur, his aristocratic equipage and monarchical ten dencies, and his stately affectations. Many Antifederahists pri- vately said that all this was true of Washington. And the violent language ap- plied by these men to Ham- ilton, Washingtons favorite and n e a r e s t friend, were disguised assaults upon the illustrious First President. But notwithstanding these partisan differences, no name but that of Wash- ington was mentioned when the presidential suc- cession was under discus- sion. And now, for the first time, Congress busied itself with laws regulating the method of collecting and counting the votes of the Presidential Electors. As yet there were no formal nominations, no political con- ventions, no caucuses in Congress, no campaign committees, and, above all, no windy political platforms, nor, indeed, platforms of any kind. Both parties being agreed upon the nomination of Washington, they divided upon the nom- inations for Vice-President. The iRepub- licans would have supported Jefferson for Vice-President; but the Constitution forbade the selection of President and Vice-President from the same State, and, forsaking the great supply of ~presidential timber which the Moth- er of Presidents was ready to furnish, they named George Clinton, of New York; the Federalists adhered to John Adams. It was a curiously free-and- easy method, that by which the Presi- Aaron Burr. From a picture by Vanderlyn at the New York Historical Society. dential Electors were chosen. The theory of an election by a free choice of the Electoral College was still main- tained; not a man of the whole num- ber of electors was pledged to vote for any specified candidate. Nor was it re- quired of them that they should indi- cate their choice for President and Vice- President. Each was to cast his ballot for two men; and the man who stood at the top of the poll was to be Presi- dent; the next below him was to be Vice-President. The manner of choos- ing electors in the several States was various; they were chosen by the peo- ple, or by the legislatures; on a general ticket, or by voters in districts; or by THE BEGINNINGS OF AMER IGAN PAR TIES 53 combination of these several methods, as wisdom and whim might dictate. In many of the States, perhaps in most of them, the people really had nothing to do with the selection of the Presidential Alexander Hamilton. From a picture by Trumbull, about 1t04, in the New York City Hall. Electors except so far as their voice was heard through the few newspapers of the time. The second national election took place in November, 1792, and the can- vass of the votes of the Presidential Electors, which was had in February of the following year, showed that every one of them (and there were one hun- dred and thirty-two), had voted for George Washington. In the election for Vice-President the Federalists tri- umphed. John Adams had seventy seven votes; George Clinton, fifty; Thomas Jefferson, four; and Aaron Burr one. The election returns came in from the States with exceeding slowness. Al- though the general result was early known, the vote of Kentucky was not heard from until January, 1793. This election over, the attention of the American people was once more di- verted to foreign matters and to the effect which was produced upon their own politics by commotions on the other side of the Atlan- tic. The sympathy which Federalists had at first felt for the French Republicans had visibly cooled during the mad Saturnalia that prevailed after the execu- tion of Louis XVI. ; but that of the American Re- publicans had now risen to a fever heat. In all the chief centres of population there was manifested some- thing like a rage for what- ever was French, and, more especially, for whatever was suggestive of the prevailing temper of the French peo- ple. Whatever was distaste- ful to the Parisian Reds was hateful to American Repub- licans; and, if we may judge by the universality of this popular craze, the Republi- cans were now in a major- ity. Men and women were called Citizen and Cit- ess, and every fantastic no- tion of the mob that ruled Paris was taken up here and adopted with glad ac- claim as eminently fit and proper for the usage of the citizens of the Ameri- can republic. When France declared war against England, Spain, and Holland, the ex- citement of the Republicans knew no bounds; their hated enemy, England, was now to be swept from the seas, and Washingtons proclamation of neutral- ity was the signal for the outburst of a long-slunibering magazine of hatred and discontent. The extraordinary per- formances of Citizen Genet, the newly arrived French Minister, in 1793, added fuel to the flames. Jefferson, who was still Secretary of State, was doubtless greatly disconcerted by the indiscre 54 THE BEGINNINGS OF AMERICAN PAR TIES tions of Genet, who appeared to regard the United States as a French province, and who commissioned privateers, es- tablished prize-courts, issued proclama- tions, and appealed to the people of the United States as if an ambassador of the French republic were not obliged to recognize the National Government unless he chose. All these amazing proceedings of Genet were warmly approved by the extreme Republicans, but Jefferson, however he may have secretly sympa- thized with the audacious stranger, was obliged to warn him that his conduct was not to be tolerated. The surprised Minister was recalled by his Govern- ment, at the request of President Wash- ington, and that incident was at least temporarily closed. But we may charge to the account of the prevailing temper of the American people at that time the fact that the Republicans had a small majority in the House of Representa- tives when the Third Congress met in December, 1793, although there was an unattached political contingent in the House holding a balance of power suf- ficiently solid to act as a check upon the larger faction. During the Third Congress many bitter fights raged over such questions as State rights, internal revenue taxa- tion, the tariff, and trade with foreign countries. Out of the enforcement of the internal revenue tax grew the Whiskey Rebellion ; several of the west- ern counties of Pennsylvania declared that they would not pay the excise dues, stoned and otherwise maltreated the agents of the National Government, very much as the moonshiners of a later day have done, and finally rose in open revolt against all lawfully consti- tuted authority. The publication of the Jay Treaty furnished another pre- text for the rampant attitude of the Republicans, who, by this time, had ac- quired a habit of railing against every- thing that was done by the administra- tion of Washington. Jays treaty with England, while it did not provide for the removal of all the causes of popu- lar complaint, did make provision for a more enlarged foreign trade for the young republic, and was eventually rat- ified by the Senate. It is interesting to note the asperity with which the House of Representatives, spurred on by the Republicans, claimed some share in the business of treaty-making, if not in the actual ratification of the same. The contention of the malcontents was that the House ought at least to be al- lowed to discuss the provisions of trea- ties, proposed. Democratic societies, which were real- ly clubs of Jeffersonian Republicans, sprung up all over the counti-y, and were denounced for their alleged rela- tions to the Jacobins of France. These, in the absence of political platforms (as yet unknown), passed resolutions denouncing the excise tax, praising Ge- net and his successors in this country, condemning neutrality, assailing the Administration with virulence, and abusing the President in good set terms. The reptile press, managed by such creatures as Philip Freneau and Benjamin Franklin Bache, teemed with the most indecent assaults on the charac- ter of Washington, who was called the Stepfather of His Country, accused of incompetency during the war, and of a later embezzlement of the public funds; and he was even actually threat- ened with impeachment and assassina- tion. It is not creditable to the candor of Jefferson that one of these slanderers was kept in the employment of the Government under his administration of the State Department, while thus brutally assailing the character of Washington. The Secretary of State has set down in his diary the fact that Washington, having vented his indig- nation against Frenean, gave Jefferson the impression that he was about to ask that the man be discharged from the public service. I will not, added the faithful Secretary to his record of the implied request of the President. When Washington, sickened of pub- lic life by attacks which, as he said, were in terms so exaggerated and in- decent as could scarcely be applied to a Nero, a notorious defaulter, or even to a common pickpocket, had retired to private life, refusing a third term of the Presidency, the first national election that was conducted on strictly political lines had come on. No plat- forms were framed, no conventions held, THE BEGINNINGS OF AMERICAN PAR TIES 55 and no primaries organized. But the articles of faith of each of the two great political parties were by this time clearly formulated and understood. As for Toomas Jefferson. From a study by Gilbert Stuartfrom Monticello. Now the property of T. Jefferson Coolidge. It is considered the best picturn extanS. candidates, it was in like manner well understood that Thomas Jefferson and Aaron Burr were the choice of the Re- publicans for President and Vice-Presi- dent, and that th6 Federalists would vote for John Adams and Thomas Pinek- ney, respectively, to fill those offices. The canvass of Jefferson gave occasion for the first direct foreign interference with our domestic politics. The French Minister, M. Adet, having taken a hand in the pending canvass, gradually wrought himself up to the point of in- forming the free and independent vot- ers of the United States that the defeat of his friend Jefferson would be regard- ed by France as a possible cause of war. This finished Mr. Jefferson for the time. When the electoral votes were counted (in February, 1797), John Ad- ams had seventy-one, T h o m a s Jefferson sixty- eight, Thomas Pinckney fifty-nine, and Aaron Burr thirty. The Federalists had elected their candi- date; but, under the oper- ation of the curious method prevailing, the Republican candidate for President had been chosenYice-President. Fisher Ames, in a letter written at this time, proph- esied that the two Presi- dents would jostle and con- flict for four years, and then the Vice would become chief. This was exactly whCt happened. Foreign affairs furnished the chief causes that led to the downfall of the Federal party, and the elevation of the Republicans to power. The French Directory, as if in execution of the threat implied in M. Adets elec- tioneering letter in behalf of Jefferson, insulted the American republic with de- liberation and most exas- perating detail. Our envoy to France was treated with contempt, a n d e v e n con- tumely, and when three special agents were sent to smooth matters over, if pos- sible, they were not only insulted, but were told that they must bribe the Di- rectory, and that the United States Government must lend money to the Government, if amicable relations be- tween the two republics were to con- tinue longer. So deeply infatuated were a portion of our people with French Republican- ism that even the shameful treatment of the American envoys in France had been insufficient to rouse their spirit; but when the famous X Y Z letters were published, and the audacious pro- posals of bribery and blackmail were fastened upon the French Directory, 56 THE BEGINNINGS OF AMERICAN PARTIES the fierceness of the outburst in this country for a time dismayed even the most ultra of the Republicans and brought to the ranks of the exulting Federalists many voters who had here- tofore acted with their adversaries. French hostility had become more and more patent, and the war spirit flamed out in Congress and all over the coun- try. The Republicans, whose distinc- tive badge had been the tricolored cockade, were silenced, while the people shouted the newest slogan, Millions for defence ; not one cent for tribute. This war-cry, stamped on copper cents or tokens, and emblazoned in every pos- sible way in every section of the repub- lic, was the American answer to the in- sulting demand of the French ; and under the influence of this new demon- stration of a distinctively American spirit of patriotism, the Federalists car- ried themselves with a high front: This was the cause of their ruin. In the flush of their victory over the Re- publicans, and with a good working majority in both branches of Congress, they passed the famous Alien and Sedi- tion Laws. The first of these, enacted in June, 1798, authorized the President to expel from the United States any alien whom he should judge to be dangerous to the liberties of the coun- try; and the second law, passed in July of that year, imposed fines and impris- onment upon any who should combine to oppose any measure of the Govern- ment, or should utter a false, malicious, or scandalous writing against the mem- bers of the Government of the United States. The fact that these two laws, embodying as they did the extremest principles of the Federalist creed, and lodging in the hands of the Executive enormous power over the persons of alien residents, were placed on the statute-books for a specified term of years (to remain until March 3, 1801), added to their odiousness and imme- diate unpopularity. The dictatorial policy pursued toward the United States by the French Government, and the firm and patriotic stand taken by the Adams administration were enough, one would suppose, to have fortified the Federalists in power for years to come; but the enactment of the Alien and Se- dition Laws was naturally regarded by the Republicans as a stretch of power not justified by the Constitution and aimed at them and their allies. To the slooan Millions for defence now succeeded Save liberty of speech and Defend the freedom of the press. For many a year afterward these two cries were terrible in the ears of the Federalists. Burning in effigy was one of the fav- orite devices of angry patriots in these days. When Chief-Justice Jay had ne- gotiated the famous treaty with Eng- land that bore his name, he was burned in effigy and lampooned from one end of the republic to the other. Even before the text of the treaty was made public, the Chief-Justice was pilloried and burned in effigy by indignant Phila- delphians, who ransacked Juvenal, Ovid, and Virgil for classical epithets where- with to garnish the ragged image of the man whom they execrated. Al- though the passage of the obnoxious Alien and Sedition Laws greatly excit- ed the people, or at least the Republi- cans, their opposition did not manifest itself so much in the personal abuse of individuals (though this was common enough) as in remonstrances and peti- tions for repeal. Later on, riots and mobs were caused by the popular ex- citement, and innumerable collisions re- sulted in many parts of the country from the angry debates over the burn- ing topic of the day. One of the immediate effects of the en- actment of the Alien and Sedition Laws was the framing of the famous Vir- ginia and Kentucky Resolutions of 98, a formulation of the Jeffersonian-Demo- cratic creed which has had its adherents unto this day. The Republicans had finally seen that as the Executive, Con- gress, and the Federal Judiciary were still Federalist, they must go into the State Legislatures and initiate there the action which they hoped to see taken for the shaping of public opinion. Of course the excited condition of the popular mind on the subject of the re- pressive measures of Congress was the golden opportunity of Jefferson, who affected to believe (as he had said in his letter to Stevens Thomson Mason, of Virginia), that the Federalists were THE BEGINNINGS OF AMERICAN PAR TIES 57 bent on setting up a monarchy, and that if the Alien and Sedition Laws were permitted to stand, they would next propose making Adams President for life and fix the succession in the Adams family. If Jefferson really be- lieved such nonsense as this, what won- der that many of the plain people also believed worse things of the Federal party? But the Virginia and Kentucky Re- John Jay. From a picture by Gilbert Stuartproperty of Mm, John Jay. solutions went quite as far in the di- rection of decentralization as any act of the Federalists had gone in the op- posite course. The resolutions, written by Jefferson, while holding the office of Vice-President, were given to George Nicholas, of Kentucky, and by him their adoption by the Legislature of his State was procured. Two months later, James Madison, prompted by Jef- ferson, had them introduced, and the Virginia Legislature passed the same resolutions slightly changed. A plen- tiful crop of rioting and disorder fol- lowed the adoption of this formal dec- laration of the abstract doctrine of State rights in its most naked form. But the hated laws remained unre- pealed ; the Federalists in Congress formally decided to let them stay on the statute-books. Matthew Lyon, the first victim of the Federal Bastile of that day, was already famed as the inciter of the first fight that ever disgraced the American Congress. Lyon was a Representative from Vermont, a bitter Antifed- eralist, who had won much notoriety as a coarse and brutal debater and a vio- lent partisan. In the course of a wordy wrangle with Mr. Griswold, a Rep- resentative from Connecti- cut, in the House of Rep- resentatives, in January, 1798, Lyon deliberately spat in the face of the Con- necticut Congressman; and thereupon e n s u e d great disorder which was renewed a day or two later when Griswold walked over to Lyons seat and as deliber- ately beat him with a cud- gel. In the free fight that followed, Lyon defended himself with a pair of tongs snatched from the fireplace, and a fisticuff encounter took pl a c e. The offence for which Lyon was subse- quently tried and convicted of sedition, was his reading at a public meeting a letter from Joel Barlow, author of the American epic The Columbiad, and other queer pieces of blank verse, and then residing in Europe; but Lyons own letters, printed in Vermont, were held to be full of seditious matter. Barlow had said that the answer of the House to President Adamss address should have been an order to send him to a mad house ; and Lyon had written, among other things, that the 58 THE BEGINNINGS OP AMERICAN PARTIES Government was using the sacred name of religion as a state engine to make mankind hate and perseente each other, and he complained that mean men were rewarded by places while their betters were denied place on ac- count of their independency of senti- ment, with more to the same effect but not enough, one may say, to consti- tute groundwork for so grave a charge as that of sedition and privy conspi- racy. Nevertheless, Matthew was found guilty, was scolded by the judge, and was sentenced to pay a fine of one thousand dollars and be kept in the jail at Vergennes four months. Although President Adams was the nominal head of the Federalist party, Alexander Hamilton was its real leader. That remarkable man, who resigned the office of Secretary of the Treasury in February, 1795, and returned to the practice of his profession in New York, was at the forefront of every movement designed to advance the cause of the Federal party. In a public and most spirited defence of the Jay Treaty, in New York, he was mobbed and stoned by an angry and belligerent crowd of citizens. He may have been said to have bled in the good cause, for his face was covered with blodd while he pleaded for the right to be heard. As a defender of the faith, he was entitled to honor; and as a leader of public opinion he was easily far in advance of any other man in the ranks of the Fed- eral party. Hamilton was resolutely opposed to the Sedition Bill, both because it was bad politics and because of its ex- cessive use of the executive powers. He had applied to Congressmen and had argued against even a semblance of tyranny, such as the proposed law was in his eyes. Hamiltons coolness. toward Adams and influential friends of the Adams administration deepened when the President, to the infinite sur- prise of almost everybody, including the members of his own cabinet, sud- denly resolved to send three envoys to act as Ministers - Plenipotentiary to France. This widened the breach be- tween Hamilton and Adams, and it was not long before the ex-Secretary of the Treasury was popularly regarded as one of the leaders of a new faction known as the Independent Federalists. Dissensions like these embarrassed and weakened the Federal party, already toppling to its fall. Jefferson, a consummate party man- ager, remained quiet while these quar- rels were in progress, although we may be sure that his cunning hand was in many an intrigue which added to the complications besetting the path of the Federalists. The Sage of Monticello wisely waited for the factious excite- ment to work ; and the time for the fourth presidential election drew near. His influential counsels held the eager Republicans in check; and the general irritation over the enforcement of the Alien and Sedition Laws steadily in- creased. The Federalists had secured a goodly majority in both branches of Congress (the Seventh), which met in December, 1799, but which had been chosen during the war excitement that broke out on the ignominious return of our envoys to France, and the publica- tion of the X Y Z letters. Jefferson was calmly biding his time. That time came when a Congres- sional caucus of the Republican meni- bers nominated him for the Presiden- cy (in 1800 during the first session of the Sixth Congress), with Aaron Burr for Vice-President. A Federal cau- cus, during the same session, placed in nomination John Adams and Thomas Piuckney as their candidates for Presi- dent and Vice-President. For the first time, party caucuses had selected can- didates to be supported in a political campaign, if we may give to the Jeffer- son-Adams canvass so modern a title. There had been caucauses of the mem- bers of both branches of Congress, notably those which William Duane, the reckless and defamatory editor of the Philadelphia Aurora, a fierce An- tifederal sheet, had denounced as a junta that determined the action of the controlling majority in Congress; for which denunciation he was ordered into arrest by the Senate on charge of contempt. But the Presidential intrigues which Duane suspected brought forth from the caucus the name of Jefferson as well as that of Adams. THE BEGINNINGS OP AMERICAN PAR TIES 59 New York was early found to be the pivotal State in a presidential contest, and the election in that State of members of the Legislature, which 4 took place in April, 1800, resulting as it did in the choice of a Republican legis- lature by whom the Presidential Elec- tors were to be chosen, gave great im- petus to Jeffersons campaign. Party rage was at once rekindled, and, in the commotion that followed, A damss cab- inet was broken up, some of its mem- bers voluntarily retiring and some being summarily dismissed. Hamilton, whose friends in the cabinet were stigmatized by the President as the British fac- tion, wrote a furious pamphlet, in which he assailed Adams personally as a man of insane jealousy, tremendous self-conceit, and ungovernable temper. He also bitterly criticised the foreign and domestic policy of the Adams ad- ministration, and disclosed secrets of the political management of the time. Hamiltons intention was to send this pamphlet privately to trusted Federal- ist leaders, with the adjnration that the safety of their cause demanded that the Federalist Presidential Electors should be induced to cast their ballots for Pinckney for President, and keep the second place for Adams. But Aaron Burr, getting wind of this remarkable document, procnred a copy of it and had it printed in the chief iRepublican newspapem of the country. Although the commotion arising from the explosion of this bomb-shell was tre- mendous and was most depressing to the Federalists, there was no such rush of Presidential Electors to the Republi- cans, when their balloting began, as the Jeffersonians had confidently expected. For weeks the result was in doubt. The difficulty of communication between points not very remote from each other kept the country long in snspense; but, on December 16th, while the Fed- eralists were exulting over the fact that the returns footed up forty-seven votes for Adams and forty-six for Jeffer- son, the returns from South Carolina decided the fate of the Federal party, and a majority was given to the Repub- licans in the Electoral College. Now came on the first disputed elec- toral count; and the elation of the Jef fersonians was temporarily dampened. Although the candidates in the national election had been voted for as nomi- nated for the Presidency and the Vice- Presidency, respectively, the constitu- tional provision relating to the selection of the highest name on the list for Pres- ident still remained in force. Jefferson and Burr each received seventy-three votes ; there was no highest candidate. Burr, with his characteristic talent for intrigue, had steadily kept in view the possibilities of his own election to the presidency, and had even taken pains that one of the New York electors should be persuaded to substitute his (Burrs) name for that of Jefferson on the ballot which he was to cast at the meeting of the Presidential Electors of his State. Now that the election was to be thrown into the House of Representatives, Burr stood as good a chance of being the choice of the members as Jefferson did. At least Burr thought so, and he put forward his schemes with confidence and alacrity. The Federalists, naturally tickled by this complication, did not behave with generosity. They proposed to hinder any choice by the House, expecting to carry the contest into the Senate, and that body, under the Constitution, would be allowed to choose some sen- ator, or the Chief - Justice, to act as President until Congress should meet again, and a new election by the people be ordered. Or, if worst came to worst, they would vote for the intriguing, but little-known, Burr rather than for the detestable Jefferson. When President Adams was besought by the now thor- oughly alarmed Jefferson to interfere to prevent these plans from being exe- cuted, he coldly said that he could not think of interfering with the preroga- tives of Congress. Great was the excitement throughout the United States when, after the formal counting of the electoral vote and the declaration of the fact that there was no choice for President, the two Houses of Congress separated and the House of Representatives began to ballot, Feb- ruary 11, 1801. There had been threats of armed intervention in behalf of Jef- ferson, and there were rumbles of pop- ular applause for Burr. Washington, 60 THE BEGINNINGS OF AMERICAN PAR TIES the new capital of the republic, difficult of access and poorly provided with ac- commodations for sojourners, could not find room for the thousands of persons who flocked thither to watch the pro- ceedings. Roll-calls in the House were incessant, and at first night sessions were held, to the great discomfort of members, some of whom took their nightcaps, pil- lows, and wraps with them to the Capitol. Finally, on the thirty-sixth ballot, the Federalists, who had all along obstructed the elec- tion, gave way, and Jeffer- soil was elected, receiving the votes of ten States. Burr had the votes of four States, and two (Maryland and Vermont) cast blank ballots. The contest had lasted six days, and the re- lease of public attention from a long and tense strain was fortunate and notable. The price demanded by the Federalists for their surrender to Jefferson was fixed in caucus, and was formulated by James Bay- ard, of Delaware, and Alex- ander Hamilton, of N e w York, these men having manage d the Federalist phalanx in the interest of Jefferson. That price was assurances from Jefferson that the Federalists might fully trust him to carry out their wishes; he would take good care of the infant navy, look carefully after the public credit, which had been maintained under the policy of Hamilton, and would not remove any petty Federal office-holder who had taken part in the late campaign under the Federalist banner. The first disputed presidential election case had been decided, and that, too, as might have been expected, by a bargain be- tween the electors and the elected. The first political revolution in the United States was accomplished. A pleasing story of Jefferson~ s inau- guration that has long been current represents him as riding to the Capitol and tying his horse to the fence, and then entering almost unattended to take the oath of office. This fable has been dispersed. Current accounts re- late his ceremonial installation into office surrounded by martial music, banners, and guns. Salvos of artillery James Madison. From a picture by Gilbert Stuartproperty of T. Jefferson Coolidge. announced his arrival and departure from the Capitol, and the militia par- aded in front of his lodgings before he left for the ceremony. His inau- gural address formulated the political creed of the Democratic - Republican party, of which he was the leader and exemplar. The author of the Virginia and Kentucky Resolutions declared in favor of State rights, fru- gal expenditures of the national rev- enues, honest elections, payment of the public debt, a well - regulated militia, freedom of the person, press, and re THE BEGINNINGS OF AMERICAN PAR TIES 61 ligious belief, and the diffusion of knowledge. One of the earliest of Jeffersons in- novations was his disregard of the ens- torn of a ceremonious visit of the Presi- dent to Congress to read or deliver in person his annual message. Jefferson s critics said that lie was not able to ac- quit himself creditably as a speaker and reader, and so he wrote his mes- sage and sent it by a messenger. But fierce Republicans had all along resent- ed the public appearance of the Presi- dent in the halls of Congress. Will- iam Maclay, during the administration of Washinoton, wrote in his diary, in harsh terms, several accounts of Wash- ingtons formal visits to the Capitol, one occasion being to explain to the Senate in session certain pending Indian trea- ties which the President was anxious to see ratified at once and over which the Senate hesitated. Maclay says that Washingtons niotions were slow rather than lively, though he showed no signs of having suffered by gont or rheumatism. His complexion pale, nay, almost cadaverous. His voice hollow and indistinct, owing, as I believe, to artificial teeth before his upper jaw, which occasioned a flatness of; but here some friendly hand intruded to tear from the diary the rest of the stanch old Republi- cans description of the fa- ther of his country, and the picture is left incomplete. Removals from office for political considerations en- gaged Jeffersons attention when he had firmly seated himself in the presidential chair. District - attorneys and marshals of the Federal courts, the shield of the Republican part of the com- munity, Jefferson c a 11 e d them, were the first to go. But the removal of Elizur Goodrich, Collector of Cus- toms at New Haven, Conn., gave occasion for one of Jeffersons most famous ut- terances. The removal of Goodrich and the appoint- ment of Samuel Bishop were highly distasteful to the merchants, more espec- ially as Bishop was an aged man, and already held the offices of town-clerk, mayor, justice of the peace, judge of the probate court, and chief judge of the com- mon pleas. In his reply to the mer- chants remonstrance, Jefferson argued that the right to appoint men to vacan- cies during a recess of the Senate im- plied a right to remove. For how could there be vacancies nuless removals made them? Of vacancies lie said: Those by death are few; by resigna- tion none. Altogether, Jefferson made thirty-nine removals from office, none of which, he said, was for political reasons, difficult though this may be to believe. Washington had made nine removals, and Adams the same number. George Clinton. From a painting by Ezra Ames. 62 THE BEGINNINGS OF AMERICAN PAR TiES But several of Adamss appointments, on the eve of his quitting the presi- dential office, were certainly incon- sistent with decorum. Adams, whose home was in Braintree, Mass., had been nicknamed by his adversaries The Duke of Braintree, and the twenty-three circuit judges whom he appointed to fill places just created by Congress, in the last hours of his offi- cial life, were stigmatized as The Duke of Braintrees Midnight Judges. Unsuccessful attempts were made to oust them. But although politics and official pat- ronage first became wedded in Jeffer- sons reign, more notable events shed lustre on his administration. The ac- quisition of Louisiana Territory by purchase from France was the most brilliant stroke of that administration, although this was accomplished by an invasion of the political creed of the Democratic - Republicans almost ludi- crous in its audacity. The treaty by which the purchase was completed was negotiated by Monroe and approved by the President without any appar- ent authority whatever; and when the ratification of that conventioii came up for consideration, the Republicans were forced to take the same position that the Federalists had when the Jay Treaty was under debate; and the Fed- eralists calmly ate their own words and argued against the lawfulness and constitutionality of Jeffersons action. The President, however, confidently ap- pealed to public sentiment to justify his course ; and the acquisition of this magnificent territory gave us material from which have since been carved the States of Louisiana, Arkansas, Mis- souri, Iowa, Nebraska, Minnesota, Kan- sas, North Dakota, South Dakota, Mon- tana, the greater parts of Idaho, Wy- oming, and Colorado, and the Indian Territory. This was the first annexa- tion of territory to the IJuited States, acquired by purchase from a foreign power. The first schism in the Democratic- Republican party was that of the Quids, who, under the leadership of the vituperative and eccentric John Randolph, formed a faction of extreme State Rights men with ultra - Demo- cratic proclivities. Randolph had be- come alienated from Jefferson on ac- count of purely personal grievances, and he took occasion to disagree with the Presidents views when Jefferson s message regarding Spanish aggressions was sent to Congress, in December, 1805. He now acted with the Federal- ists, and there was joined to his faction a knot of men who later on opposed the nomination of Madison as Jeffer- sons successor. This schism lasted through Jeffersons second term, but disappeared when Madison was chosen, in 1813, and Monroe entered his cab- inet as Secretary of State. Randolphs attacks upon Jefferson were doubtless very galling to the President, who was accused of employing back-stairs in- fluence on Congress, and was gener- ally assailed in terms too vulgar for quotation. Foreign affairs plagued American politics greatly during Jeffersons two terms; but as the Democratic-Republi- cans, or Democrats, as they now began to call themselves, were in an over- whelming majority in both branches of Congress, they were enabled to car- ry through all party measures. Jeffer- son arbitrarily rejected a new treaty with England, and was fiercely assailed therefor by the Federalists. In con- sequence of foreign complications aris- ing from the war between France and other European powers, an embargo on American commerce was declared, and our ports were closed until the Admin- istration, frightened by threats from poverty - stricken and oppressed New England, induced a modification of the odious act. The taking of alleged Brit- ish deserters from the decks of the Am- erican frigate Chesapeake by the Brit- ish frigate Leopard, after a disgrace- fully feeble resistance, was another inci- dent that irritated the people and added fuel to the flames of political dissensions. The trial of Aaron Burr for hi oh treason was another distressing event in Jeffer- sons administration, for although the President (who refused to attend as a witness when suinmoiied), attempted to secure the conviction of Burr, he was finally acquitted by the Yirginia court in which he was tried. During the ex- citement caused by the Burr expedition * THE BEGINNINGS OF AMERICAN PARTIES 63 down the Mississippi, the alarmed Sen- ate, which was overwhelmingly Demo- cratic, passed a bill to snspend the writ of habeas corpus; and another in- vasion of the creed of their party was the passage of the Cumberland iRoad Bill, authorizing the expenditure of public money for the building of a so- James Monroe. From a painting by Gilbert Stuartnow the property of Coolidge. called national highway, and thereby first raising the question of the consti- tutionality of making internal improve- ments at public expense. Notwithstanding the complaints of the New England and Middle States against the monopoly of the executive office by Virginia, James Madison was nominated by the Democrats in the spring of 1808, Jefferson having refused to consider a third term. Madison was ~. first named by the Legislature of his own State, and was formally nominated by a Congressional caucus. The Feder alists, who were now completely out of power in all but two or three of the States, nominated C. C. Pinckney, of South Carolina. Madison was elected by a large majority, and the returns showed that the Federalists were well- nigh exterminated, although they still made a vigorous fight for life. During Madisons first term the old question of a National Bank was revived by an attempt to recharter the United States Bank. Although opposition to such an institution was a cardinal principle of the Democratic faith, the re- chartering scheme found favor with the ruling ma- jority in both branches of Congress, and was only de- feated by the casting vote of the Vice-President (George Clinton), when the bill was before the Senate. The war - clouds that now began to rise changed the policy of the dominant party, which, under Jeffer- son (and so far under Mad- ison), had been in favor of peace at almost any price. The Administration w a s supine under the most out- rageous acts of Great Brit- ain toward the commerce of the United States, and such leaders of the party as Henry Clay, in the House, and John C. Cal T. Jefferson houn and William H. Craw- ford, in the Senate, loud- ly called for war. Madi son, who was disposed to hesitate, was plainly told that he must assume a more belligerent attitude if he expect- ed another term of office. As that good man wanted another term, he surren- dered, and was put in nomination by a Democratic-Republican caucus of Con- gress. But Dewitt Clinton, of New York, who was regarded as the candi- date of the war wing of the Democrats, and who had been promised the nomi- nation in case Madison did not yield, was so dissatisfied with the turn affairs had taken that he remained in the 64 THE BEGINNINGS OF AMERICAN PAR TIES field and was nominated by a Democra- tic caucus of the New York Legisla- ture, and subsequently, by an assem- blage in New York City which closely resembled a political convention, the first of which we have any record in national affairs. The Federalists, who managed this convention, supported Clinton; but a portion of that party went over to Madison, who was clios- en by one hundred and twenty-eight electoral votes, Clinton receiving only eighty-nine. The war with England (1812), dur- ing which the city of Washinoton was sacked and burned, and President Mad- ison narrowly escaped capture, was the fruitful source of many new and lasting political complications. The war was bitterly opposed in New England, where it caused great commercial distress, and where the enemy had effected a landing on the coast of Maine. The celebrated Hartford Convention, called by influential Federalists, to confer up- on the grievances of the New England States, was part of the general expres- sion of discontent. Its mysterious pro- ceedings were misrepresented, and an impression was erroneously given of its intention to discuss and advocate secession. During this war, too, orig- inated the odious epithet of Blue Lights. Commodore Decatur coin- plained that whenever he attempted to get out to sea from the port of New London, Conn., under cover of the night, a signal of blue lights was shown by the residents who were opposed to the war. A rigid inquiry failed to find any ground for this charge, but the term Blue Light Federalists, with sly reference to the Hartford Convention, galled the spirit of the survivors and heirs of that party for more than a half- century afterward. The Treaty of Ghent, of which Henry Clay was one of the American negotia- tors, concluded the war, and may be said to mark the final disappearance of the Federalist party. In the next Pre- sidential election, that of 1816, James Monroe was given all the electoral votes but those of Massachusetts, Connecti- cut, and Delaware. The Federalists, who carried those three States, sup- ported IRufus King, of New York, but they made no formal nomination for the Vice-Presidency. Once again the Vir- ginia influence made itself felt when~ four years later, Monroe was nominated and elected for a second time, receiving an almost unanimous vote, the Federal- ists cutting no figure in the contest. For the first time since the first dec tion of Washington there was apparent- ly but one party in the United States. This was the beginning of that fal- lacious condition which was known as the Era of Good Feeling, under which new parties and new political feuds and jealousies were taking form. For the first time, too, during an electoral count, objection to the count- ing of the vote of a State was made. Missouri, which had been admitted to the family of States under the cele- brated compromise, claimed the right to cast a vote in the I3~1lectoral College. The State had not then (February, 1821) accepted the condition of admis- sion, which was that it should never interfere with the constitutional privi- leges of citizens of other States ; and the assembled wisdom of Congress, un- der the guidance of Henry Clay, decided that the result of the count should show how many votes the highest can- didate would have with the vote of Mis- souri, and how many without that vote. With this weak and paltering settle-- ment of a grave question, the dispute was ended, and a new era in American politics began. F GOING OF THE WHITE SWAN A STORY OUT OF LABRADOR By Gilbert Parker ILLUSTRATIONS BY ALBERT LYNCH HY dont she come back, father? The man shook his head, his hand fum- bled with the wolf- skin robe covering the child, and he made no reply. Shed come if she knew I was hurt- ed, wouldnt she? The father nodded, and then turned restlessly toward the door, as if expect- ing someone. The look was troubled, and the pipe he held was not alight, though he made a pretence of smoking. Suppose the wild-cat had got me, shed be sorry when she comes, would- nt she? There was no speech yet in reply, VOL. XYIi7 save gesture, the language of primitive man; but the big body shivered a little, and the uncouth hand felt for a place in the bed where the lads knee made a lump under the robe. He felt the little heap tenderly, but the child winced. Ssh, but that hurts! This wolf- skin is most too much on me, isnt it, father? The man softly, yet awkwardly too, lifted the robe, folded it back, and slowly uncovered the knee, The leg was worn away almost to skin and bone, but the knee itself was swollen with inflammation. He bathed it with some water, mixed with vinegar and herbs, from a basin at his hand, then drew down the deer-skin shirt at the childs shonlder, and did the same with it. Both shoulder and knee bore the THE

Gilbert Parker Parker, Gilbert The Going Of The White Swan - A Story Out Of Labrador 65-78

GOING OF THE WHITE SWAN A STORY OUT OF LABRADOR By Gilbert Parker ILLUSTRATIONS BY ALBERT LYNCH HY dont she come back, father? The man shook his head, his hand fum- bled with the wolf- skin robe covering the child, and he made no reply. Shed come if she knew I was hurt- ed, wouldnt she? The father nodded, and then turned restlessly toward the door, as if expect- ing someone. The look was troubled, and the pipe he held was not alight, though he made a pretence of smoking. Suppose the wild-cat had got me, shed be sorry when she comes, would- nt she? There was no speech yet in reply, VOL. XYIi7 save gesture, the language of primitive man; but the big body shivered a little, and the uncouth hand felt for a place in the bed where the lads knee made a lump under the robe. He felt the little heap tenderly, but the child winced. Ssh, but that hurts! This wolf- skin is most too much on me, isnt it, father? The man softly, yet awkwardly too, lifted the robe, folded it back, and slowly uncovered the knee, The leg was worn away almost to skin and bone, but the knee itself was swollen with inflammation. He bathed it with some water, mixed with vinegar and herbs, from a basin at his hand, then drew down the deer-skin shirt at the childs shonlder, and did the same with it. Both shoulder and knee bore the THE 66 THE GOING OF THE WHITE SWAN marks of teethwhere a huge wild-eat had made havocand the body had long red scratches. Presently the man shook his head sorrowfully, and covered up the small disfigured frame again, but this time with a tanned skin of the caribou. The flames of the huge wood-fire dashed the walls and floor with a velvety red and black, and the large iron kettle bought of the Company at Fort Sacra- ment, puffed out geysers of steam. The place was a low hut with parch- ment windows and rough mud-mortar lumped between the logs. Skins hung along two sides, with bullet-holes and knife-holes showing: of the great gray wolf, the red puma, the bronze hill-lion, the beaver, the bear, and the sable; and in one corner was a huge pile of them. Bare of the usual comforts as the room was, it had a kind of refined life also, joined to an inexpressible lone- liness; you could scarce have told how or why. Father, said the boy, his face pinched with pain for a moment, it hurts so, all over, every once in a while. His fingers caressed the leg just below the knee. Father, he suddenly added, what does it mean when you hear a bird sing in the middle of the night? The woodsman looked down anxiously into the boys face. It hasnt no meaning, Dominique. There aint such a thing on the Labrador Heights as a bird sing- in in the night. Thats only in warm countries where theres nightingales. Sobiem sdr! The boy had a wise, dreamy, speculative look. Well, I guess it was a nightingale it didnt sing like any I ever heard. The look of nervousness deep- ened in the woodsmans face. What did it sing like, Domin- ique? So it made you shiver. You wanted it to go on, and yet you didnt want it. It was pretty, but you felt as if something was going to snap inside of you.~~ When did you hear it, my son? Twice last nightandand I guess it was Sunday the other time. I dont know, for there hasnt been no Sunday up here since mother went awayhas there ? Mebbe not. The veins were beat- ing like live cords in the mans throat and at his temples. Twas just the same as Father Cor- raine bein here, when mother had Sun- day, wasnt it? The man made no reply, but a gloom drew down his forehead, and his lips doubled in as if he endured physical pain. He got to his feet and paced the floor. For weeks he had listened to the same kind of talk from this wounded, and, as he thought, dying son, and he was getting less and less able to bear it. The boy at nine years of age was, in manner of speech, the merest child, but his thoughts were sometimes large and wise. The only white child within a compass of a thou- sand miles or so; the lonely life of the The joy of the hunter seized himPage 69. THE GOING OF THE WHITE SWAN 67 hills and plains, so austere in winter, so melted to a sober joy in summer; listening to the talk of his elders at camp-fires and on the hunting-trail, when, even as an infant almost, he was swung in a blanket from a tree or was packed in the torch-crane of a canoe and, more than all, the care of a good, he brought it over and put it into the childs hands; and the smile now shaped itself, as he saw an eager pale face buried in the soft fur. Good! good! he said, involunta- rily. Boa! boa! said the boys voice from the fur, in the language of his His life had been spent in the wsstesPsge 69. lovingif passionatelittle mother; all mother, who added a strain of Indian these had made him far wiser than his blood to her French ancestry. years. He had been hours upon hours The two sat there, the man half -kneel- each y alone with the birds, and ing on the low bed, and stroking the fur, squirrels, and wild animals, and some- so gently, so gently. It could scarcely thing of the keen scent and instinct of be thought that such pride could be the animal world had entered into his spent on a little pelt by a mere back- body and brain, so that he felt what he woodsman and his nine-year-old son. could not understand. One has seen a woman fingering a splen- He saw that he had worried his fa- did necklace, her eyes fascinated by the ther, and it troubled him. He thought bunch of warm deep jewelsa light not of something. of mere vanity, or hunger, or avarice in Daddy, he said, let me have it. her face, but the love of the beautiful A smile struggled for life in the hunt- thing. But this was an animals skin, ers face as he turned to the wall and took Did they feel the animal underneath it down the skin of a silver-fox. He held yet, giving it beauty, life, and glory? it on his palm for a moment, looking at The silver-fox skin is the prize of the it in an interested, satisfied way, then North, and this one was of the boys own * Placed them on a shelf in a corner before a porcelain figure of the VirginPage 72. THE GOING OF THE WHITE SWAN 69 harvesting. While his father was away he saw the fox creeping by the hut. The joy of the hunter seized him, and guided his eye over the sights of his fathers rifle as he rested the barrel on the win- dow-sill, and the animal was his! Now his finger ran into the hole made by the bullet, and he gave a little laugh of mod- est triumph. Minutes passed as they studied, felt, and admired the skin, the hunter proud of his son, the son alive with a primitive passion, which inflicts suffering to get the beautiful thing. And this feeling and admiration of theirs was all so soft and gentle, too. Perhaps the tenderness as well as the wild passion of the animal gets into the hunters blood, and tips his fingers at times with an exquisite kindnessas one has seen in a lion foiidling her young, or in tigers as they sport upon the sands of the desert. This boy had seen his father shoot a splendid moose, and as it lay dying, drop down and kiss it in the neck for sheer love of its handsomeness. Death is no insult. It is the law of the primitive worldwar, and love in war. They sat there for a long time, not speaking, each busy in his own way: the boy full of imaginings, strange, half- heathen, half-angelic feelings; the man roaming in that savage, romantic, super- stitious atmosphere which belongs to the North, and to the North alone. At last the boy lay back on the pillow, his finger still in the bullet-hole of the pelt. His eyes closed, and he seemed about to fall asleep, but presently looked up and whispered: I havent said my prayers, have I? The father shook his head in a sort of rude confusion. I can pray out loud if I want to, cant I? Of course, Dominique. He shrank a little. I forget a good many times, but I know one all right, for I said it when the bird was singing. It isnt one out of the book Father Corraine sent mother by Papine the courier; its one she taught me out of her own head. Pr- aps Id better say it. Praps, if you want to. The voice was husky. The boy began: 0 bon Jisu, who died to save us from our sins, and to lead us to Thy country where there is no cold, nor hunger, nor thirst, and where no one is afraid, listen to Thy child. . . . When the great winds and rains come down from the hills, do not let the floods drown us, nor the woods cover us, nor the snow-slide bury us, and do not let the prairie-fires burn us. Keep wild beasts from hilling us in our sleep, and give us good hearts that we may not hill them in anger. His finger twisted involuntarily into the bullet - hole in the pelt, and he paused a moment. Keep us from getting lost, 0 gra- cious ASaviour. Again there was a pause, his eyes opened wide, and he said: Do you think mothers lost, father? A heavy broken breath came from the father, and he replied, haltingly: Meb- be, mebbe so. Dominiques eyes closed again. Ill make up some, he said, slowly. And if mothers lost, bring her bach again to us, for everythings going wrong. Again he paused, then went on with the prayer as it had been taught him. Teach us to hear Thee whenever Thou callest, and to see Thee when Thou visitest us, and let the blessed JJEar.y and all the saints speah often to Thee for us. O Christ, hear us. Lord, have mercy upon us. Christ, have mercy upon us. Amen. Making the sign of the cross, he lay back, and said: Ill go to sleep now, I guess. The man sat for a long time looking at the pale, shining face, at the blue veins showing so painfully dark on the tem- ples and forehead, at the firiu little white hand, which was as brown as a butter- nut a few weeks ago. The longer he sat, the deeper did his misery sink into his souL His wife had gone, he knew not where, his child was wasting to death, and he had for his sorrows no inner con- solation. He had ever had that touch of mystical imagination inseparable from the far North, yet lie had none of that religious belief which swallowed up natural awe and turned it to the re- fining of life, and to the advantage of a mans soul. Now it was forced in upon him that his child was wiser than him- self, wiser and safer. His life had been 70 THE GOING OF THE WHITE SWAN spent in the wastes, with rough deeds than the thought of Gitche Manitou, and rugged habits, and a youth of and behind this was an almost equal hardship, danger, and almost savage en- belief in the Scarlet Hunter of the durance had given him a half-barbarian Kimash Hills and those Voices tli~at temperament, which could strike an an- could be heard calling in the night, till gry blow at one moment and fondle to their time of sleep be past, and they death at the next. should rise and reconquer the North. When he married sweet Lucette Bar- Not even P~re Corraine, whose ways bond his religion reached little farther were like those of his Master, could I said there was enough powder on the floor to kill all the priests is heavenPage 74. THE GOING OF THE WHITE SWAN 71 ever bring him to a more definite faith. His wife had at first striven with him, mourning yet loving. Sometimes the savage in him had broken out over the little creature, merely because barbaric tyranny was in himtorture followed by the passionate kiss. But how was she philosopher enough to understand the cause And when she fled from their hut one bitter day, as he roared some wild words at her, it was because her nerves had all been shaken from threatened death by wild beasts (of which he did not know), and his violence drove her mad. She had run out of the house, and on, and on, and onand she had never come back. That was weeks ago, and there had been no word nor sign of her since. The mau was now busy with it all, in a slow, cumbrous way. A nature more to be touched by things seen than by things told, his mind was being awakened in a massive kind of fashion. He was viewing this crisis of his life as one sees a human face in the wide searching light of a great fire. He was restless, but he held himself still by a strong effort, not wishing to dis- turb the sleeper. His eyes seemed to retreat farther and farther back under his shaggy brows. The great logs in the chimney burned brilliantly, and a brass crucifix over the childs head now and again reflected soft little flashes of light. This caught the hunters eyes. Presently there grew up in him a vague kind of hope that, somehow, this symbol would bring him luckthat was the way he put it to himself. He had felt this and something more when Dominique prayed. Somehow, Dominiques prayer was the only one he had ever heard that had gone home to him, had opened up the big sluices of his nature, and let the light of God flood in. No, there was another: the one Lucette made on the day that they were married, when a wonderful timid reverence played through his hungry love for her. Hours passed. All at once, without any other motion or gesture, the boys eyes opened wide with a strange, in- tense look. Father, he said slowly, and in a kind of dream, when you hear a sweet horn blow at night, is it the Scarlet Hunter calling ~ Praps. Why, Dominique? He made up his mind to humor the boy, though it gave him strange aching fore- bodings. He had seen grown men and women with these fancies and they had died. I heard one blowing just now, and the sounds seemed to wave over my head. Perhaps hes calling someone thats lost. Mebbe. And I heard a voice singing it wasnt a bird to-night. There was no voice, Dominique. Yes, yes. There was something fine in the grave, courteous certainty of the lad. I waked, and you were sit- ting there thinking, and I shut my eyes again, and I heard the voice. I re- member the tune and the words. What were the words? In spite of himself the hunter felt awed. Ive heard mother sing them, or something most like them: Why does the fire no longer burn (I am so lonely.) Why does the tent-door swing outward? (I have no home.) Oh, let me breathe hard in your face! (I am so lonely.) Oh, why do you shut your eyes to me? (I have no home.) The boy paused. Was that all, Dominique? No, miot all. Let us make friends with time stars; (I am so lonely.) Give me your baud, I will hold it. (I Imavo no home.) Let us go lmunting togetlmer. (lam so lonely.) We will sleep at Gods camp to-night. (I have no home.) Domniniquc did not sing, but recited the words with a sort of chanting in- flection. What does it mean when you hear a voice like that, father? I dont know. Who told your mnotherthe song? Oh, I dont know. I suppose she just made them up she and God. There! There it is again! 72 THE GOING OF THE WHITE SWAN Dont you hear itdont you hear it, daddy? No, Dominique, its only the kettle singing. A kettle isnt a voice. Daddy He paused a little, then went on, hesi- tatingly. I saw a white swan fly t~ ~rough the door over your shoulder, when you came in to-night. No, no, Dominique, it was a flur- ry of snow blowing over my shoul- der. But it looked at me with tw& shin- ing eyes. That was two stars shining through the door, my son. How could there be snow flying and stars shining too, father? It was just drift-snow on a light wind, but the stars were shining above, Dominique. The mans voice was anxious and unconvincing, his eyes had a hungry, hunted look. The legend of the White Swan had to do with the passing of a human soul. The Swan had come in would it go out alone? He touched the boys handit was hot with fever; he felt the pulseit ran high; he watched the faceit had a glowing light. Some- thing stirred within him, and passed like a wave to the farthest courses of his being. Through his misery he had touched the garment of the Master of Souls. As though a voice said to him there, Someone hath touched me, he got to his feet and with a sudden blind humility, lit two candles, placed them on a shelf in a corner before a porcelain figure of the Virgin, as he had seen his wife do. Then he picked a small handful of fresh spruce twigs from a branch over the chimney, and laid them beside the candles. After a short pause he came slowly to the head of the boys bed. Very solemnly he touched the foot of the Christ on the Cross with the tips of his fin- gers, and brought them to his lips with an indescribable reverence. After a moment, standing with eyes fixed on the face of the crucified figure, he said, in a shaking voice: Pardon, bon J~su! Sauvcz mon en- farit! Ne me laissez pas setd I * * Pardon, good Jesus. Save my child. Leave me not alone. The boy looked up with eyes again grown unnaturally heavy, and said: Amen! . . . Bon J#~su! Encore! Encore, mon pare! The boy slept. The father stood still by the bed for a time, as if made of stone, but at last slowly turned and went toward the fire. Outside, two figures were approach- ing the huta man and a woman; yet at first glance the man might easily have been taken for a woman, because of the long black robe which he wore, and because his hair fell loose on his shoulders and his face was clean-shaven. Have patience, my daughter, said the man. Do not enter till I call you. But stand close to the door, if you will, and hear all. So saying he raised his hand as in a kind of benediction, passed to the door, and after tapping very softly, opened it, entered, and closed it behind himnot so quickly, however, but that the woman caught a glimpse of the father and the boy. In her eyes there was the divine look of motherhood. Peace be to this house! said the man, gently, as he stepped forward from the door. The father, startled, turned shrink- ingly on him, as if he had seen a spirit. Monsieur le cur6! he said in French, with an accent much poorer than that of the priest, or even of his own son. He had learned French from his wife ; himself was English. The priests quick eye had taken in the lighted candles at the little shrine, even as he saw the painfully changed aspect of the man. The wife and child, Bagot? he asked, looking round. Ah, the boy! he added, and going toward the bed, continued presently, in a low voice: Dominique is ill ? Bagot nodded, and then answered: A wild-cat, and then fever, P~re Cor- raine. The priest felt the boys pulse softly, more softly than would have been looked for in one who had lived forty and more years among savages, who had toiled and suffered, for Gods sake, as it is required of few to suffer. Then with a close personal look he spoke, She. threw up her hands to her ears with a cry a hit wildPage 75. 74 THE GOING OF THE WHITE SWAN hardly above his breath, yet distinctly too: Your wife, Bagot? She is not here, monsieur. The voice was low and gloomy. Where is she, Bagot? I do not know, monsieur.~~ When did you see her last? Four weeks ago, mon- sicur. That was September, this is October winter. On the ranches they let their cattle loose upon the plains in win- ter, knowing not where they go, yet looking for them to return in the spring. But a womana woman and a wife is different. . . . Bagot, you have been a rough, hard man, and you have been a stranger to your God, but I thought you loved your wife and child! The hunters hands clenched, and a wicked light flashed up into his eyes; but the calm, benignant gaze of the other cooled the tempest in his veins. The priest sat down on the couch where the child lay, and took the fevered hand in his very softly. Stay where you are, Bagot, he said; just there where you are, and tell me what your trouble is, and why your wife is not here. . . . Say all hon- estlyby the name of the Christ! he added, lifting up a large iron crucifix that hung on his breast. Bagot sat down on a bench near the fireplace, the light playing on his bronzed, powerful face, his eyes shining beneath his heavy brows like two coals. After a moment he began: I dont know how it started. Id lost a lot of peltsstolen they were down on the Child o Sin River. Well, she was hasty and nervous, like as notshe always was brisker and more sudden than I am. II laid my powder-horn and whiskey-flaskup there! He pointed to the little shrine of the Virgin where now his candles were burning. The priests grave, kind eyes did not change expression at all, but looked out wisely, as though he under- stood everything before it was told. Bagot continued: I didnt notice it, but she had put some flowers there. She said something with an edge, her face all snapping angry, threw the things down, and called me a heathen and a wicked hereticand I dont say now but shed a right to do it. But I let out then, for those stolen pelts were rasping me on the raw. I said some- thing pretty rough, and made as if I was goin to break h~r in twojust fetched up my hands, and went like this! With a singular simplicity he made a wild gesture with his hands, and an animal-like snarl came from his throat. Then he looked at the priest with the honest intensity of a boy. Yes, that is what you didwhat was it you said which was pretty rough? There was a slight hesitation, then came the reply: I said there was enough powder spilt on the floor to kill all the priests in heaven. A fire suddenl~y shot up into Father On your knees and swear itPage 77. ft THE GOING OF THE WHITE SWAN 75 Corraines face, and his lips tightened for an instant, but presently he was as before, and he said: How that will face you one day, Bagot! Go on. What else U Sweat began to break out on Bagots face, and he spoke as though he were carrying a heavy weight on his shoul- ders, low and brokenly. He replied: Then I said, And if virgins has it so fine, why didnt you stay one? Blasphemer! said the priest, in a stern, reproachful voice, his face turning a little pale, and he brought the cruci- fix to his lips. To the mother of your childshame! What more U She threw up her hands to her ears with a cry a bit wild, ran out of the house, down the hills, and away. I went to the door and watched her as long as I could see her, and waited for her to come backbut she never did. Ive hunted and hunted, but I cant find her. Then, with a sudden thought, Do you know any- thing of her, lire Corraine? The priest appeared not to hear the question. Turning for a moment toward the boy, who now was in a deep sleep, he looked at him intently. Soon however he spoke. Ever since I married you and Lncette Barbond, you have stood in the way of her duty, Bagot. How well I remember that first day when you knelt before me! Was ever so sweet and good a girlwith her gold- en eyes and the look of summer in her face, and her heart all pure! Nothing had spoiled her you cannot spoil such women God is in their hearts. But you, what have you cared? One day you would fondle her, and the next you were a savage and she, so gentle, so gentle all the time! Then, for her re- ligion and the faith of her child ;she has fought for it, prayed for it, suffered for it. You thought you had no need, for you had so much happiness, wuich you did not deserve that was it. But she: with all a woman suffers, how can she bear life and man without God? No, it is not possible. And you thought you and your few superstitions were enough for her.Ah, poor fool! She should worship you! So selfish, so small, for a man who knows in his heart how great God isYou did not love her. By the Heaven above, yes! said Bagot, half starting to his feet. Ah, by the Heaven above! no, nor the child. For true love is unself- ish and patient, and where it is the stronger it cares for the weaker; but it was your wife who was unselfish, patient, and cared for you. Every time she said an ace she thought of you, and her every thanks to the good God had you therein. They know you well in Heaven, Bagot through your wife. Did you ever prayever since I mar- ried you to her? Yes. When? The mother came to her husbands armsPage 78. An hour or so ago. forehead, a low growl broke from him, Once again the priests eyes glanced and he made such a motion as a lion toward the lighted candles. might make at its prey. Presently he said: You asked me if You wouldntwouldnt save her I had heard anything of your wife. you coward! He ground the words out.. Listen, and be patient while you listen. The priest raised his palm against~ Three weeks a~o I was camp- the others violence. Hush! She drew ing on the Sundust Plains, over against away, saying that God and man had de- the Young Sky iRiver. In the morning, serted her. . . . We had breakfast, as I was lighting a fire outside my tent, the chief and I. Afterward, when the my young Cree Indian with me, I saw chief had eaten much and was in good coming over the crest of a land-wave, humor, I asked him where he had got out of the very lips of the sunrise, as it the woman. He said that he had found were, a band of Indians. I could not her on the plainsshe had lost her quite make them out. I hoisted my way. I told him then that I wanted to little flag on the tent, and they hurried buy her. He said to me, What does~ ~m to me. I did not know the tribe a priest want of a woman? I said that they had come from near Hudsons Bay. I wished to give her back to her hus- They spoke Chinook, and I could un- band. He said that he had found her, derstand them. Well, as they came near, and she was his, and that he would mar- I saw that they had a woman with them. ry her when they reached the great camp Bagot leaned forward, his body of the tribe. I was patient. It would strained, every muscle tense. A not do to make him angry. I wrote woman! he said, as if breathing gave down on a piece of bark the things that him sorrow my wife! I would give him for her: an order on Your wife. the Company at Fort o Sin for shot, Quick! Quick! Go on oh, go blankets, and beads. He said no. on, monsieurgood Pare Corraine. The priest paused. Bagots face was She fell at my feet, begging me to all swimming with sweat, his body save her. . . . I waved her oft. was rigid, but the veins of his neck The sweat dropped from Bagots knotted and twisted. 76 .~ere was no white swan. Page 78. THE GOING OF THE WHITE SWAN 77 For the love of God, go on! he said, hoarsely. Yes, for the love of God. I have no money, I am poor, but the Company will always honor my orders, for I pay sometimes, by the help of Christ. Bien, I added some things to the list: a sad- dle, a rifle, and some flannel. But no, he would not. Once more I put many things down. God knows it was a big billit would keep me poor for ten yearsTo save your wife, John Bagot, you who drove her from your door, blaspheming, and railing at such as I. I offered the things, and told him that was all that I could give. After a little he shook his head, and said that he must have the woman for his wife. I did not know what to add. I said She is white, and the white people will never rest till they have killed you all, if you do this thing. The Company will track you down. Then he said, The whites must catch inc and fight me be- fore they kill me. . . . What was there to do? Bagot came near to the priest, bend- ing over him savagely: You let her stay with themyou, with hands like a man! Hush, w%s the calm reproving an- swer. I was one man, they were twenty. Where was your God to help you, then? Her God and mine was with me. Bagots eyes blazed. Why didnt you offer rumrum? Theyd have done it for thatone-fiveten kegs of rum! He swayed to and fro in his excite- ment, yet their voices hardly rose above a hoarse whisper all the time. You forget, answered the priest, that it is against the law, and that as a priest of my order, I am vowed to give no rum to an Indian. A vow! A vow! Son of God, what is a vow to a woman to my wife? His misery and his rage were pitiful to see. Perjure my soul! Offer rum! L Break my vow in the face of the ene- ~ mies of Gods Church! What have you done for me that I should do this for you, John Bagot? VOL. XVIL8 Coward! was his despairing cry, with sudden threatening movement. Christ himself would have broke a vow to save her. The grave, sweet eyes of the priest met the others fierce gaze, and quieted the wild storm that seemed about to break. Who am I that I should teach my Master? he said, solemnly, and with a great nobility in his voice. What would you give Christ, Bagot, if He had saved her to you? The man shook with a deep grief, and tears rushed from his eyes, so suddenly and fully had a new emotion passed through him. Givegive! he cried; I would give twenty years of my life! The priest got to his feet, and his figure stretched up with a gentle gran- deur. Holding up the iron crucifix, he said: On your knees and swear it, John Bagot. There was something inspiring, com- manding, in the voice and manner, and Bagot, with a new hope rushing through his veins, knelt and repeated his words. The priest turned to the door, and called, Lucette! The boy, hearing, waked, and sat up in bed suddenly. Mother! mother! he cried, as the door flew open. The mother came to her husbands arms, laughing and weeping, and an in- stant afterward was pouring out her love and anxiety over her child. Pare Corraine now faced the man, and with a soft exaltation of voice and manner, said: John Bagot, in the name of Christ, I demand twenty years of your lifeof love and obedience of God. I broke my vow, I perjured my soul, I bought your wife with ten kegs of rum! The tall hunter dropped again to his knees, and caught the priests hand to kiss it. No, no this! the priest said, and laid his iron crucifix against the others lips. Dominiques voice came clearly through the room: Oh, my mother, I saw the white swan fly away through the door when you came in. 78 THE WANDERERS My dear, my dear, she said, there And there was peace for the child was no white swan. But she clasped lived, and the man has loved, and has the boy to her breast protectingly, and kept his vow, even unto this day. whispered an ave. For the visions of the boy, who can Peace be to this house, said the know the divers ways in which God rich voice of the priest, speaks to the children of men! THE WANDERERS By Harriet Prescott Spofford ALL in the middle night, across the crystal hollow of the dark, Before the black pines tempest-torn gigantic glooms remembered morn, Heard I, indeed, strange music toss and beat about the winds? And, hark, \\Tere there no sweet and piercinu cries, was there no echo of a born? For what a glorious company hung out of heaven before me there, As, leaning forth, along the height I caught the glitter of their flight! From depths of shoreless mystery what shapes were these trooped down the air Shootin white fire abroad, and clear their splendor streaming on the night? His casque whose ruby led the field was it then Mars that swept and gazed? In gleaming gauzes veiled about were these the Pleiades looked out? On corselet, belt, and sword, and shield, Orions breathing diamonds blazed? White and majestic, Sirius followed upon the mighty rout? And slowly out of dusky space, one, stately, coming from afar, The fulness of some golden chord marking the measure of his ward, The whole of heaven upon his face, was it the bright and morning star, Was it but Lucifer that wore the lustre of the living Lord? Or were they, bound in vaster flight, Magnificent Existences, For firmaments of unknown sky, that paused a moment fleeting by The dark and dreaming earth that night? I only know, beholding these, Held not my hand a Mightier Hand, an atom of the dust were I!

Harriet Prescott Spofford Spofford, Harriet Prescott The Wanderers 78-79

78 THE WANDERERS My dear, my dear, she said, there And there was peace for the child was no white swan. But she clasped lived, and the man has loved, and has the boy to her breast protectingly, and kept his vow, even unto this day. whispered an ave. For the visions of the boy, who can Peace be to this house, said the know the divers ways in which God rich voice of the priest, speaks to the children of men! THE WANDERERS By Harriet Prescott Spofford ALL in the middle night, across the crystal hollow of the dark, Before the black pines tempest-torn gigantic glooms remembered morn, Heard I, indeed, strange music toss and beat about the winds? And, hark, \\Tere there no sweet and piercinu cries, was there no echo of a born? For what a glorious company hung out of heaven before me there, As, leaning forth, along the height I caught the glitter of their flight! From depths of shoreless mystery what shapes were these trooped down the air Shootin white fire abroad, and clear their splendor streaming on the night? His casque whose ruby led the field was it then Mars that swept and gazed? In gleaming gauzes veiled about were these the Pleiades looked out? On corselet, belt, and sword, and shield, Orions breathing diamonds blazed? White and majestic, Sirius followed upon the mighty rout? And slowly out of dusky space, one, stately, coming from afar, The fulness of some golden chord marking the measure of his ward, The whole of heaven upon his face, was it the bright and morning star, Was it but Lucifer that wore the lustre of the living Lord? Or were they, bound in vaster flight, Magnificent Existences, For firmaments of unknown sky, that paused a moment fleeting by The dark and dreaming earth that night? I only know, beholding these, Held not my hand a Mightier Hand, an atom of the dust were I! MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS OF THE JAPANESE By George Trumbull Ladd H ECENT ship crossing the Pacific carried among her passengers a writer of books and news- paper articles, who ~ had been engaged for a large sum of money (as he himself informed some of his fellow-passengers naming the exact amount) to write up the East for a syndicate. The fixed point of view already taken by this traveller was obvious enough; it was American throughout. His impressions of China and Japau were definitely formed while as yet the widest of oceans lay between him and these unknown lands. And after a diligent consultation of the ships library, as weather and health during the voyage permitted, these impressions seemed to have been definitely formulated. At any rate, an acquaintance of mine affirms that on happening to overlook a manuscript of our investigator into Oriental affairs, lie, to his great astonishment, read these words: When I was in China, I saw, etc. And this was some hundreds of miles eastward of Yokohama! How much Japan has been benefited or afflicted by similar reports from travellers it would be difficult even to conjecture. Doubtless, the sum -total of such misinformation is something enormous ; whether the net result is an excess of undeserved praise or of unde- served blame for the institutions, ens- toms, and products of this interesting country, I am unable to say. Of this I am sure, that the candid and penetrat- ing observer will continually undergo a process of disillusion, correction, refor- mation, new disintegration, and still more recent reconstruction of opinion. Ifto take a trivial examplehe has learned from very distinguished tran- sient visitors, or from residents of tol- erably long standing, that babies do not cry in Japan, and then actually hears several babies crying the first day of his stay in Japan, he will bear the original shock as best he may. But after recovery from it, and from many another similar shock, he will doubtless conclude to use his own ears and eyes and to make his own reflections and conclusions. This, however, he will do cautiously and yet courageously, with much inquiry and deference toward the experience of others. He will prob- ably also acquire an increased respect for definite, scientific training of the poxvers of observation and reflection, whether accompanied by literary dis- tinction or not, and whether favored by long residence, or compelled to con- tent themselves with a briefer experi- ence. The superficial observer may most properly end by praising highly such a characterization as Miss Scidmore has given the Japanese. On the surface, and apparently, they are, as she so graphically depicts them, the embodi- ment of a bewildering variety of contra- dictions, the attempt of a race to enfold in its sentiments and customs the larg- est amount of opposing characteristics. But, of course, no one accustomed to the scientific study of the mental life of in- dividuals or of peoples can rest satisfied with such a characterization. What I have written thus far may be taken both as introduction and as apol- ogy. It is an introduction to my own attempt to penetrate somewhat more deeply than is customary into the psy- chology of the Japanese. The externals of nature in Japan, the traits of the people, the products of their art, their more obvious customs, and their more hidden home-life, have all been frequent- ly, and sometimes well, described. What interested and piqued meconstantly and intensefyduring my three months stay in the country was the desire to enter sympathetically, and yet fully and critically, into the controlling forms of mental life. What are the characteristic conceptions, sentiments, emotions, and practical activities of this interesting, this provoking race? Such is the ques

George Trumbull Ladd Ladd, George Trumbull Mental Characteristics Of The Japanese 79-93

MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS OF THE JAPANESE By George Trumbull Ladd H ECENT ship crossing the Pacific carried among her passengers a writer of books and news- paper articles, who ~ had been engaged for a large sum of money (as he himself informed some of his fellow-passengers naming the exact amount) to write up the East for a syndicate. The fixed point of view already taken by this traveller was obvious enough; it was American throughout. His impressions of China and Japau were definitely formed while as yet the widest of oceans lay between him and these unknown lands. And after a diligent consultation of the ships library, as weather and health during the voyage permitted, these impressions seemed to have been definitely formulated. At any rate, an acquaintance of mine affirms that on happening to overlook a manuscript of our investigator into Oriental affairs, lie, to his great astonishment, read these words: When I was in China, I saw, etc. And this was some hundreds of miles eastward of Yokohama! How much Japan has been benefited or afflicted by similar reports from travellers it would be difficult even to conjecture. Doubtless, the sum -total of such misinformation is something enormous ; whether the net result is an excess of undeserved praise or of unde- served blame for the institutions, ens- toms, and products of this interesting country, I am unable to say. Of this I am sure, that the candid and penetrat- ing observer will continually undergo a process of disillusion, correction, refor- mation, new disintegration, and still more recent reconstruction of opinion. Ifto take a trivial examplehe has learned from very distinguished tran- sient visitors, or from residents of tol- erably long standing, that babies do not cry in Japan, and then actually hears several babies crying the first day of his stay in Japan, he will bear the original shock as best he may. But after recovery from it, and from many another similar shock, he will doubtless conclude to use his own ears and eyes and to make his own reflections and conclusions. This, however, he will do cautiously and yet courageously, with much inquiry and deference toward the experience of others. He will prob- ably also acquire an increased respect for definite, scientific training of the poxvers of observation and reflection, whether accompanied by literary dis- tinction or not, and whether favored by long residence, or compelled to con- tent themselves with a briefer experi- ence. The superficial observer may most properly end by praising highly such a characterization as Miss Scidmore has given the Japanese. On the surface, and apparently, they are, as she so graphically depicts them, the embodi- ment of a bewildering variety of contra- dictions, the attempt of a race to enfold in its sentiments and customs the larg- est amount of opposing characteristics. But, of course, no one accustomed to the scientific study of the mental life of in- dividuals or of peoples can rest satisfied with such a characterization. What I have written thus far may be taken both as introduction and as apol- ogy. It is an introduction to my own attempt to penetrate somewhat more deeply than is customary into the psy- chology of the Japanese. The externals of nature in Japan, the traits of the people, the products of their art, their more obvious customs, and their more hidden home-life, have all been frequent- ly, and sometimes well, described. What interested and piqued meconstantly and intensefyduring my three months stay in the country was the desire to enter sympathetically, and yet fully and critically, into the controlling forms of mental life. What are the characteristic conceptions, sentiments, emotions, and practical activities of this interesting, this provoking race? Such is the ques 80 MENTAL CI-JAPACTEPIS TICS OP THE JAPANESE tion for which, as a professional student of mind, I eagerly sought an answer. But even the attempt to answer such a question, although in the brief and sketchy way of which a magazine article admits, requires an apology from one who has spent only three months among the people. And here the superficial character psychologically considered, if I may so sayof most of the previous descriptions of the Japanese must be, in part, my apology. Besides this, how- ever, I may perhaps claim some warrant for a certain hope of success, in un- limited professional interest, in a fair amount of acquired professional skill, in freedom from bias, and abundance of sympathy, and in certain rather unusual opportunities for the study of my prob- 1cm. At any rate, whatever is to be said will be said with the real feeling, if not always with the protestation, of modest deference to those better qualified to judge than any stranger can easily be. When the very few trained students of mental life among the Japanese them- selves speak out all that they really think about their own countrymen, these words of a foreigner will either hold up or bow down their head, accord- ing as native reflection confirms or cor- rects them. First of all, then, what point of view must be assumed in order best to under- stand the Japanese? My answer is un- hesitating here that of ethnic psychol- ogy. In other words, we must consider the mental life of the people as a histor- ical development affected in somewhat peculiar way by its present environ- ment. Into the problem, then, three sets of factors enter, as mutually influ- ential in determining each other, and so giving us the more complete answer. These are the more nearly original race characteristics; next, the effect of his- torical conditions during those centuries of which we have some trustworthy his- torical information; and, finally, the dis- turbing and modifying effect of the sud- den changes introduced during the last generation. Materials for a minute and complete account of the first two classes of factors, even if such an account were appropriate in a popular article, are not so abundant or so trustworthy as the student might desire. Scholars, writing in other lands than Japan (where the censorship of the press still controls with an iron hand the effort historically to trace the beginnings of the reigning family and of the national life), may con- jecture, with tolerable success, the races from mixture of which the nation sprung. But probably we shall never arrive at anything like the same certainty con- cerning the ethnic origin of the Japan- ese as that which belongs to the history of France, England, and the United States, or even of India and China. If the blood of the people is a mixture, it is a mixture in which every element is tinctured with essentially the same emo- tional characteristics. The main outlines of the historical development of the Japanese are too well known to need more than a refer- ence here. Up to the establishment of the Tokugawa rule by that great genius, Ieyasu (on the whole, it seems to me, the greatest genius that Japan has ever produced) the more thorough consoli- dation of the national and political life of the people had not taken place. The development of their native and un- trained spirit had been modified, in some manner, by imported religious and social factors. But the dynasty of this genius was originally founded, and lasted un~ til it suddenly fell in pieces (although it had been for more than a century undermined), because it so thoroughly took advantage of the mental charac- teristics of the race. The world has been astonished at the rapidity of the changes which have gone on in Japan during the last forty years. There is solid ground on which this at- titude of the foreign mind may plant itself. Yet it is, as the reaction of the last four or five years has proved, and as careful observation of every slightest detail indicative of the underlying cur- rents of mental life convinces one, very easy to overestimate the amount and mistake the character of these changes. Connecticut clocks, and kerosene oil and lamps, have penetrated everywher~. An excellent telegraph, postal, and lighthouse system has been established. Railroads and electric lights are being extended over the land. The beginnings of an educational arrangement for the people have been made, and some im MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS OF THE JAPANESE 81 portant social changes are taking root in the national life. But the truth is that the great, controlling currents of that life flow on practically unaltered. The underlying sentiments, the emo- tional movements which sway the inul- titudes, the ways of looking at nature, at the ruler, and at humian life, remain essentially the same as those to which Old Japan was subject during hun- dreds of years. As respects these mat- ters, the differences between the old and the new are superficiaL Not only similar but identical ethnic convictions and impulses of the social, political, moral, and religious order alikeenter everywhere, as the principal factors, into all intelligent explanation of what the New Japan seems to think and to do. Let inc say again, I umust not be un- derstood as depreciating or underesti- mating the great changes which have taken place during the last generation among the Japanese. Nowhere else has a people come so near to fulfilling the prediction: A nation shall be born in a day. But from the psychological point of view these changes are as yet superficial rather than profound. They strike the eye of the traveller and sur- prise him ; they explain little or noth- ing to the student of the national men- tal life. But, on the contrary, when once we have attained the historical point of view, and when we understand the nien- tal life of the race as seen from this point of view, much which appears oth- erwise inexplicable and even contra- dictory becomes perfectly plain. Over the hot and still active fires of tradi- tional sentiment, ethnic emotions, and hereditary customs, a thin crust of modern Western civilizationadopted and adapted largely under distasteful and enforced conditionshas been laid. The crust is the appearance; the unas- suaged but concealed interior fires are the dominant reality. So far as the Western civilization is plainly of supe- rior material advantagemilitary sci- ence, applied physical science, and, in a measure, sanitary scienceit is re- ceived and assimilated with commend- able cleverness and surprising rapidi- ty. A few years even suffice to estab- lish in the minds of many Japanese the opinion that this cleverness in adapta- tion entitles them to consider the prod- ucts of Western civilization peculiarly their own. A claim to be the origina- tors of improvements soon follows the adoption of them. But, so far as the great social, political, ethical, and re- ligious principles, in which modern civ- ilization has its very life, are concerned, and even so far as the scientific view of nature which has led to the triumphs of applied science is importantall this is as yet almost wholly foreign to the Japanese mind. Nay more: it is for- eign, indeed, in their peculiar meaning of the word; it often appears not only unintelligible but repugnant, yes, even contemptible. What wonder, then, if that which is ethnic and worked into the very life- blood of the race, breaks out constant- ly through the thin crust of foreign and adopted instrumentalities and ens- tonis? It is the constant assertion and reassertion of the power of histor- ically domimiant mental factors which gives the appearance of perplexing con- tradictoriness to so munch that happens in Japan. This is true, whether we consider the great waves of social reac- tion, and rapid political change, which periodically sweep over the whole na- tion, or have regard to the minutest details of daily intercourse. United in a few controlling social and politi- cal sentiments, almost to the last man, the Japanese are yet unable to form and hold together for more than a few months an5r consistent govern- mental policy, or to prevent their po- litical parties from an endless split- ting-up and internal strife over miimor points that should be compromised through the power of dominating con- ceptions and principles. Obviously and traditionally polite to the verge of ob- sequiousness, they appear capable of the most extreme insolence ; flinging away life for trifles in their readi- ness to display a self-sacrificing cour- age, they arewhen judged by Anglo- Saxon standardsoften guilty of the most culpable meanness and cowardice. Having the most delicate ~sthetical sensitiveness mu certain directions, they are in other directions surprisingly ob- livious to all sense of proportion and 82 MENTAL CHARACTER IS TICS OF THE JAPANESE propriety. Out of the noblest senti- ments and impulses, originate with them some of the most hideous of crimes. But all this is understood when once we agree to take the point of view suggested by ethnic psychology. Mr. Barnett has charged the Japanese with frivolity; but it must be con- fessed that, whatever truth there is in the items brought forward to confirni this charge, the word is an unfortunate selection. For, if by frivolity we intend the opposite of seriousness, Ja- panI should be inclined to urge contains, of all civilized nations, about the smallest number of frivolous people. On the contrary, I agree with a foreign teacher who has had unusual opportu- nities, combined with natural gifts, for studying the Japanese, in the opinion that extreme seriousness over minor matters is rather, with them, a char- acteristic fault. Nor, in a somewhat wide and fairly intimate acquaintance among them, do I recall more than two or three persons to whom the charge of frivolity would properly ap- ply. But somewhat characteristically fickle (and this, for reasons which I shall explain later) they certainly ap- pear to be. It is their changeable con- duct, as due to the sentimental, impul- sive, and spasmodic activity of the native mind, which Mr. Barnett really means. And thus much, as exagger- ated by the pre~ent conditions, Profes- sor Ukitawhile justly criticising Mr. Barnett for not taking the historical point of viewin a recent article in RiJ~ugo Zasshi virtually admits. No little fickleness, without real frivolity, when looked at from the point of view of ethnic psychology, is thoroughly con- sistent with the mental temper and hab- its, under existing circumstances, of the Japanese. But what is the peculiar temper, and what are the characteristic habits of the race that inhabits Japan? And what are the principal sentiments, forms of emotion, and practical activity that have been described as breaking through the thin crust of an imported civiliza- tion? I shall now attempt to answer this question, and illustrate my answer as well as the present limitations will admit. Psychology has been accustomed to acknowledgealthough, it must be con- fessed, on not wholly satisfactory sci- entific evidence four leading types of temperament. The distinction ap- plies pretty nearly as well to entire na- tions as it does to individuals, or to the different ages through which each indi- vidual passes. Now, Japan, of all na- tions standing well up in the scale of civilization, seems to me most distinct- ly marked by the prevalence of one of these four types. This fact may per- haps be accdunted for by the long cen- turies of exclusion of foreign blood and foreign influences, and by the equality of the physical and social conditions under which the earlier life of the na- tion developed. This distinctive Jap- anese temperament is that which Lotze has so happily called the sentimental temperament. It is the temperament characteristic of youth, predominating- ly, in all races. It is, as a tempera- ment, characteristic of all ages, of both sexes, and of all classes of population, among the Japanese. But, of course, in Japan as everywhere, the different ages, sexes, and classes of society, differ in respect to the purity of this temperamental distinction. Many im - portant individual exceptions, or ex- amples of other temperaments, also occur. The distinguishing mark of the sen- timental temperament is great suscep- tibility to variety of influenceses- pecially on the side of feeling, and independent of clear logical analysis or fixed and well-comprehended princi- pleswith a tendency to a will that is impulsive and liable to collapse. Such susceptibility is likely to be ac- companied by unusual difficulty in giv- ing due weight to those practical con- siderations which lead to compromises in politics, to steadiness in labor, to patience in developing the details of science and philosophy, and to the es- tablishment of a firm connection be- tween the higher life of thought and feeling and the details of daily conduct. On the other hand, it is the artistic temperament, the temperament which makes one interestino the clever mind, the temperament which has a suggestion of genius at its command. MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS OF THE JAPANESE 83 In all relations of life, the illustra- tions of what has just been said are abundant in Japan. The characteristic Japanese attitude of mind toward nat- nrc is sentimental, rather than scientif- ic or practicaL This attitude has been for centuries embodied in, and fostered by, the prevalent reli~ions, both Shin- t~ and Buddhism. The former was originally a mixture of ancestor wor- ship and nature worship; in both fac- tors the worship rests upon a basis of sentiment, without clear conception or principles to guide practice. Buddh- ism, too, is, with the body of the peo- ple, largely sentimental hero-worship. The beautiful, the grand, the strange, even the grotesque, in nature excites vague feelings of sympathy, longing, aspiration, awe. The mountains and waterfalls are the chosen places for temples and shrines. Even the scepti- cal modern Japanese raises his hat, with a sentiment approaching the re- ligious, when he sees Fuji from land or sea, or looks between the twin rocks at Futami to behold the sun rise from be- hind the water. The bent and withered crone who offers you her woodenware to sell, at Hakone or at Nikk& , handles with genuine special interest and af- fection every piece that has some mark of peculiar graining, some worm-eaten place, or knot, or other imperfection. Several times have I seen an entire car- load, who had sat absolutely unmoved as one of their number changed his vesture (even down to the scantiest of loin-cloths) before them, rise in com- pany to admire the incomparable mountain as it came into view. Few hotels or tea-houses, even in the coun- try, are too mean not to have their walls adorned with one or more poems in praise of nature. Nor is this pervasive and sympathet- ic sentiment, this feeling rather than conception or practical regard of nat- ure, a recent growth, or confined to the lower orders of the people. Sentimen- tal poems and reflections on natural beauty belong also to remote times, and proceed from the hearts of the most noteworthy sages. That celebrated Japanese expounder of the Confucian ethics, Kyu-So, in his treatise on Sin- cerity, with a naive departure from his subject, makes the moon the topic of much sentimental reflection. The poets in all ages have ornamented their verses with the appearance of the moon, but they have not knownhe thinks its profound feeling. To him, the philosopher, it is the Mc mento of the Generations; andiwhen he sees the moon with such a reflective spirit, he mourns. With an appeal to the same hereditary spirit, but with a precisely opposite effect, do I find the modern Japanese youth (the English phrasing would lead one to conclude that he is a pupil of the Koto Chu Gak- ko) regarding a waterfall near Nikk6. I quote the words I discovered pen- cilled over the door of the neighboring shrine. I nowe vigited Gatisko and I see This won- derful turing My pleguare are very rarge and Therfor sank much your kaind. [Jakko is far from being a wonder- ful torrent ; but the large pleasure which it gave this visitor is characteris- tic of his people, and the thanks ren- dered to the god for his kindness is touching and commendable.] It is this quick susceptibility of sen- timent, amid the preclominatingly senti- mental way of regarding all natural ob- jects, which is a chief characteristic of Japanese art. It not only considers all natural objects from the point of view of sympathetic, soulful feeling, but it also endows these objects them- selves with the same feeling. It vague- ly but deftly realizes, in the artistic rep- resentation of nature, the true thought that the spirit of ngture is a kinsfellow of the spirit in man. What Eitel says of that philosophical form of Confuci- anism which was developed by Shushi in China, holds good pre-eminently of the attitude toward nature of the Jap- anese people. What has been so often admired in the philosophy of the Greeks . . . that they made na- ture live (i.e., with human feeling); that they saw in every stone, in every tree, a living spirit; . . . this poetical, emotional and reverential way of look- ing at natural objects is equally a char- acteristic, etc. The political life and the political 84 MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS OF THE JAPANESE changes of Japan are also controlled to an astonishing degree by sentiment. So far as selfishness does not rule here, as everywhere else, in politics, it is the sentimental way of looking at all things political, rather than the ethical way, or that of clear conception of political right~ and duties, which is dominant. Supreme over all, and worked into the very life-blood of the people, is the feel- ing of reverence and loyalty toward the emperor. This sentiment, which, in the multitude, approaches, if it does not actually become one of religious wor- ship, asks itself no questions, and founds itself upon no clearly conceived prin- ciples. It is essentially unreasoning in origin and character, often hopeless- ly unreasonable in expression. In fact, up to date, even the conservative and respectful representation of historical facts as bearing upon this sentiment is repressed and punished in a way quite inconsistent with all our Western notions of the most fundamental politi- cal rights. A friend of mine who is a teacher in one of the government schools, informs me that, when nothing else will control the wild Japanese youths in the school- room, the mention of the emperors name has upon them the most magical of soothing effects. These same youths would probably not hesitate to treat with violence anyone whom they under- stood to be speaking with a slightly too low tone of reverence concerning his majesty; and it would be difficult to predict to what lengths they might pro- ceed in the punishment of a culprit so great in their eyes. Yet they have scarcely a semblance of knowledge con- cerning those principles of political rights and duties which the English or American youth of like age and station will be found to possess, as it were, in- bred. Not long ago a foreigner, in his enthusiasm for the national welfare of the Japanese, expressed in a public lecture his hope that, soon, the nation would become Christian, and even the emperor But, as I heard the story from excellent authority, the unfortu- nate speaker never finished his sen- tence ; and it was only with consider- able difficulty that he was rescued from the angry mob into which his audience l~ad been turned, hurried into a jinriki- sha, and sent to a neighboring town, where he arrived so frightened by the unexpected result of his most benevo- lent wish, that he could not force his disturbed mind and trembling fingers to pay his coma~ man the right sum, and had to call upon the landlord for assistance. Still more recently, the enraged pupils of a government school have used that extreme power which pupils possess in all the schools in Ja- pan, to force the removal of a teacher on a charge of lese majcstatis, because he had praised the love of all men as the duty of alL In the attitude of the average Japan- ese toward other individual men, this same characteristic of predominating sentimentality is obvious enough. It is difficult to secure from natives friend- ship and devotion, or even much stead- fast interest, for anyone out of whom they cannot make and maintain a hero. Said a Japanese writer, who knew his countrymen well: Most Japanese are hero-worshippers. They are a difficult people to manage, except by a hero to whom they can look up. Yet they are very easily led away by a hero. They move on the sensational currents of the herds opinions, and lack individuality. Their weak point is that they cannot rise above their hero. If lie makes a mistake or fails, they also do the same. If lie falls, they do likewise. This has been true of us, as close exam- ination of our history will show. In the daily social intercourse of the people and especially, of necessity, aniong the better classesthe effects of the characteristic sentimental tempera- ment are constantly apparent. Of these effects, some are such as to give an ap- pearance of great delicacy and beauty to the details of life ; but others im- press the more robust and practical Westerner with a sense of insincerity and weakness. The politeness of the Japanese is marked by all travellers; it has passed into a proverb. To those who are willing to take the purely sen- timental point of view, many of the national habits are most delightful. But none are more severe in the feeling of repulsion which is produced by much that is characteristic of polite Japan, 4 MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS OF THE JAPANESE 85 than some of the natives themselves, on return from a life of several years in foreign lands. A rough manner with a kind heart wrote one of these na- tives is far better than a petty arti- ficial politeness with no heart-meaning. Japan is one of the politest nations in the world, but alas! the heart is not in it. Artificial politeness is a national habit. But one cannot feel that the words just quoted represent the entire truth. The interest which expresses itself in honorific titles for the tea and the hot water and the bath, at the wayside inn, the elaborate salutations exchanged with the maid who waits upon you, the smile and repeated Sayonara at parting, are genuine outcome of a certain very unusual and characteristic refinement of national feeling. And what a very embodiment, as it were, of the most delicate sentiment is the Japanese good- by Sayonara ( if it must be so To suppose, however, that this appear- ance signifies the same genuine refine- ment of ethical and spiritual character which anything similar would proba- bly signify in an Englishman or an American, would be to go still wider of the mark. The real and predominating attitude of the popular mind toward the for- eisner is still the same unreasoning sentiment that it has ever been. A few, and only a very few, even of the edu- cated Japanese, have any intelligent and sympathetic knowledge of that type of mental life which has been developed by a Western and Christian civilization. Among the people of all classes, unin- formed, unreasoning feeling toward all foreigners still underlies the crust of enforced or selfish and conventional politeness. This sentiment is a mixt- ure of surprise and admiration with repulsion and contempt. A well-prin- cipled, or even a cosmopolitan, feeling toward all human kind, an enthusiasm of humanity, is a rare and difficult thing to find in Japan. What but the knowledge of this mental attitude of his countrymen could have influenced an intelligent native preacher to say, in extremest praise of the power of divine grace: It can make you love even a foreigner? In the general character, as well as the details, of much social intercourse in Japan, a fine, quiet susceptibility to varied and refined feeling makes itself manifest. I cannot easily forget the great pleasure and warm approval which I have myself experienced in being the guest at several characteristic entertain- ments. Within the apartments of one of the Buddhist temples in the sub- urbs of T~ky5, a party of us met one evening for dinner. Of the company were a viscount, a captain in the na- vy, the son of one of the highest offi- cials in Japan, and several prominent professors of the Imperial University. The entertainment consisted, chiefly, in watching the work of an enthusias- tic old man who painted before us, for our recreation, two or three 1caJ~ernon os. The dinner and pleasures in-doors fin- ished, the guest was invited to walk in the moonlight and enjoy the quiet beauty of the monasterys garden centuries old. Here remarks were ex- changed concerning the ancient monks who had planted and fostered the gar- den, and concerning the happiness and advantages of a life free from striving, unrest, and toil, according to the true Buddhistic pattern. It is, however, when the genuine Jap- anese attaches himself intelligently to an ideal cause that tile vigor and beau- ty of the best work possible for such a temperanlent appears. What in all history can be shown more tender and more touchillg than Neesimas poeti- cal quotation to reveal tile feelings of his deepest heart toward his beloved D~shisha? When the cherry blossoms open on Mt. Yo- shino Morning and evening I am anxious about the fleecy clouds on his summit. Or again, when urged to take up work in the provinces, he replied in the words of a poem written by the wife of one of the earlier Sh5guns: However glad the citys spring may he, The thought of fading country flowers deep sadness brings to me. The same characteristic sentimental- ity extends even to the view which a large number of tile finest youths of 86 MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS OF THE JAPANESE Japan take of themselves. There is probably no country in the world where so large a proportion of the clever young men have their ambitions fired with desire to do something worthy for their liege lord, or their country, or the particular ideal cause which their imagination has espoused. In politics, scholarship, sociology, and religion, an uncommon proportion of striplings are ready to offer themselves as informers and reformers, as leaders and as proph- ets. Where this ferment of aspiration, accompanied by the sentimental view of what one manand he young, un- known, and no other than I myself can accomplish, is also joined to even a fair amount of judgment and patient willingness to undergo training and to submit to rebuffs, it produces some truly splendid results. No more inter- esting and lovable young men have I met anywhere. But far too frequently the sentiment becomes a form of self- conceit for the psychologists study rather than a picture of intelligent, sturdy devotion to a well-conceived ideal. In no other land is there so much of obvious tendency to what is recognized as a type of grandiose paranoia~ as in Japan. This charac- teristic exhibition of the sentimental temperament, although naturally much exaggerated by the present conditions of the country, is in accordance with the historical development of the race. But in Japan, as elsewhere, it is im- possible to understand profoundly the life of the people, or even intelligently to explain the more trifling details of daily conduct, without a knowledge of the ethical ideas and feelings that are controlling. And here againeven pre- eminently herewe must consider the ethical sentiments rather than any con- ceptions clearly seized or any system- atic development of the rules of con- duct from superior ethical principles. The same thing is undoubtedly true of all peoples, of the most civilized of Western nations as well as of the most civilized of Eastern nations. The Japanese mind is, of course, never oth- er than the same human mind whose life expresses itself in the civilization of England and the United States, but no less faithfully in the civilization of this Oriental land. Yet here, as nowhere else in the world, vague but lofty and inspiring ethical sentiment, as distinguished from clear thinking on questions of ethics or rules of liv- ing, formed in accordance with so-called sound common sense, dominates and purifies but also distorts the conduct of the people. According to the most influential eth- ical teaching of Japan as well as the inbred feeling of the multitude, the virtues are all subordinate to one; they are all indeed absorbed, as it were, in that one. This supreme and all-absorbing virtue is fidelityfirst of all, and without limit or question, to the lord, your political superior, and, under him, to parents, husband, or oth- er domestic superior. It is true that Kyi~-so, the Confucian teacher already referred to, whose ethi- cal doctrine represents perhaps the best education of the Samurai of a century and a half ago, says: Be- nevolence, the principle of love, is the virtue of the heart. And with this virtue are all the others, for they are included in it and come from it. Benevolence means the heart which loves mankind and is the chief of virtues. It is true also that Confucian ethics generally is not wanting in genial discourse upon this chief of the virtues. But this Japanese philosopher does not mean by benevolence the same thing which Christian ethics understands by the term ; and this phase of Confucian theory never became a living principle, recognized and placed in control of conduct, among even the morally best of Japan. On the other hand, fidelity has been for centuries, and still is, regarded as the one virtue which justifies all forms of conduct, and not infrequently glori- fies those actions which appear to our Western and Christian notions the most hideous crimes. Under the feudal system of Japan, and in appeal to the sentimental temperament of the race, a development of the Chinese philoso- phy took place which Dr. Knox, in his introduction to a translation of the Shundai Zatsuwa, contrasts with that which took place in China, as fol- lows: So, too, does loyalty take pre 4 MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS OF THE JAPANESE 87 cedence of filial obedience, and the ethical philosopher can praise without qualification men who desert parents, wife, and children for the feudal lord. And with the loyalty, an undue ex- altation of the disregard of life, an exaltation that conies near to canoniz- ing those who kill themselves, no mat- ter how causelessly, no matter though crime be the reason for an enforced suicide. On this subject we may quote further from the body of this philosophical work. When you cross your threshold and pass out through the gate go as men who shall never re- turn again. Thus shall you be ready for every adventure you may meet. Especially three things must never be forgotten, the blessing of par- ent, lord, and sage. Parents bestow and cherish the body; not a hair even is apart from them and their love. But the daimy~ gives us all we have and maintains us not a chop - stick save from him. And the sage in- structs us and saves us from the state of brutes. In another passage, the same philosopher reminds his hearers that, of old, when the emperor com- manded that books of poetry be made, the names of dancing-girls and priests appeared with the names of nobles, and even of the emperor himself. So does my talk of fidelity bring in Samurai of distinguished families with dancing - girls and beggars. Fidelity knows no distinction of high or low. This is its virtue. The sentimental regard for this su- preme virtue of fidelity has produced many most splendid examples of self- sacrificing heroism in the history of Japan. No ancient site of a castle, scarcely a hill-side, river-bank, or grove, that has not been consecrated with some such example. Its expression still frequently runs as has always been the casea speedy course to the end of a violent death. The supreme test and the value of fidelity are found in the willingness to servejust how clear knowledge does not show, but vague sentiment suggests that it must ~ be somehowby committing haralciri. The slighter the provocation, and the less practical benefit of this supreme act of loyalty, the more does the Japan- ese sentimental ethics praise the act itself. Tender youths and weak wom- en, by the score and by the thousand, have thus been faithful as they un- derstood the virtue until (up to the limit of) death. No observer possessed of right ethi- cal feeling can fail to respond with a thrill of admiration to this exhibition of willingness to undergo martyrdom at the behests of the sentiment of fidelity, without regard to the extreme and use- less form which the exhibition may take. Better this than sordid, coward- ly selfishness; far better than the fail- ure, under any uplift of noble emotions, to rise above the lusts of the flesh or the pride of life. And in the estimate of that absolute justice with which rests the making-up of the final ac- count, the helpless victims of sentiment, in the more distorted and hideous re- sults of its working, will, doubtless, stand far better than those degenerate representatives of a foreign civilization, to whom not a few of these victims have been offered up. At the same time, no student of the national ethical life who is candid and thorough as well as sympathetic, can fail to recognize and to deprecate the limitations, the weakness, and even the great amount of folly and crime, to which the predominance of this blind and undisciplined sentiment of fidelity leads the people of Japan. Essentially unchanged have the currents of na- tional feeling, and the course of con- duct, flowed for centuries in this land. And to-day, although the government has suppressed some of the more re- pulsive features of the deeds resulting from the feeling, the feeling itself is still the dominating ethical power over the people. Doubtless, from the politi- cal point of view also, it is well that this is so. For the temporary and relative relaxation of the power of this sentimentespecially among the young men of the more intelligent classes which the so-called new era intro- duced, has been productive of not a little to occasion serious alarm for the future well-being of the country. A semi-religious but irrational reverence for, and sentiments of loyalty to, the temporal lord, or to the head of the 88 MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS OF THE JAPANESE family, is safer for the state than no controlling ethical feeling, or than the absolutely non - moral attitude of the popular mind toward authority. An interesting and instructive vol- ume might be written for the purpose of tracing into all its various ramifica- tions, in law, custom, and habit, as well as in the more detailed working of mental life, the sentiment of fidelity among the Japanese. The sentiment announces itself in many ways that seem quite inexplicable, when judged by the standard of average Western ideas and practices of an ethical sort. Not long ago, a Japanese under ar- rest for another crime gratuitously and falsely made confession of the mur- der of Missionary Large. After the falseness of his confession was discov- ered, he was questioned as to the mo- tive that had induced him thus volun- tarily to stretch out his neck to the halter. The man responded that he had wished to save the honor of his country, which was suffering in the eyes of all from the failure of the po- lice to discover the perpetrators of the murder. The better acquainted any observer is with the real workings of the Japanese mind, the readier will he be to believe that the rogue, who lied in the confession, spoke true in declar- ing the motive for it. For an obscure youth or woman to commit suicide, with the feeling that somehow the good of the country is thus to be se- cured, and some real or fancied stain upon the national honor wiped away in self-sacrificial blood, is to act consist- ently a la Japonaise. This predominance of the blind ethi- cal sentiment of fidelity not only pro- duces queer resultsas sound vVcst- em sense would certainly consider them; it also represses other virtues, and even furnishes the motive to vari- ous forms of crime. To this cause in part (but only in part) do I attribute the fact that the virtues of truth-tell- ing, honesty, and purity as a matter of moral self-protection have never risen to the dignity of independent virtues in Japan. As such, and disconnected from the sentiment of loyalty to some person or cause, they have little if any hold upon the conscience of the Japan- ese people at large. In saying this I do not intend to raise the much-debated question as to the relative amount of falsehood, dishonesty, and impurity in the Eastern lands as compared with the Western and so-called Christian lands. Even if I were al)le to establish beyond a doubt my impression, that Japan is not for a moment to be compared with the United States, or England, or any country of Northern Europe, in respect of these virtues, I should not in doing this strengthen precisely the point I wish to make. My point now is simply this: Japanese mental life gives to my mind little or no sure token that it re- gards the value or the obligation of these virtues as such. To these virtues I might add that of a feeling of, not to say a due rational regard for, the sa- credness of human life. I cannot avoid, in this connection, making the remark that even the lower interests of Japan are, to this very day, suffering incalculably from the unde- veloped condition of virtues so funda- mental to the advance in civilization of every nation. Japan cannot prosper, as it might otherwise, financially, until the body of the people set more store by the commercial value of truth-telling and fair-dealing. As to sentiment in favor of these indispensable commercial virtues, it is the almost unvarying tes- timonyalas of the experienced, that such sentiment scarcely exists. The truth is illustrated whether one drinks a bottle of soda before inquiring the price, or buys an expensive curio. To secure comfort, the traveller must never mind, must shut his eyes, or draw the veil of sentimental interest in the coun- try and the people over his financial transactions. To secure what Western notions consider justice is not made diffi- cult by the government or the courts, chiefly, but by the whole undeveloped, undisciplined mental life of the people. A single narrative of personal experi- ence may serve to illustrate traits that arc common enough in Japan. A party of us, arriving at Komoro with the in- tent to ascend Asama-Yama by moon- light, had ordered horses to be at the tea-house by ten oclock in the evening. They had been faithfully promised, but, according to almost uniform custom in MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS OF THE JAPANESE 89 Japan, they did not arrive on time. Messenger after messenger, despatched by the waiting company, brought back wordfirst that one man, then two, then three, and then the head-man of the stable, had gone after the horses none of the men had returned, to be sure, but tadaima ( immediately ) the horses would arrive. The wearied and disgusted foreigners fought mos- quitoes from the platform of the tea- house until half-past three A.M. Then my Japanese friend, with truly refreshing directness, took the matter vigorously in hand ; and within a half-hour the beasts stood waiting for us in the wan- ing moonlight. After listening to his account of the warnings with which he urged the master of horses that serious results would follow treating so distinguished personages in such shabby fashion, I asked: Did you tell him that important international complications might arise out of the affair? Not exactly that, was the humorous answer, but I did say that it would undoubtedly have an unfa- vorable effect upon treaty revision! Time and remoter consequences, how- ever, do not concern the average Japan- ese ; and to make the whole thing com- plete, the landlord endeavored, on our return, with the most childish of ex- cuses, to charge double the contract price, and being accused of his false- hood, admitted it most shamelessly to escape a threatened complaint. But the picture of results in certain directions, which follow from unthink- ing adherence to a sentimental loyal- ty, ending in blind, unquestioning obe- dience, must be drawnif faithfully in yet far darker lines. There are thousands of the daughters of Japan, at the present hour, who are leading lives which Christian ethics has taught Western woman to shrink from more than from death, in obedience to this sentiment. Doubtless, in the larger number of cases the personal . revolt against the demand which is made by such loyalty to parents, or other su- perior, is not great. But an occasional ~ suicide shows how severe may be the real sacrifice of some of these slaves, sold under the power of this controlling sentiment. So interesting a peculiarity of Jap- anese ethics may profitably be illus- trated further, by a quotation from a philosopher, by a reference to a play, and by a narrative of fact. The three shall be given in the reverse order of their mention. During my stay in Japan the vernac- ular press gave an account of the shock- ing murder of his wife by a farmer, said to beas judged by the standard of his classan intelligent and hitherto law-abiding man. This poor wretch had become impressed with the belief that a certain portion of the human body, if used as medicine, would cure the oncoming blindness of his aged mother. After making a long journey in the vain attempt to provide, with- out himself resorting to violence, the desired cure, he returned home de- termined to offer up his own life for the recovery of his parents eyesight. But who then should make sure that the remedy would be applied; for the mother seems to have had no knowl- edge of the dreadful sacrifice which was being prepared for her? This ques- tion the man saw no way to be sure of answering, after his own death. He then selected his only child for the offering, but his heart failed him when he attempted to consummate the dread- ful deed. And now the mans wife, learning of his wishes for the first time, out of this same sentiment as directed toward husband and mother-in-law, but especially out of love to her child, offers herself as the victim. It was only, how- ever, after the wife had placed a cord around her own neck, and averting his eyes, that the man brought himself to the pitch where he could realize his conception of the binding law of fidel- ity toward parents. Where else in the so-called civilized worldone is moved to askcould so hideous a crime be connected with so munch of lofty senti- ment? The government will punish the criminal. The educated classes will take little note of the significance of the occurrence. But the crime itself, if brought before the great body of the people, would create no shock, would probably not be considered a crime. The deed accords exactly with those ethical sentiments which have controlled 90 MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS OF THE JAPANESE for centuries the history of the national life, and whieh to-day reign almost un- broken in their sway over the multi- tudes. A play had just been put upon the stage of one of the principal theatres of T6ky6, which deals with this senti- ment of loyalty on the servants part toward his master. The hero of the play stands in this relation toward a samurai of the olden style. The play turns upon the masters declaration that he must have money; the servant, in fidelity to his master, will obtain the money. for him, by any means and at any cost to himself. I found no more instructive ethical study than in watch- ing the attitude of the audiencecom- posed chiefly of the upper artisan classestoward the efforts of the hero of this play. By a project which West- ern ethical ideas would consider worthy of being stamped with the blackest kind of infamy, the hero proposes to extort money for his master from another wealthy samurai. But when, being on the point of failure, and the sword of this samurai has already been pre- pared to strike off his dastardly head, he bares his neck with a dramatic swell and shows the place through which the sword must go, tattooed with Budd- has image, he carries all obstacles be- fore him. The samurai cannot strike through that image to cut the head from a man so faithful to his master. He not only pardons this servant, but loads him with money; and the scoun- drelso I am inclined to believe that theatre-going classes in England and the United States, relatively much lower than this Japanese audience, would re- gard himis greeted as the hero with unmistakable applause. There appears nothing strange in the present attitude of the peasant and artisan classes of Japan toward the most fundamental virtues, as well as the m@st reprehensible crimes, when we consider carefully the sentiments of the distinguished teachers of Confucian ethics, as well as the influence of both Shint6 and Buddhism (so far as they have had any influence on morals) in the past history of the nation. The philosopher Kyn-Sos selected instances of the noteworthy and virtuous samurai, place the supreme test of fidelity and courage in the willingness to inflict and to suffer death. So And5yaimon, when the offer of pardon from the feudal lord who had conquered his master, reached him, with grief and anger there, before the messenger, wrapped the letter round his sword and killed himself. So Nag- aokas wife, when her castle was sur- rounded by the enemy, joined hands with her women, and jumped into the fire and died. And not only those whom we allmen and women of the Western civilization would easily ad- mire, but even moral monstrosities like the boy Kujur~, are held up to admira- tion by this Japanese teacher of ethics. This youth of fifteeii years, when he had killed his companion in a quarrel over a game of go, and had been re- quired to commit haralciri, showed not a trace of any emotion over his crime, or his own approaching death. But on the day appointed, he rose early, bathed, dressed himself with care, made all his preparations with perfect calm- ness, and then, quiet and composed, killed himself. Says our philosopher: No old, trained, self-possessed sam- urai could have excelled him. . It would be shameful, were it to be forgotten that so young a boy per- formed such a deed. And thus it comes about that this youthful murder- er is introduced as a notable one among heroic examples in Shundai Zatsitma. Booh OrteBeiicuolence! It is not alone, however, on the side of feeling and of devotion that the predominance of the sentimental tem- perament, with its charms and its dis- appointments, its strength and its weakness, can be traced everywhere along the currents of the Japanese mental life. The other side of this temperament, as it were, has to do with the vohitions, with the habitual forms of the activity of so-called wil]. This temperament, it has already been said, is characterized by impulsive will, with a tendency to collapse under the strain required for fighting coolly and steadily against unyielding obstacles the battle of a cause, the battle of life. The cour- age which comes from throwing ones self into a cause, without selfish re- gard for consequences, and with might, 4 MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS OF THE JAPANESE 91 mind, and devotion, has been common enough in the history of Japan. And, although the last thirty years have un- doubtedly developed much more of sentiment cyiiical and distrustful of ideals, and of the unchivalric temper of mind, a similar courage is common enough still. The whole nation would probably be aflame with it, should any uniting causelike a threat to the continuance of the imperial dynasty or to the autonomy of the country .call it forth. In any such case, the ex- hibitions of fidelity and courage would probably revert speedily to the ances- tral type. This ancestral type of courage is sen- timental, and sentimental courage is impulsive and ready to hasten to the supreme issue. It is not that cour- age which endures the patient overcom- ing of obstacles, the long succession of compromises necessary to reach an end, the ability to contend with steadiness, nerve, and careful reservation of the last forces until the time of extreme need arrives. The impulsive, unsteady will, in con- nection with a quick susceptibility to variety of sentiments, makes itself man- ifest in all the daily work and daily life of the Japanese people. This is one reason why, as every traveller in the East knows, it is the Chinese rather than the Japanese who are sought and trusted in mercantile and commercial affairs of every kind. It is true that the hereditary feeling of the better class of Japanese toward money transactions partakes largely of the thought of Bal- zac: Largent ne devient quclque chose quau moment O?~d le sentiment & est plus. But besides the other reasons why so clever a people are, according to Western standards, lacking in quali- fications for business, is their unstead- iness of purpose. Nor is this failing manifest in business alone; in poli- tics, in devotion to a life-plan, in educa- tion, in religion, the same thing appears. Connected with this impulsive will is the tendency to sudden, complete, and final collapse of purpose, whenever destiny seems to have decided that the thing wished for cannot be attained, or the thing dreaded is sure to come. This form of will has perhaps been fostered by the fatalistic teaching of Buddhism, and by its doctrine of sub- mission and obedience; but it belongs to that very type of mental life which is characteristic of the Japanese. In the monastery garden of Kinka- kuji, at Ky6to, the visitor is shown where Yosliimitsu, nearly five hundred years ago, drew the water for his tea, where he drank it, and where he washed his hands, etc. Here this great sh6gun had retired, having surrendered the title to his son, shaved his head, and assumed the garb of a Buddhist monk. His course of action can be paralleled by that of other rulers, weary of the semblance of power, in many nations and eras of history. But voluntarily to give up all contest for the reality of power is characteristic of the national habit in Japan, when- ever the signs of the approaching fatal- istic decision are adverse. And Bis- marck, chafing under enforced retire- ment, or Gladstone coming forward at eighty, with courage and cheerful- ness, to resume the reins of govern- ment, are characteristic of the Western civilization. There is no more expressive phrase in the Japanese language than this Shileata-ga-nai ( it cannot be helped). The game is up: it is probably this feeling that makes the hardened crirn- inal in Japan submit to forms of arrest, and of safe-conduct and safe-keeping, which would be laughed to scorn by his kinsman in crime who has the spirit of the Western civilization. To surrender completely when the limit seems to be reached is even regarded as a point of honor. The will which has this quality, will bear patiently and uncomplainingly a large amount of suf- fering; it will respond with heroic de- votion and bring in its hands, as an offering, its own life. But it is hard for it to fix a plan and adhere to this plan in the face of repeated disappointments and defeats. And when it is strained but a little too hard in one direction, it knows no way to relax but to fly off to some other extreme, under the influence of a new theory, a new sentiment, a novel and now charming idea. Or it may go into pieces which cannot be gathered and made to adhere, even for 92 MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS OP THE JAPANESE a short time, to any other object of in- terest and effort. Shilcafa-ga-nai, and that ends it ; this is the refuge of the maid who has dropped her tray of dishes, of the jin- rikisha runner who has tipped over his vehicle, and, not infrequently, of the student who has failed in his examina- tions, or the statesman whose measures have not carried. At a memorial service, held for Mr. Neesima in the city of T~kyQ Mr. Hiro- yuki Kato, President of the Imperial University, made an address. After dis- claiming all belief in Christianity or any other religion, and all interest in the cause for which the deceased heros steadfast spirit had suffered, he praised most warmly the character of the hero, and held him up as an exam- ple of enduring, indefatigable devotion, for imitation by all Japanese. We are a clever people, said President Kato. Western nations commend us in this respect, and they are doubtless right. . . . It is a good thing to be clever, but to be clever only is to lack strength. Cleverness and stead- fastness of purpose rarely go hand in hand. The former is apt to taper away into shallowness and fickleness, and the shallow, fickle mind can rarely carry through to its end any great undertak- ing. While there are undoubted excep- tions, yet I think this is our weakness, that we have not the endurance, the in- defatigable spirit of men of the West. Foreigners criticise us for our mobility, and in itself mobility leads to no good results. . . . Without other quali- ties we cannot compete successfully with the West. This judgment of a native leader of modern education in Japan, is true of the present temper and conduct of the people, beyond a fair and reasonable doubt. But it is also true of their most profound, inherent national spirit, of their characteristic temperament as a race. And only the long-continued and diffusive work of some great moral influence can change this spirit, and so elevate the Japanese, in respect of these grave deficiencies, to an equality with the civilization of the West. Japan will doubtless continue to excite the inter- est of the civilized world ; it will be greatly admired and profusely praised indiscriminately so by those individ- uals whose own minds have the weak- nesses that go with excess of sentimen- tality. But it will never become great as a nation, among the nations of the earth, and as well-rounded men count greatness, until some such moral influ- ence has wrought a mighty change in the spirit of the people. In politics and in education, in opin- ions on questions of policy, questions of ethics, and questions of religion, in, matters of social and business engage- ment, the effects of artistic and varied susceptibility, quickness in receiving and skill in appropriating all manner of impressions, but with impulsive will and great lack of steady, tenacious pur- pose, and of sound, practical reason, are apparent in Japan. The political, edu- cational, and religious leaders of the country, even during its modern era, have been, to an extent which occasions wonder in the foreign mind, men whose lack of these eminently Occidental qual- ities would have made leadership dif- ficult or impossible for them among the Western nations. Of one example of such leadership, we quote the au- thors estimate in Things Japanese. Mr. Fukuzawa, Director of the Keii Gijiku, says Mr. Chamberlain, is a power in the land. Writing with admirable clearness, publishing a pop- ular newspaper, not keeping too far ahead of the times; in favor of Chris- tianity to - day, because its adoption might gain for Japan the good-will of Christian nations; all eagerness for Buddhism to-morrow, because Buddh- ist doctrines can be better reconciled with those of evolution and develop- ment; pro and anti-foreign by turns, inquisitive, clever, not over-ballasted with judicial calmness, this eminent private school-master, but who has con- sistently refused all office, is the intel- lectual father of half the young men who fill the middle and lower posts in the government of Japan. This power of Mr. Fukuzawa in Japan is gained, not less because of his complete tem- peramental resemblance to the majority of the best among his countrymen, than because of his exhibition of disinter- ested labors for their welfare. But in SAWNEY S DEER-LICK 93 England or in the United States, this temperamental characteristic would be so serious an impediment to success, that little or no power over the educated classes could be exercised by one who was swayed by it to such an extent as Mr. Fukuzawa. I believe that my general estimate of the mental characteristics of the people of Japan, carried out into de- tails, will explain satisfactorily almost all their traits and customs, both the engaging and the irritating, the sig- nificantly weak and the significantly strong ; while it is of the very essence of the sentimental temperament to ex- hibit all those apparently contradictory forms of feeling and of behavior which have been the puzzle of foreign ob- servers of the Japanese, from the begin- ning of their intercourse with foreigii- ers to the present time. It would require a far more ardent disciple of Mr. Buckle than any intel- ligent student of anthropology, in the most modern spirit, is likely to be, to advocate a wide-spreading causal influ- ence from the climate and geography of Japan, over the fundamental charac- teristics of thought, feeling, and voli- tion, which belong to the Japanese race. But an illustrative analogy between the two cannot fail to suggest itself. Ja- pan is the land of much natural see- nery that is pre-eminently interesting and picturesque. It is the land of beautiful oreen mountains and of lux- urious and highly variegated flora. It is the land that lends itself to art, to sentiment, to reverie and brooding over the mysteries of nature and of life. But it is also the land of volcanoes, earthquakes, floods, and typhoons ; the land under whose thin fair crust, or weird and grotesque superficial beauty, and in whose air and surrounding wa- ters, the mightiest destructive forces of nature slumber and mutter, and be- times break forth with amazing de- structive effect. As is the land, so in many striking respects are the people that dwell in it. The superfi- cial observer, especially if he himself be a victim of the unmixed sentimental temperament, may find everything in- teresting, ~sthetical1y pleasing, prom- ising continued kindness of feeling, and unwearied delightful politeness of ad- dress. But the more profound student will take note of the clear indications, that beneath this thin, fair crust, there are smouldering fires of national senti- nient, uncontrolled by solid moral prin- ciple, and unguided by sound, practical judgment. As yet, however, we are confident in the larger hope for the future of this most interesting of Oriental races. SAWNEYS DEER-LICK By Charles D. Lanier ILLU5TI~ATioN5 BY A. B. F1~osT I I PAUSED in our stealthy passage over the big ridges and, grounding my gun near the brink of a half- choked mountain-spring, began to re- assure myself as to the noble stillness of the hills, and as to the unreality of lingering phantom rumblings and chat- terings, the deafening, inhuman babel of the city, a thousand miles away. Sawney, my silent rear-guard, moved forward to join me after a slowly VOL. XVIJ.9 searching glance had convinced him that no cotton-tail buck nor gang~ of turkeys was feeding in the vast sweep of chestnut timbera perfect natural park that had opened to our view. I suspected he was goin& to break the eloquence of the still - hunters speechlessness when, with hands clasped over the muzzle of the old mountain rifle, which was long enough to act as a comfortable support for his chin, he fixed his eyes on the little stream that flowed out of the high ridge.

Charles D. Lanier Lanier, Charles D. Sawney's Deer-Lick 93-102

SAWNEY S DEER-LICK 93 England or in the United States, this temperamental characteristic would be so serious an impediment to success, that little or no power over the educated classes could be exercised by one who was swayed by it to such an extent as Mr. Fukuzawa. I believe that my general estimate of the mental characteristics of the people of Japan, carried out into de- tails, will explain satisfactorily almost all their traits and customs, both the engaging and the irritating, the sig- nificantly weak and the significantly strong ; while it is of the very essence of the sentimental temperament to ex- hibit all those apparently contradictory forms of feeling and of behavior which have been the puzzle of foreign ob- servers of the Japanese, from the begin- ning of their intercourse with foreigii- ers to the present time. It would require a far more ardent disciple of Mr. Buckle than any intel- ligent student of anthropology, in the most modern spirit, is likely to be, to advocate a wide-spreading causal influ- ence from the climate and geography of Japan, over the fundamental charac- teristics of thought, feeling, and voli- tion, which belong to the Japanese race. But an illustrative analogy between the two cannot fail to suggest itself. Ja- pan is the land of much natural see- nery that is pre-eminently interesting and picturesque. It is the land of beautiful oreen mountains and of lux- urious and highly variegated flora. It is the land that lends itself to art, to sentiment, to reverie and brooding over the mysteries of nature and of life. But it is also the land of volcanoes, earthquakes, floods, and typhoons ; the land under whose thin fair crust, or weird and grotesque superficial beauty, and in whose air and surrounding wa- ters, the mightiest destructive forces of nature slumber and mutter, and be- times break forth with amazing de- structive effect. As is the land, so in many striking respects are the people that dwell in it. The superfi- cial observer, especially if he himself be a victim of the unmixed sentimental temperament, may find everything in- teresting, ~sthetical1y pleasing, prom- ising continued kindness of feeling, and unwearied delightful politeness of ad- dress. But the more profound student will take note of the clear indications, that beneath this thin, fair crust, there are smouldering fires of national senti- nient, uncontrolled by solid moral prin- ciple, and unguided by sound, practical judgment. As yet, however, we are confident in the larger hope for the future of this most interesting of Oriental races. SAWNEYS DEER-LICK By Charles D. Lanier ILLU5TI~ATioN5 BY A. B. F1~osT I I PAUSED in our stealthy passage over the big ridges and, grounding my gun near the brink of a half- choked mountain-spring, began to re- assure myself as to the noble stillness of the hills, and as to the unreality of lingering phantom rumblings and chat- terings, the deafening, inhuman babel of the city, a thousand miles away. Sawney, my silent rear-guard, moved forward to join me after a slowly VOL. XVIJ.9 searching glance had convinced him that no cotton-tail buck nor gang~ of turkeys was feeding in the vast sweep of chestnut timbera perfect natural park that had opened to our view. I suspected he was goin& to break the eloquence of the still - hunters speechlessness when, with hands clasped over the muzzle of the old mountain rifle, which was long enough to act as a comfortable support for his chin, he fixed his eyes on the little stream that flowed out of the high ridge. 94 SAWNEY S DEEN-LICK Highest water weve seen, I niut- tered, with an accent which implied a readiness to be corrected. Naw. Little Lick on yan side Jump Mountns hio her, lie said, in the de- liberate, sniotliereci tones of the man whose lionie is in the woods. He still stared from under his bushy eyebrows at the rivulet which slowly made its way through the dense cover- ing of fallen leaves. Thirty-seven deer Ive killed in five yards o that spring-head, lie fin ally muiiibled. The thing seemed decidedly iniprob- able, the niore so that only half a mile clown the niountaiii swung one of the railroads audacious curves. But I had Sawneys eyes and profile, as well as the intiniacy of many hiuiitiiig seasons, to tell me that he was one of those rare hunians, who, from lack of temptation, or simplicity of character, or limitation of intellect, or all, nierely weiit through life without being subjected to dilem- mas between truth and falsehood. An I reckon, continued the old nian, appreciating the delicacy of my silence, but unable to forego the pleas- ure of mystifying me a bit further, theres been three hundred killed, in my time, right here. How come so niany at this little hole - in - the - ground? I inquired, in self -def eiice. ~ Drink, lie answered, shortly, with a nod toward the spring. I laid my gun on the leaves, threw back my hiuntiiig-cap, and stretched out for a long draught. But, instead of the icy, sparkling drink I had ex- pected, the water was teniperate and stroiig with sulphur. Oh, its a lick, is it? I remarked, in an enlightened tone. A lick, he repeated, an befo they beguii to run their railroads into this country an hound the deer out of it, a man could have faith in bringin home vensun if lie was wilhin to stay here a few hours in the night. Bucks will have sulphur when they git ready for it if they l2eowd hunters was waiting for em. Thars the log whar you laid behiine, and the prono o the saphin is still growin in front of it whar you ainied yo gun fo the head o the lick, and knew when to pull by hearin em drink, if there warnt no moon. I examined these relics, wondering somewhat at his unusual loquacity. Its mq lick spring, lie went on presently, with a look on his face that was new to me. Au this piece o the Beard Mountn were staiidhiii on, is my hand, my reel estate. This was almost more than I could swallow. He was well known in Mas- terson, the straggling hianilet onardledi by these great niountains, as a shiftless Nick o the Woods, who had no business to be the father of such a pretty, capa- ble daughter as Linda Moore. The boom of the iron ore, tbe railroad, and the summer resort elenient not far away, had made it niore of a crime in the Alleghanies than of yore to be shiftless. Where are you going to put up your furnace, Sawney? I joked, care- lessly; and then repented deeply, for I knew the old man had beconie unhappy over his poverty and how estate, be-. cause of his daughter. The big beech yander s one cor- ner, lie coiitinued, without paying any atteiition to me, an that white bowl- ders anothier, an the highitnin blasted pine on the ridge an the head o the draft make the fo corners, containin an includin an aree-er of thirteen and one-half acres, more nor less. I considered it best to let him ex- plain hihnsehf without promptings. Colonel Bob lef that piece to me an my heirs when he sold this niountn to the Syndicate. Colonel Bob used to come up from the Valley, every year whien the chiesnuts were falhiii, an go into camp fo deer an turkey an bar. A many night weve laid out behine that log, and when he sold out befo he died, he took into his head to give me this little piece up in the mountn, whar weve hung up mo bucks n niost peo- ple ever seen. Colonel Bob Stewart? I inquired, producing the sandwich that was to do the dluties of dlinuier, and taking a seat on the historic log. Yes, suh. He was a man. Ive been at New York Sawney sat down too, and looked up to catch the effect this statenient would have on nie 4 It does seem to me like some people have all the luck in thio worldPage 96. 96 SAWNEYS DEER-LICK more~i~ thirty years ago ; yes, he added, in vague calculation, more n forty. Went with Colonel Bob count of some slaves he got into trouble about. I guess its a bigger town nown it was then? I nodded. But it was a powerful big town then. Whats the name of that street up the middle, that main street? Broadway, I suggested, after a rapid appeal to the laws of association. Thats it. I walked one evenin up that street, away from the water an alays keepin the road part on my left hand. I walked farthern I ever seen a town road last, and then crossed over an come down on th other side, straight back, but alays keepin the road pait on the left hand. He paused until I nodded my comprehension of this phe- nomenon. I never seen so many humans at onet. Goin up there was a stream of em, and comm down there was just as many. But what stonished me, said Sawney, with the air of being about to draw rather heavily on my credulity, was, they all seemed to have some- thin on hand. Maybe they didnt, he qualified seriously, and was just out like me, but it peared t me as if they mighty near all of em had somethin on hand. I explained that he was most likely right in his estimate of Broadways busy-ness, and his wonder subsided in reflective puffs at a corn-cob pipe. So were hunting on your property, I said, thinking to please what had seemed a queer little streak of vanity in him. Yes, suh. When I was tryin to send Lindy to Stanton to schoolCol- onel Bobs daughter gave half what it costI had Sam Wilson down in the Post-office write to the Syndicate that bought the rest of the mountn from Col- onel Bob, an offered to sell em this piece, thinkin they might be willin to pay a good figger to have the whole piece. Wouldnt they buy it? The old man looked somewhat abashed. They wrote a letter sayin the rest of the mountn went at a dol- lar an acre, an that comes to thirteen an a half fo my piece. They said theyd make it a round fifteen, but that wouldnt help Lindys schoolin worth speakin. It does seem to me like some people have all the luck in this world, he said, almost bitterly; theres Sam Carlstone A sharp cradking of dry twigs made us both turn quickly. Not fifty yards behind stood, with lowered antlers, a handsome buck, his hair rising along his back like a quarrelsome cats, and his pretty forefoot stamp- ing angrily in the leaves. He had evidently taken umbrage at the queer, amorphous appearance made by the backs of our hunting - coats as we slouched on the log, but his challenge faded instantly when the movement disclosed to him the deadly nature of the quarrel he had picked. Fairly shrinking in his terror, he bounded away, while Sawney, with the quick- ness of thought, snatched his rifle from the ground, drew blood with the hasty shot, and gave us a weary trail till nightfalL SAWNEY S DEER-LICK 97 II Mv DEAR IROWLETT I have been re- ferred to you by a party in a queer ease that has come up in the arrangement of one of the most important hotel enter- prises that our railroad is pushing. Near where the main line crosses the back-bone of the Alleghanies we are putting up a magnificent resort, and we have already advertised widely that the chief attraction of the Montebello is to be the warm sulphur baths which are fed by a spring rising a half-mile or so up the mountain. We expected to allow a good price to the Syndicate for the use of this spring, but had en- tertained no idea of possible trouble, because, as you know, the heaviest cap- italists are interested in both concerns. But when the final arrangements came to be made, it turned out that the title to the land about the spring had not been transferred to the Syndicate with the rest of the mountain property, but belongs to an old curmudgeon of a hunter or moonshiner, whom I under- stand you have at times employed as a guide. Our people have tried every means of bringing him to his senses, for we must have the matter decided at once, but he will not accept any of the offers, and insists on referring the question to you. If you are willing to be troubled in the matter, I hope you will get a power of attorney from old Moore that is the moonshiners nameand I shall be honored if you will lunch with me on Friday at the Lawyers, at any hour which is accustomed to find you peckish. Yours truly, C. NIcuoLAs VAN MuvsDEN. The typewriter at my elbow looked up in lady-like surprise at the exclama- tion which escaped me. Van Muysden has not to this day quite forgiven me for the number of thousands of dollars which were trans- ferred from the coffers of the Appa- lachian Railroad Company to my old man of the mountains. On conferring with Sawney concern- ing the changes which this snug lit- tle fortune would make in his life, he asked me if there was enough of it to enable Linda to study in Europe with her chum at the Staunton school. His eyes sparkled when I calculated that this might easily be arranged. When I added that there would be capital left to build himself as good a house as any in Masterson, he did not show just the expected enthusiasm over the scheme. Then I reminded him that it was his duty to Linda to put on some style and live like her friends down in the Valley. He replied that he had been thinking about it; that he would not care to stay in Masterson, where everybody would laugh at his store-clothes; and that if there was enough, he wanted to go to the city, where he could learn quicker to be like Lindas friends, and where there would not be anyone to bother him. She would be away a whole year, and he thought lie could get used to city clothes and their fine 98 SAWNEY S DEER-LICK ways against the time they came back. Whereupon I took mental note that the poison was gettm g in its work. Men who have hunted much together are bound by very subtle ties. It is unlike other comradeshipthat of the woods and streams and mountains and it respecteth neither birth nor for- tune nor temperament. Are not the (lays and nights of a still-hunt the best of a mans life? They are certainly the least bad. Then he can be brave with- out needing an audience to applaud he is truthful ; he can speak and be si- lent; he is modest, and he is at the ser- vice of a friend with his life and all that is his. If this spell be broken with the striking of the tents, is it not better to have been iii camp ? And it is a true amid sweet bond be- tween two men to love the same things all the more so when few people love them, or even see them. The hunter speaks but little of them, and that awk- wardlv. \~Then he lies in ambush and shivers with awe and exaltation through the succession of infinite glories that surround the birth of a day, he is speechless, nor even meets his com- rades eve. But either understands, and is content and remembers. He re- members, too, how there was no ques- tioii in the cold bear-hunt, when the icy \\Tallawhatoolah lay before them, as to who should stagger through the river with the other on his back; for was not Sawney already wet from his plunge through the mu below? When Jack, tIme brave little hound, dragged himself home through the night and storm, after running a buck over thirty miles of fearful ridges which had daunt- ccl the rest of the pack was it iiot a great secret pleasure to find that both of us felt the weary, torn creature must be brought iiito the best room of the cabin, maugre all Lindas rules of tidi- ness? And for an hour have we not watched Jacks limping and groaning efforts to screw himself into a position that promised conifort, offering him mild suggestions and encouragenients, which lie received with a deep, strange look of gratitude and love from his dark eyes and upturned face? Ah, those were indeed pipes of peace we smoked, while the hound, finally asleep in the roasting blaze of the great hoo-fire oave ever and anon ghostly lit- tle half-yelps on the trail of the dreani- stag before him It uicedls, then, iio set ternis to cx- plain why there was somethino more than curiosity in the niotives which led me to see Moore omice in a while, when lie had been transplanted to the city by this astoumidhing stroke of fortune. He dhisplayedl as munch aiixiety to get there as any devotee of the Fifth Avenue chubs, as any old exquisite whose day niight be spoiled by ami error of a few diegrees Fahrenheit iii his Macomi, whose feelings could not be niore deeply hurt than by the sight of a woodcock split down the back. Of course, I took care to warn the two, omi my visits to their modest apart- memits, again st the importunities of sharks and beggars. But time daughter had quite her share of common sense and adaptability, and her father was shrewd enough in a slow, straightfor- ward way. As to beggars, however, niy explana- tions that it was really not charitable or kimid to give money to the gentry one meets on the streets, were not altogeth- er successful. It was quite amusing to see Sawney look guiltily after me one afternoon, as we parted on the street, while he gave a piece of nioney to a ragged fellow who had doubtless been following us for squares in the hope of thus t~tc-d-t~tc. Theyll spend it on drink, I ob- jected, when the next opportunity canie to tax him with it, and you are doing an injustice to thmem and to those who really need it. Yes, suh, Sawney said, doubtfully; I can stand eni lookimi ragged, and hungry too, for Ive been both, and it aint so bad; but when theyve got a linipimi gait like theyre foot-sore, no mnans been on a long hunt with a chafin boot kin send eni away. Its the aw- fullest feelin hiavin to walk round with a hurt foot, an it niust be worse on these here pavements. It was quite the best part of the play when he went with nie for his first sight of the stage, to see Sawneys fright and self - consciousness when we walked down the aisle, among so many finely The dear delight of those five minutes of battlePage 101. 100 SAWNEYS DEER-LICK dressed people, into the glare of a thou- lent termination his espousal of a small sand lights; and the look of astonish- boys cause, whose terrier had been cap- ment on his face as the curtain rose, the tured by the official dog - catchers, the dawning understanding, and the com- plete surrender to the rapture of the story which was being acted. When the dastardly villain, after the custom- ary twists and turns, was finally run to earth and gloriously choked by a hero whose virtue outshone even his tall patent-leather boots, my companion for~ot everything and himself in the ecstasy of the d~mouement, and was brought back to a sitting posture and utter confusion by his daughters ad- monition, who blushed very much. Even after one of these rare sprees, Sawney was always up in time to see the sun risethat is, if the sun did rise in a big city and did not simply appear over the chimneys about an hour after the real event. This strange habit was the cause of much discontented specu- lation on the part of the janitor and the ancillary element of the apartment- house, all of whom the new tenant treat- ed with a simple but complete courtesy that was somewhat disconcerted by their unresponsive attitude. In these early sorties the old man tramped out to the Park, where he wan- dered around undisturbed, save now and then by the desultory suspicion of a brass-buttoned limb. It was the hour which, every day for a generation, had brought Sawney and his long rifle old man seemed to be getting along into the mountain, fairly well in his new environments, After an hour or two he would return and I began to see him less and less to breakfast with his daughter, having frequently. His daughter departed on punctiliously purchased a paper from her European campaign. I was called one of the qamirt.s, whose enterprise, away from the city for a month, and repartee, and activity in boarding the when I returned he had moved to other cable-cars were never-ending sources of quarters, nor could their whereabouts interest to Sawney. But these morning be learned. Any uneasiness I might papers were the cause of some discom- have felt on his account was allayed by fort to him. the consideration that he knew the way When theres a good piece in one of to my office and to my rooms, and that em, he told me, I start to read it, he would certainly tell me if trouble an I hang to her pretty steady now, an came. So he disappeared from my busy I believe Id finish sonic of em all right city life. if there want a new paper comm out again befo Ive had half a chance. Then III befo I know it theres a whole pile, and Lindy begins to laugh at me about not THE through train, double-headed keepin up. for the furious assault it had made on On the whole, with the exception of the mountain, pulled up at a lonely one occasion when he carried to a vio- tank station, and, with a great gasp of SAWNEY S DEEP-LICK 101 finished effort, began a nervous systole into a tree to be decapitated by my 38. and diastole of shorter breaths. It was Every now and then a frisky gray squir- an hour before the dawn of a clear rel, searching for some chance relics of frosty day, and tbe air cut gloriously the last nut harvest, led me into an as I stepped, laden with guns and va- arduous and disappointed approach lises, from the Pullman to the ground, under the suspicion that his rummag- which was frozen so hard beneath the ing about was the scratching of the big steely gleam of the stars that it gave birds I sought. out a metallic ring beneath my foot- But the leaves underfoot, those rust- falls. ling sentinels that guard so constantly The yearning for another hunting and surely their forest folk, were dry tramp over these great blue ridges had and alert. With the utmost caution been backing up in my heart for two they crackled out an alarm to the keen- years, and now I determined to lose eared turkeys, if any were there, before not a day, not an hour, of the two I could see or hear them, though there weeks respite. The sun had scarcely were plentiful signs of their feeding. riscn when, booted and ammunitioned, But as the sun was melting the peaks with a Winchester over my shoulder, to the west into vaporous gold, while I left the little room in the mountain I wc~rked my way very cautiously down cabin strewn with wildly discarded the mountain in the direction of the things, and set out for a distant cabin, a far away, plaintive KyoucA~, ridge that had been wont to harbor Kyouck~, Kyouck! suddenly brought lusty gangs of wild turkeys in the my heart to my mouth. Not daring old days when Sawney initiated me into to attempt an answer, I began to creep the secrets of these lordly hills. with infinite care toward the call I had There came a renewed feeling of re- been yearning to hear. Nearer and gret that I had not been able to find nearer, until apparently within rifle any trace of him, in my thought to range, I slowly moved; the Winchester bring him back to his old haunts to was cocked, every nerve was concen- share this hunt. trated in my straining eyes to catch a It was not a time, however, for re- glimpse of the tall, gallant bird before gretting anything very much, for I was me. Was it imagination, or was that blessed with not only health and a dark object in the laurel clumpa day, but with a gun and a mountain thin, high-set, whistle, the signal of the in addition. The ten steep miles to still-hunter to his mate, startled me as Bear Knob were for me miles of full if a cannon had been discharged. It anticipation, of swiftly rushing blood, was repeated, and out of the laurels of sweet recognition of this giant tree, stalked a tall mountaineer in gray of that favorite burst of view over the home-spun, high boots, the regulation happy Yalley clear to the humps of the coon-skin cap, and the long-barrelled Blue Ridge. Here is the green, mossy, rifle of the hills, wjth its slender, grace- pine-inhabited draft, where the sun ful stock. never shone, where there was always a I seen you a matter of fifty yards pair of pheasants to herald my soft ap- back, he said, with a low laugh. If proach over the carpet of needles youd a been a turkey I could a stopped by noisily buzzing off to the laurel-coy- ye without spilin the breast. ered hills; there is the gaping crevice It was Sawney. The rascal had been in a giant ledge of gray rock where we yelping for a flock he had scattered, surprised the three bears that heavy and had decoyed me. I walked over to winter. The dear delight of those five his coigu of vantage in the brush, and minutes of battle, the haunting recol- found a stately gobbler hung up on lection of the beasts efiluvia, are present a mighty laureL a~ain, and make me glad that I am But what are you doing here, Saw- here. ney? I asked. Then caiue the pleasant toil up and Sames ever, he said, briefly. down the ridges and drafts of the How long have you been up here? Knob. An unwary pheasant flew up I persisted, thinking that lie was prob- VOL. XVIJ.1O 102 SALVAiJON ARMY WORK IN THE SLUMS ably on a visit to the old hunting- ground just as I was. A leettle over a year, he answered in a somewhat shamefaced way. Nothing happened to your prop- erty, I hope? I saw that I was worry- ing him. Naw, sur. We were sitting on the stem of a huge tree that a recent storm had sent crashing down into the laurel thicket. The rich autumn smell of the brown woods and leaves mingled with the ex- quisite fragrance from the still sappy heart of the shattered oak. In an em- barrassed mood Sawney plucked from its modest place underfoot a tiny moun tam evergreen, with firm, perfect, wax- finished leaves, among which was set a red berry like a solitary drop of pigeon s blood. He looked west to the glory which was there, and took a free draught of the sweet, cool air. I thought I understood. That night I joined the old man, as of yore, in the little cabin where he was living alone and content, and when we had eaten his broiled squirrel and fed the dogs, and admired the skin of his last wildcat, I beat an incontinent re- treat into the Land of Nod, while the pipe was still burning and Sawney had not ceased to break out in chuckles over the comtreternps of the afternoon. SALVATION ARMY WORK IN THE SLUMS By Maud Ballington Booth trailing arbutus beneath the de- caying leaves and forest d~bris in early spring comes to my mind when I think of the slum workers of the Salvation Army; for just so are their lives in relation to the forest of humanity in which they live out of sight, willingly buried away beneath the darkness, misery, and ill-repute of the slums in which they make their home, yet sending forth the fragrance of their pure, holy lives. To those who only know of the Salva- tion Army from repute, and who have never looked into the detail of its many branches, it may seem strange that one special division of the work should be called the Slum Brigade, when they have the impression that all its work is carried on for the searching out and reaching of the outcast, depraved, and unchurched. By those unacquainted with the poor it is not understood that there are as many different classes and grades among them as among the rich. Those who live with and study the mul- titudes, have learned that they also have their feelings and prejudices, and ideas of caste, that make them live in so many little circles in the great underworld of poverty and misfortune. There are, for instance, the respectable honest poor, who work when they can, and through hard toil and thrift manage to keep their self-respect and to a surprising extent fight the wolf from the door ex- cept in the hardest seasons, when many of them would rather starve than beg. Then we find a class made up of the more unfortunate who are constantly feeling the pinch of dire distress, who work occasionally, and whose homes be- come one or two rooms in a tenement of the poorest character, from which they constantly have to go for shelter into the many low lodging-houses. By day they wander the streets, during their non-working hours. Again there is the lower class that knows no home, the. members of which herd together in the greatest squalor, and live the hand- to-mouth existence of a hopeless drift- ing life, where work is not sought, find- ing the means of a drunken subsistence from illegal sources. Another class is made up of criminals, who exist entire- ly through their crimes, and make a very much less precarious living than the aforementioned classes living on their wits they would call it. Yet again there are vast multitudes who, alas, have drifted down from more fort-

Maud Ballington Booth Booth, Maud Ballington Salvation Army Work In The Slums 102-114

102 SALVAiJON ARMY WORK IN THE SLUMS ably on a visit to the old hunting- ground just as I was. A leettle over a year, he answered in a somewhat shamefaced way. Nothing happened to your prop- erty, I hope? I saw that I was worry- ing him. Naw, sur. We were sitting on the stem of a huge tree that a recent storm had sent crashing down into the laurel thicket. The rich autumn smell of the brown woods and leaves mingled with the ex- quisite fragrance from the still sappy heart of the shattered oak. In an em- barrassed mood Sawney plucked from its modest place underfoot a tiny moun tam evergreen, with firm, perfect, wax- finished leaves, among which was set a red berry like a solitary drop of pigeon s blood. He looked west to the glory which was there, and took a free draught of the sweet, cool air. I thought I understood. That night I joined the old man, as of yore, in the little cabin where he was living alone and content, and when we had eaten his broiled squirrel and fed the dogs, and admired the skin of his last wildcat, I beat an incontinent re- treat into the Land of Nod, while the pipe was still burning and Sawney had not ceased to break out in chuckles over the comtreternps of the afternoon. SALVATION ARMY WORK IN THE SLUMS By Maud Ballington Booth trailing arbutus beneath the de- caying leaves and forest d~bris in early spring comes to my mind when I think of the slum workers of the Salvation Army; for just so are their lives in relation to the forest of humanity in which they live out of sight, willingly buried away beneath the darkness, misery, and ill-repute of the slums in which they make their home, yet sending forth the fragrance of their pure, holy lives. To those who only know of the Salva- tion Army from repute, and who have never looked into the detail of its many branches, it may seem strange that one special division of the work should be called the Slum Brigade, when they have the impression that all its work is carried on for the searching out and reaching of the outcast, depraved, and unchurched. By those unacquainted with the poor it is not understood that there are as many different classes and grades among them as among the rich. Those who live with and study the mul- titudes, have learned that they also have their feelings and prejudices, and ideas of caste, that make them live in so many little circles in the great underworld of poverty and misfortune. There are, for instance, the respectable honest poor, who work when they can, and through hard toil and thrift manage to keep their self-respect and to a surprising extent fight the wolf from the door ex- cept in the hardest seasons, when many of them would rather starve than beg. Then we find a class made up of the more unfortunate who are constantly feeling the pinch of dire distress, who work occasionally, and whose homes be- come one or two rooms in a tenement of the poorest character, from which they constantly have to go for shelter into the many low lodging-houses. By day they wander the streets, during their non-working hours. Again there is the lower class that knows no home, the. members of which herd together in the greatest squalor, and live the hand- to-mouth existence of a hopeless drift- ing life, where work is not sought, find- ing the means of a drunken subsistence from illegal sources. Another class is made up of criminals, who exist entire- ly through their crimes, and make a very much less precarious living than the aforementioned classes living on their wits they would call it. Yet again there are vast multitudes who, alas, have drifted down from more fort- SALVATION ARMY WORK IN THE SLUMS 103 unate circles through their abandon- ment to vice and drunkenness, and who continue going down further and fur- ther through all the different grades, until they come to the very lowest and most hopeless pauperism. When the Salvation Army launched out upon its work of raising and help- ing the outcast, it, in a very marvellous manner, reached, and is now reaching, the poor, otherwise untouched by relig- ous influence. Street loungers, drunk- ards, wife-beaters, wild, reckless youths, and fallen women, were attracted to its halls, by the hundreds of thousands, by the open - air procession, and through the lively and enthusiastic character of its services. As years rolled on the problem of the lowest outcasts of Slum- dom, and how to reach them in bulk (not by ones or twos), faced the leaders of this movement. Undoubtedly there were thousands living as heathen, aye, almost as savages, right in the midst of our prosperous cities; people who would not come to our halls, who had never even heard the sound of our drum, and many of whom lived crowded like rats in their wretched haunts, shun- ning the daylight, to come out only un- der the cover of night, which was made horrible by their debauchery and crime. Some of these had not even fit rags in which to come out among their more fortunate fellow-men, and others lay too sick in their garret to come out into the daylight. It was in the city of London that this special need was first faced, and means devised to meet it. Investigations had been made revealing an appalling state of affairs. The houses of the poor were found to be in the most unsanitary state of neglect, and so dilapidated in many instances that floors and stairways were giving way, and dangerous rents in the rotten ceilings became hazardous to the tenants in the rooms above. For these miserable broken - down homes the people were paying rentals which left them with but a few pennies for their subsistence and the support of their families. The wretchedly poor ~ wages upon which human beings were trying to exist, and the many cases of death from starvation as a con sequence, came to light in a way which shocked London and raised a great hue and cry about the outcasts and their bitter lot. It was just theii that the armys first Slum Brigade was inaugurated, and it was a new and very original departure, though on the same old lines of adapta- tion of measures which had been one of the principles of the movement from its inception. This was before the day of College Settlements, Toynbee Halls, or other work of that kind, so that the army was pioneering in a field new and untried. The Slum Brigade was com- posed of women who volunteered from the armys ranks of already trained workers, to go down among the deni- zens of Slumdom, exactly on the same principle as our workers go to the For- eign Mission field to become natives to the native. They were to live in the heart of the worst neighborhood, and to live as their neighbors, becom- ing poor as the poor around them, and severing themselves from the world of the past as completely as if the shades of Africas forests had closed around them. It was in no sense an experi- mental work to be done for a season, just as an experience to prove help- ful in other fields of labor, but was to be a practical consecration of them- selves to a life worle, with a willingness to do or suffer anything that might come of hardship, sickness, and heart- ache, out of a genuine love for the out- casts whom they sought to help and save. They do not go to the people in a spirit either of pity or patronage, but just with the neighborly interest and affection that can only be acceptable when given by those who breathe the same atmosphere and live in the same surroundings. The blue uniform and well-known bonnet were laid aside, and poor thread-bare dresses and shawls substituted for them, with the addition of coarse gingham aprons. Their home, which was two rooms in one of the poor- est districts, was not to be furnished in the style of those they had left, but was to be made like the homes of their poor neighbors, without carpet, or anything that could speak of comfort or ease; just the necessary table and chairs, stove and bed, and with food as simple and inexpensive as possible. We thor- 104 SALVATION ARMY WORK IN THE SLUMS oughly believed that becoming one with them would be the most effectual way of winning their hearts and confidences, and that it would be more easy thus to find out the best methods of helping them, and also who were the most de- serving of help. Then, regarding their duties, they were not to consider themselves mere spiritual advisers of the people, nor to confine themselves only to the nursing of the sick, or the giving of spiritual coni- fort to the dying. They were to hold themselves ready to do anything and everything in the way of kindly offices that could bring them into close per- sonal touch with the people, and these included the scrubbing of floors, wash- ing of dirty children, nursing of the sick, sitting up with the dying, laying out of the dead, the stepping in as peace-makers in drunken brawls, and many other kindly acts more hazardous, difficult, and trying than I can explain here. It is, however, needless to say that as this army is a movement whose chief interest is in spiritual matters, all these many kindly deeds performed for the temporal welfare of the people were to pave the way for the straightest and most earnest kind of dealing on matters concerning the souL If the tree be good the fruit will be good. If the heart be sound, that which emanates from it will be sound also. Hence the theory of the Salvation Army has always aimed at the root of the matter. You would better society! Then set to work and better its individuals; better them in the only really effectual way, by bring- ing something to their hearts which will purify, change, and exalt them. iReforms which aim only at educating, giving employment, or improving the environment will not prove a permanent cure for the terrible social degradation and misery of the people; for where vice, crime, disregard to cleanliness, and utter immorality exist, they will make chaos of your order, filthy ruin of your improved dwellings, and merely use your higher education in the per- petrating of cleverer crime and more extended mischief. Returning to the temporal side of the question, the pauperizing of the people by gifts was to be very carefully avoided, and relief in food or clothing could only be given in cases of absolute starvation or nakedness. The work be- gan in a very small and humble way in a part of East London called Hackney Wick, but it very soon spread to White- chapel, Seven Dials, and the Borough, and then out into the provincial towns of England. From a very small experi- ment developed a very large and success- ful work, which proved without doubt the effectiveness of the new measures. Many people in other denominations have also been stirred up to do like work upon their own lines by this brave example, though none of the schemes yet on foot have succeeded in reaching the people of the under-world as the army has reached them, nor do they profess to have got to the rock-bottom depth of degradation which the Slum officers have succeeded so wonderfully in reaching. At the very outset of this special branch of work I was appointed to as- sist in its oversight, hence its advance and development have always been of very special interest to me. One of Our first cases during the earliest weeks of work in Hackney Wick I think I shall never forget. One of our officers reported to me that in a cer- tain dilapidated house in a back court she had come upon a very pitiful case of poverty. I went with her to see the family. The stairs of the dwelling were so filthy and rickety that we had to walk cautiously, feeling our way with our hands along the wall for sup- port which the bannister no longer furnished. lJp two flights of stairs we came to the door of the room, and on throwing it open entered the home of a whole family. The room was very small. Exactly opposite the door was a heap of rubbish and refuse upon which lay a baby. It was absolutely without clothing, and was so dirty, that it looked gray from head to foot. It had the abnormal development of head and face so often seen in the starving children of the slums. Rest- ing on its little hands it raised its head and looked at us, and it seemed to me to be more like a little monkey than the child of human parents. Glancing SALVATION ARMY WORK IN THE SLUMS 105 from the baby to the other occupants of the room I saw a child of some two years standing by the empty hearth, for there was no trace of fire, though it was winter time. Near the child stood a young man with a despairing and consumptive look upon his face. In one corner of the room lay a few rags upon the floor, which was the bed of the family, and in the centre of the room was to me the most pitiful pict- ure of allthe mother, so dirty, de- graded, and hopeless looking that it made ones heart ache to think that she was the sister of the many fortunate women who had never stretched a hand to help her. Her garments were so torn that they did not serve as a de- cent covering, her hair was tangled and matted, and the bloated condition of her face made her look absolutely re- volting. By her was an old box serv- ing as a table, and upon it stood a lamp with a cracked and blackened chimney. She did not look up as we entered but continued her work of match-box mak- ing. Rapidly and silently she worked, passing box after box from her nimble fingers, and it seemed as if it would be impossible for us to open conversation. Guessing there was a key to her heart as sure as to that of more fortunate mothers, I picked the little baby from the floor, and sitting down amidst the rubbish, held it in my arms while I talked to her about it. She told us she had no time to wash the children, nor to wash herself for that matter, and seemed quite indifferent to any kindly words we might say to her. So kneeling down close beside her we poured out our souls in prayer in the simplest phraseology we could use to a personal friend and Saviour. When we turned to look at her we found to our joy that though she had not stopped her work, her heart had been reached, the tears were coursing down her face, and her poor husband was also weeping. Scrubbing-brushes, soap, and pails were next in order, and our sluth officers visited this family to do the scrubbing and washing which __ the mother had not time to do. No time! I do not wonder she had no timewhen you realize that she had to make twelve dozen match-boxes to re alize the sum of five cents, and out of that five cents she had to find her own paste and string, and after they were made had to carry them several weary miles to get her pay. Her husband had been out of work for weeks, and she had to support the family. The little child of two years had the day previous to our visit been dreadfully burned. There had been a fire in the grate that day and his dirty little pina- fore had caught. When we saw him he had a frightful open wound from his chest downward. This wound was dressed day after day and the children washed by the loving hands of those whom they learned to look upon as their dearest friends and nearest neigh- bors. The case was followed up for years and became a most encouraging and satisfactory one. Thus was the work conceived, com- menced, and carried forward in the Old World. But that which is of far more moment to us as American citizens is its operation in the most needy slums of our great cities. It is now five years since we began the Slum Brigade work in New York City. I had often, while engaged in other branches of army warfare, looked forward with great expectation to the time when we should be ready to ex- plore and begin operations in the heart of Slumdom, but when I broached the subject to those who had lived in the city far longer than I had, they invariably met me with the assertion that there was no such need here as in the Old World, and that the slums of America were far better in every way than those of which I spoke. Not a few among our friends and critics told me that there was really little need of such work in America, while others assured me that the measures we thought of adopt- ing would surely prove a failure. At that time the book on How the Other Half Lives~ was not written, and there was nothing like the interest manifest- ed in public print regarding the great - problems of the slums. Being determined to investigate the matter for ourselves, we selected two of our devoted and faithful workers, and sent them out to become natural- 106 SALVATION ARMY WORK IN THE SLUMS ized to the slumsif I may use the ex- pression. Taking a couple of rooms in a house of most unsavory repute and disreputable surroundings, they made it their head - quarters ; commencing their work quite unannounced as Sal- vationists, wearing the most ragged clothes, and keeping their mission a secret. The rooms they hired were so filthy that it took one whole week to scrub and disinfect them. They had been formerly occupied by women of disrepute. The neighbors (there were many families in the same house) were of the most drunken, demoralized char- acter, and the notorious Water Street houses were right in the rear of them. They had a Chinese laundry on one side of them, and a house of ill fame on the other. Their furniture consisted of one bedstead, plain deal table, an extra mattress for the floor, two chairs and a packing-case to serve as a third, and an old stove which, only having three legs, was accommodated with some bricks to serve as a fourth. A few necessaries in the way of crockery-ware, soap, scrub- bing - brushes, pails, etc., completed their worldly possessions, so that there was nothing to make watching neigh- bors think, as their furniture was un- loaded, that they were any other than the likes of us. To those who know nothing of prac- tical slum work the account of slum- ming described by some of the popular writers of the day carries very mislead- ing ideas with it. I have heard of the work of one novelist in which he describes the heroine, who takes her re- finement and sweet lady-like surround- ings into the slums with her, as decorat- ing her walls with peacocks feathers and making fragrant her room with flowers, thus offering a little oasis in the desert to her rough and illiterate neighbors. This may sound very picturesque and charming from the pen of the novelist, but were anything of that sort perpe- trated in the slums of New York it would call forth the greatest ridicule and resentment from the neighbors, who could not derive a particle of benefit from such an object - lesson. In two other books which I have in mind the novelist describes the heroine as wind- ing up amid a blaze of diamonds and orange blossoms, after her months or years experimental slumming, with her poor slum neighbors as invited guests looking on in admiration! No childs play is the life of the woman who wishes to consecrate herself to the reclaiming of the lost, and those influ- ences that make a wall or barrier between her and the fallen and unfortunate, must be abandoned forever. At the very onset of the work when the slum-workers had just settled into their new home I went down to spend a short time with them, that I might help in the work of ex- ploring, and might see for myself the need of the New York slums. My dress was an old much-worn calico wrapper out at both elbows, and hanging in tat- ters around the skirt. An apron with a very large burn in the centre, shoes which, while they were not fellows, boasted of more ventilation than was customary, and were laced with white string, while the whole costume was crowned with an ancient hat the side and crown of which had been partly demolished. ~y companions were at- tired in the same fashion, and I think I can truthfully say that the only thing about us calculated to arouse suspicion was the fact that we were clean, but fortunately this was accounted for in a very happy way by some little children as they shouted after us Thems from the country, and added sotto voce re- marks about the green- ness of our appearance. It may be naturally asked why rags and tatters were necessary in our work, hence it should be under- stood that they were merely temporary necessities, for when thoroughly ac- quainted with the needs and duties of the new battle-field, our slum officers were to work in their own name as Sal- vationists, and were to replace by neat though poor garments the rags with which they commenced. On the occa- sion of which I speak, however, we were doing detective work, and to do it successfully such disguise was neces- sary. We did not learn the needs of slumdom under the guidance of a police detective. We knew our mice too well to visit them with a bell-deco- rated cat! Every inch of the ground had to be patiently and wisely ap- proached, gained, and held without any SALVATION ARMY WORK IN THE SLUMS 107 show of fear, or any appearance of strangeness. It will be quite impossible to pict- ure here the sights and scenes I have with my own eyes witnessed, not only on this but on subsequent visits, and as I have been there but a few times, and for but a few brief hours or days, I personally have seen nothing com- pared with the large experience of our brave and ever-growing band of slum workers. I could not have believed from looking at the outside of the buildings, the terrible conditions to be found upon the inside. I can say, with- out fear of exaggeration, that I have found a state of dirt, poverty, and mis- ery quite equal to anything I have seen or heard of in the city of London. I remember one garret, for instance, in the same street as our slum quarters, hardly more than a stones throw from them. The floor was not only ingrained with dirt and grime but was rat-eaten and rotten. The windows were broken. and the holes in the miserable frame stuffed up with old rags. The low- hanging rafters were festooned with cobwebs, and the cobwebs in their turn so laden with soot that we could in agine them funeral draperies. Though it was bitterly cold winter weather, and a woman with a cancer eating out her life sat rocking in bed with only one flimsy garment to cover her, yet there was no fire in the broken old stove. The bed itself had broken down and she lay amid the ruins. The only chair in the room had no bottom to it and no back. In a little inner room, with no light or ventilation, the lodger was sleeping, while the drunken husband stood cry- ing and muttering at the foot of the dilapidated bed. No food, no fire, no comfortfilth, vermin, cold, and de- spair were all we found that day at the top of a great house which had once been some gentlemans mansion. Then there are the cellars in which you would hardly think that human beings could live, and yet there we have found them living on the cold damp floor, racked with pain, and with the constant annoyance of troops of rats running around. Even more terrible to me are the large rooms of the common lodging- houses, in which without a pretence of curtain, screen, or partition, the beds of five or six families are placed, and adults and children live together, cook- ing at one common stove, fighting, brawling, drinking, and dying, in a state of unhealthy crowding which we would not think of permitting to our domestic animals. On that first Sunday it was an appall- ing thing to inc to see an almost un- countable number of drunken people. We found them lying dead - drunk in the hallways, drunk on the stairs, and drunk in their miserable homes; one man lay drunk under the table, while three drunken women fought to- gether in the room. In another place we found two men and three women all in the violent stage of drunkenness who berated us in the most l.ively man- ner, pointing to the crucifixes upon the wall and saying that that was all the religion they wanted, and that was a great deal more religion than many of their neighbors had. These, however, are not the only haunts visited by the Slum Brigade saloons and dives being included in their every - day calling list. Several evenings a week are set aside for this much-needed field of work, and amid the whirling dance, and the obscenity and profanity of the lowest of these resorts their loving words and sweet pure voices have brought calm and hope, and a message of the better life to those who would otherwise have been unreached and uncared for. In the first experimental visits we did not go from room to room, knock- ing at the door and asking for admit- tance on the ground that we had come to read the Bible, to sing or pray with the people, nor did we take with us a bundle of tracts. Our plea was that we were looking for sick cases, which was perfectly true, and we hunted up every home, and room, and garret in which a sick baby or suffering person could be found. We explained that we had some spare time and wanted to give this spare time in caring for those we could nurse, and in the helping of our neighbors. At first the slum work- ers were regarded with suspicion, often met with absolute rebuff, but by degrees 108 SALVATION ARMY WORK IN THE SLUMS their useful, loving, patient toil was re- warded by the gaining of the confidence of the people, and open doors and wel- coming faces met them everywhere. One instance will serve to show how, though rebuffed at first, they persistent- ly won their way into the homes of their neighbors. It was at the beginning of the work in the city of Boston. They had been there so short a time that they were not known in some of the larger tenement-houses in a district known as the Cove, where they themselves lived. They were systematically calling at room after room in a big tenement- house when they happened on an open door, and stepping in they found a man trying, in a helpless way, to calm a cry- ing baby. The room was a miserable wreck, filthy and neglected, and with broken furniture. There was no fire and apparently nothing for the child to eat. In answer to their kindly ques- tions and sympathetic faces he told theni it was all his wifes fault; she was a drinking and fighting woman, that the night before she had got into a drunk- en brawl with another woman, that they had been separated by the police, and both taken to the lock-up, she hav- ing her baby in her arms at the time. He added that he could not stand his child being taken off like that, so he went and brought it from the police station. Wasting but little time in words they set to work, commenced tidying the room, lit the fire to warm the babys milk, and were just engaged in making the little thing clean and comfortable when they heard an angry voice from the door ordering them to get out. Looking up they saw a per- fect fury of a woman with dishevelled hair and blackened eyes standing on the threshold of the room, and, grasp- Pig the situation at once, they conclud- ed that the mistress of the home had returned and resented their presence. Get out of this, she screamed, get out, I tell you! I want to have nobody come into my place when Im away. As they tried kindly to explain matters to her, the husband in more than authori- tative tones told her to get out, that she should not interfere with them, and that she was the one who should not darken his threshold any more. She, however, continued to abuse and berate them in the most violent language, add- ing that she would take them both by the hair of the head and throw them down-stairs unless they vacated the room immediately. Finding it then impossi- ble to explain to her their real mission they left the room, asking her as they went if she knew of any sick cases up- stairs which they could visit. Go and find out for yourselves, was her sullen reply, as they turned their faces toward their next piece of work. Com- ing down some time later, after having cared for the wants of a bedridden and friendless old man whom they found in the attic, they discovered the father and mother gone, and the baby lying in the room alone. They started down in search of the parents, and found the mother standing on the threshold of the street-door. They took the oppor- tunity to talk with her again for a urn- ment, explaining to her how sorry they were to have caused her any annoyance or distress, and assuring her that they were really her friends, and that they would do anything to help her, gladly. Well, she said, if you are my friends prove it to me. We will most certain- ly, they answered, backing home the as- surance by an invitation to come round to their own little room and have a cup of tea with them right away. Waiting only to fetch her baby she accompanied them to their little room, and after the refreshing influences of soap and water, tea and toast, she quite melted to their kindly words and earnest pleadings. With the tears running down her face she said, Will you forgive me, will you forgive me? I did not know what sort of women you were. I bad not seen the like of such women as you, and I could not believe you were there for a good purpose. I thought you were there to take my place, and were just like all the other women round here. And then she entered into the story of her sad life, with the great bhighting curse of drink, which had ruined home after home, and brought her to the lowest verge of misery and despair. When the time caine for her to return home she told them she dared not go. Her husband had told her he would never let her darken the door of SALVATION ARMY WORK IN THE SLUMS 109 his room again, and she felt it would be as much as her life was worth to go back there. Leaving her in their roonis they went back to the husband, elicit- ing the promise from him to allow her to come in and stay if she would do better. Returning to her with the news they promised her that they would pray earnestly that he might receive her kindly, and that it might be the start- ing-point of a new life. On their visit the next morning they found the room clean and tidy, the woman meeting them with a cheerful, glad smile, exclaiming, Oh, your prayers must have something in them for my husband did not beat me, and says I am t6 stay right along. So the first seeds of peace and love took root, and this case is but one example of many hundreds which could be quot- ed from the experience of our workers. Much has been written concerning the overcrowding of the poor. In those portions of our cities which have just- ly gained for themselves the name of Slum, I must fully indorse all that I have seen written on the subject, and am sure the worst has not been told. There are tenement - houses in which some thirty and odd families reside, and when it is remembered that these families sometimes consist not only of parents and children but of other rela- tives and lodgers, the unhealthy and morally degrading conditions can bet- ter be understood. In two rooms it is quite common to find a mother and fa- ther, grown sons and daughters, and little children, with only two beds for the family, while the rest will be upon the floor or wherever they can sleep. In one case our officers found in two very tiny rooms a man and wife and son, the son sleeping in a mere cupboard of a room, and his mother acknowledged that she had let out half his bed to a couple of lodgers. The demoralizing influence on the little children is one of the saddest phases of this overcrowding. The woes endured and wrongs done to babyhood in the slums can never be written and will never be known until the revelations of eternity. Yet, among all their dirty, miserable surroundings, poverty, and crime, there is no more interesting place to study humanity than in this underworld of misfortune and sorrow. Little rays of generosity, gallantry, honor, and neighborly sym- pathy are constantly flashing out from hearts that you would consider totally hardened. Many of those whom you might think were debased and ig- norant surprise you with their sharp wit, and the way in which they see through matters would often deceive more fortunate humanity. The tough of New York City, though he may be desperate and dangerous, cannot be looked upon as a senseless, degraded sot. He is quick-witted, full of life, fun, and energy, and makes as good a friend and defender as he does a bitter enemy and persecutor. In contrasting the denizens of the Old World slums with those of the New, I should say that the brain capacity, wit, and spirit of the people is far in the ascendancy here, while the crime and desperateness for evil may be addition- ally strong. Again, it should be re- membered that in some cities the slums are exceedingly cosmopolitan. This is particularly so in New York City and the city of Chicago. To meet this difficulty we have in our Slum Brigade representatives of all the different na- tionalities, French, German, Swedish, Norwegian, Danish, Irish, Italian, and American, which enables our workers to reach many who could not possibly be reached, and dealt with in other than their own language. The work which began in New York City has not only spread to four differ- ent localities of that city, but has now branched out to Brooklyn, Boston, Buffalo, Philadelphia, Chicago, and St. Louis, and in all these different centres is being carried on, with the same de- votion, whole - heartedness, and com- mon-sense practical tact which has won for it the esteem and affection of the peo- ple of the New York slums. We find that each city has its peculiarity and its special phase of difficulty. Whereas the slums of New York may be worse in extent, in the crowding of population, and in their cosmopolitan character, yet the slums of Philadelphia are even more deplorable in some respects. The sanitary condition of the Philadelphia slums is simply appalling; the officers 110 SALVATION ARMY WORK IN THE SLUMS tell me that it has been a common thing for them to see the drainage run- ning down the gutters of the city. The houses, through not being constructed for tenements, add another difficulty. In a house in which perhaps five or six families live, the stairs go through each dwelling-room, hence the family at the - top has to pass through the quarters of each of the other families on the way to their own room. This makes the publicity of their life greater and as a consequence, immorality is in creased. The slums in the city of Boston are in a much smaller area, and yet some of the most frightful cases ever reported to us come from that city. One which made a great deal of stir at the time in the daily press was a case discovered by our girls of a woman in a dying condi- tion. The poor creature lay upon the floor, having received no food or atten- tion for several days. She was too weak to call for help and could only ask them in a whisper for a drink of water. Not a particle of food was found in the cup- board, and the room was utterly with- out furniture, while in one corner a dozen empty whiskey bottles spoke of that which had wrought the ruin. In such a terrible condition of filth and corruption was the poor woman, that when they tried to lift her they found it impossible to do so, and had to re- turn to their rooms to reinforce them- selves with disinfectants to make the process of washing the poor body pos- sible. She died some hours afterward in the hospital, but a great sensation was caused in the neighborhood from the fact that such a horrible case could exist unheeded, and unqualified praise was given to the army workers who had proved so willing to face the most repulsive task of rendering her help. In writing to me of this case, one of the brave girls closed with these words Oh, I shall never again need spurring to go out after the lost. I thank God more than ever that I am a Slummer. After yesterday I can never be any- thing else. It would be impossible to describe in detail all the toil, sacrifice, and suf- fering which this work entails upon the workers, or the brave heroism and love with which they accomplish it. They are not salaried workers, and could in no sense be called hirelings, for each one has volunteered simply and solely out of a burning desire to seek and bless these unloved, helpless outcasts. This fact helps them much, as this class is only too quick to inquire if you are paid to do it. Perhaps the duty which absorbs the greatest part of their time is that which we call visitation proper, viz., the sys- tematic house - to - house and room - to - room visitation of all the worst homes in their neighborhood. During the last six months 15,782 families were thus visited. A visit does not mean a mere pastoral call, but often means the spending of several hours in practical work. Sometimes it includes a whole night of patient nursing. It brings with it very often hard and difficult work in the way of scrubbing, cleaning, disinfecting. No one has the slightest idea who has not visited the slums of the terrible extent to which they are infested with vermin. For women brought up in very different circum- stances and accustomed to absolute cleanliness, the self-sacrifice which this alone entails can be really understood. So it has been accepted in the slums that we can be called upon at any moment of day or night for help in emergency; that we are turned to more readily than we had hoped in our most sanguine dreams. In sickness it is our duty to call in the doctor or to send for the ambulance, for they often run to us as their first resort. In drunken rows and murderous brawls the Army girls are more readily turned to by their rough neighbors than the police, and their infiutence is often more effectual. In cases of destitution and starvation found out casually by their neighbors, they are naturally consulted as to the best means of bringing help in the readi- est and most practical manner, without the awkward and sometimes fatal delays of a red-tape system of reliefbecause they are right on the ground and know and understand the needs and deserts of such cases. One morning a knock was heard at the door and two young toughs of the neighborhood asked the Slum Sisters to visit some women who were SALVATION ARMY WORK IN THE SLUMS 111 very sick in a street close by. They promptly consented, though they thought perhaps the boys were up to some fun or mischief. They found, however, on going to the number given that the case was a genuine one. The stairway was so dark that they had to grope and literally crawl up. They found a small, miserably dirty room. It was raw and cold, for it was early spring time. A poor fire was smoulder- ing in the grate. It had been lit by the toughs, who beneath their rude exte- rior had warm, kindly hearts. In a bed, the coverings of which were very dirty, sat a poor old woman, helpless and sick. They found that no one had been to help or minister to her, and that for some days she had been too sick to leave the bed and care for herself. They were surprised at the patience and meekness of the weak voice that answered them as they spoke kindly to her. She told them she had been unable to get out of bed for a week, but that mother had been sick much longer, and as she spoke she called out, Mother! Something began to move beneath the pile. of rags that served as bed - clothes, and then out came a claw-like, grimy hand, and mov- ing the sheets they saw a gaunt, white face, with a few straggling white hairs. It was the aged mother, dying of want and neglect. She had lain on the mat- tress so long in one position that it had worn into a deep hole ; the slats had given way and she had sunk through with it. They had literally (after help- ing her ~laughter from the bed) to lift her out of this hole. The uncared-for condition revealed was terrible. No one had washed her, and she had been unable for weeks to wash herself. In such a case, of course, clean sheets have to be furnished, clothing, common though clean, has to be given, and then food, which is often the first tasted in days, is served by the hands that have lovingly prepared it. This woman died a few days after being found, and her daughter was taken to the hospital in a hopeless condition. The visits paid in saloons and dives are naturally of a different character. There it has to be personal, dealing face to face with the people upon the dan- ger of their wild lives, and the sorrow and misery that is coming to them. Sometimes it has to be very straight and earnest talk to some drunken man. At others gentle, affectionate pleading with some poor outcast girl, down whose painted cheeks the tears of bit- ter remorse fall, as the word hope is brought home to an almost hopeless heart. In many of the places thus visited, no other Christian workers would be admitted, and were they ad- mitted they would indeed feel strange. Our women work entirely without es- cort, and this very fact appeals to the spark of gallantry in the hearts of those rough, hardened men, and if anyone dared to lay a finger upon the Slum Sisters, or say an insulting word to them, champions would arise on every hand to defend them, and fight their battles for them. Twenty-one thousand eight hundred and eleven visits have been made in saloons and dives during six months, and these visits are often lengthened into prayer-meetings, which include singing and speaking, to a more interesting congregation, and certainly a more needy one, than can be found within the walls of many a church. The practical good, the changed lives, the wonderful cases of conversion re- sulting from this work a thousand- fold repays them for the facing of such revolting scenes of debauchery and drunkenness as must be witnessed. Street work is another phase of their mission which needs courage and a great deal of tact. In this they deal with the people whom they have not found within the saloons, and could not find in their homes, many of them being sailors and members of the float- ing population, who can be more readily reached on the streets than anywhere ~else, especially when it is remembered that some of them have no lodging- places and make the streets their home. They are talked to in a friendly and yet very practical way during Lhe even- ing hours, when there is a great deal of street lounging, and the opportunity offers. Forty thousand three hundred persons have been thus dealt with, and in many instances have been followed up to their homes, where the deeper 112 SALVATION ARMY WORK IN THE SLUMS work has been done in their hearts, and their lives transformed in conse- quence. Yet another means of reaching these people is the gathering of them into our halls or meeting - places. Meet- ings are not opened until the other work has been some time in existence in a slum district; and then when well known through their visitation, saloon work, and nursing, the slum officers hire a small hall, right among their neighbors, and invite them into it for the army meetings. The officers still wear their slum uniform, and these meetings are led by the same women who do the visitation and other work. The audiences are chiefly composed of men, very often young men such a~s form the toughest gangs in down-town sections of the cities, an exceedingly in- teresting and needy audience, sharp and quick to catch the point in any- thing said and ready to detect instantly anything affected or insincere. To talk to such an audience would be a splen- did training and a profound revelation to any preacher of the Gospel to-day if we could bring him upon our platform on a Sunday night. The bright, lively songs of the Salvation Army, the ever- changing phaces of the meetings, and the thorough bond of sympathy between the speakers on the platform and the roughs in the hall, make these meetings a source of great power and interest. Of course, there are occasionally fights among the audience, chairs are upset every now and then, windows are brok- en, a constant fire of remarks is carried on, and a great many exceedingly amus- ing as well as tragic events take place (mere incidents of war to the slum officer), and yet through it all a deep, powerful wave of influence carries into the hearts of the people the sincerity and truth of things spiritual. Those who have come out, and through our penitent form joined the ranks of the Salvation Army and become soldiers in the slums, do so almost at the risk of their lives, and we have already had one martyr. Some have confessed crimes, even the crime of murder, at our peni- tent forms, and have been willing to rise up, go out, and make restitution for the wrong committed, even {o the giving themselves into the hands of the authorities. Collections are taken up right among the poor themselves in these meetings, and they almost always amount to suffi- cient during the month to pay the hall rents. We believe, as far as possible, in making them feel an interest and responsibility in such matters, and we find enough pride and independence on their part to make them shoulder it gladly, and take a real interest in the financing of such work. In one city where meetings were begun recently, on one of the first nights we had an au- dience of thirty-two people and every individual in the audience was drunk. This will show the need, and also de- monstrate the fact that it requires some tact and wisdom to deal with such peo- plc effectually. Very touching are some of the sto- ries of the help given to the army by these people of the slums. It is the custom with us to set aside one week in the year as a week of self-denial, in which all Salvationists deny themselves something by which they can save money, and send it into one common fund for the helping forward and main- tenance of the work. In this our boys, aswe call them, have helped nobly, even before their conversion. During the last self-denial week in the slums of New York $100 was raised, and, in some instances, the unconverted men, even, saved their beer - money for the week and handed it over. An interesting case of conversion took place in one of these meetings a little while ago, the man being a hard- ened drunkard. In testifying after- ward he gave as a reason for his first atten dance at army meetings, the fact that he had stood at the door of a sa- loon right opposite our Day Nursery, and watched the little children swing- ing in front of the brightly curtained windows, and he said, in his own lan- guage, Boys, I had never seen babies treated like that before, and I felt there must be some good in tbe women who did it, so I just came to see what made them so good. This nursery work is one which is having a deep reflex influ- ence on the lives and hearts of the pop- ulation in their neighborhood, as well SALVAT/ON ARMY WORK IN THE SLUMS 113 as proving a great blessing to the little ones who are taken in out of their mis- erable homes and lodging-houses and safely cared for during the day. Our idea in starting the Nursery (and it was the first day nursery in the down-town slums of New York) was to take these little ones during the day from their tired and hard - worked mothers, so as to enable the mothers to gain an honest living, and yet to shelter the poor little ones from the misfortunes and dangers that await them if their mothers go to work leaving them behind. I shall never forget one pitiful little child who used to be locked in a room without food and without care or com- panionship, while his mother went out for the whole day. This child, not yet able to walk or talk, used to crawl about on the dirty floor, wailing pitifully with hunger, and yet hurrying away under the bed or table in abject terror when his mother came in. The Slum Sisters at times called when the mother was out, and found the door locked; they knocked upon it, and the little one would come and coo to them through the door. The misery of little children cannot be described or imagined, and yet there is worse still. Little ones have been brought to us whose poor little bodies have been black and blue from head to foot from the blows and ill-treatment they have received. Tiny girls under two years of age have been brought to our nursery, having been so maltreated that it would have been better had the villains into whose hands they had fall- en murdered them outright. Cases of drunkenness in mere babies have also made our hearts ache children who had not only inherited the terrible taint, or been nursed by drinking moth- ers, but who had had the spirits poured down their little throats to still them when crying, so that they lived almost always in a state of torpor and their death was only a matter of time. In such cases we can only look upon the death angel as an angel of light! In some instances, by the taking of the little children into this nursery, we have saved young women from the easy yet un- speakably wretched life of the streets. Finding themselves mere weak girls with the burden of a little life to sup- port, they have stood face to face with the problem of how to live when they have almost wished that it were easy to die. On one hand all avenues for honest work have seemed closed, while on the other an easy way to make money, and plenty of it, has been opened out before theni. One young girl of seventeen brought her baby to us. She had had no home for the last six weeks (since her childs birth), and yet she clung with a desperate love to the little creature, and it was an unspeakable comfort to her to come and fetch it every night, and take it to the little home she was able then to provide for it by the earnings of her hard days work. The nursery is not furnished with elegant brass - bound cots, but is in keeping with all the other furnishings in our slum work. As we began the nursery so have we kept it on the same lines of neighborly help, keeping care- fully from it anything that might speak of wealthy outside patrons and help, which would lead the people to feel that they could impose upon us, or abandon their children upon our hands. The cribs are soap - boxes furnished with a comfortable little mattress, clean sheets, and blankets, ornamented with a barrel- stave which is cleverly contrived as an awning, over which mosquito - netting is hung. Swings, accommodating the babies old enough to occupy them, baby-creepers, and rocking-horses, and toys of all sorts (some sent from the nurseries of the more fortunate) are used for the little ones, and in fine weather they are taken on to the Brook- lyn Bridge, or on trips on the horse-cars to breathe some fresher air than that which they are accustomed to. Babies from the earliest age up to three years, in every possible stage of babyhood, can be found there. They are provided with clean clothing, are given a bath (very often the only baths they ever re- ceive in their little lives), and good food, with plenty of motherly love and tender, gentle nursing, which is per- haps more to these tiny starved hearts than is the food even to the little hun- gry bodies. Two thousand three hun- dred and forty little children have been 114 SUNSET cared for in the New York City cr~che during the last six months. In cities where the slum nurseries have not yet been opened, a great deal is done for the little ones in their own homes. In Chicago, a family was discovered where the mother had six little ones, and her husband was in jail. The room in which she lived was so in- fested with rats that she had to carry her children up to the roof to sleep with them there; and when the winter came and she could no longer do so, she had to sit up all night to drive the rats off. The little garments which were given to the children by our slum officers she with tears showed them one morning had been literally eaten to pieces by the rats. Not only were our officers able to clothe and care for these little ones, but they succeeded in getting the whole family into suitable lodgings and obtained work for the parents. During the last six months 6,402 garments have been wisely given to absolutely needy cases, and food has been cooked by the slum workers and given out in 12,405 meals during the same period. Not only do they thus minister to the people in life, but they are constantly called to watch with the dying and to perform the last acts of care for the dead. In contrast to these duties are the many calls to come and lend their loving care as frail little beings are ushered into life. The support of this work is not cost- ly when compared with the amount of good accomplished. Nothing is ex- pended in buildings, offices, high sala- ries, or indeed in any way that would use the money before it could reach the actual object for which it was given. The expenses connected with the slum work are the bare necessaries of the workers existence in simple food and clothing, and the rental of their humble rooms. This is contributed by friends (sometimes by strangers) who hear of the work; and (as I said before) help in the rentals of meeting-places in the slum districts is collected from the peo- ple themselves. Of the work accom- plished much will never be known or chronicled. As the gnarled and ungainly oyster- shells from the mud and ooze of the sea-bottom are forced to yield up to the earnest seeker their priceless pearls, so from the midst of the darkness and degradation of the slums purified and precious gems will be gathered, and those who toiled and found shall be among the blessed and the rich of Heaven. SUNSET By Josephine Preston Peabody THERE in the west, a dying rose Burns out its life ; and the petals red, Fallen apart From the golden heart, Fade iiito ashes about itdead. One rose less in my garden grows; Lo, the unresting Wind, that blows Round the whole earth from sea to sea, Gathers the one rose more from me. Keep it,Eternity.

Josephine Preston Peabody Peabody, Josephine Preston Sunset 114-115

114 SUNSET cared for in the New York City cr~che during the last six months. In cities where the slum nurseries have not yet been opened, a great deal is done for the little ones in their own homes. In Chicago, a family was discovered where the mother had six little ones, and her husband was in jail. The room in which she lived was so in- fested with rats that she had to carry her children up to the roof to sleep with them there; and when the winter came and she could no longer do so, she had to sit up all night to drive the rats off. The little garments which were given to the children by our slum officers she with tears showed them one morning had been literally eaten to pieces by the rats. Not only were our officers able to clothe and care for these little ones, but they succeeded in getting the whole family into suitable lodgings and obtained work for the parents. During the last six months 6,402 garments have been wisely given to absolutely needy cases, and food has been cooked by the slum workers and given out in 12,405 meals during the same period. Not only do they thus minister to the people in life, but they are constantly called to watch with the dying and to perform the last acts of care for the dead. In contrast to these duties are the many calls to come and lend their loving care as frail little beings are ushered into life. The support of this work is not cost- ly when compared with the amount of good accomplished. Nothing is ex- pended in buildings, offices, high sala- ries, or indeed in any way that would use the money before it could reach the actual object for which it was given. The expenses connected with the slum work are the bare necessaries of the workers existence in simple food and clothing, and the rental of their humble rooms. This is contributed by friends (sometimes by strangers) who hear of the work; and (as I said before) help in the rentals of meeting-places in the slum districts is collected from the peo- ple themselves. Of the work accom- plished much will never be known or chronicled. As the gnarled and ungainly oyster- shells from the mud and ooze of the sea-bottom are forced to yield up to the earnest seeker their priceless pearls, so from the midst of the darkness and degradation of the slums purified and precious gems will be gathered, and those who toiled and found shall be among the blessed and the rich of Heaven. SUNSET By Josephine Preston Peabody THERE in the west, a dying rose Burns out its life ; and the petals red, Fallen apart From the golden heart, Fade iiito ashes about itdead. One rose less in my garden grows; Lo, the unresting Wind, that blows Round the whole earth from sea to sea, Gathers the one rose more from me. Keep it,Eternity. K GOOD TASTE AN ADDRESS DELIVERED AT A PLACE OF SECONDARY EDUCATION IN ENGLAND By Augustine Birrell WE meet here to-night in a great centre of mid die - class educa- tion. As I breathe the words I am constrained to sigh. Those poor, dear middle classes, to which I am afraid most of us belong, how we have been hec- tored and lectured and bullied and ad- jured to mend our clumsy ways, and to get out of our holes and corners, and how piously have we turned both cheeks to the smiter! Instead of stoning the prophets who have abused us, after the intelligible, though reprehensible fash- ion of the Israelites, these very prophets have long been our favorite authors. Photographs of them, turning up their critical noses at the middle classes, adorn, or, at all events, are upon, our writing - tables. We, and we alone, when you come to think of it, took tickets for those lectures. We, and we alone, bought those books. Without us these prophets must have perished in their pride. We have earned the reward of humble and docile spirits. Our worst enemy cannot deny that we have enormously improved both in taste and manners. Our horizons are wide. We seek excel- lence wherever we can find iteven, and not in vain, in Dr. Ibsen. The igno- rance, inattention, prejudice, rashness, levity, obstinacy, which so unhappily used to characterize our judgments, arewhat shall I say ?in course of A removal. Our libraries, our walls, the things we have about us, all testify to an awakened conscience, if not to a wholly purified taste. We are still exposed to ridicule. Somehow we are not general favorites. The barbarians, as Mr. Arnold used to call our nobility, do not understand our desire for polite learning, and shame- fully misconstrue our well-known par- tiality for university extension lectures. The emancipated litt& ateurs, xvho every week expound to us the principles of taste as they are understood in the ateliers of Paris, are forever making fun of the one solitary shred of Pun- tanisin that still clings to our garments I mean our desperate conviction that even art should be decent. As for the working-man, he has got it firmly rooted in his head that, whoever else he is going to be like in the future (and as to this he has not quite made up his mind), he means to be as little like us as our common humanity will let him. Ladies and gentlemen, let us face the situation. It seems generally admitted that what is called the future does not belong to the middle classes. To whom it does belong is uncertain, but it is not ours. I must say this seems just a little hard. Here we have been all these years polishing and furbishing ourselves up, kissing the rod, submitting to every sort of rebuke from all kinds of unqualified persons, attending countless lectures, filling endless note-books, and thereby qualifying ourselves to play a great part in a highly educated state, only to be told as we emerge breathless, but triumphant, the finished article, that we are fussy futilities, played-out platitudinarians, whose ideas have long since ceased to

Augustine Birrell Birrell, Augustine Good Taste - An Address Delivered At A Place Of Secondary Education In England 115-121

K GOOD TASTE AN ADDRESS DELIVERED AT A PLACE OF SECONDARY EDUCATION IN ENGLAND By Augustine Birrell WE meet here to-night in a great centre of mid die - class educa- tion. As I breathe the words I am constrained to sigh. Those poor, dear middle classes, to which I am afraid most of us belong, how we have been hec- tored and lectured and bullied and ad- jured to mend our clumsy ways, and to get out of our holes and corners, and how piously have we turned both cheeks to the smiter! Instead of stoning the prophets who have abused us, after the intelligible, though reprehensible fash- ion of the Israelites, these very prophets have long been our favorite authors. Photographs of them, turning up their critical noses at the middle classes, adorn, or, at all events, are upon, our writing - tables. We, and we alone, when you come to think of it, took tickets for those lectures. We, and we alone, bought those books. Without us these prophets must have perished in their pride. We have earned the reward of humble and docile spirits. Our worst enemy cannot deny that we have enormously improved both in taste and manners. Our horizons are wide. We seek excel- lence wherever we can find iteven, and not in vain, in Dr. Ibsen. The igno- rance, inattention, prejudice, rashness, levity, obstinacy, which so unhappily used to characterize our judgments, arewhat shall I say ?in course of A removal. Our libraries, our walls, the things we have about us, all testify to an awakened conscience, if not to a wholly purified taste. We are still exposed to ridicule. Somehow we are not general favorites. The barbarians, as Mr. Arnold used to call our nobility, do not understand our desire for polite learning, and shame- fully misconstrue our well-known par- tiality for university extension lectures. The emancipated litt& ateurs, xvho every week expound to us the principles of taste as they are understood in the ateliers of Paris, are forever making fun of the one solitary shred of Pun- tanisin that still clings to our garments I mean our desperate conviction that even art should be decent. As for the working-man, he has got it firmly rooted in his head that, whoever else he is going to be like in the future (and as to this he has not quite made up his mind), he means to be as little like us as our common humanity will let him. Ladies and gentlemen, let us face the situation. It seems generally admitted that what is called the future does not belong to the middle classes. To whom it does belong is uncertain, but it is not ours. I must say this seems just a little hard. Here we have been all these years polishing and furbishing ourselves up, kissing the rod, submitting to every sort of rebuke from all kinds of unqualified persons, attending countless lectures, filling endless note-books, and thereby qualifying ourselves to play a great part in a highly educated state, only to be told as we emerge breathless, but triumphant, the finished article, that we are fussy futilities, played-out platitudinarians, whose ideas have long since ceased to 116 GOOD TASTE fructify, and whose ideals wholly fail to satisfy the aspirations of the millions who teem around us. It may very well prove to be so, and, if it must be so, why, so be it. I decline to be the champion of any class, en- tertaining, as I shall continue to do, the larger hope that the future will be found to be the property of all men and women alike who have unselfishly striven to help forward the accomplishment of the vast task of the future, the equitable distribution of wealth, both material and spiritual, over the whole area of society. But to return to that sad, sad subject ourselves. Even if we are moribund our duty remains clear. The great ac- tor, Kean, when smitten with mortal illness, declared it to be his intention to devote his last days to polishing up his Richard III. We are cast in a nobler part. Let us die as we have lived, studiously endeavoring to improve our- selves. This confronts me with my subject. I am not here to affirm what is the great end and aim of education. It may well be I do not knowit is cer- tain I could not compel you to believe me. I am here merely to say that the best fruit of a good school and college education is the possession of taste. Were I to use the word education in its widest sense, as meaning the education or discipline of life, then, of course, a good and strong character is its best fruit ; and I am not going to deny that a good man may have bad taste in litera- ture and art, and a bad man good taste. What is taste? The melancholy ten- dency of words to become depraved and vitiated in meaning has often been no- ticed. Taste has suffered in this way, and has lost tone. It has become as- sociated with old chairs and tables. A young married woman who contrives, by the adroit adjustment of Japanese screens, to turn her respectable draw- ing-room, twenty-four feet by sixteen, into something not unlike the Maze at Hampton Court, is declared to have wonderful taste, but hers is not the taste to which I am referring. Let me give you three definitions the first Burkes, the second Carlyles, the third Schopenhaners. In his treatise on the Sublime and Beautiful, which it is the stupid fashion not to read, Burke writes: I mean by the word taste no more than that fac- ulty or those faculties of the mind which are affected with, or form, a judg- ment of the works of the imagination and the elegant arts. The cause of a wrong taste is a defect of judgment, and this may arise from a weakness of the understanding, or, which is much more commonly the case, it may arise from a want of proper and well-directed exer- cise, which alone can make it strong and ready. . . . It is known that the taste is improved, exactly as we improve our judgment, by extending our knowledge, by a steady attention to our object, and by frequent exercise; they who have not taken these methods, if their taste de- cides quickly, it is always uncertainly, and their quickness is owing to their presumption and rashness, and not to any hidden irradiation that in a moment dispels all darkness from their minds. The passage from Carlyle runs as fol- lows: Taste, if it means anything hut a paltry connoisseurship, must mean general susceptibility to truth and no- bleness; a sense to discern and a heart to love and reverence all beauty, order, goodness, wheresoever or in whatsoever forms and accomplishments they are to be seen. This is Schopenhauers definition: Taste consists in a capacity of recep- tionthat is to say, of recognizing as such what is right, fit, beautiful, or the reverse ; in other words, of descrim- mating the good from the bad. To these I would add, did time per- mit, the whole of Sir Joshua Reynoldss Seventh Discourse, but time does not permit and I hurry on. Speaking for myself, I could wish for nothing better, apart from moral worth, than to he the owner of a taste at once manly, refined, and unaffected, which should enable me to appreciate real ex- cellence in literature and art, and to depreciate bad intentions and feeble ex- ecution wherever I saw them. To be always in the right must be supreme satisfaction. To be forever alive to merit, in poem or in picture, in statue or in bust; to be able to distinguish, as if by instinct, between the grand, the & GOOD TASTE 117 grandiose, and the merely bumptious; about the subject on whi~ you propose to perceive the boundary between the to deliver judgment, and this prelimi- simplicity which is divine and that nary knowledge is best gained by the which is ridiculous; between gorgeous careful study of the great models of rhetoric and vulgar ornamentation; be- perfection existing in the subject you tween pure and manly English, meant are dealing with. As to what these to be spoken or read, and sugared models are, there is no real dispute. It phrases which seem intended, like lolli- is said de gastibu8 non est disp utanduni, pops, for suction; to feel yourself going meaning thereby that there is no chance out in joyful admiration for that which of agreement on such subjects, that the is noble and permanent, and freezing jury must be discharged in short, inwardly against whatever is preten- tastes differ. The saying is charac- tious, wire-drawn, and temporarythis terized by the usual untruthfulness of is indeed to taste of the fruit of the tree, proverbs; for a good thumping lie, once forbidden, of the knowledge of recommend me to a proverb. As a good and evil. How are we to set matter of fact, there is less difference of about getting taste? You have, I am opinion amongst qualified persons on sure, heard the story of Dr. Thompson, questions of taste than on any other the late Master of Trinity College, Cam- kind of question. Burke has pointed bridge, who, on being asked whether a out that there is more general accord certain Fellow had not a great deal of on the merits of any particular passage taste, replied, Yes, a great deal, all in Virgil than as to the truth of any prop- bad. The taste we are in search of is osition in Aristotle. There are some good taste. things which are indisputable. We are Bad taste comes by nature, and good miserable sinners, that is certain; the by taking thought. To go wrong is tiger and the ape still spring and swing natural, to go right is discipline. Labo- within us; but in spite of that, and by rare et orare should be the motto of virtue of something ordained or suffered everyone who desires to cultivate the for the human race, we are capable, if faculties of taste, which, it must be re- rightly trained, of perceiving the differ- membered, are judicial faculties, and ence and maintaining the distinction involve passing judgment upon human between things great and things little. achievements. There is a hateful ex- Some of our judgments are irreversible, pression one frequently hears, unaided and our first studies should be of those intelligence. There is such a thing, things which sana mens omrdum homi- and usually it might be better named nu~n attest atur, and which therefore impudent ignorance. A stupid but stand on high, never to be pulled down. learned judge is far less harmful to the The remoter these things are from our community than a clever ignoramus. As immediate environment the better they between man and man, both judges will are suited to be studied line by line, probably do a vast deal of injustice, but and in an atmosphere free from per- whilst the learned fool will only err in sonal elements. Homer, Virgil, Dante the application of principles he leaves are better models of style and diction untouched, the clever ignoramus would than any of our own poets, for this rea- in five years, were the Court of Appeal son, if for no other, that we are corn- to let him alone, let loose upon us the pelled by what I may compendiously, foundations of the great deep. though feelingly, describe as the sur- Good taste, we may be certain, is only rounding difficulties, to study them attainable by the exercise of the mind, with a severity of purpose and accuracy by study, by thought. Healthy exercise of mind we might be unwilling to bestow for mind and body, that is our ceaseless upon Shakespeare and Milton, or even cry. This is why we attend lectures on Spenser or Chaucer. and ride on bicycles, and do many other That we waste a good deal of time strange things. over Greek and Latin is very likely, but What is the kind of mental exercise we ought to remember that we are not most likely to cultivate taste? Well, taught those languages in order to write first of all you must know something commercial letters in them about con- VOL. XVIL11 118 GOOD TASTE who never shed a tear over a gradus, or were called upon to construe a verse of Horace. John Keats knew no Greek; John Bright never read Virgil, and yet the Ode on a Grecian Urn and the speeches made during the American War are classicspure, beautiful, re- strained, noble, all that poetry or speech can be. But we are not con- cerned with these vagaries. We deal with the average man. Our task is the consideration of how best to educate our own critical faculties. Keats was a resplendent genius (here is a difference on the very threshold) ; be was also a painstaking student; had he been taught Greek at school he would have purified his diction earlier than he did. John Bright took immense trouble, and, like all true orators, was far more taken up with the turn of his sentences than with the truth of his facts. Had he known Virgil he would have loved Mil- ton none the less, and would have for- borne to praise the poems of Mrs. Janet Hamilton and some others. It does not matter, says Hans An- dersen, in the story of the Ugly Duck- ling, being hatched in a duck-yard if you were first laid in a swans egg, but I am assuming that we have not only been hatched in a duck-yard, but like- wise laid in a ducks egg, and I am con- sidering how best we may become, not beautiful swans, which ex hypothesi is impossible, but ducks of good taste and sound amsthetic principle. Next to the accurate study of some of the great models of perfection I place an easy, friendly, and not necessarily a very accurate acquaintance with at least one other modern European language, and if it is to be but one let it be French. The Lion and the Unicorn look very well in our national coat-of- armsbest of all, perhaps, swinging on an elm in front of some ancient but still licensed hostlerybut they are wofully out of place in criticism. Yet it is very dif- ficult to get the lion and the unicorn out of an Englishmans head, or to persuade him to believe that his own way of look- ing at things is not the only way, nor always the best. A very slight acquaint- species. ance with French literature and art is It is also true that there have been sufficient, I will not say to nip this poets and prosemen of fame and lustre error in the bud, but at least to vane- signments of greek wine or baskets of Neapolitan figs, but to purify the springs of taste, to awaken in the caverns of the mind the echoes of perfection, to plant as seedlings in the breast those conceptions of grandeur, dignity, grace, movement, and felicity, which, growing with our growth, may accompany us to the grave, and so possibly prevent us spending all our days admiring the worthless and extolling the conimon- place. Not one boy in a thousand becomes a scholar in the strict sense of the word, but the place of Homer, of Virgil, of Horace in our educational system does not depend upon the out-put of schol- ars. These great masters play the same part in our ai~sthetic education as does the Matterhorn, even to the man who never gets beyond the first hut. The rapture of the summit is not for that rudimentary mountaineer, who will, nevertheless, carry down with him into the valleys the knowledge of what a mountain is. No mole-hill need in fut- ure ever hope to palm itself off upon him as a member of the great race; that traveller will know better. So, too,he who has once caught the clear accents, learnt the great language of a true master of poetic diction, though his scholarship may be unripe, is not likely to be found wallowing among the pot- sherds, or, decked out with vulgar fair- ings, following in the wake of some noisy charlatan in his twenty-fifth edition. I know names can be cited against meI could cite them myself, but-po- liteness restrains meof men who have plundered the schools of their honors, who, once at least, knew Homer and Virgil by heart (when there was some- thing to be got out of them), who have studied the best all their lives, and who yet remain the easy prey. the ready victims of every kind of literary bar- barity, and are as incapable of distin- guishing between grandeur and rhodo- montade, between pathos and hysteric blubbering, as a rhinoceros. It is ter- rible that this should be so, but we must never let the incorrigibility of the individual destroy our faith in the GOOD TASTE gate the hue of the flower. To see the excellence of foreign methods and achievements, whether those of Balzac or Hugo, of Millet or Corot, of Got or Coquelin, is in itself an education of the critical faculties, opening our eyes and increasing our just demands. Mr. William Watson, a poet of considerable critical sagacity, has a spirited sonnet, On Exaggerated Deference to Foreign Literary Opinion~~ in which he main- tains that there is no good reason why we should doubt of our own greatness till it bears the signet of your Goethes or Voltaires. Mr. Watson is quite right; but though it is a small matter what Voltaire thought of us, it matters a good deal what we think of Voltaire. Lastly, and confining myself, as per- haps I have done all through, to liter- ary matters, I would urge upon the young people I see before me to form the habit of reading books of sound and sensible reputation. Do not be driven off the beaten track by jokes about Books without which no gentleman~s library is complete. Because the gen- tlemen of the press have not time to read these books, and, like Lord Fopping- ton, prefer the sprouts of their own brain, is no reason why you should not read them. Your brains, perhaps, are not of the sprouting kind, and where will you be then? The best wines do not effervesce, and to bubble and spar- kle are not the highest qualities of lit- erature. Nowadays, unless an author goes off with a pop, nobody orders him. This is a pity, for, depend upon it, in literature as in life Wisdom is justified of her children. It is only from wise and sensible people we can really learn anything, except, indeed, what to avoid, and there can be no true taste without superior knowledge. To take a single example: There is Hallams Introduction to the Litera- ture of Europe during the Fifteenth, Sixteenth, and Seventeenth Centuries, a sober, sensible, learned work, but not effervescent. It is falling into disrepute, and if you ask why, you will probably be told by some young exquisite, who has never read it, that its author must have A been a blockhead because he did not suf- ficiently admire Shakespeares sonnets, and calls them remarkable productions, 119 and goes so far as to wish Shakespeare had never written them. To display temper on such a subject is ridiculous. Replace Hallam, if you can, by a writer of equal learning and better judgment; but, till you have done so, the English student who wishes to get a general ac- quaintance with the course of European literature, will not do wrong to devote a few hours a week to the careful read- ing of this book, even though it does not bubble or sparkle. For the same kind of reason we should cultivate the habit of reading authors famous for the clearness of their styles, even though they are not, nowadays, reckoned profound or poeti- cal. I mean writers like Dr. South, Sir William Blackstone (as he wrote his Commentaries himself, not the mingle- mangle of subsequent editors). I dont mean we should prefer these authors to Jeremy Taylor, Sir Thomas Browne, De Quincey, or IRuskin. All I say is, dont forget that, other things being equal, without prejudice, for you may safeguard the terrible proposition as much as you please, clear, breezy common-sense and lucidity of expres- sion are excellent and enduring quali- ties in literature. We have now got thus far, the faculties of taste are ac- quired by exercising the mind, and first by the acquisition of lcnowledge, without which there can be no true taste. There are all sorts of ways of acquiring this knowledge, but I have suggested that, for people of only average susceptibil- ity, there is no better way than the careful study of the admitted models of perfection, and that for this purpose the antique models are better than the modern. To correct the infirmity of a purely national point of view, I have pointed out the wisdom of acquiring an easy acquaintance with at least one modern language, while in order to preserve sanity and clear-headedness I have advised the frequent reading of sound, sensible books. There is, of course, another kind of mental exercise necessary for the for- mation of taste, but it needs no time spent upon it. I mean the actual pro- cess of making comparisons. This we are always doing. We cannot help it. We are constantly delivering judg 120 GOOD TASTE ments. Fortunately we have no power to issue execution, though we sometimes think we can. Accursed be the heart that does not wildly throb, and palsied be the eye that will not weep over the woes of Mr. Mont- gomerys Wanderer of Switzerland; so exclaimed in a fine frenzy a critic in a Monthly Register of 1807. His chari- table wishes, however, harmed nobody at the time, and now only serve to make us smile. But such folly may teach us a lesson. Most of our judgments are, it is to be feared, sad rubbish. Well did Browning make his Unknown Painter exclaim: These buy and sell our pictures, take and give Count them for garniture and household stuff And where they live needs must our pictures live, And see their faces, listen to their prate, Partakers of their daily pettiness, Discussed of This I love, or this I hate, This likes me more, and this affects me less. Our silly likes and dislikes, our ob- trusive and frequently offensive ego- tisms, our terrible unaided intelli- gence are always leading us astray and setting our heels where our heads ought to be. I read the other day, in a criticism of a picture exhibition, that most of the pictures were extremely well painted, but they were not pictures anyone would wish to possess. One knows what idle talk like this means. It is as when people say, with a silly simper, that though they admit Miss Austens novels are well written, they prefer Miss Balderdashs because her characters are nicer. People like this apparently do not recognize the obliga- tion to admire a work of art because it is well done. If anyone rebels at the rigor of this doctrine I cannot help it. If he persists in his opposition he must be turned out. Brawling is for- bidden in the Temple of Taste. By labor and thought, by humility, docility, and attention it is within the power of each one of us to acquire a fair share of good taste. It is impor- tant to steer clear between the optimis- tic vulgarity of these who are so satis- fied with them selves as to be content to take their ignorance as a complete touchstone of taste and the pessimis- tic cynicism of men like Schopenhaner, who maintain that works of genius can- not be properly enjoyed except by those who are themselves of the privileged or- der. This latter proposition is, I be- lieve, wholly inaccurate. Take our own great poets. Who dare say that Chau- cer and Shakespeare, Bunyan, Dryden, Burns, and Wordsworth have only been properly enjoyed by readers of equal intellectual rank with these poets them- selves? It is flat blasphemy. The scheme of Providence is, happily, far otherwise. In matters intellectual poor men, if they will but cultivate their one talent diligently, may live like princes on the endless resources of the rich. Where money is concerned I am quite of Dr. Johnsons opinion, that, when all is said and done, it is better being rich than poor; but so far as the enjoyments of the fruits of taste are concerned, the mere consumer is perhaps more to be envied than the producer, who usually endures much anguish and dolor. Our problem is to eschew the evil and to seek after those things which are of good report. Begin as students; do not rebel against authority; avoid vio- lent judgments and passionate opinions, which only tell the world where you have been educated, in what college or studio, and otherwise leave it none the better informed. Ultimately the good prevails and the bad disappears. It may be an amazing thing that in a world like this, in which folly is, to say the least of it, well represented, great works always win great reputations. But they do. Nothing is more certain than this. There is no need, therefore, to be nervous about genius. The high heavens are on its side. The thing to be nervous about is yourself. How is your little esthetic force to be expended, and how are your few years to be spent? Whose livery do you mean to wear? I do not think I can usefully add any- thing more, but as I do not often get the chance of preaching I will end with a word of warning. There is a great deal of nonsense talked and written about the consola- tions of literature, the ministry of books, and I know not what other fine phrases. To listen to some people, you might REMINISCENCES OF DR. HOLMES 121 fancy it within their power to build a barricade of books and sit behind it mocking the slings and arrows of out- rageous fortune. It is all, or nearly all, a vain pretence. At the most, literature is but a drug for pain, and no very effective one. The sorrowful man will carry his sorrows with him, at least as much into his library as into his counting-house, and will find it as hard to forget them in the one place as in the other. By the time you can doctor your grief with a favorite volume you are already more than half cured. The pangs a romance can stifle must first have become very drowsy. Being desirous to clear my mind of cant as much as possible, I feel bonnd to express my conviction that, thongh I am a very bad player, a game of golf, if I had any luck in my drives and any happiness in my putts, would be far more likely to make me forget for a while the troubles besetting me than my favorite author, although I love many not far short this side of idolatry. Do not, therefore, be tempted to turn a~sthetics into religion. Taste is a charming goddess, whose altars we should keep always decked with flowers; but she is not fit to be the queen of heaven, for her medicine-chest holds nothing potent enough to cure our worst ills. But we are not always in doleful dumps, and when we are not, there is great happiness and much men- tal discipline to be had and obtained from and by the possession and exer- cise of that gQod taste which I hope all here may enjoy for the rest of their lives, coupled with good health. REMINISCENCES OF DR. HOLMES AS PROFESSOR OF ANATOMY By Thomas Dwight, M.D. iHO is that young man who said BONE? asked Dr. Holmes of a student at the close of one of his recitations in anato- my, in the autumn of 1864. Having received the answer, he went to the young man, whom ha found lingering in the hall, spoke to him by name, re- minded him of how well he had known his father, and made him welcome to the school. Little did that beginner then dream that he was to succeed the dis- tinguished man whose greeting filled him with pleasure. The interest in so trifling a matter as a students pronun- ciation, and the kindness which led him to act on the information he received, were distinctly characteristic of Dr. Hohues. In fact, however, pronuncia- tion was to him hardly trifling. A false accent, an awkward turn of phrase jarred on his delicate organization. In his rhymed lesson he had written: Learning condemns beyond the reach of hope The careless lips that speak of s6ap for s6ap; Her edict exiles from her fair abode, The clownish voice that utters r6ad for road. What are you doing? he once asked another student in the dissecting-room. Ligating arteries, sir. Why not say tie? asked Dr. Holmes, I find that country practitioners ligate arteries, and that surgeons tie them. The best of this anecdote is that the unappreciative student spread it as a joke against Dr. Holmes. His quick observation of de- tails was one of his most evident traits, joined to the activity of mind which led him to follow up the clues. It is told that he once asked a passing student what relation he was to a certain phy- sician long dead. The student denied all knowledge of him, but Dr. Holmes

Thomas Dwight, M.D. Dwight, Thomas, M.D. Reminiscences Of Dr. Holmes As Professor Of Anatomy 121-129

REMINISCENCES OF DR. HOLMES 121 fancy it within their power to build a barricade of books and sit behind it mocking the slings and arrows of out- rageous fortune. It is all, or nearly all, a vain pretence. At the most, literature is but a drug for pain, and no very effective one. The sorrowful man will carry his sorrows with him, at least as much into his library as into his counting-house, and will find it as hard to forget them in the one place as in the other. By the time you can doctor your grief with a favorite volume you are already more than half cured. The pangs a romance can stifle must first have become very drowsy. Being desirous to clear my mind of cant as much as possible, I feel bonnd to express my conviction that, thongh I am a very bad player, a game of golf, if I had any luck in my drives and any happiness in my putts, would be far more likely to make me forget for a while the troubles besetting me than my favorite author, although I love many not far short this side of idolatry. Do not, therefore, be tempted to turn a~sthetics into religion. Taste is a charming goddess, whose altars we should keep always decked with flowers; but she is not fit to be the queen of heaven, for her medicine-chest holds nothing potent enough to cure our worst ills. But we are not always in doleful dumps, and when we are not, there is great happiness and much men- tal discipline to be had and obtained from and by the possession and exer- cise of that gQod taste which I hope all here may enjoy for the rest of their lives, coupled with good health. REMINISCENCES OF DR. HOLMES AS PROFESSOR OF ANATOMY By Thomas Dwight, M.D. iHO is that young man who said BONE? asked Dr. Holmes of a student at the close of one of his recitations in anato- my, in the autumn of 1864. Having received the answer, he went to the young man, whom ha found lingering in the hall, spoke to him by name, re- minded him of how well he had known his father, and made him welcome to the school. Little did that beginner then dream that he was to succeed the dis- tinguished man whose greeting filled him with pleasure. The interest in so trifling a matter as a students pronun- ciation, and the kindness which led him to act on the information he received, were distinctly characteristic of Dr. Hohues. In fact, however, pronuncia- tion was to him hardly trifling. A false accent, an awkward turn of phrase jarred on his delicate organization. In his rhymed lesson he had written: Learning condemns beyond the reach of hope The careless lips that speak of s6ap for s6ap; Her edict exiles from her fair abode, The clownish voice that utters r6ad for road. What are you doing? he once asked another student in the dissecting-room. Ligating arteries, sir. Why not say tie? asked Dr. Holmes, I find that country practitioners ligate arteries, and that surgeons tie them. The best of this anecdote is that the unappreciative student spread it as a joke against Dr. Holmes. His quick observation of de- tails was one of his most evident traits, joined to the activity of mind which led him to follow up the clues. It is told that he once asked a passing student what relation he was to a certain phy- sician long dead. The student denied all knowledge of him, but Dr. Holmes 122 REMINISCENCES OF DR. HOLMES begged him to ask his father, as the sim- ilarity of the shape of the head was so striking that he thought there must be some relationship, which in fact proved to be the case. To return to my own recollections of Dr. Holmes: in my student life, from the time that he spoke to me in the hail he always paid me special attention, which increased as my fondness for anatomy developed. His kindness con- tinued without interruption until the end of his life. During that autumn I frequently recited to Dr. Holmes, and saw the great patience and interest with which he demonstrated the more diffi- cult parts of the skeleton. In Novem- ber began the dreary season of perpetual lectures, from morning till night, to large classes of more or less turbulent stu- dents. The lectures began usually at nine, sometimes at eight, and continued without interruption until two, old stu- dents and new for the most part attend- ing all of them. The lecture on anat- oniy came at one oclock five days in the week. I lack power to express the weariness, the disgust, and sometimes the exasperation, with which, after four or five hours of lectures, bad air, and rap- id note-taking had brought their crop of headaches and bad temper, we resigned ourselves to another hour. No one but Dr. Holmes could have been endured under the circumstances. For the proper understanding, not merely of anecdotes, but of causes which had their influence on Dr. Holmes s sci- entific life, I must say a word or two of the plan of the old building in North Grove Street. Above the basement, a long, straight, steep flight of stairs led from the first to the second story, down which, according to Dr. Holmes, the late Dr. John K. Mitchell predicted the class would some day precipitate itself like a certain herd of swine. Directly in front of these stairs was a small room, the demonstrators, where the dissections for Dr. Holmess lectures were made. Opposite to it was a similar room, called the professors room, in which they sat for a few minutes before and after lect- ureslittle used, however, except by the late Professor J. B. S. Jackson, the emi- nent curator of the museum. The re- inainder of this floor was occupied on one side by the museum and on the other by the amphitheatre. A passage ran along either side of the amphitheatre from which a space under the seats could be entered. It should be evident from this description that there was no place which any professor could call his own and where he could study in peace. As Dr. Holmes has since told me, he probably would have done more original work if he had had bet- ter accommodations. In later years this want became so urgent that he boarded up for himself a little room under the seats where he kept his plates and his microscopes. It was a poor thing, but his own, and he valued it as such. In his parting address he said: I have never been proud of the apartment be- neath the seats in which my prepara- tions for lectures were made ; but I chose it because I could have it to my- self, and I resign it with the wish that it were more worthy of regret, into the hands of my si~iccessor, with my parting benediction. Within its twilight pre- cincts I have often prayed for light like Ajax, for the daylight found a scanty entrance and the gaslight never illumi- nated its dark recesses. May it prove to him who comes after me like the cave of Sibyl, out of the gloomy depths of which came the oracles which shone with the rise of truth and wisdom. In 1887 he wrote me: If I were a score or two years younger than I am, I might be tempted to envy you, re- membering my quarters at the old col- lege, and being reminded of your com- fortable and convenient arrangements in the new building. But I do not envy youI congratulate you, and I only hope that I did not keep you waiting too long for the place. . . The amphitheatre, the seats of which were at a steep pitch, was entered by the students from above, through two doors, one on each side, each of which was ap- proached by a steep stairway between narrow walls. The doors were not usually opened until some minutes af- ter the hour. The space at the top of these stairs was a scene of crowding, pushing, scuffling, and shouting inde- scribable, till at last a spring shot back both bolts at once, and from each door a living avalanche poured down the steep 4 REMINISCENCES OF DR. HOLMES 123 alleys with an irresistible rush that made the looker - on hold his breath. How it happened that during many years no one was killed, or even seriously in- jured, is incomprehensible. The excite- ment of the fray having subsided, order reigned until the entrance of the pro- fessor, which was frequently the signal for applause. He came in with a grave countenance. His shoulders were thrown back and his face bent down. No one realized better than he that he had no easy task before him. He had to teach a branch repulsive to some, difficult for all; and he had to teach it to a jaded class which was unfit to be taught anything. The wooden seats were hard, the backs straight, and the air bad. The effect of the last was al- luded to by Dr. Holmes in his address at the opening of the new school in 1883. So, when the class I was lecturing to was sitting in an atmosphere once breathed already, after I had seen head after head gently declining, and one pair of eyes after another emptying them- selves of intelligence, I have said, in- audibly, with the considerate self-re- straint of Musidoras rural lover, Sleep on, dear youth; this does not mean that you are indolent, or that I am dull; it is the partial coma of commencing as- phyxia. To make head against these odds he did his utmost to adopt a sprightly man- ner, and let no opportunity for a jest es- cape him. These would be received with quiet appreciation by the lower benches, and with uproarious demonstrations from the mountain, where, as in the French Assembly of the Revolution, the noisiest spirits congregated. He gave his imagination full play in compari- soils often charming and always quaint. None but Holmes could have compared the microscopical coiled tube of a sweat- gland to a fairys intestine. Medical readers will appreciate the aptness of lik- ening the mesentery to the shirt ruffles of a preceding generation, which from a short line of attachment expanded into yards of complicated folds. He has com- ~ pared the fibres connecting the two sym- metrical halves of the brain to the band uniting the Siamese twins. His lectures frequently contained aids to memory which seemed perhaps childish to the more advanced. I can almost hear him say, speaking of the acromion process of the shoulder-blade, Now, says the student, how shall I remember that hard word? Let him think of the Acropolis, the highest building in Ath- ens, and remember that the acromion is the highest point of the shoulder. All who have seen it will remember his demonstration of how the base of the skull, its weakest part, may be broken by a fall on the top of the head. He had a strong iron bar bent into a circle of some six inches in di- ameter, with a gap left between the ends just large enough to be filled by a walnut. The ring was then dropped to the floor so as to strike on the con- vexity just opposite to the walnut, which invariably was broken to pieces. In my second year, through the kind- ness of Dr. Cheever, now Emeritus Pro- fessor of Surgery, then demonstrator, I was thrown into closer connection with Dr. Holmes. It was the duty of the demonstrator to prepare the dissec- tions for the lectures. One of the features of the Harvard Medical School, from my earliest recollections, was the elaborateness of the preparations for the anatomical lecture. Not only were many hours spent on the dissection it- self, but every refinement of neatness and even eleganceclean sheets, careful draping, effective arrangement of speci- incus and picturesreceived the most careful attention. This arrangement of the amphitheatre with an eye to ar- tistic effect, was the combined work of the professor and demonstrator. It is remarkable that the series of demon- strators, from almost the beginning of Dr. Holmess administration to its close, were men of marked ability and were brilliantly successful in practice. Drs. R. M. Hodges, D. W. Cheever, C. B. Porter, H. H. A. Beach, and M. H. Richardson, followed one another with- out interruption. Dr. Cheever did me the honor of asking me to help in pre- paring the dissections. This gave me the oppo~tunity to meet Dr. Holmes behind the scenes and established a charming approach to intimacy. He would appear a little before the lecture, examine the dissection, note any pecul 124 REMINISCENCES OF DR. HOLMES iariti.es, and praise most heartily. I often ran under the seats after the lect- ure had begun to hear the public com- mendation he was sure, in his good nature, to bestow on any originality of the dissection. Sometimes he would consult books on anatomy, saying to me, You must never tell that you saw me, a prohibition which I do not think he meant very seriously at the time one which he certainly would not wish me to observe now. Indeed, I shall take a similar liberty in some other matters. One would think, from Dr. Holmess wonderful facility of expression, that lecturing year after year on the same subject, the lectures would have been as childs play. But I am convinced that this was not so. You will find, said he to me at the time that I suc- ceeded him, that the day that you have lectured something has gone out from you. To his sensitive organiza- tion I imagine that the trials incident to the tired, and in early years more or less unruly, class, were greater than his friends suspected. I remember once his telling Dr. Cheever and myself, how exceedingly annoying it is to the lect- urer to have anyone leave the room be- fore the close. I often marvelled at the patience he displayed. In spite of the attention bestowed on dissection, I do not think that he much fancied dissecting himself, though our Museum still has some few specimens of his preparation. Once he asked me which part of anatomy I liked best, and on my saying The bones, he replied: so do I; it is the cleanest. Still he usually gave the class the time-honored joke that bones are dry. Dr. Holmes was in those days Pro- fessor of Physiology as well as of Anat- omy, though by far the greater part of his course was given to the latter. In- deed, he pretended to give but a sketch of the more important parts of physi- ology. Dr. Holmess courtesy in speech and writing is well known. He laughed away hom~opathy, phrenology, and kin- dred delusions with a good nature quite free from bitterness. Of phrenology, he wrote: I am not one of its haters; on the contrary, I am grateful for the incidental good it has done. I love to amuse myself in its plaster Golgothas, and listen to the glib professor as he discovers by his manipulations all that disgraced my betters met in me. Nevertheless, in his lectures, with a happy hit or two, he exposed its ab- surdities. Almost the only topic on which he could not speak with patience was the cruelty often practised in vivi- section. Like all sensible men, he rec- ognized the necessity of vivisection. He has called it a mode of acquiring knowledge justifiable in its proper use, odious beyond measure in its abuse,~~ but I am sure that in his heart he hated it bitterly. But if in physiology he eschewed vivisection, believing, per- haps, with Hyrtl, that nature will tell the truth all the better for not be- ing put to the torture, he did some work which now would be dignified with the name of experimental psychol- ogy. I have myself, he writes, in- stituted a good many experiments with a more extensive and expensive ma- chinery than I think has ever been employed namely, two classes each of ten intelligent students, who had joined hands together, representing a nervous circle of about sixty-six feet, so that a hand - pressure transmitted ten times around the circle, traversed six hundred and sixty feet, besides in- volving one hundred perceptions and volitions. My chronometer was a horse timer, marking quarter-seconds. He varied these experiments by having the transmissions made from hand to foot and from hand to head. He was fond of psychological discus- sion, but in his lectures could give but little time to it. His reaction from the horrors of old-fashioned New England Calvinism had pretty thoroughly swept away all belief in revealed religion. He may have seemed to go with the current near to materialism, but, in truth, his clear mind saw that there were facts, at all events in the moral and intellectual spheres, which that soulless doctrine cannot account for. So brilliant a writer as Dr. Holmes must occasionally deal in paradox. I doubt if he meant, for instance, that a remark which has shocked many, namely, that early piety is another name for scrofula, should be taken am pied de la lettre. A REMINISCENCES OF DR. HOLMES 125 Here is his definition of life: The state of an organized being, in which it maintains, or is capable of maintaining, its structural integrity by the constant interchange of elements with the sur- rounding media. Dr. Holmes took the greatest interest in the manufacture of the microscope, speaking always enthusiastically of its discovery and successive perfectioning. He was not free from the fault of that time, which was to spend many hours in testing the perfection of lenses rath- er than devote ones whole energies to the study of nature. Nevertheless, in 1847 he made, or certainly believed that he made, a discovery of cells in bone, which he showed at a meeting of the Society for Medical Observation. I was on the look-out, he wrote me in 1889, for bone-cells in the medical journals and books, and found nothing until about two years after my discov- ery of these (from the cancelli of the neck of a human adult femur) M. Robin described some cells which ho had found, not corresponding very well with mine. The last note which I ever received from him, dated May 30, 1894, was to request me to find the pictures which he had had made of these cells. I am in hopes that he may have gone into this subject in memoirs which are yet to see the light. One interview which I well remem- ber, was my examination by Dr. Holmes for my degree. In those days all ex- aminations were oral, and not severe. But the Faculty having done me the honor of granting me a special exami- nation, it was held with less than usual formality at Dr. Holmess house. He began by asking me to tell what I chose. Anxious to show the extent of my knowledge, I started at once with a minute description of the cranial nerves. Dr. Holmes stopped me, however, be- fore I had gone very far, and began a series of the most difficult questions. If, in the vanity of youth, I had any idea that I knew about as much as my mas- ter, I was speedily undeceived. In a pleasant conversation afterward, I asked .~ my examiner if he usually put such questions. He replied: Oh, no! When you are examining a man who is to practise where he gets a quarter of a dollar for a visit, you cannot expect great knowledge; so if he does not seem to know much, I ask him about the biceps, and if he answers on that pretty well, I passhim. I think he added: And so would you, if you have any humanity. It must be remembered that this is long ago, and that for years before Dr. Holmess resignation the examinations were wholly written. For many years after my graduation I saw more or less of Dr. Holmes. When in my earlier days I spoke to him about taking private pupils in anatomy, he said: When you begin to teach you will learn how little you know. He added that it is very in- structive to feel forced to keep just in front of ones students. For a considerable time, occupying a subordinate position in the school, I was a member of the faculty, and often met him in the councils of that body. Modest and quiet, he said very little. He watched the steps of my anatomical career with a kind interest. He wrote me after the event that he always had wished I should succeed him. In the autumn of 1882, in conse- quence, it is said, of an offer from his publishers, Dr. Holmes resigned the chair which he had filled for thirty-five years. The faculty requested him to continue until the first of December. Some days before that he reached an appropriate stopping-place, and ended his course without formality. But the pressure for a last public lecture, as the closing scene, was too strong to be withstood. This took place on No- vember 28th. The anatomical room was packed to the very doors by the students, while the faculty filled the amphitheatre. The scene was most impressive as the whole audience arose on his entrance. A member of the first class stepped forward, and in a few words, carefully prepared but rather tremulously delivered, presented a sil- ver loving-cup as a gift of the class and expressed their regret at the separa- tion. Dr. Holmes was so surprised and affected that for once his readiness failed him. He could but utter a few disconnected sentences of thanks, and say that, lest his feelings should over- come him, it were better he should 126 REMINISCENCES OF DR. HOLMES keep to the lecture he had written.* He began by saying that everyone is the chief personage, the hero, of his own baptism, his own wedding, and his own funeral; but that there were some other momentous occasions on which it is not out of place to talk of ones self. He then gave the general history of his professional life, dwelling par- ticularly on his reminiscences as a young man of those who had preceded him both at home and abroad. It was on this occasion that he alluded to his early attack of lead-poisoning through the mental contact with type metal. Though there was nothing remarkable in the words, there was a pathos in his voice as he referred to the building he was leaving. Speaking of the long flight of stairs, he said, I have helped to wear those stairs into hollows stairs which I trod when they were smooth and level, fresh from the plane. There are just thirty-two of them, as there were five and thirty years ago, but they are steeper and harder to climb, it seems to me, than they were then. Another memorable occasion when Dr. Holmes addressed a large audience was that of the opening of the new building of the Harvard Medical School, in the autumn of 1883. The lecture was de- livered in the large hall of the Institute of Technology. The faculty and gov- ernment of the College were on the platform, a large and distinguished audi- ence filled the seats. Dr. Holmes did not have all the brilliancy of his prime, but there were bright sparkles. Two episodes in the lecture were to me par- ticularly interesting, both of which re- quire a word of preface. Some few years before, the question of admitting women to the Medical School had been debated at great length. In spite of powerful influence the new movement had been defeated, chiefly through the determined opposition of a great major- ity of the faculty. Dr. Holmes had in- clined to the losing side, but I do not remember that he ever showed much enthusiasm in the cause. On this occa- sion, after speaking in his most perfect * Dr. Holmes acknowledged the gift by a letter in his best style, published in the Boston Medical and surgical Journal, December 7, 1882. style on woman as a nurse, with a pathos free from mawkishness which Dickens rarely reached, he concluded, I have always felt that this was rather the vo- cation of woman than general medical, and especially surgical, practice. This was the signal for loud applause from the conservative side. When he could resume he went on Yet I, myself, followed the course of lectures given by the young Madame Lachapelle in Paris, and if here and there an intrepid woman insists on taking by storm the fortress of medical education, I would have the gate flung open to her, as if it were that of the citadel of Orleans and she were Joan of Arc returning from the field of victory. The enthusiasm which this sentiment called forth was so over- whelming, that those of us who had led the first applause felt, perhaps looked, rather foolish. I have since suspected that Dr. Holmes, who always knew his audience, had kept back the real climax to lure us to our destruction. But, if I felt that in this episode the laugh was against me, the other incident brought me a malicious satisfaction. A few months earlier much had been done, by persons I will not name and methods I will not characterize, to arouse popular prejudice against dissection and the Harvard School. The dominant party in the Medical School, with short sight- ed timidity, looked upon dissection as something to apologize for, instead of to glory in. They had arranged that when the building should be thrown open to the guests, at the close of the address, the dissecting-room should be closed, and had taken special measures to pre- vent the exhibition of anything of anat- omical interest. It must have been a disagreeable surprise to them to hear Dr. Holmes say: Among the various apartments destined to special uses, one will be sure to rivet your attention; namely, the anthropotomic laboratory, known in plainer speech as the dissect- ing-room. He then went on to speak at length and with great plainness on dissection and the teaching of practical anatomy, paying a deserved tribuLe to his demonstrators. There was no help for it ; the committee, however unwill- ing, had to throw open the doors of the dissecting-room to the visitors. The REMINISCENCES OF DR. HOLMES 127 satisfaction which I experienced is prob- ably of little interest to anyone else; but what Harvard may boast of is, that this old man who had retired from the cares of office, who was a man of peace, who had been but little before the pub- lic as an anatomist, should have boldly upheld the honor of the college and vindicated its reputation when younger men shrunk from the subject. I find it hard to do full justice to Dr. Holmes as an anatomist, or rather as a teacher of anatomy, for my point of view and my methods in almost every detail are radically different from his. Any- one who has experience in lecturing recognizes that he must decide whether he will address himself to the higher or lower half of the class. Dr. Holmes lectured to the latter. It was a part of his humanity to do so. He felt a sym- pathy for the struggling lad preparing to practise where work is hard and money scarce. I do not give the best lectures that I can give, he said on several occasions ; I should shoot over their heads. I try to teach them a lit- tle and to teach it well. His knowledge of anatomy was that of the scholar, rather than that of the practitioner. He delighted in the old anatomists, and cared little for the new. He maintained that human anatomy is much the same study that it was in the days of Vesalius and Fallopius. He actually button-holed book agents, little accustomed to be pressed to stay, in order to put them to shame by the superiority of the illustrations in his old anatomies. It pleased him to dis- cuss whether we should say the Gas- seriaii or the Casserian ganglion. His books were very dear to him. He had said more than once that a twig from one of his nerves ran to everyone of them. Literature was his career. That early attack of poisoning from type was fatal to his eminence in any other. Though I fear many will disagree with me, I venture to say, that while he would have been a great anatomist had he made it his lifes work, he could never have been a great teacher of anatomy. Successful teaching of concrete facts requires a smack of the drill-master, which was foreign to his gentle nature. The very methods which did so much to make his lectures popular and charm- ing, at times irritated the more earnest students, hungry for knowledge. It would be ungrateful of me not to add, that the student interested in any point of anatomy who went to Dr. Holmes for help, always received the greatest en- couragement and sympathy. I have said enough to prove his kind- ness in my own case. The two follow- ing notes to the late Dr. George C. Shat- tuck,* then dean of the faculty, show him in another and equally amiable light. 21 CHARLES STREET, September 22, 1804. DEAR DR. SHATTUCK: You will be interested in this young man, who wishes to begin the study of Medicine. He is wide awake, full of good in- tent, and always goes to your church on Sunday when he is in town. He wishes to give his note for lecture fees, and I hope you will accommodate him in this and in such other ways as he may ask with reference to instruction, for he is a youth of promise, and may do us honor by and by. Trusting him to the good offices of the Dean, I am Yours always, 0. W. HoLMEs. 104 CHARLES STREET, September 3, 1868. DEAR DR. SHATTUCK: Please make a note of the name of as a subject of your well-known benevolent offices as Dean. He gave his note, and is not able to pay it yet, and must be favored for good reasons. His father was a noted temperance lecturer, but fell from his high estate and is now a care and a burden to his friends. His mother came to see me with a letter from an old friend and schoolmate of mine in her pocket, which interested me very much, and assured me that this was a case for every con- sideration and kindness. So, most benignant and benevolent of Deans, dont forget the name of but when he comes to you, put off his pay day until late in the Greek Calends, * I am indebted for these to the kindness of Dr. George B. Shattuck. 128 REMINISCENCES OF DR. HOLMES or get him on the free list and make the worse than widows heart sing for joy. Faithfully yours, 0. W. HOLMES. None who knew Dr. Shattuck will doubt that he did his utmost to further both of these suits. Dr. Holmess relations to the class were always most pleasant. They could not be otherwise. For years I have tried to take to heart the remarks he made on the relations of teacher and students in his introductory lecture of 1847. It would be a good rule to oblige every teacher to read them once a year. There are intrinsic difficulties in the task of the lecturer, whatever may be his subj ect or capacity. There are days, for instanceI appeal to every expert in this art and mysterywhen some de- pressing influence takes the life out of ones heart and the words away from his lips, as there are others when his task is a pleasure. He lies at the mercy of fits of easy and of difficult transmis- sion, controlled by subtle influences he cannot withstand. . . . A long course of lectures tries all the weaknesses of teachers and pupils. There is no little trick of the one, and no impatient habit of the other, which will not show itself before they part company. The teacher will have his peculiar phrases, which soon become notorious and characteris- tic; his gestures and movements more or less inelegant ; his bodily infirmities, it may be, which he cannot disguise in the broad daylight and the long hour. He will get the wrong word for the right, and so confuse the student of slow apprehension amidst the whispered corrections of the more intelligent; he will fail to be understood when he thinks he has been clearest, and apolo- gize when no one has suspected him of failure. The student will have his hours of disgust and lassitude; the cramped muscles will sometimes stretch out in ominous yawning, or some favorable corner will invite him to repose, and his senses will dissolve away in the sweetest of all slumbers, whose lullaby is the steady flow of didactic expatiation. All these weaknesses must be niutually pardoned, and for this both must have a permanent sense of the true relation of teachers and pupils, as friends, a lit- tle separated in years and in some points of knowledge, pursuing a common end which one sees more clearly than the other, and therefore takes the lead in following, but which both see imperfect- ly, and which neither of them will ever completely attain. To have left these wise and kindly words as a guide to ones successors, is to have done a service to education. One values them all the more that they recall Dr. Holmes so strongly. He was very human and very lovable. His chief characteristic as Professor of Anat- omy is expressed by calling him the students friend. IN his once famous essay on Character- istics, Carlyle amplified the thesis that the healthy man knoweth not of his health, only the sick, and predicated unconscious- ness of all elevated and successful activity. On the other hand, a writer in The Point of View some time ago maintained, with equal skill and enthusiasm, that nothing is more pleasing and profitable than to think and talk about ones self. He coupled ones friend with ones self, to be sure, hut the friend was clearly a sop to Cerberusone s self and ones friend in this sphere being as mutually exclusive as Codlin and Short. Carlyles contention is rather extreme, per- haps, and fails to distinguish between con- sciousness and self-consciousness; one may certainly have his eye on the object and be advantageously conscious of doing so at the same time. But what struck me at the time, about the Point of Views advocacy of thinking and talking about ones self, was the fact of its needlessness, even if sound, since everybody nowadays is everlastingly doing just this. No phenomenon associated with the mod- ern development of the individual and the withering of the world is more conspicuous, I think, than what may legitimately be called egocentricity. What a man does now con- cerns him rather less than his attitude to- ward it.. Everyone appreciates this in him and anxiously reassures him. There is hardly a conversation, unmarked by flip- pancy, in which the subject does not speed- A ily drop out of sight, to rise to the surface again or not as the participants succeed or not in persuading each other of what they do not mean. What do I think of this or that now, depends a good deal on what I VOL. XVIL12 thought of it last week or last month. And it is not this or that but I that is, but should not be, in question. Intercourse was never so personal. Your friend or ac- quaintance is constantly engaged in courte- ously inspecting your ego or modestly con- sidering his own. Compliment has reached a directness that, however mechanical, is peculiarly intense, and it is aimed between the eyes. No interest is evinced in the ac- complished fact, which is a mere excuse for enthusiasm that it is you or I who accom- plished it. Men have taken the place of principles with a vengeance. Even children have caught the infection. Once, their interest in themselves would have taken the form of brag, hut at present it is comically real and unaffected, and their ex- periences revolve around the ego with nayf and wearisome endlessness. Other egos can look out for themselves, but what will happen to the external world if this is kept up is mere guess-workprobably extinc- tion, if Berkeleys view that it depends upon us is sound. It is difficult to believe this state of af- fairs, directly due to thinking and talking about ones self, a salutary one. Self-exami- nation is a good thing beyond doubt, at stated intervals and to specific ends. But self-admiration, or self-reprehension, or self- study implies an importance that the sub- ject does not possess. The souls relation to its problems it is incumbent upon itunder grave penaltiesscrupulously to examine. But its own constitution is too much like that of others to reward attention in any degree exclusive, and its points of difference are not very idiosyncratic. Almost anyone might reasonably echo Henry Esmonds

Point Of View Point Of View 129-134

IN his once famous essay on Character- istics, Carlyle amplified the thesis that the healthy man knoweth not of his health, only the sick, and predicated unconscious- ness of all elevated and successful activity. On the other hand, a writer in The Point of View some time ago maintained, with equal skill and enthusiasm, that nothing is more pleasing and profitable than to think and talk about ones self. He coupled ones friend with ones self, to be sure, hut the friend was clearly a sop to Cerberusone s self and ones friend in this sphere being as mutually exclusive as Codlin and Short. Carlyles contention is rather extreme, per- haps, and fails to distinguish between con- sciousness and self-consciousness; one may certainly have his eye on the object and be advantageously conscious of doing so at the same time. But what struck me at the time, about the Point of Views advocacy of thinking and talking about ones self, was the fact of its needlessness, even if sound, since everybody nowadays is everlastingly doing just this. No phenomenon associated with the mod- ern development of the individual and the withering of the world is more conspicuous, I think, than what may legitimately be called egocentricity. What a man does now con- cerns him rather less than his attitude to- ward it.. Everyone appreciates this in him and anxiously reassures him. There is hardly a conversation, unmarked by flip- pancy, in which the subject does not speed- A ily drop out of sight, to rise to the surface again or not as the participants succeed or not in persuading each other of what they do not mean. What do I think of this or that now, depends a good deal on what I VOL. XVIL12 thought of it last week or last month. And it is not this or that but I that is, but should not be, in question. Intercourse was never so personal. Your friend or ac- quaintance is constantly engaged in courte- ously inspecting your ego or modestly con- sidering his own. Compliment has reached a directness that, however mechanical, is peculiarly intense, and it is aimed between the eyes. No interest is evinced in the ac- complished fact, which is a mere excuse for enthusiasm that it is you or I who accom- plished it. Men have taken the place of principles with a vengeance. Even children have caught the infection. Once, their interest in themselves would have taken the form of brag, hut at present it is comically real and unaffected, and their ex- periences revolve around the ego with nayf and wearisome endlessness. Other egos can look out for themselves, but what will happen to the external world if this is kept up is mere guess-workprobably extinc- tion, if Berkeleys view that it depends upon us is sound. It is difficult to believe this state of af- fairs, directly due to thinking and talking about ones self, a salutary one. Self-exami- nation is a good thing beyond doubt, at stated intervals and to specific ends. But self-admiration, or self-reprehension, or self- study implies an importance that the sub- ject does not possess. The souls relation to its problems it is incumbent upon itunder grave penaltiesscrupulously to examine. But its own constitution is too much like that of others to reward attention in any degree exclusive, and its points of difference are not very idiosyncratic. Almost anyone might reasonably echo Henry Esmonds 130 THE POINT OF VIEW exclamation about himself: Gracious God, who was he? At all events, even if salutary, egocentricity lacks satisfactoriness, to my notion. Possibly good may come of introverting ones mental vision, though as a matter of fact it has not and does not. Gir- cumspice. All the same the process is ener- vatingly uninteresting. Why care how the Old Man of the Sea is anatomically con- structed? The thing to do is to dislodge him (by other than vinous means, of course) and proceed on ones way toward the acqui- sition of a philosophy somewhat more uni- versal, and the attainment of a prospect broader and more bracing. WHEN I was a child, I was the silent but deeply protesting victim of an institution which, at that time of limited observation and smaller experience, I believed to be peculiar to our household, but which I have since come to know is a revered and established part of the theory and practice of every well-ordered and respectable fam- ily. Namely, the Family Party. The Family Party is an association of kinsfolk, into which it is held to be blas- phemy to admit an outsider, and in which the revel of family affection and fond re- membrance is supposed to be unrestrained. I have never been able to discover the ori- gin of this institution, nor have I yet found any logical reason for its present existence, as I shall hope to show farther on. But as it is well sometimes to show a safe respect for things one is not able to understand, I may indicate that I think the Family Party may possibly be the last expression of that ancient ancestor - worship (still devoutly practised in many parts of the world) which John Fiske associates with the earliest ideas of a God. In th@ family about which I am best in- formed, it was considered binding upon each matron to celebrate this high and solemn festival in her own home about twice a year. As there were in the family (on both sides) fourte,en distinct households with conscientiously disposed heads, it is readily to be seen that the occasions of this function in my life were like the language of Truthful James, painful and frequent and free. We seemed to be existing in a continual state of Family Party, in conse quence of which there was neither time nor strength left for other social privileges. Perhaps that is why, to this day, IL have never been reconciled to the necessity for such occasions at any time or under any provocation. The truth is that family life may he de- fined very much as Byron defined loveas an institution very honorable, and very nec- essary to keep the world a-going, hut by no means a sinecure to the parties concerned. Daily living along in the same relations with the same persons is distinctly trying to the frail stuff that even the best human nature is made of. There is nothing to be gained by concealing the fact that we are all glad upon occasion to get away from the people who know our faults, and to sun ourselves for a time in the approbation of those who think us always as charming as we feel sure we are sometimes. Nor is there anything to be deprecated in this de- sire. Whether it be simply an expression of the dramatic instinct which inheres in us all, in varying degrees, or whether it is only the healthful instinct to get rid of our own persistent ego and be somebody else for a little while, it makes much of the charm of social life, and is therefore not to be condemned. Just here is where the Family Party cross- cuts human nature. Its members being fa- miliars, it offers no opportunity for humbug, however charming and harmless. Its laws are those of reality, and successful social contact is built on ideality. In one of the clever new plays, some one asks, Are we all friends here? Most of us are friends, is the answer, the rest are relations. This sentiment is not to be approved, ex- cept for its humor, since it seems to cast an unwarranted reflection on the situation in most families. The trouble with the Family is, not that it is not friends, but that it is too much friends. There is no questioning the worth of relations. It is positive and persistent and satisfying, and doth the heart good like a medicine. But there are times when ones taste reaches out toward confections, however sure one may he of the value of the drug. Social occasions are such times. Then one wishes to make excursions into new fields, and to pluck the flowers of fancy. He wants ~o wear his pwn bit of purple and find his friend wearing THE POINT OF VIEW 131 his. It is a time for self-pleasing expan- sion, and he does not wish his next of kin to be a witness thereto. The eye of the rela- tion is wonderfully sharp to see, and his ear to hear, and his brain to understand! The celebration of the Family Party is always supposed to be specially indicated at the holiday season. Perhaps there is something peculiarly self - satisfying in drawing about the Christmas log with one s own and none beside. Perhaps, too, that is why it is a bit stupid ; self-satisfaction is the stupidest thing I know. Certain it is that the Family is frequently known upon these sacred occasions to get sleepy and bored, even in the very quick of the revel. Such is the unfortunate influence of a full dinner, much family affection, and a total lack of inspiration to vanity. In view of these sad but undoubted facts, moved to suggest a small, even a ten- tative reform in families where the Christ- mas Party is a function sacred to itself. Into the pudding of holiday happiness (I regard the homely figure as extremely ap- propriate) inject the occasional plum of a stranger. You will be surprised to see what a new flavor he will impart to the family dish, and how your appetite will be quickened by his presence. What the sparkle is to champagne, what the whiff of powder is to the soldier, what the sound of the violin is to the dancer, the presence of a stranger will be to the Family Party. He will bring life into dulness, interest into indifference and earnestness into ennui. He will give you something to shine for. And the special delight of this arrangement will be, that at Christmas-time, this Man Without a Family will be sure to need you even more than you need him. A THOUGHTFUL woman, to whose inter- national criticism I was listening the other day, insisted that the talk of clever English- men was more attractiveto women like her at leastthan that of clever Americans, be- cause it had an absence of anxiety and strain about it which was restful and did A not keep your nerves on edge. The cleverest American men all posed to a cer tam extent, she said; they were obviously interested in their effects, had an atti- tude of justifying themselves, of playing the game rather for profit than amusement, which made their superior alertness produce a sense of fatigue. Whereas your corre- sponding Englishman seemed to care so much less what you thought about him, to be so free from a nervous dread of being stupid, to be so unhaunted by doubts as to whether the whole thing were worth while, and especially to be so much more interested in what he was talking about than in how he talked about it, that you forgave him the absence of a few epi- grams for the sake of the quality that made him willing to do without them. These classifications by sharp national lines cannot be carried too far; they are al- ways embarrassed by everybodys host of exceptions, and I myself remember with some amusement that perhaps the cleverest Englishman I know is a rather self -conscious talker and diseur de rnots, while one of the cleverest Americans chats with the uncon- sciousness of a brilliant child. But taken by and large there is a good deal of truth in what the thoughtful woman said; and it is proverbially wise to learn from ~vhat we may in this case certainly call the enemy for who has any business to be more at- tractive to even one American woman than an American man? Whether it be a modi- cum of that national trait of self-satisfac- tion and contentment which in large masses is one of the chief aggravations of the Eng- lishman to other races, or only an absence of that painful sense of responsibility for things in general that sits so hard on the American mind, there is something that we can acknowledge, if we are quite frank, and take a lesson from, in the British type she had in view. A freedom from fussy anx- iety about exact adjustment to their environ- ment, an objective interest in other things, combined with a disposition to take them- selves somewhat for granted, a healthy ten- dency to value what they observe by its entertainment or its importance instead of by the way they can dress it up into ex- hibition material, these have been great strengths of Englishmen always, and offset some of the defects of their qualitiesin- considerateness, immobility, insularity, and everything else (as Alice in Wonderland might say) that begins with an i~ except incapacity. The suggestion of the thoughtful womans 132 THE POINT OF VIEW point extends beyond the field of talk, to which she applied it. We abound, in our intellectual activity, in adepts in the art of putting thingsfrom promoters to analyt- ical psychologists; we do not perhaps greatly abound in objective observersin Darwins or Lubbocks ;but that is another Point of Yiew. We have grafted on the qualities of the old race a great many acute- nesses and alertuesses and subtleties; there are some traits we do not want to lose in the process. AND out of old bookes, in good faithe, said Geoffrey Chaucer, cometh al this new science that men lere. Yet also out of the old books comes the discarded sci- ence at which men jeer. There is great refreshment in coming upon an old book, too humble for a classic, and finding in it the delightfully positive, autocratic, indis- putable theories of a previous day, whose wisdom is being eagerly refuted in our present. In 1834 some inspired Phila- delphian wrote A Young Ladies Own Book; in it he warns his readers, his delicate, retiring Young Persons, against indiscriminate reading as follows: But of all reading what most ought to engage your attention are works of sentiment and morals. Morals is that study in which alone both sexes have an equal interest, and in sentiment yours has even the advantage. The works of this kind often appear under the seducing form of novel and romance, here great care and the advice of your older friends are requisite in the selec- tion. And he further advises them stanchly: The mere suspicion of irreligion low- ers a woman in general esteem. It implies almost a reflection on her character, for morality cannot be secure without relig- ion. A woman must hold no converse with the enemies of either. She knows that the romance which invests impiety with the charm of sentiment, must not lie upon her table; nor must she be supposed to be acquainted with the poem which decks out vice with the witchery of song. Among the female authors mentioned by this authority as unlikely to exercise a per- nicious influence are found Mrs. Hemans, Mrs. Opie, and Mrs. Barbauld. If he still lives in an honorable old age, I cannot but wonder if this Triton of the minnows heads the lists against Trilby, and if The Heavenly Twins have made him apostate to his own beginning-of-the-century con- victions. There has been much said about wom- an the past year, and her ability, from the management of municipal affairs to the management of a chafing-dish; but few have ventured to sum up her accomplish- ments with such candid condescension as is shown in the following: It is quite dif- ferent with ~vomen and with the other sex. Many a weary step must a man take to gain the laurel, and often is his meed with- holden, even when fairly earned. But the female bel-esprit flutters from one fancy to another, writes a sonnet, skims a period- ical, deciphers an alphabet, divides a crys- tal, glitters in a souvenir, and the crown of Corinne is by acclamation placed upon her brow. Somewhere else the author objects to having women take tables at fairs, as he does not enjoy seeing them barter their gay wares in a public mart. A dingy little book is this Own Book, firm with con- viction, condescending to a pliant public, and with lavender-scented memories of our grandmothers about its marred pagesour grandmothers who have long been in dolent house-wives in daisies lain; never- theless it brings its present belated reader to a realizing sense of the tremendous step women have taken across a chasm of tra- dition, since the day when they were seri- ously counselled to correct that propen- sity to gadding, that disinclination to the retired occupations of home which too many have evinced from the days of the apostle to the present time. ENGRAVED BY GUSTAV KRUELL From a photograph by Elliott & Fry, London.

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Scribner's magazine. / Volume 17, Issue 2 Commentator Scribner's commentator Charles Scribner's Sons New York February, 1895 0017 2
Robert Grant Grant, Robert The Art Of Living. II. The Dwelling 135-149

SCRIBNERS MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 1895 THE ART OF LIVING THE DWELLING By Robert Grant ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHARLES DANA GIBSON M iR. AND MRS. JULIUS C2ESAR, who, as you may remember, di- vide their income into parts with mathematical precision, were not as well off in this worlds goods at the time of their marriage as they are now. Nei- ther Mr. Cesars father nor Mrs. C~- sars grandmother were then dead, and consequently the newly wedded pair, though set up by their respective fam- ilies with a comfortable income, felt that it was incumbent upon them to prac- tise strict economy. Then it was that Julius conceived what seemed to them both the happy idea of buying a house dirt cheap in a neighborhood which was not yet improved, and improving the neighborhood, instead of paying an ex- orbitant price for a residence in a street which was already all it should be. Why, said Julius, shouldnt we buy one of those new houses in Sunset Terrace? They look very attractive, and if we can only induce two or three congenial couples to join forces with us we shall have the nucleus of a delight- ful colony. Besides, everything will be nice and new, said Mrs. Julius, or Dolly Cuesar, as her friends know her. No cock- roaches, no mice, no moths, no family skeletons to torment us. Julius, you are a genius. We can just as well set the fash- ion as follow meekly in fashions wake. So said, so done. Julius C~sar bent his intellect upon the matter and soon found three congenial couples who were willing to join forces with him. Before another twelve months had passed, four baby wagonsone of them double-seated were to be seen on four sunny grass- plots in front of four attractive, artis- tic - looking villas on Sunset Terrace. Where lately sterility, mortar, and weeds had held carnival, there was now an air of tasteful gentility. Thanks to the example of Dolly Ctesar, who had an eye and an instinct for such matters, the four brass door-plates shone like the sun, the paint was spick and span, the four gravel paths were in apple-pie order, the four grass-plots were emerald from timely use of a revolving lawn sprinkler, and the four nurse - maids, who watched like dragons over the four baby wagons, were neat - looking and comely. No wonder that by the end of the second year there was not a vacant house in the street, and that everybody who wished to live in a fashionable lo- cality was eager for a chance to enter Sunset Terrace. No wonder, too, that Mr. and Mrs. Julius Casar were able, by the end of the fourth year, to emerge from Sunset Terrace with a profit on the sale of their villa which made it rent free for the entire period, and left them with a neat little surplus to boot, and to settle down with calm minds on real- ly fashionable Belport Avenue, in the stately mansion devised to them by Mrs. Ctesars grandmother. Copyright, 1894, by charles Scribners Sons. All rights reserved. VOL XVII No.2 Mr. C~aars father. Now, it must be borne in mind that a Mr. and Mrs. Julius C~esar can some- times do that which a Mr. and Mrs. George J. Spriggs find difficulty in ac- complishing. Spriggs, at the time of his marriage to Miss Florence Green, the daughter of ex-Assistant Postmaster- General Homer W. Green, conceived the happy idea of setting up his house- hold gods in Locust Road, which lies about as far from Belport Avenue in one direc- tion as Sunset Terrace in the other. Both are semi - suburban. It also occurred to him at the outset to join forces with three or four congenial cou- ples, but at the last moment the elgage- ment of one of the couples in question was broken, and the other three decided to live somewhere else. To have changed his mind then would have involved the sacrifice of one hundred dol- lars paid to bind the bargain to the land- owner. So it seemed best to them on the 136 whole to move in, as they had to live somewhere. Its just a little bit dreary, isnt it? said Florence Spriggs, pathetically, as she looked out of her bow window at the newly finished street which was not finished, and at the grass-plot where there was no grass. But I sliant be a bit lonely with you, George. I wonder if the color of this house has been chanoed said Spriggs, pres- ently, as he glanced up at the fa9ade and from that to the other houses in the block, each of which was vacant. He and Florence had gone out after dinner to take a stroll and survey the neighborhood which they hoped to fin- prove. Of course it hasnt! How could it. be? said Florence. Somehow it looks a more staring shade of yellow than it did the first time we saw it. And I dont fancy altogether the filigree work on the door, or that Egyptian renaissance scroll set into the eastern wall, do you, dearest? How- ever, were in now and cant get out, for the title has passed. I wonder who will buy the other houses? They were soon to know. They were alone all winter, but in the early spring Julius, you are a genius. THE DWELLING 137 a family moved in on either side of them. The houses in Locust Road, like those in Sunset Terrace, were of the villa order, with grass-plots, which were almost lawns, appurtenant. Thongh less pleasing than those which had taken the more discerniiig eye of Mrs. Julius Uesar, they were nevertheless compara- tively inoffensive a n d sufficiently tasteful. Neigh- bor number one proved to be of an enterprising a n d imaginative turn. He changed the color of his villa from staring yel- low to startling crushed strawber- ry, supplenieiited his Egyptian re- naissance scroll and filigree with inlaid jewel and frost work, sta- tioned a cast-iron stag in one corner of the grass-plot and a cast - iron Diana with a bow in another, and then rested on his laurels. Neighbor number two was shiftless and un- tidy. His grass- plot did not thrive, and the autumn leaves choked his gravel path. His win- dows were never washed, his blinds hung askew, and his one maid-of-all-work preferred the lawn to the laundry as a drying~room. His wife sunned herself in a wrapper, and he himself in his shirt sleeves. A big mongrel dog drooled perpetually on the piazza or tracked it with his muddy feet, and even the baby- wagon wore the appearance of dilapida- tion and halted because of a broken spring. The Spriggses tried to be lenient and even genial with both these neighbors, but somehow the attempt was not suc- cessful. Neighbor number one became huffy because Spriggs took no notice of his advice that lie embellish his grass- plot with a stone mastiff or an umbrel- ]a and cherub fountain, and neigh- bor number two took offence because Spriggs complained that the ventilator on his chimney kept Mrs. Spriggs awake by squeaking. Mrs. Spriggs did her best to set them both a good example by having everything as tasteful on the one hand and as tidy on the other as it should be. In the hope of im- proving them she even dropped sug- gestive hints as to how people ought to live, but the hints w e r e not taken. What was worse none of the ~ other houses were tak~i~ica11y e x - ~ K patl As Spriggs pressed it, the iron stag on the one side and the week- ly wash on the other kept pur- chasers at bay. He tried to buoy him- self up by believ- ing that a glut in the real estate market was the cause why the re- maining villas in Locust Road hung fire, but this con- solatioii was taken away from him the following spring when an active buying movement all along the line still left them with- out other imeigimbors. The unoccupied villas had begun to wear an air of di- lapidation, in spite of their Egyptian renaissance scrolls and the presence of a cast-iron Diana. To crown the situation the baby of neighbor number two caught diphtheria from being left in its halting wagon by the maid-of- all-work too near the cesspool on the lawn, and was kissed by the Spriggs baby before the fact was discovered. If there is one thing more irritating to the maternal mind than another, it is to have dear baby catch something from the child of people whom you repro- I shant be a bit lonely with you George. 138 THE DWELLING bate. One feels that the original hor- rors of the disease are sure to be en- hanced through such a medium. When the only child of the Julius Cesars died of the same disease, contracted from a germ inhaled on Belport Avenue, the parents felt that only destiny was to blame. On the other hand, though the Spriggs baby recovered, Mrs. Spriggs never quite forgave herself for what had happened. Before the next autumn Spriggs parted with his es- tate on Locust Road for so much less than he had paid for it that he felt obliged to accept the hospitality of his wifes father, ex-Assistant Postmaster-General Green, during the succeeding win- ter. The moral of this double- jointed tale is two - fold; firstly that the young house- holder cannot always count upon improving the neigh- borhood in which he sets up his goods and chattels after marriage, and second- ly, that, in case the neigh- borhood fails to improve, a tenancy for a year or two is a less serious burden t h a n absolute ownership. It is extremely pleasant, to be sure, to be able to de- clare that one has paid for ones house, and I am aware that the conscious- ness of unencumbered ownership in the roof over ones head affords one of the most affecting and effective op- portunities for oratory which the free- born citizen can desire. The hand of many a husband and father has been stayed from the wine-cup or the gaming- table by the pathetic thought that he owned his house. As a rule, too, it is cheaper to pay the interest on a mort- gage than to pay rent, and if one is perfectly sure of being able to improve the neighborhood, or at least save it from degeneration, it certainly seems de- sirable to be the landlord of ones house, even though it be mortgaged so cleverly that the equity of redemption is merely a name. But in this age of semi-subur- ban development, when Roads and Ter races and Parks and Gates and other Anglo-European substitutes for streets serve as springes to catch woodcocks, a young couple on real estate ownership bent should have the discerning eye of a Mrs. Julius C~sar in order not to fall a prey to the specious land and lot speculator. If you happen to hit on a Sunset Terrace, everything is rose color, but to find ones self an owner in fee on a Locust Road, next door to crushed strawberry and a cast-iron stag, will palsy the hopes of the hopeful. What attractive, roomy, tasteful affairs many of these semi-suburban villas, which are built nowadays on the new Roads, Terraces, Parks, Gates, and even Streets, are to be sure. There are plenty of homely ones too, but it is a simple matter to avoid the Egyp- tian renaissance scroll, and the inlaid jewel work and stained-glass bulls eyes if one only will. They seem to be affording to many a happy solution of the ever new and ever old problem, which presents itself to ev- ery man who is about to take a wife, whether it is preferable to live in the city or the country. These new suburbs, or rather outlying wards of our large cities, which have been carved out of what, not many years ago, was real country where cows browsed and woods flourished, must be very alluring to people who would fain live out of town and still be in it. When, by stepping on an electric car or taking the train, you can, within a quarter of an hour, be on your own piazza inhaling fresh air and privileged to feast your eyes on a half acre or less of greensward belonging to yourself, there would seem to be strong induce- ments for rcfnsing to settle down in a stnfl~, smoky, du~ty, wire-pestered city street, however fashionabic. Rapid transit has made or is making the en- virons of our cities so accessibp~ that the time-honored problem presents it- self under different conditions than In his shirt sleeves. THE DWELLING 139 formerly. There is no such thing now as the real country for anybody who is not prepared to spend an hour in the train. Even then one is liable to en- counter asphalt walks and a Soldiers monument in the course of a sylvan stroll. But the intervening territory is ample and alluring. For one-half the rent demanded for a town house of meagre dimensions in the middle of a block, with no out- look whatever, new, spacious, airy, orna- mental homes with a plot of land and a pleasing view attached, are to be had for the seeking within easy living dis- tance from nearly every large city. When I begin to rhapsodize, as I some- times do, I am apt to ask myself why it is that anybody continues to live in town. It was only the other day that I happened, while driving with my wife in the suburbs, to call her attention, en- He looked tired he always does. thusiastically, to the new house which Perkins has secured for himself. You may remember that Perkins is the thin nervous lawyer with four daughters, who is solicitous as to what will be- come of them when he is dead. We drove by just as he came up the avenue from the station, which is only a three minutes walk from the house. He looked tired he always does but there was already a fresh jauntiness in his tread as though he sniffed ozone. He looked up at the new house compla- cently, as well he might, for it is large enough even for four daughters, and has all the engaging impressiveness of a not too quaintly proportioned and not too abnormally stained modern villa, a highly evolved composite of an old colonial mansion, a Queen Anne cottage and a French chateau. Before he reached the front door, two of his daughters ran out to embrace him and relieve him of his bag and bundles, and a half-hour later, as we drove back, he was playing lawn-tennis with three of his girls, in a white blazer with pink stripes and knickerbockers, which gave his thin and eminently respectable fig- ure a rather rakish air. Barbara, I said to my wife, why isnt Perkins doing the sensible thing? Thats a charming house, double the size he could get for the same money in townand the rent is eight hundred or a thousand dollars instead of fifteen hundred or two thousand. He needs fewer servants out here, for the parlor- maid isnt kept on tenter-hooks to an- swer the door-bell, and there is fresh air to come back to at night, and the means for outdoor exercise on his own or his neighbors lawn, which for a ner- vous, thin-chested, sedentary man like Perkins is better than cod-liver oil. Think what robust specimens those daughters should be with such oppor- tunities for tennis, golf, skating, and bicycling. On Sundays and holidays, if the spirit moves him and his wife and the girls to start off on an exploring expedition, they are not obliged to take a train or pound over dusty pavements before they begin; the wild flowers and autunin foliage and chestnut-burrs are all to be had in the woods and glens within a mile or two of their own home. Or if he needs to be undisturbed, no noise, no interruption, but nine hours sleep and an atmosphere suited to rest and contemplation on his piazza or by his cheerful, tasteful fireside. Why isnt tbis preferable to the artificial, restless life of the city? 140 THE DWELLING And yet, said Barbara, I have heard you state that oniy a rich man can afford to live in the country. Women certainly delight to store up remarks made in quite another connec- tion, and use them as random argu- ments against us. My dear Barbara, said I, this is not the country. Of course in the real country, one needs so many things to be comfortable nowadays a large house, stables, horses, and what not it has always seemed to me that a poor man with social or cultivated instincts had better stay in town. But have not Perkins and these other semi- subur- banites hit the happy medium? They have railroads or electric cars at their doors, and yet they can get real barn- yard smells. I doubt if they can, said Barbara. That is, unless they start a barn-yard for the purpose, and that would bring the health authorities down upon them at once. If this were the country, I could entirely thrill at the description you have just given of your friend Mr. Perkins. The real country is divine; but this is oleomargarine country. On the other hand, however, I quite agree with you that if Mr. Perkins is delicate, this is a far healthier place for him than the city, in spite of the journey in the train twice a day. The houses his house in particular, are lovely, and I dare say we all ought to do the same. He can certainly come in con- tact with naturesuch nature as there is left within walking dis- tance easier than city people. But to console me for not having one of these new, roomy villas, and to prevent you from doing anything rash, I may as well state a few objections to your para- dise. As to expense, of course there is a saving in rent, and it is true that the parlor - maid does not have to answer the door- bell so often, and accord- ingly can do other things instead. Consequently, too, Mrs. Perkins and the four girls may get into the habit of going about untidy and in their old clothes. A dowdy girl with rosy cheeks and a fine constitution is a pitiable object in this age of feminine prog- ress. Mr. Perkins will have to look out for this, and lie may require cod- liver oil after all. Then there is the question of schools. In many of these semi-suburban paradises there are no desirable schools, especially for girls, which necessitates perpetual coming and going on trains and cars, and will make education a wearisome thing, es- pecially for Mrs. Perkins. She will find, too, that her servants are not so partial to wild flowers and chestnut- burrs and fresh air as her husband and daughters. Only the inexperi- enced will apply, and they will come to her reluctantly, and as soon as she has accustomed them to her ways and made them skilful, they will tell her they are not happy, and need the society of their friends in town. Those are a few of the drawbacks to the semi-suburban villa; but the crucial and most serious objection is, that unless one is very watchful, and often in spite of watch- fulness, the semi - suburbanite shuts The electric car at the fag end of the day. himself off from the best social interests and advantages. He begins by imag- ining that there will be no difference that he will see just as much of his friends and go just as frequently to balls and dinner - parties, the concert and the theatre, the educational or philanthropic meeting. But just that requisite and impending twenty min- utes in the train or electric car at the fag end of the day is liable to make a hermit of him to all intents and pur- poses by the end of the second year. Of course, if one is rich and has one s own carriage, the process of growing rusty is more gradual, though none the less sure. On that very account most people with a large income come to town for a few months in winter at any rate. There are so many things in life to do, that even friends with the best and most loving intentions call once on those who retire to suburban villas and let that do for all time. To be sure, some people revel in being hermits and think social entertainments and excitements a mere waste of time and energy. I am merely suggesting that for those who wish to keep in close touch with the active human interests of the day, the semi- suburban villa is somewhat of a snare. The Per- kinses will have to exercise eternal vig- ilance, or they will find themselves sev- en evenings out of seven nodding by their fire-side after an ample meal, with all their social in- stincts relaxed. Undeniably Bar- bara offered the best solution of this question in her re- mark, that those who can afford. it spend the spring and autumn in the country and come to town for the win- ter months. Cer- tainly, if I were one of the persons who are said to have too much for their own good, I should do something of the kind. I might not buy a suburban villa ; indeed, I would rather go to the real country, where there are lowing kine, and rich cream and genuine barn- yard smells, instead of electric cars and soldiers monuments. There would I remain until it was time to kill the Thanksgiving turkey, and then I would hie me to town in order to refresh my mental faculties with city sights and sounds during the winter-spring sol- stice, when the lowing kine are all in the barn, and even one who owns a sub- urban villa has to fight his way from his front door through snow-drifts, and listen to the whistling wind instead of the robin red-breast or tinkling brook. Patterson, the banker, is surely to be envied in his enjoyment of two estab- lishments, notwithstanding that the double ownership suggests again the effete civilizations of Europe, and was once considered undemocratic. Pat- terson, though his son has been through the Keeley enre, and his daughter lives apart from her husband, has a charming place thirty-five miles from town, where he has many acres and many horses, 141 I call it Henleys Folly. 142 THE DWELLING cows, and sheep, an expanse of woods, a running stream, delicious vegetables and fruit ; golf links, and a fine coun- try house with all the modern improve- ments, including a cosey, spacious libra- ry. Then he has another houseahnost a palace iii town which he opens in the late autumn and occupies until the middle of May, for Patterson, in spite of some foibles, is no tax dodger. Yes, to have two houses and live half of the year in town and the other half in the country, with six to eight weeks at the seaside or mountains, so as to give the children salt air and bathing, or a thorough change, is what most of us would choose in case we were blessed with too much for our own good. But, unfortunately or fortunately, most of us with even comfortable incomes can- not have two houses, and consequently must choose between town and country or semi-country, especially as the six or eight weeks at the sea-side or moun- tains is apt to seem imperative when midsummer comes. According, there- fore, as we select to live in one or the other, it behooves us to practise eternal vigilance, so that we may not lose our love of nature and wreck our nerves in the worldly bustle of city life, or be- come inert, rusty, and narrow among the lowing kine or in semi-suburban seclusion. In order to live wisely, we who dwell in the cities should in our spare hours seek fresh air, sunlight, and intercourse with nature, and we whose homes are out of town should in our turn rehabilitate our social in- stincts and rub up our manners. Regarding the real country, there is one other consideration of which I am constantly reminded by a little water- color hanging in my library, painted by me a few years ago while I was staying with my friend Henley. It represents a modest but pretty house and a charm- ing rustic landscape. I call it Henleys Folly. Henley, who possessed ardent social instincts, had always lived in town; but he suddenly took it into his head to move thirty miles into the coun- try. He told me that he did so prima- iily for the benefit of his wife and chil- dren, but added that it would be the best thing in the world for him, that it would domesticate him still more completely, and give him time to read and cultivate himself. When I went to stay with him six months later, he was jubilant regard~ lug the delights of the country, and de- clared that he had become a genuine farmer. He pished at the suggestion that the daily journey to and from town was exhausting, and informed me that his one idea was to get away from the bricks and mortar as early in the afternoon as possible. Just two years later I heard with surprise, one day, that the Henleys had sold their farm and were coming back to town. The reason confided to me by one of the familywas that his wife was so much alone that she could not endure the solitude any longer. You see, said my informant, the nearest house of their friends was four miles off, and as Henley stayed in town until the last gun fired, the days he returned home at all, and as he had or invented a reason for staying in town all night at least once a week, poor Mrs. Henley realized that the lot of a farmers wife was not all roses and sunshine. From this I opine that if one with ardent social instincts would live wisely he should not become a gentleman farmer merely for the sake of his wife and children. II WHETHER we live in the city or the country, it must be apparent to all of us that a great wave of architectural activity in respect to dwelling - houses has been spreading over our land during the past twenty years. The American architect has been getting in his work and showing what he could do, with the result that the long, monotonous row of brick or freestone custom-made city houses, and the stereotyped white country farm-house with green blinds and an dl or lean-to attached, have given place to a vivid and heterogeneous display of individual effort. Much of this is fine and some deadly, for the display includes not merely the gen- erally tasteful and artistic conceptions of our trained native architects, who have studied in Paris, but the raw mio- tions of all the builders of custom-made houses who, recognizing the public de sire for striking and original effects, are bent npon snrpassing one another. Therefore, while we have many exam- ples, both nrban and snburban, of beau- tifnl and impressive honse architectnre, the new sections of onr cities and snb- nrbs fairly bristle with a mnltiplicity of individual experiments in which the salient featnres of every known type of architectnre are blended fearlessly to- gether. The native architect who has neither been to Paris nor been able to devote mnch time to study has not been limited in the expression of his genius by artistic codes or conventions. Con- sequently he has felt no hesitation in nsing extino~nisher towers, medheval walls, battlement effects, Queen Anne cottage lines, Old Colonial proportions, and Eastern imagery in the same de- sign, and any one of them at any criti- cal jnncture when his work has seemed to him not sufficiently striking for his own or the owners taste. Satisfactory as all this is as evidence of a progressive spirit, and admitting that many of even these lawless mani- festations of talent are not withont merit, it is nevertheless aggressively tine that the smug complacency of the proprietor of the snburban villa, which is hedged abont by a stone rampart of variegated rongh stone on an ordinary bnilding lot, has no justification what- ever. INor has the master of the castel- lated, gloomy, half-Moorish, half-medi- meval mansion, which disfigures the fashionable quarter of many of onr cities, occasion to congratnlate himself on having paid for a thing of beanty. The nnnmber of onr well-trained archi- tects, though constantly increasing, is still small, especially as compared with the number of people of means who are eager to occnpy a thing of beanty; then, too, even the trained architect is apt to try experiments for the sake of testing his genius, on a dog, so to speaksome confiding plutocrat with a love of splendor who has left every- thing to him. The result is that grotesque and eye- distressing monsters of masonry stand side by side on many of our chief avenues with the most graceful and finished specimens of native architect- ural inspiration. As there is no law which prevents one from building or buying an ugly house, and as the archi- tect, whose experiment on a dog tor- 143 Throw the responsihility on their wives. 144 THE DWELLING tures the public eye, suffers no penalty for his crime, our national house archi- tecture may be said to be working out its own salvation at the public expense. It is the duty of a patriotic citizen to believe that in this, as in other matters of national welfare, the beautiful grad- uallv will prevail; and assuredly the many very attractive private residences which one sees both in the city and the country should tend to make us hope- ful. Y\Tliv is it that the rich man who would live wisely feels the necessity for so large a house in the city? Almost the first thing that one who has accu- mulated or inherited great possessions does nowadays is to leave the house where very likely he has been comfort- able and move into a mammoth estab- lishment suggesting rather a palace or an emporium than a house. Why is this? Some one answers that it is for the sake of abundant light and extra space. Surely in a handsome house of twenty-five or thirty feet front there should be light and space enough for the average family, however fastidious or exacting. In the country, where one needs many spare rooms for the accommodation of guests, there are sonic advantages in the possession of an abnormally large house. But how is the comfort of the city man enhanced by one, that is, if the attendant discom- forts are weighed in the same scale? It has sometimes seemed to me that the wealthy or successful man invests in a prodigious niansion as a sort of testimonial; as though lie felt it in- cumbent on him to erect a conven- tional monument to his own grandeur or success, in order to let the public entertain no doubt about it. But so many otherwise sensible mcii have delib- erately built huge city houses that this can scarcely be the controlling niotive in all cases. Perhaps, if asked, they would throw the responsibility on their wives. But it is even more difficult to understand why a sensible woman should wish one of the vast houses which our rising architects arc natur- ally eager to receive orders to con- struct. A handsome house where she can entertain attractively, yes: an ex- quisitely furnished, sunny, corner house by all means; a house where each child may have a room apart and where there are plenty of spare rooms, if you like; but why a mammoth cave? She is the person who will suffer the discomforts to be weighed in the same scale, for the care will fall on her. We have in this country neither trained servants nor the housekeeper system. The wife and mother who is the niis- tress of a huge establishment wishes it to be no less a home than her former residence, and her husband would be the first to demur were she to cast upon others the burdens of immediate super- vision. A moderate-sized modern house is the cause of care enough, as we all know, and wherefore should any wonian seek to multiply her domestic worries by duplicating or trebling the number of her servants. To become the man- ager of a hotel or to cater for an ocean steamship is perhaps a tempt- ing ambition for one in search of fort- une, but why should a woman, who can choose what she will have, elect to be the slave of a modern palace with extin- guisher towers? Merely to be able to invite all her social acquaintance to her house once a year without crowd- ing theni? It would be sinipler to hire one of the niany halls now adapted for the purpose. The difficulty of obtaining efficient servants, and the worries consequent upon their inefficiency, is probably the chief cause of the rapid growth of the apartment-house among us. The con- temporary architect has selected this class of building for sonic of his dead- liest conceits. Great piles of fantasti- cally disposed stone and iron tower up stories upon stories high, and frown upon us at the street-corners like so many Brobdinguagians. Most of them are very ugly; nevertheless they con- tain the hionics of many citizens, and the continuous appearance of new and larger specimens attest their increasing popularity. Twenty years ago there was scarcely an apartment-house to be seen in our cities. There was a certain number of hotels where faniihies could and did live all the year round, but the ten-story nionster, with a janitor, an elevator, steam heat, electric light, and all the alleged comforts of home was THE DWELLING 145 practically unknown. We have always professed to be such a home-loving people, aud the so - called domestic hearth has always been such a touch- stone of sentiment among us that the exchange of the family roof for the community of a flat by so many well-to- do persons certainly seems to suggest either that living cheek by jowl with a number of other households is not so distasteful as it seems to the unini- tiated, or else that modern housekeep- ing is so irksome that women are tempted to swallow sentiment and es- cape from their trammels to the com- paratively easy conditions of an apart- ment. It does seem as though one s identity would be sacrificed or dimmed by becoming a tenant in common, and as though the family circle could never be quite the same thing to one who was conscious that his was only a part of one tremendous whole. And yet, more and more people seem to be anxious to share a janitor and front - door, and, though the more fastidious insist on their own cuisine, there are not a few content to entrust even their gastro- nomic welfare to a kitchen in common. It must be admitted, even by those of us who rejoice in our homes, that there is much to be said in favor of the apartment-house as a solver of practical difficulties, and that our imaginations are largely responsible for our antip- athy. When once inside a private apartment of the most desirable and highly evolved kind one cannot but admit that there is no real lack of priv- acy, and that the assertion that the owner has no domestic hearth is in the main incorrect. To be sure the domain belonging to each suite is compara- tively circumscribed; there is no op- portunity for roaming from garret to cellar; no private laundry; no private backyard; and no private front - door steps; but to all practical intents one is no less free from intrusion or inspec- tion than in a private house, and it may also be said that reporters and other persevering visitors are kept at a more respectful distance by virtue of the jan- itor in common on the ground ficor. The sentiment in favor of limited indi- vidual possession is difficult to eradicate from sensitive souls, and rightly, per- haps, many of us refuse to be convinced; All Irish x 146 THE DWELLING but it remains true that the woman who has become the mistress of a coin- inodious and well - managed apartment must have many agreeable quarters of an hour in congratulating herself that perplexities concerning chores, heating, lighting, flights of stairs, leaks, and a host of minor domestic matters no longer threaten her peace of mind, and greatest boon of all - that she now can manage with two or three servants instead of five or six. In this newly developed fondness for flats we are again guilty of imitating one of the effete civilizationsFrance this timewhere it has long been the custom for families to content theni- selves with a story or two instead of a house ; though we can claim the size and style of architecture of the modern apartment pile as our special brand upon the adopted institution. The in- troduction of the custom here seems to me to be the result of exhaustion of the female nervous system. The Amer- ican housewife, weary of the struggle to obtain efficient servants, having os- cillated from all Catholics to all Prot- estants, from all Irish to all Swedes and back again, having experimented with neo~roes and Chinamen, and re- turned to pure white, having tried native help and been insulted, and reverted to the Celtic race, shethe lono-suffering has sought the apart- ment-house as a haven of rest. She the long - suffering has assuredly been in a false position since the Dec- laration of Independence declared that all men are created equal, for she has been forced to cherish and preserve a domestic institution which popular sentiment has refused to recognize as consistent with the principles of iDe- mocracy. Our National creed, whether presented in the primer or from the platform, has ever repudiated the idea of service when accompanied by an abatement of personal independence or confession of social inferiority. There- fore the native American woman has persistently refused, in the face of high wages and of exquisite moral suasion, to enter domestic service, and has pre- ferred the shop or factory to a comfort- able home where she would have to crook the knee and say Yes, maam. At the same time the native American woman, ever since help in the sense of social acquaintances willing to ac- commodate for hire and dine with the And Sweden. family has ceased to adorn her kitchen and parlor, has been steadily forced by the demands of complex modern liv- ing to have servants of her own. And wbere was she to obtain them? Ex- cepting the negro, only among th cemi- grants of foreign countries, at first among the Irish, and presently among the English and Swedes, all of whom, unharassed by scruples as to a conse- quent loss of self - respect, have been prompt to recognize that this field of employment lay open to them and was undisputed. They have come, and they still come in herds to our shores, raw and undisciplined, the overflow from their own countries; and as fast as they arrive they are feverishly snapped up by the American house-wife, who finds the need of servants more and more imper- ative ; for some one must do the elabo- rate cooking, some one must do the fine washing, some one must polish the silver, rub the brasses, care for the lamps, and dust the biic-a-brac in her THE DWELLING 147 handsomest establishment. And no one but the emigrant, or the son and daughter of the emigrant, is willing to. The consequence is that, though the native American woman is as resolute as ever in her own refusal to be a cook or waitress in a private family, doiuestic service exists as an institution no less completely than it exists in Europe, and practically under the same conditions, save that servants here receive consid- erably higher wages than abroad be- cause the demand is greater than the supply. There is a perpetual wail in all our cities and suburbs that the sup- ply of competent cooks, and skilled laundresses and maids is so limited, and well-trained servants can command practically their own prices. The con- ditions of service, however, are the same. That is, the servant in the household of the freeborn is still the servant; and still the servant in the household where the mistress, who has prospered, would, originally have gone into service had she not been free-born. For there is no one more prompt than the American house-wife to keep a servant when she can afford one, and the more she is ob- liged to keep the prouder is she, though her nervous system may give way under the strain. By this I do not mean that the servants here are ill - treated. On the con- trary, t h e coiisid e r a- tion shown them is greater,and the quar- ters pro- vided for them are far muore comforta- ble on this side of the water than abroad. Indeed, servants fare nowhere in the world so well as in the establish- ments of the well-to-do people of our large cities. Their bedrooms are suita- ble and often tasteful, they are attended by the family physician if ill, they are not Free to become the first lady in the land. overworked, and very slight checks are put on their liberty. But they are unde- niably servants. The free-born American mistress does not regard her servants as social equals. She expects them to stand up if they are sitting down when she enters the room. She expects them to address her sons and daughters as Mr. Samuel and Miss Fannie, and to be called in turn Maggie or Albertine (or Thompson or Jones, d langlaisc) without a prefix. She does her best, in short, to preserve all the forms and all the deference on the one hand, and the haughtiness or condescension on the other which govern the relations be- tween servant and mistress abroad. From the fact that we need so many more servants than formerly, to care propeily for our establishments, the ser- vant here is becoming niore and more of a machine. That is, she is in nearly the samue category with the electric light and the furnace. We expect him or her to be as unobtrusive as possible, to per- form work without a hitch, and not to draw upon our sympathies unneces- sarily. The mistress of one or two girls is sure to grow friendly and concerned as to their outside welfare, but when she has a staff of five or six, she is thankful if she is not obliged to know anything about them. The letter which appeared in a New York newspaper some years ago, from an American girl, in which she declared that she had left service be- cause her master and his sons handed her their dripping umbrellas with the same air as they would have handed them to a graven image, was thoroughly in point. The reason the native Amer- ican girl will not become a servant, in spite of the arguments of the rational and godly, is that service is the sole em- ployment in this country in which she can be told with impunity that she is the social inferior of anyone else. It is the telling which she cannot put up with. It is one thing to be conscious that the person you are constantly associated with is better educated, better man- nered, and more attractive than your- self, and it is another to be told at every opportunity that this is so. In the shop, in the factory, and in other walks of life, whatever her real superiors may think of her, they must treat her as a 148 THE DWELLING social equal. Even that shrill-voiced, banged, bangled, impertinent, slangy, vulgar product of our mammoth retail dry-goods system, who seems to believe herself a pattern of ladylike behavior, is aware in her heart that she does not know how to behave, and yearns to resemble the well-bred woman whom she daily insults. But the happiness, of her life, and its main-spring, too, lies in the consciousness that she is free to become the first lady in the land, and that she herself is to be her sole critic and detractor. Why is she not right in refusing to sacrifice her inde- pendence? Why should she sell her birth-right for a mess of pottage? An anomalous condition of affairs is presented by this contract between the free-born American woman as a mis- tress and as a revolter against domestic service, and it seems to me that one of two things must come to pass. Neces- sarily we shall continue to have cooks, waiting - maids, and laundresses; at least our food must be prepared, our drawing - rooms dusted, and our linen ironed by some one. But either we shall have to accept and acknowledge the existence among us of a class, re- cruited from foreign emigrants and their descendants, which is tarred with the brush of social proscription in di- rect violation of democratic principles, or we must change the conditions of domestic servicechange them so that condescension and servility vanish, and the cofttract of service becomes like the other contracts of employment between man and man, and man and woman. It is fruitless now to inquire what the free-born American woman would have done without the foreign emigrant to cook and wash for her. The question is whether, now that she has her, she is going to keep her, and keep her in the same comfortable and well-paid but palpable thraldom as at present. If so, she will be merely imitating the house- wives of the effete civilizations; she will be doing simply what every English, French, and German woman does and has done ever since class distinctions began. But in that case, surely, we shall be no longer able to proclaim our immunity from caste, and our Fourth of July orators will find some difficulty in showing that other nations are more effete in this respect than ourselves. Twenty-five years more of development in our houses, hotels, and restaurants, if conducted on. present lines, will pro- duce an enormous ducking and scrap- ing, fee-seeking, livery- wearing servant class, which will go far to establish the claim put forth by some of our critics, that equality on this side of the water means only political equality, and that our class distinctions, though not so obvious, are no less genuine than else- where. In this event the only logical note of explanation to send to the Powers will be that social equality was never contemplated by the signers of the Declaration of Independence, and that, though it is true that any man may become President of the United States, there are as great inequalities in morals, intellect, and manners among sons of liberty as among the subjects of the Czar. To this the Powers will be justified in uttering a disappointed and slightly ironical Oh! But perhaps the foreign emigrant will have something to say on the sub- ject. Perhaps the horde from across the seas, now lured by high wages, will decrease in numbers, or it may be that their descendants here will learn through contact with the free-born re- volter against domestic service to re- volt too. What would the free-born American mistress do then? With the free-born revolter still obdurate, and the foreigu emigrant ceasing to emigrate or recal- citrant, she would be in an unpleasant fix in her elaborate establishment con- ducted on effete principles. In this practical dilemma, rather than in an awakened moral sense, seems to lie our best hope of regeneration, for it cannot be denied that the free-born American mistress is doing all she can at present to perpetuate the foreign idea of do- muestic service, and it seems probable that so long as the foreign emigrant is willing to be bribed the true principles of democracy will be violated. Already the difficulty of obtaining servants is inducing home-loving families to seek the apartment-house. A more distinct dearth would speedily change the rela- tions between mistress and servant into JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE 149 that of contractor and contractee, as in mistress will triumph. If so, we shall other employments in this country. It become no better and possibly no worse may be that the descendants of the than the effete civilizations we promised emigrant will be unable to resist the to make blush by the worth of our in- lure offered them, and that the free-born stitutions. JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE By Augustine Birrell is part of the melan- choly of middle age that it dooms ns to witness one by one the extingnishment of the lights that cast t h e i r radiance over yonth. When I was at Cambridge, in the early seventies, the men we most discussed were New- man, Fronde, Carlyle, and iRuskin Tennyson, Browning, and Matthew Arnold. The names of Swinburne and George Meredith were indeed hotly c~nvassed by a few, bnt neither of these distingnished men was then well enough known to yonngsters to allow of general conversation about their merits. To have read The Shaving of Shagpat, Rhoda Fleming, The Ordeal of Richard Feverel, was to be- tray a curious taste and a desire to be wise above your fellows, while Mr. Swinburnes splendid verses were for the time the badge of a coterie. So it was about the names I have mentioned the battle raged most furiously, and of them all but one is left. Nor can it be said death makes no difference. When a great writer whose books we read as they came forth warm from his heart goes over to the majority, he does not forthwith join the ranks of the dead but sceptred sovereigns who rule us from their urns. To those who come after us he may or may not be able to make out a title to possession of their memories; but for us the personal note, the emo- tion once awakened by the living voice, interferes with a cool literary judgment. The Johnson of Boswell is known to us all, and is the only Johnson we do know; but lie is not the Johnson of VOL. XVIL14 Bennet Langton or Beauclerk or Le- vett. A single interview, had we ever had one, with the sage in Bolt Court would put Boswell out, and to that extent destroy the purely literary im- pression of the worn ds greatest biog- raphy. The charm for us about the men I have named is that they and we were alive at the same time. Mr. Froudes death is a personal inflic- tion upon the Old World and the New. He had many friends, and not a few enemies, in both hemispheres. He was a strenuous man who enjoyed himself in many ways, and could adapt himself to a great variety of circumstance. With sorrow he was indeed well ac- quaintedhe knew what it was to be both bitterly disappointed and cruelly wounded. He carried about with him in all his wanderings much sad human experience; his philosophy of life was more sombre than sweet. I do not think anybody who knew him would have described him as a happy man. But for all that he managed to enjoy himself heartily enough. The storm has passed away, the dripping trees are sparkling in the warm and watery sunset. Back, then, to our inn, where dinner waits for us, the choicest of our own trout, pink as salmon with the milky curd in them, and no sauce to spoil the delicacy of their flavor. Then bed, with its lav- ender-scented sheets and white cur- tains, and sleepsound sweet sleep that loves the country village and comes not near a London bedroom. ( Short Studies, Fourth Series, p. 351.) And his enjoyment of books, if they were the right sort, was as keen as his love of a trout-stream. He was an old- fashioned scholar who read books for

Augustine Birrell Birrell, Augustine James Anthony Froude 149-154

JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE 149 that of contractor and contractee, as in mistress will triumph. If so, we shall other employments in this country. It become no better and possibly no worse may be that the descendants of the than the effete civilizations we promised emigrant will be unable to resist the to make blush by the worth of our in- lure offered them, and that the free-born stitutions. JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE By Augustine Birrell is part of the melan- choly of middle age that it dooms ns to witness one by one the extingnishment of the lights that cast t h e i r radiance over yonth. When I was at Cambridge, in the early seventies, the men we most discussed were New- man, Fronde, Carlyle, and iRuskin Tennyson, Browning, and Matthew Arnold. The names of Swinburne and George Meredith were indeed hotly c~nvassed by a few, bnt neither of these distingnished men was then well enough known to yonngsters to allow of general conversation about their merits. To have read The Shaving of Shagpat, Rhoda Fleming, The Ordeal of Richard Feverel, was to be- tray a curious taste and a desire to be wise above your fellows, while Mr. Swinburnes splendid verses were for the time the badge of a coterie. So it was about the names I have mentioned the battle raged most furiously, and of them all but one is left. Nor can it be said death makes no difference. When a great writer whose books we read as they came forth warm from his heart goes over to the majority, he does not forthwith join the ranks of the dead but sceptred sovereigns who rule us from their urns. To those who come after us he may or may not be able to make out a title to possession of their memories; but for us the personal note, the emo- tion once awakened by the living voice, interferes with a cool literary judgment. The Johnson of Boswell is known to us all, and is the only Johnson we do know; but lie is not the Johnson of VOL. XVIL14 Bennet Langton or Beauclerk or Le- vett. A single interview, had we ever had one, with the sage in Bolt Court would put Boswell out, and to that extent destroy the purely literary im- pression of the worn ds greatest biog- raphy. The charm for us about the men I have named is that they and we were alive at the same time. Mr. Froudes death is a personal inflic- tion upon the Old World and the New. He had many friends, and not a few enemies, in both hemispheres. He was a strenuous man who enjoyed himself in many ways, and could adapt himself to a great variety of circumstance. With sorrow he was indeed well ac- quaintedhe knew what it was to be both bitterly disappointed and cruelly wounded. He carried about with him in all his wanderings much sad human experience; his philosophy of life was more sombre than sweet. I do not think anybody who knew him would have described him as a happy man. But for all that he managed to enjoy himself heartily enough. The storm has passed away, the dripping trees are sparkling in the warm and watery sunset. Back, then, to our inn, where dinner waits for us, the choicest of our own trout, pink as salmon with the milky curd in them, and no sauce to spoil the delicacy of their flavor. Then bed, with its lav- ender-scented sheets and white cur- tains, and sleepsound sweet sleep that loves the country village and comes not near a London bedroom. ( Short Studies, Fourth Series, p. 351.) And his enjoyment of books, if they were the right sort, was as keen as his love of a trout-stream. He was an old- fashioned scholar who read books for 150 JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE fun or to find reasons for his precon- ceptions, or (it may be) stories with which to pelt his enemies. The note of personal enjoyment or eager animosity runs through most of his studies. Just before starting for South Africa he bethinks himself of what Aristotle and Goethe have said abont Euripides, and how, ever since Oxford and the statutory four plays he had left Eu- ripides unread, and so he slips him into a coat-pocket, and for six weeks Eu- ripides became an enchanter for me, and the Grecian world was raised from the dead into a moonlight visibility with softest lights, and shadows black as Erebus. Here in foggy London he would sit the live-long day reading with unflag- ging zest those tremendous folios, the Historia sni Temporis of Thnanus, the book Johnson regretted he had nev- er translated. Froude may have hated correcting proofs or groping among manuscripts at Hatfield, but he loved reading about men and women, and never wearied of repeopling the silent past. For the mere hard purposes of his- tory, the Iliad and the Odyssey are the most effective books which ever were written. We see the hall of Men- claus, we see the garden of Alcinous, we see Nausicaa among her maidens on the shore, we see the mellow monarch sitting with ivory sceptre in the market- place dealing out genial justice. Or, again, when the wild mood is on, we can hear the crash of the spears, the rattle of the armor as the heroes fall, and the plunging of the horses among the slain. Could we enter the palace of an old lonian lord we know what we should see there; we know the words in which he would address us. We could meet Hector as a friend. If we could choose a companion to spend an evening with over a fireside, it would be the man of many counsels, the hus- band of Penelope.( Short Studies, i., p. 332.) With all his faults thick as autumn leaves upon him, Froude was a great writer well equipped to play a great part. It may be his fate to stand cor- rected, just as it is Freemans fate to be superseded, but he will long con- tinue to be readwho can doubt it ? not merely for the vivacity of his too often misleading descriptions and for the masculine vigor of his style, but for the interest of his peculiar point of view, the piquancy of his philosophy, the humor of his commentary, for his quick insight into certain pbases of faith and shades of character. And, when all is said and done, these things are at least as interesting as anything else. Never let us speak disrespectfully of accuracy, of research, of stern verac- ity, of unbiased judgments, or lightly confer the grave title of historian upon hasty rhetoricians who have refused to take pains; but tbe fact remains that for the ordinary thinking man who has taken his degree, an ounce of mother- wit is often worth a pound of clergy, and that even the so-called history of an inaccurate genius may be not only more amusing but more profitable reading than the blameless ~vork of a duller nature. The first thing that must strike the mind of anyone who looks at Froudes writings as a whole is their amazing sameness of object, or, at all event~, point of view. It is always the same nail he is hammering on the head. It re- minds one of Popes ruling passion. It crops up everywhere and at all times, firing his zeal wherever he is. What is that object? Why to counteract what he calls the Counter-Reforma- tion; to denounce monkery; to un- frock priests by stripping them of all sac- ramental pretensions; to topple over everything standing between man and tbe Force which called him into being; to preach good works and plain home- spun morality. This was Froudes work from 1849 to 1894. If only he was about this business he did not mind blunder- ing about his facts; a niisquotation or two never disturbed his nights rest. He wanted to get at mens minds, not to store their memories. Sacerdotalism, whether enthroned in the Vatican or burning borrowed candles in Lambeth, was the enemy at whose head he aimed his blows. It was for this he wrote his History in twelve octavo vol- umes. Had Henry VIII. not chanced to be the majestic lord who broke the bonds of Rome and married a wife in JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE 151 spite of a Pope, Froude would have left him severely alone ; but doing what Henry did, Froude put on his royal livery, and did him suit and service, striking on his behalf many a cruel and one or two unmanly blows. His excuse must be his devouring hate. With him the sermon was always more important than the text. In his secret soul we suspect Froude cared no niore for Henry than Carlyle did for Fred- erick. James Anthony Froude was born in Devonshire, in 1818. From his two early books, Shadows of the Clouds (1847), and The Nemesis of Faith (1849), which are clearly partly auto- biography, we carry away a rather disagreeable impression of his youth. His father, Arch~ Froude, was a masterful Anglican old high-and- dry school, who thought ~1oubts ill-bred and Non-conformity vulghr. The doors of his rectory were not open to free currents of opinion. He had no copy of The Pilgrims Progress in his library. The eldest son, the brilliant and short-lived Hurrell, took to High- Churchisin and the cult of the Royal Martyr as some boys take to drink, and having turned it into a hobby- horse, rode merrily away. The younger son, though very impressionable to per- sonal influences, was cast in a differ- ent mould, and from the moment when he first realized that Anglicanism was not everything, began to be uncomfort- able in an atmosphere of priests, pa- rishioners, and penny-clubs. A painful struggle began, and the choice between wounding a fathers feelings and chok- ing his own thoughts had to be made. When we recall how Thomas Arnold was induced to believe it wicked to en- tertain a doubt as to the existence of a triune God, we need not wonder that an imperious archdeacon and a friendly bishop managed, by a judicious mixt- ure of kicks and kisses, to wheedle a young man of vague opinions and no excessive scrupulosity of disposition into Holy Orders. Froude, it is toler ably plain, never loved the Church of England. Years after Newman had - left the English Episcopal Church he was able to write with a sad sincerity: Can I wipe out from my memory or wish to wipe out those happy Sunday mornings, light or dark, year after year, when I celebrated your com- munion rite in my own Church of St. Marys, and in the pleasantness and joy of it heard nothing of the strife of tongues which surrounded its walls. Froude entertained no such fine feel- ings. He had been kidnapped into the ministry. When the time came to re- gain his freedom, he leapt for joy. My living is resigned my employment gone. I am again free, again happy, and all the poor and paltry net-work in which I was entangled, the weak in- trigues which, like the flies in summer, irritate far worse than more serious evilsI have escaped them all. . All I really grieve for is my father. ( The Nemesis of Faith, p. 76.) It is certainly difficult to discover in Froudes writings any traces of de- parted fervor or unction, and yet if he never had any how are we to account for his close relations with Newman, and his share, such as it was, in the Lives of the Saints? In the earlier of the two sketches which make up the little book Shad- ows of the Clouds, which was published anonymously in 1847, and gave great annoyance to the Archdeacon, Froude boldly deals with the subject of the Lives of the Saints. I thought you knew me too well to be surprised at my taking to the Lives of the Saints, taking to anything that offered itself. You know I affect to be a philosopher who does not believe that truth ever shows herself completely in either of the rival armies that claim so loudly to be her champions. She seems to me to lie like the tongue of the balance, only kept in the centre by the equipoise of contending forces, or rather, if I may use a better illustration, like a boat in a canal drawn forward by a rope from both sides, which appear as if they would negative each other and yet produce only a uniform straightfor- ward motion. I throw myself on this side or on that as I please without fear of injuring her. The thought of the great world sweeps on its own great road, but it is its own road; quite an independent one, not in the least re- sembling that which Catholic or Prot 152 JAMES ANTHONY PRO UDE estant, Roundhead or Cavalier, have carved out for it. This is not a very pious passage, and I find it impossible to believe that Froudes Neo - Catholicism was ever more than a piece of eclecticism, a boy- ish tribute to Newman, for whom his admiration outlasted his faith. A visit to Ireland, paid just after his degree, introduced Froude, for the first time in his life, to Evangelicalism, as it was called, that Evangelicalism for which, so Newman tells us in his Apologia, he had learned to entertain a pro- found contempt, but which affected his young disciple very differently. In Ire- land Froude met men who had gone through as many, as various, and as subtle Christian experiences as the most developed saint in the Catholic calen- dar. I saw it in their sermons, in their hymns, in their conversation. He tells us of a clergyman, afterward a bishop, in the Irish Church, who declared in his hearing that the theory of a Christian priesthood was a fiction; that the notion of the sacraments, as having a mechani- cal efficacy, irrespective of their con- scious effect upon the mind of the re- ceiver, was an idolatrous superstition; that the Church was a human institu- tion; that it might have bishops in Eng- land and dispense with bishops in Scot- land and Germany; that a bishop was merely an officer; that the apostolical succession was probably false as a fact, and if a fact implied nothing but his- torical continuity. Froude listened to these blasphemies without terror, and returned to Oxford to take up his resi- dence as a fellow, convinced at least of this, that a holy life was no monopoly of the sacramental theory. It was now a mere question of time when Froude should run off the Catholic rails. He read Carlyles French Revolution, and contrasted the Scottish author with the Oxford one. For the first time now it was brought home to me that two men may be as sincere, as faithful, as un- compromising, and yet hold opinions far asunder as the poles. I have before said that I think the moment of this conviction is the most perilous crisis of our lives ; for myself it threw me at once on my own responsibility, obliged me to look for myself at what men said, in- stead of simply accepting all because they said it.(Nemesis of Faith, p. 156.) Such a mood means revolt, and before long J. A. Froude was a heretic. What faith was he now to pursue? Positive theological opinions were evidently out of his beat. He might admire his Irish friends and their beauty of holi- ness, but the Evangelical doctrine of the Atonement would have proved as much a stumbling - block as the mira- cle of the Mass. Froudes historical imagination came to his assistance. A Devonshire man, he was English to the core, and having quarrelled with priests and popes his thoughts turned to the great discomfiture which befell priests and popes at the Reformation. He very quickly excited. He had early perceived the object of the Tract writers was to unprotestantize England to make John Bull once more a Catholic, full of reverence for saints and shrines and priests and mys- teries; or, as he puts it in The Nemesis of Faith, p. 151, to make England cease to produce great men, as we count greatnessand for poetry, courage, dar- ing enterprise, resolution, and broad, honest understanding substitute de- votion, endurance, humility, self-denial, sanctity and faith. This is to put the case fairly enough, and from this time forward Froude was, before everything else, a Protestant, preaching a Broad- Protestant John Bulhism as opposed to Catholic piety and submission. The- ology, properly so called, he abandoned, though as he grew older and became more conservative he discouraged free thought and regretted the days when plain people took their creed from their parson, just as they did their meat from their butcher, with only a very occasional threat of changing their custom. In scientific research and the origin of species he simply took no interest whatever. He would have us believe that his faith in the Judge of all the eai~th was unwaver- ing, but his readers will find it hard to recall to mind any passage which even approaches the tone or temper of devotional religion. Certainly, on the whole, Froudes antipathies seem stronger than his affections. JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE 153 Once rid of his Orders and robbed of his fellowship Froude naturally turned to literature, and to literature on its his- torical side. He had from the first a passion for expressing himself forcibly and clearly. Oh! how I wish I could write! I try sometimes; for I seem to feel myself overflowing with thoughts, and I cry out to be relieved of them. But it is so stiff and miserable when I get anything done. What seemed so clear and liquid comes out so thick, stupid, and frost-bitten, that I myself who put the idea there can hardly find it for shame if I go look for it a few days after. The man who could write thus was bound ultimately to succeed, and by dint of taking pains Froude obtained the mastery of his pen, and for the last forty years of his life was a great, though careless, artist in words. The growing devotion to Carlyle was a little puzzling in the opinion of some keen though unfriendly critics, who had opportunities of judging not wholly free from affectation. His talk of the piety of Oliver and the grandeur of Cal- vin did not carry conviction with it. It was Carlyles humor to fancy him- self a Puritan, and he perhaps was one to this extent, at all events, that he would not allow any one but himself to tirade against old Jews clothes;~~ but how did Froude squeeze himself into that gallery? The true Froude, that is, the Froude apart from his animosities and pet foes, is to be found in such a passage as this We should draw no horoscopes; we should expect little, for what we expect will not come to pass. Revolutions, ref orinationsthose vast movements into which heroes and saints have flung themselves in the belief that they were the dawn of the millenniumhave not borne the fruit which they looked for. Millenniums are still far away. These great convulsions leave the world changedperhaps improved, but not improved as the actors in them hoped it would be. Luther would have gone to work with less heart could he have foreseen the Thirty Years War, and in the distance the theology of Tilbingen. Washington might have hesitated to draw the sword against England could he have seen the country which he made as we see it now.(February, 1864; Short Studies, voL i., p. 28.) I have exhausted my space. Froudes History is justly open to much ani- madversion. Perhaps his greatest work is his much-abused but most remark- able Life of Carlyle. The last book of his is his Erasmus lectures delivered at Oxford from the chair to which he was appointed on the death of his bitter critic, Freeman, by Lord Salisburyone of those very Neo-Catholics Froude so heartily ab- horred. Fronde felt no obligations to his patron, and with the shades of the prison-house gathering round him set to work at his old task with all his old vigor. He took as his text the letters of Erasmus, and selecting from them those passages which most interested him as he read them, translated them from the Latin into racy English, pass- ing upon them as he went along his familiar commentary. The result is a most fascinating volume. Erasmus seems alive once more. Whether Froudes Erasmus is the true Erasmus is of course matter of controversy. All Mr. Froude would ever have said is, It is my notion of Erasmus. What is yoitrs? Good history or bad, it is a blow in the face of Neo-Catholicism, and perhaps that is all Mr. Froude ever meant it to be. Personal controversy Mr. Froude avoided. He seldom replied to his mad- dened foes. He made no great pre- tensions, and held himself aloof from professional authorism. He enjoyed country life and country pursuits, amid the society of cultivated women. He has gone from us, leaving the fight in which he took so fierce a part still rag- ing and unsettled. The ranks are clos- ing up and his old place already knows him no more. A QUESTION OF PRIVILEGE REPORTED BY TRUTHFUL JAMES By Bret Harte IT was Andrew Jackson Sutter, who despising Mr. Cutter for remarks he heard him utter in debate upon the floor, Swung him up into the skylight, in the peaceful, pensive twilight, and then keerlessly proceeded, makin no account what we did To wipe up with his person casual dust upon the floor. Now a square fight never frets me, nor unpleasantness upsets me, but the simple thing that gets menow the job is done and gone, And weve come home free and merry from the peaceful cemetery, leavin Cutter there with Sutterthat mebbee just a stutter On the part of Mr. Cutter caused the loss we deeply mourn. Some bashful hesitation, just like spellin punctooationmight have worked an aggravation onto Sutters mournful mind, For the witnesses all vary ez to wot was said and nary a galoot will toot his horn except the way he is inclined. But they all allow that Sutter had begun a kind of mutter, when uprose Mr. Cutter with a sickening kind of ease, And proceeded then to wade in to the subject then prevadin: Is Profanity degradin? in words like unto these:

Bret Harte Harte, Bret A Question Of Privilege - Reported By Truthful James 154-156

A QUESTION OF PRIVILEGE REPORTED BY TRUTHFUL JAMES By Bret Harte IT was Andrew Jackson Sutter, who despising Mr. Cutter for remarks he heard him utter in debate upon the floor, Swung him up into the skylight, in the peaceful, pensive twilight, and then keerlessly proceeded, makin no account what we did To wipe up with his person casual dust upon the floor. Now a square fight never frets me, nor unpleasantness upsets me, but the simple thing that gets menow the job is done and gone, And weve come home free and merry from the peaceful cemetery, leavin Cutter there with Sutterthat mebbee just a stutter On the part of Mr. Cutter caused the loss we deeply mourn. Some bashful hesitation, just like spellin punctooationmight have worked an aggravation onto Sutters mournful mind, For the witnesses all vary ez to wot was said and nary a galoot will toot his horn except the way he is inclined. But they all allow that Sutter had begun a kind of mutter, when uprose Mr. Cutter with a sickening kind of ease, And proceeded then to wade in to the subject then prevadin: Is Profanity degradin? in words like unto these: A QUESTION OF PRIVILEGE 155 Onlike the previous speaker, Mr. Cutter of Yreka, he was but a humble seekerand not like hima cuss It was here that Mr. Sutter softly reached for Mr. Cutter, when the latter with a stutter said: accus-tomed to discuss.~~ Then Sutter he rose grimly, and sorter smilin dimly, bowed onto the Chair- man primly(just like Cutter ez could be!) Drawled He guessed he must fall back asMr. - Cutter owned the pack as he just had played the Jack as (here Cutters gun went crack! as Mr. Sutter gasped and ended) every man can see! But William Henry Pryorjust in range of Sutters firehere evinced a wild desire to do somebody harm And in the general scrimmage no one thought if Sutters image was a misplaced punctooationlike the hole in Pryors arm. For we all waltzed in together, never carin to ask whether it was Sutter or was Cutter we woz tryin to abate. But we couldnt help perceivin, when we took to inkstand heavin,. that the process was relievin to the sharpness of debate. So weve come home free and merry from the peaceful cemetery, and I make no commentary on these simple childish games, Things is various and humanand the man aint born of woman who has got enough acumen to say wots anothers aims! THE CITY OF DREAM By Rosamund Marriott - Watson WHEN Spring was mine and all the ways were green, And all the valleys veiled in golden mist, And all the shadows pearl and amethyst, Through the dim maze of morrows unfo~eseen Fair and far-glimmering as the dusky fire That lights a pine-wood when the sunset dies Faint as the cuckoo calling as it flies Sweet as the Springs own secret-smitten lyre Now shining clear with sun-washed roof and spire, Now, wrapped and compassed round with mysteries A haunted palace bowered in ancient trees I knew the City of my Hearts Desire. Even as a late-remembered tryst, it drew My wandering feet forever to the quest: Dreaming, I saw it through the gray dawn dew, Waking, I dreamed for aye to find the clue, Past this tree-shadowed slopethat blue hills crest Eager I sought my paradise anew With every sun that fared from east to west. The autumn evening closes, mild and gray, Lit by a fading sunsets narrow gleam, And still to-morrow-wards I turn and say --- There, peradventure, I shah find the way And still a strange voice calls by wood and stream, And still the vision glimmers strangely bright The wide world oer I wander, wander, yet, And still to-morrow-wards my face is set To seek the city of my hearts delight. By pastoral plains with purple rivers twined, By gardens red with amaranth and rose, Where crumbling towns lie steeped in rich repose, The gray towers sleeping in the sun and wind, By gabled street and grassy orchard-close, I goand all as painted shadows seem Nor moved to linger, nor to look behind I pass, and many a happy pleasaunce find, But never the town, the country, of my dream.

Rosamund Marriot-Watson Marriot-Watson, Rosamund The City Of Dream 156-157

THE CITY OF DREAM By Rosamund Marriott - Watson WHEN Spring was mine and all the ways were green, And all the valleys veiled in golden mist, And all the shadows pearl and amethyst, Through the dim maze of morrows unfo~eseen Fair and far-glimmering as the dusky fire That lights a pine-wood when the sunset dies Faint as the cuckoo calling as it flies Sweet as the Springs own secret-smitten lyre Now shining clear with sun-washed roof and spire, Now, wrapped and compassed round with mysteries A haunted palace bowered in ancient trees I knew the City of my Hearts Desire. Even as a late-remembered tryst, it drew My wandering feet forever to the quest: Dreaming, I saw it through the gray dawn dew, Waking, I dreamed for aye to find the clue, Past this tree-shadowed slopethat blue hills crest Eager I sought my paradise anew With every sun that fared from east to west. The autumn evening closes, mild and gray, Lit by a fading sunsets narrow gleam, And still to-morrow-wards I turn and say --- There, peradventure, I shah find the way And still a strange voice calls by wood and stream, And still the vision glimmers strangely bright The wide world oer I wander, wander, yet, And still to-morrow-wards my face is set To seek the city of my hearts delight. By pastoral plains with purple rivers twined, By gardens red with amaranth and rose, Where crumbling towns lie steeped in rich repose, The gray towers sleeping in the sun and wind, By gabled street and grassy orchard-close, I goand all as painted shadows seem Nor moved to linger, nor to look behind I pass, and many a happy pleasaunce find, But never the town, the country, of my dream. Elihu Vedder. From the pastel by William Sergeant Kendall. U 00 I E bO a RECENT WORK OF ELIHU VEDDER By W. C. Brownell R VEDDERS recent work, some of which is herewith reproduced, attests hi s undimin- ished vitality, but is also particularly note- worthy just at the present time for the relief into which it brings his individual artistic attitude his c~thetic point of view. It stands out, as indeed all his painting does, very boldly against the background of the current art-for-arts-sake gospel, and in pleasantly serene disregard of the contemporary tyranny of this gospel seems to assert that art has its intel- lectual side after all. It is sufficiently varied and important to constitute, taken together, an interesting and em- phatic example of painting that ad- dresses the mind as well the sense. It is interesting as well as agreeable, VOL. XVJJ.15 significant as well as representative. Whatever view one takes of the prov- ince of painting, and nowadays it is the part of wisdom, I should say, for any one but a practitioner or a professor to take all views, the striking contrast that Mr. Vedder presents to most of his compatriot contemporaries of any- thing like his calibre is piquant and suggestive. No one needs to be reminded that explicit story-telling and cogent moral- enforcing have ceased to be the aim of the painter. What is called and stig- matized as literary painting has few and inconsiderable advocates and devo- tees. But there is a distinction to be observed between the plastic art that usurps and that which parallels the province of literature. Holbein and Hogarth are not less painters in any- ones estimation because their work Lazarus.

W. C. Brownel Brownel, W. C. Recent Work Of Elihu Vedder 157-165

RECENT WORK OF ELIHU VEDDER By W. C. Brownell R VEDDERS recent work, some of which is herewith reproduced, attests hi s undimin- ished vitality, but is also particularly note- worthy just at the present time for the relief into which it brings his individual artistic attitude his c~thetic point of view. It stands out, as indeed all his painting does, very boldly against the background of the current art-for-arts-sake gospel, and in pleasantly serene disregard of the contemporary tyranny of this gospel seems to assert that art has its intel- lectual side after all. It is sufficiently varied and important to constitute, taken together, an interesting and em- phatic example of painting that ad- dresses the mind as well the sense. It is interesting as well as agreeable, VOL. XVJJ.15 significant as well as representative. Whatever view one takes of the prov- ince of painting, and nowadays it is the part of wisdom, I should say, for any one but a practitioner or a professor to take all views, the striking contrast that Mr. Vedder presents to most of his compatriot contemporaries of any- thing like his calibre is piquant and suggestive. No one needs to be reminded that explicit story-telling and cogent moral- enforcing have ceased to be the aim of the painter. What is called and stig- matized as literary painting has few and inconsiderable advocates and devo- tees. But there is a distinction to be observed between the plastic art that usurps and that which parallels the province of literature. Holbein and Hogarth are not less painters in any- ones estimation because their work Lazarus. 158 RECENT WORK OF ELIHU VEDDER is indued with a significance which to ing and expressing, and with which he the pure painter is surplusage. If has enriched and enwrapped the mere your pictorial composition, in addition material of his picture. to its appeal to the eye, is a focus of Take, for instance, The Enemy Sow- intellectual interest and a stimulus of ing Tares, here reproduced. The sub- thought and ima~ination, it enforces its ject is a simple one in the Scripture sensuous appeal prodigiously. Con- story. All that an art-for-arts-sake ceive otherwise of a great portrait, for painter, so to speak, would require to example. Is Velasquezs Innocent X. illustrate it would be a field, night, and the mere affair of solidity and surface a man sowing tares. The result would, that the modern emulator of Velas- one may imagine, be rather fiat, except quez in general achieves? It is, on for the sensuous interest of the acci- the contrary, in a sense, the epitome dents; the mind would have little pab- of an epoch, and appeals to the psy- ulum. Here, on the other hand, you chologist as much as to the amateur. Or, if this be fanciful, take a great landscape and inquire how much it de- pends for its interest on the sensible excess of the painters feeling over the natural representation that is its mere materiaL Portraits and landscape, however, are not Mr. Vedders field of effort, which is the field of the imagination. And in this field even the addition to impres- sionism of the element of suggestive- ness or divination and the element of personal emotion are both insufficient. What is required above everything else is thought, the intellectual faculty. And that, I think, is what is largely characteristic of his work; it is pene- trated with thought, with reflection, with significance. This is the trait that classes it with the honorable tradi- tion of painting, that keeps it in line with the orderly evolution of the paint- ing that is permanently interesting and attaching instead of in erely attractive and pleasing. He does not rest con- tent with aspect, but enforces aspect with meaning. You are not through with a picture of his when you have taken it in. Nor do you return to it again merely for the delight of the eye. Neither is it that sort of symbolic hie- roglyphic that casts the heavy burden of its interpretation on you. The painter himself has done the work for you, leaving you the task of apprecia- tion, and, if you like, criticism, for which however he has himself, furnished you abundant material. It appeals to your culture, your reading occasionally even, but mainly to your mental zest in seiz- ing and following the thought which the painter has been at the pains of think- note a dozen phases of significance. The theme is universalized; the man has become the arch-enemy, the night is weird and awe-inspiring, the tares represent the foe of the Churchmon- eysown at the foot of the cross, its symbol and starting-point; the fallen tabellum indicates a later date than primitive Christianity; there is, in a word, food for thought, for specula- tion even, added to the qualities of painting. Whether one is pleased or moved by it or not, the work is in the line of the classic, the persistent, tra- dition. Mr. Vedder has not passed his life in Home for nothing. His attitude is in harmony with the spirit of the Sis- tine and the Stauze, which was terribly unconscious of art for arts sake, but sympathy with which in a master of indisputable power is, as I began by saying, especially interesting at the present time, when painting has be- come so generally an affair of aspect and accidents. Point of view, however, is one thing, and its illustration quite another. It is not merely his attitude that makes Mr. Vedders art interesting, it is its character, his attitude being given. A painter may conspicuously class himself with a tradition that has never yielded to the somewhat indolent absorption of impressionism in what is called Nat- ure, or to the submersion of thought in emotion, of meaning in appearance, without for that escaping flatness. Its significance is probably what M. Bou- guerean would claim as the cardinal characteristic of his art. Certainly con- vention is as constant a peril of the classic tradition as of the art in revolt against it, and though perhaps not. P2nel for the Bowdoin Colle e 4 Bulldin more so, since convention is the ine- vitable concomitant of every point of view that gets itself established, a method is nevertheless freer than a system. In saying, therefore, that Mr. Yeddcrs painting is a product of mind as well as of sense and emotion, one only clears the ground for adding the really important thing about it, the quality of mind, namely, that it illus- trates and expresses. And this is as individual and original in itself as its authors association with the tradition he follows is noticeable in contrast with the current painting. In the way he conceives and executes a 160 subject he is as eminently characteristic as he is classic. The impasto touch is as unprofitable in eulogy as in censure, and I do not mean to ascribe absolute originality in any large sense to the charming and interesting decorative pieces of the Huntington dining-room and the Bowdoin College art building. Decorative ceilings and panels which should exhibit absolute originality as their most marked characteristic would probably be nearly as markedly gro- tesque. Examples are not wholly lack- ing. I mean only to note that these pieces are particularly interesting and charming within the necessarily re Luna Study for the Huntington Ceiling. RECENT WORK OF ELIHU VEDDER 161 stricted limits that the decorative con- vention imposes. They are, in the first place, evidently considered, and in con- sequence have a look that only the lack of culture that mistakes slap-dash for spontaneity could find artificial. The Huntington ceiling might, perhaps, have been treated in a freer way, with a larger sweep, more characteristic of the painters genius ; one misses a little the sense of swing everyone has learned to associate with the illustrator of the Rubdy4t, and one can conceive of a Yedder composition flung across a ceil- ing that would be more largely moving. At the same time the space is con- tracted, and the pictures were maui- festly conditioned by the niggardly op- portunities afforded by the architecture, which provided for a heavily coffered gold-loaded structure, Etaving only an interstitial effect for the painter to attain. If one wishes the figures were larger and the composition pulled out a bit, that in itself implies one of the best of good faults, and besides, as I say, it is not a fault at all, but a misfor- tune. There is, by way of compensa- tion, a condensed look that is extremely agreeable, and the composition is packed full of interest and variety. Apollo, Luna, Fortune, Zephyr, are common properties of the decorative painter; but here and inthe Bowdoin tympanum Study for the Central Panel of Ceiling in the Huntington Dining-room. 162 RECENT WORK OF ELIHU VEDDEk they are used to express a scheme that is at once elaborate and clear, compli- cated enongh to compel, and simple enongh to reward, i-epeated inspection. The strength and grace of the male, and the snave luxuriance of the female figures are what every cnltivated aIna- teur has learned to expect of their authors native inclination for what is large aiid noble in form. The general way in which these fig- ures are treated is noteworthy. Each is, so to speak, thoroughly respected and sustains an organic rather than a linear relation to the complete design. The whole is a concentric congeries of units, and not an invertebrate assemblaoe of details contributing to a composition of which the sole interest is the ara- besque of the sum of them. In this way the composition gains greatly in interest. One may look at it again and again, as should be the case with a ceilino above other pictures, perhaps. Mr. Vedder has his philosophy of the plafond. It is not, he thinks, some- thing to be glanced at breakueckedly, appreciated in a moment and then re- leased from further consideration. It is something crowded enough with va- riety and interest to repay occasional glances by disclosing something fresh at every brief inspec~tion, something that does not demand, however it may reward, sustained attention. It is a picture like another, placed in a posi- tion which stimulates rather than fa- tigues casual interest, and which is not to be taken in all at once though the ensemble should be, as in this case eminently it is, suave and agreeable. Nor should it have a peculiar treatment of its own, with the exaggerated per- spective of Pozzi and Tiepolo and the modern Frenchmen. A ceiling has an actual perspective of its own; why add to it an artificial effect that can only be rightly seized, as I have heard Mr. Ved- der remark, by one man, in one place, with one eye? Paint your picture as if it were an easel picture, and then hang it on the wainscot line, on the frieze, or on the ceiling, as you may wish, and look at it with the desultory inter- est that rational decoration demands. Making a background of infinite azure that obliterates the sense of construe- tion, of ceiling, and setting forth on this impalpable clouds and other Bouch- er paraphernalia, is in his view puerile. I dare say the Boucher practice has its justification, but we are here concerned with Mr. Vedders. A point, however, in which he does differentiate the deco- rative from the easel picture is the qual- ity of his paintingthoughi, very likely, he would paint an easel picture in the same way if he wished to give it a per- manent position as far away from the eve. The sense of surface is scrupu- lously preserved. The background is simplified so as to count solely and solidly as background, and the figures treated with a pronounced outline and fiat tints that give them relief as fig- ures, and emphasize both the color and linear composition. His oil canvas has thus the accent and crisp effect of fres- co, instead of being blended into a mass that, however agreeable in tone and hue must be more or less feeble at the dis- tance imposed upon it. The Lazarus is more intimately characteristic of Mr. Vedders work than the decorative pieces, more near- ly an epitome of his talent. It exhib- its very vividly the fusiou of force and grace, the blending of power and charm that in their way and degree are pecul- iar to the painter, and in the last anal- ysis, I think, constitute his distinction. The decorative aspect is superb. The drapery is managed with a freedom that witnesses exhilaration, with a sweep of flowing line at once grandiose and ef- fortless. But the face it fitly frames is of an elevated and winning nobility, not only in character, but in the plastic expression of character, in pose, in planes, in the way in which it is placed and modelled, of which Mr. Vedder alone has the secret. The combined elegance and strength of the treatment beautifully enforce the spirit and sig- nificance of the face with which they are in subtle accord. In the presence of such a representation in pigment of a living soul of such sweetness, such dignity, such tranquil pen siveness, such pathetic and moving serenity, such a visible record of mysterious yet not awful spiritual experience secretly cher- ished and intimately sustainingin the presence of such food for the mind as Study for the Figure of Fortune. For a painting over mantelpiece in the Huntington Dining-room. 164 RECENT WORK OF ELLHU VEDDER this the impressionist who should sug- guished from fancy, the artistic fac- gest the shibboleth of literary paint- ulty of the mind as contrasted with ing ~ might safely be invited by any that of the senses and the suscepti- serious intelligence, nay, by any person bility. A penetrating feeling for beau- of good breeding, to go his way and ty in its full rather than its fleeting solace his sterility with the shallowness aspects, a vibrant though never trcmu- of his sensuous gospel. bus sympathy with the emotions asso - It is on such significant material as ciated with these aspects, are eminent- this The Lost Mind, Aldrichs by characteristic of his imagination Identity, the Cum~an Sibyl, the it has a very pronounced romantic pungent and yet tragic philosophy of side, even as the romantic is common- the IRub~iy~tthat Mr. Vedders imag- ly understood. And its range is nota- ination exercises itself, with native sym- ble. But that which gives it its prop- pathy, to noble ends. His artistic atti- er distinction is the accidental nature tude is in itself interesting, the quality of its romanticism compared with the and character of his work, decorative way in which it uses this to illustrate and other, are individual and admirable, and decorate its essential preoccupa- but to any but the technical critic it is tion with what is bess tangible but in- the personal force from which these de- finitely more significant. It is the im- nyc that is most interesting and stimu- agination of a man whose natural cx- lating to consider which is perhaps pression is pictorial, but who is a man only another way of saying that what is as well as a painter, who has lived as most interesting to consider in a mans well as painted, who has speculated theory and practice is the nature of the much, pondered much, felt muchand personal force in virtue of which they on a plane rather inaccessible probably are his. to most of those to whom beauty is This personal force in Mr. Vedders merely its own excuse for being. It is case, I take it, is imagination. And this that places Vedder in the first rank at the risk of intruding metaphys- of the imaginative painters of the day. ics, I may say imagination as distin- Their name is not legion. The Enemy Sowing Tares. BISNAGAS MADELINE By Wolcott Le Clear Beard T was down in New Mex- ico that I first made her acquaintance, where we were building the big reservoir at Las Con- chas. Her father, Tim Mul- laney by name, was a sub-contractor who had about thirty stationsthree thousand feetof the levee to put up. A melancholy kind of Irishman was Tim, industrious and well-meaning, but the thickest-headed Cdt that ever crossed the water. He wouldnt have lasted two days on the work, if it had not been for Nora, his wife, who was as quick to see as well, as Tim wasnt, and thats really say- ing a good deal. What he had to do was the easiest thing in the world: just earthwork with a little third-class masonry here and there; but he never could get anything right, somehow, and would mix up the simplest instructions unless his wife was by to expound them; so finallyI was the engineer in charge of all that part I would ride down to his camp and explain what I wanted directly to Nora, who would superintend Tim, and so things got on very nicely after a while, though they were generally broke; but that was because Tim would insist on running the treasury end of the outfit. I had thirteen miles of work to cover, and in that dusty, desert country, with the mercury anywhere between a hundred and four and a hundred and twenty in the shade, my daily ride of twenty-six miles was apt to be a bit tedious; and as Noras camp was always the neatesta great thing in that land of fliesand the water in her big red ollas much cooler and more refreshing than anyone elses, I got in- to the habit, finally, of making my visit to this camp the last one of the day, and stopping a while to let my horse rest, as I chatted with Nora and chaffed Madeline. Madeline was ten years old and a small edition of her mother, so her VOL. XVJI.16 worst enemy could hardly say her beauty amounted to a fault, but a brighter young woman would be very hard to find. She was also her mothers lieu- tenant, and an able one, too; for while Nora was busy about the campand that, of course, was pretty well all the timeMadeline would patrol the work. Then if anything went wrong there, those who were to blame would hear from it, and very quickly. It was an odd little figure that I used to see cantering toward me as I walked my horse down the dusty length of the half - finished bank. She always rode astride, with the halter shank twisted around her ponys jaw in lieu of a bridle, and her saddle was a square of canvas cut from an old tent, ornamented with figures drawn on it in ink, in imitation of those the Indians paint on skins. She tuk all the ink there was in the com- mishary for thim there dicorashuns, her father had told me, and I have no doubt he spoke truly; but as no one in that camp ever wrote any letters, and kept their one account-book in pencil or didnt keep it at all, just as it hap- pened, it really didnt matter. The pony himself was a curiosity in his way. He couldnt have stood much over eleven hands, and had hair like a goats. His mane was as shaggy as a Shetlands, and so would his tail have been had not Madeline cut it away in links, so that it looked rather like a telescope. Then he seemed, as I remember him, nearly as broad as he was long. This was also owing to his mistress, for she, being exceedingly fond of her steed, and having original ideas about horse-train- ing, persisted in keeping him in the small enclosure of the corral, where all the feed was stored, in order that he might help himself to what he most fancied; a method which would probably have killed any other horse in the Terri- tory. She had not gained this privilege for Bisnaga (she had called him after the stumpy, shaggy cactus of that name,

Woolcott Le Clear Beard Beard, Woolcott Le Clear Bisnaga's Madeline 165-179

BISNAGAS MADELINE By Wolcott Le Clear Beard T was down in New Mex- ico that I first made her acquaintance, where we were building the big reservoir at Las Con- chas. Her father, Tim Mul- laney by name, was a sub-contractor who had about thirty stationsthree thousand feetof the levee to put up. A melancholy kind of Irishman was Tim, industrious and well-meaning, but the thickest-headed Cdt that ever crossed the water. He wouldnt have lasted two days on the work, if it had not been for Nora, his wife, who was as quick to see as well, as Tim wasnt, and thats really say- ing a good deal. What he had to do was the easiest thing in the world: just earthwork with a little third-class masonry here and there; but he never could get anything right, somehow, and would mix up the simplest instructions unless his wife was by to expound them; so finallyI was the engineer in charge of all that part I would ride down to his camp and explain what I wanted directly to Nora, who would superintend Tim, and so things got on very nicely after a while, though they were generally broke; but that was because Tim would insist on running the treasury end of the outfit. I had thirteen miles of work to cover, and in that dusty, desert country, with the mercury anywhere between a hundred and four and a hundred and twenty in the shade, my daily ride of twenty-six miles was apt to be a bit tedious; and as Noras camp was always the neatesta great thing in that land of fliesand the water in her big red ollas much cooler and more refreshing than anyone elses, I got in- to the habit, finally, of making my visit to this camp the last one of the day, and stopping a while to let my horse rest, as I chatted with Nora and chaffed Madeline. Madeline was ten years old and a small edition of her mother, so her VOL. XVJI.16 worst enemy could hardly say her beauty amounted to a fault, but a brighter young woman would be very hard to find. She was also her mothers lieu- tenant, and an able one, too; for while Nora was busy about the campand that, of course, was pretty well all the timeMadeline would patrol the work. Then if anything went wrong there, those who were to blame would hear from it, and very quickly. It was an odd little figure that I used to see cantering toward me as I walked my horse down the dusty length of the half - finished bank. She always rode astride, with the halter shank twisted around her ponys jaw in lieu of a bridle, and her saddle was a square of canvas cut from an old tent, ornamented with figures drawn on it in ink, in imitation of those the Indians paint on skins. She tuk all the ink there was in the com- mishary for thim there dicorashuns, her father had told me, and I have no doubt he spoke truly; but as no one in that camp ever wrote any letters, and kept their one account-book in pencil or didnt keep it at all, just as it hap- pened, it really didnt matter. The pony himself was a curiosity in his way. He couldnt have stood much over eleven hands, and had hair like a goats. His mane was as shaggy as a Shetlands, and so would his tail have been had not Madeline cut it away in links, so that it looked rather like a telescope. Then he seemed, as I remember him, nearly as broad as he was long. This was also owing to his mistress, for she, being exceedingly fond of her steed, and having original ideas about horse-train- ing, persisted in keeping him in the small enclosure of the corral, where all the feed was stored, in order that he might help himself to what he most fancied; a method which would probably have killed any other horse in the Terri- tory. She had not gained this privilege for Bisnaga (she had called him after the stumpy, shaggy cactus of that name, 166 BISNAGAS MADELINE which he much resembled) without a struggle, for Lopes, their Mexican cor- ral-boss, finding his sense of the fitness of things much outraged by this proceed- ing, took it upon him self to consign Bis- naga to the outer darkness of the main corral. Twice he did this, and attempt- ed it a third time, but Madeline was present on this occasion, and finding her remonstrances unheeded, struck him across the face with a mule whip. He then came toward her, probably to box her ears, so she drew a pistol and cocked it, and he went away. But he always hated her after that. To return. On the animal thus ca- parisoned would sit Madeline, in a calico frock, very clean, a pink sun-bonnet, scarlet stockings, and tattered, dusty shoes, almost always without buttons, and held on her feet by a pair of enor- mous Mexican spurs. These spurs were half the pride of her life. The other half was a much-worn red silk parasol, proudly held aloft when its owner rode slowly, but when at a more rapid gait was furled and used to wallop the pony with. She wore a leather belt around her waist, fastened with a latego instead of a buckle, and in this was stuck the pis- tol which completed her attire. It was only a target-pistol about eight inches long; a single-barrelled affair, throwing a ball about the size of a homo~opathic pill, as Mark Twain says; but such as it was, Madeline would hold it very straight indeed. Thus attired she would come toward me at a lope, and making a sort of mili- tary salute with her parasol, would vent- ure to hope that everything is going right the day; for Madeline was not without a touch, though a slight one, of her parents rich brogue. Then riding gravely along by my side, she would answer my questions, and straighten out her fathers muddled replies, as we found him, swearing at his scraper-chasers at the end of the dump, and then would scamper back to the camp to let her mother know I was coming. I took a fancy to her, and we became great friends. At first, though, all the friendship was on my side, Madeline disapproving of me thoroughly, and on many different counts. To begin with, I was a tenderfoot, as shown by my breeches, boots, and straight spurs, all separate grounds of offence in her eyes. Furthermore, my flat saddle was a tri- fling affair, not at all suited to the se- rious business of life. She thought no one who used such a thing could ride, and I couldnt as she did. Few men could. Also, it had no thongs hanging all over it, to tie things on by, and no horn whereby to hold a lassoed steer, about all a saddle was good for, anyway. Then my guns were Smith & Wessons and not the Colts to which she was accustomed. These things were surely enough to condemn anyone, but I was guilty of far more serious offences. I made fun of Bisnaga and of her affec- tion for him, affecting to be uncertain as to which owned the other. This filled her small soul with rage, and for a while Madeline hated me fervently. She always spoke respectfully to me, for if she had not her mother would have ascertained the reason why by a method with which she was painfully familiar; but when I was sitting sometimes, in the thatched eating shack, she would get behind it into the corral, where, as she couldnt see me, she was not obliged to take official notice of my presence, and then would make cutting remarks in technical language and sarcastic tone concerning my horse, his conformation and equipments, and occasionally about myself. One day, however, as I was riding slowly down the road, about a mile from Mullaneys camp, Madeline suddenly went by me like a flash. I had not heard the sound of Bisnagas little bare hoofs on the soft sand, and neither had my horse, for the vision of a wildly flourished flame-colored parasol made him snort and shy. He wasnt used to being passed, however, so in three jumps was hard on the ponys heels. She glanced over her shoulder and began frantically to work her pas- sage; spurs, parasol, and halter-shank all going like mad, leaning well forward and lifting her horse, jockey fashion. I then saw that Madeline was racing with me, and really I never thought so small a pony could go so fast. His little legs looked like a mist under him. Of course he hadnt much of a chance BISNAGAS MADELINE 167 with my long-legged black, so I pulled a bitgradually, so she wouldnt see it letting her ride in, a winner by some forty yards. The look of triumph she gave me, as she stopped her panting horse by the corral slip-rails, I wouldnt have missed for anything. This was repeated for the next week or so at frequent intervals, being evidently in- tended to lower my opinion of my judgment; but having sufficiently hu- miliated me, Madeline relented visibly, and even became quite affable at times. Then she saw me jump my horse over an arroyo, though I didnt know it until three days later, when she took an op- portunity of accomplishing the same feat. Then I learned, on inquiry, that in the intervening time she had put Bisnaga over every ditch he could clear, and tumbled him into those he couldnt, for miles around. Taking this with the fact that I once killed a jack-rabbit in a manner which met her approval, placed me well in her esteem, and I was correspondingly elated. It was not long after this happy event that I met with an accident. An under- mined bank gave way, bringing my horse and me down with it; I under- neath, and the horse together with a ton or so of sand on top. It squeezed me somewhat, enough to lay me up with some exceedingly painful injur- ies, so that I could do nothing but lie on my cot in the shade and watch the buzzards, as they lazily wheeled about above me, and wishing the while that I might get something besides bacon and frijoles to eat, and someone to talk to, for everyone was far too busy to attend to me. It was the third day, I think, when I saw a red spot far down the river trail, which, as it slowly ap- proached, developed into Madelines parasoL I wondered if she was com- mo- to see me, for it wouldnt strike one that visiting the sick was much in her line, but such was her intention; for Bisnagas head was turned up the path leading to the thatched veranda where I lay, and I saw that he was dressed for the occasion, wearing a bridle with a large brass army bit, and several feathers stuck in his mane. Madeline stopped him, and pulling the reins over his head as an intimation that he was to stop where he stood, came up to my cot. She replied to my salutations in rather an absent way, and looked at me sternly for some time; but after a while she said, Mother thought this might taste good after the beans and hog meat, putting on the chair by my side a na.pkin - covered parcel as she spoke. I thanked her as well as her mother for their kindness, but if she heard me she made no sign, so there was a pause after I had finished, until she asked Howd it come to be ? I told her, and she considered some time, and then Bisnaga wouldnt do no such fool thing as that. Anxious to conciliate, I said I was sure of it, but Madeline was above flattery and only observed, If he did Id fair frazzle a blacksnake out on im. This seemed to exhaust the subject, so I said no more, but she appeared to be ill at ease as she stood there, with one arm around the cottonwood log which served as a pillar, scratching her right leg with her left spur ; but finally, nerv- ing herself for a desperate effort, she straightened up. Mother says shes sorry youre hurted, and hopes youll be better soon, said she. Then scram- bling on to her ponys back she turned him, and shouting back And so do I, threw in her spurs and vanished in a cloud of dust. I laughed, but I under- stood her. Though the sentiment re- corded above might be justified by an extreme case, she couldnt stop to lis- ten to a reply in a like vein. That was too much. Undoing the napkin, I found a chicken, beautifully roasted one of INoras cherished stock--and it seemed to me that I had never eaten anything so good before. Every day after that, Bisnaga would come slowly up the path, bearing some delicacy, and each time would disappear at his top speed as his small mistress voiced her wish for my recov- cry. I wanted to make some acknowl- edoment to the child for all this, but it was a difficult matter to accomplish she didnt want no pay, she said. But she was fond of personal adorn- ment as any other young savage, and through this my opportunity came. She was wearing, one day, by way of a necklace, two nickel - plated buckles, 168 BISNAGAS MADELINE once part of a pair of suspenders, strung on a buckskin thong instead of a ribbon. A pendent would add finish to this ornament, I suggested, and vent- ured to offer to act in that capacity a little gold charm I had; a fish, of Mex- ican workmanship, jointed in many places, so that it would wriggle when touched. She demurred stoutly at first, but the bewitching squirm of which the thing was capable, together with my arguments, finally prevailed, and I fastened it between the two Jzuckles with a bit of string, so that it hung, flopping as she moved in a most realistic manner. She really thought a great deal of that fish. Above her parasol, rather, I think it ranked, though somewhat beneath her spurs. Then she began bringing me bits of informationand very useful ones sometimesthat she gathered in her journeys back and forth concern- ing the work, until at length I was able to go my rounds once more. The long, hot summer had fairly burnt itself out; the days were not quite so torrid, and the nights a great deal cooler, when, returning one morning after a weeks absence on some temporary duty, I found something out of the common going on in the work. The first camp I came to, Brainards, was deserted, but the next few were showing a most unaccustomed activity. They were working faster, and the bosses were shorter-tempered than was usual. It was the doing of Schultze, the chief contractor, they told me. It seems that he had been much taken with an earth - moving machine he had seen somewherea sort of overgrown scraper, pulled by cables and was desirous of resuming such sub-con- tracted sections as suited his purpose in order to work them with this ar- rangement; therefore they, the subs, were trying to get what they could out of it before the first of the month, when they might be thrown out. It was Mullaneys part, they said, that Schultze was most anxious to regain, but Tim had some clause in his agree- ment which made it harder to oust him than the rest, so he had hired Brainards outfit and was working night and day to hold his contract. I was sorry for all this, Tim being rather a favorite of mine in spite of his stu- pidity; for, in his way, he would try to stick to the specifications and do what he was told, while most of the rest used what brains they had in devising methods by which they could avoid doing so. Hurrying through with the work of the other sections, I galloped on to Tim s. Here was a change indeed. He had trebled his force, and the bank was alive with horses and men. Everything was pressed into the service, carts and wheelbarrows eked out the scanty sup- ply of scrapers, and even four- and six- horse ivagons went groaning down the levee, loaded with the sandy clay. One team was composed of a big gray Perche- ron horse, a black mule hardly smaller, and two tiny pintos, attached to a Fresno scraper, and driven by a tall Apache who stalked gravely behind, probably tempted by the high pay to work long enough to enable him to purchase American sardines, rifle-car- tridges, canned string beans, and other things dear to the aboriginal heart. There were three or four Indians and a few white men there, but, as is always the case in that country, the great bulk were Mexicans of mongrel race greasers. All were working feverishly under the profane oratory of the foremen, and working all wrong, too, for Tim having had a whole week in which to make mistakes, had embraced the opportun- ity; but I straightened him out after a while, and rode over to Noras domain, the camp. The change here was as no- ticeable as on the dump. The corrals were crowded with tired horses from the night - shift, and the surrounding chapparal was dotted with the sleeping forms of their Mexican drivers. The little blacksmith shop had acquired a new forge, and both were blazing mer- rily. The eating-shack was being en- larged, for the pole framework of the extension was in place, and a huge pile of green arrow-weed was being laid on as thatch by two Indians, as it was handed up to them by a third, while close by stood Nora, vociferously su- perintending. The cottonwood-shaded BISNAGAS MADELINE 169 plaza, formed by the camp buildings and tents, was filled with Mexicans, chattering and smoking their crooked brown paper cigarettes as they consid- ered whether or not they should go to work or rest, after having pretended to labor for half a day or so. Nora saw me coming and walked toward me, wiping her face, heated by her eloquence, as she came. She fairly beamed with pleasure, and the invitation to dismount and rest was even more cordial than usual. Yes, sorr, she said in answer to my comments on the turn affairs had taken, things do be booming now for sure. They have to be. You see, sorr, that we have an oiron conthract with that little Dutch blag- gard, an it ses we must put up twenty- foive hoondther thousand yards of dirt befoor the furst of Novimber. But, ses he, thats naught but a formality, ses he, an if yez goes ahead in a modherate way, sure twill be all right ; but four days gone by, who should roide down the bank but that sem man, an gev a warnin to Tim that he should requoire the turrms of the conthrac carried out as he said. He only wants to get that big slusher in here, thats pulled by a shtring, an pulls down more durt than it can put up. Tim was going to throw everything up, but I wuddent let him, so I med him borra money on our stock an buy more, an hoire more yet, an greasers an everything. Well call the little divils bluff yet. Were hard put to it for foremen, though. Sure we had to put the store boss on the dump, an so Maddys running the commishary. She paused to take breath, well pleased evidently at the way things were going. There was excitement in this, and con- tention, so Nora was in her element. They deserved to win, and I hoped they would, but doubted it, for I knew chief contractors are deep and full of guile. I looked in at the door of the little com- missary-store, though, as I rode back, and saw Madeline, delighted with her new sphere of action, trying in voluble greaser-Spanish to overcharge a Mexi- can teamster for a pair of brogans which didnt fit him, and then set out for the home camp. There didnt seem to be much in my mental prophecy of evil at first, the force was increased day by day, and the long bank grew in a manner wondrous to behold. Tim exhausted his magni- ficent vocabulary in endeavoring to do justice to the shortcomings of the new foremen, and made more blunders him- self than any of them, or, for that mat- ter, than all of theni ; for Nora was much too busy to take charge of her husband and the camp botb, as she had formerly done; so I had to make two visits now, one in the morning to look over what the night-shift had accomplished, and another in the evening to see if any- thing had been done properly during the day; for Tim took personal charge then. For some days after this Noras smile grew broader and more compre- hensive, for Schultze made no attempt to play his hand. No open attempt, that is, but somewhat versed in the ways of his kind, I began to see in him the instigator of the petty annoyances that now made themselves felt. Tools were requisitioned on other service foremen enticed away or made too drunk to go on duty; commissary and cook-house supplies came irregularly; Tims time-checks became hard to cash, and a thousand and one other things of the same kind, all trivial enough in themselves, met with good nature and overcome in triumph; until at last the supply question began to be serious. Neither men nor horses can work without food, and they had come to rather short commons for both, once or twice, so the laborers began to growl and leave. Day by day this became worse and Noras face grew longer, until in a week the crisis came. I had paid my morning visit, when things were much as usual, though I noticed as I passed that Madeline was no longer in the storethere was nothing left to sell and that the feed-pen inside the big corral was almost empty. Nora said, however, with all her old manner re- turned, that though they were down pretty well to their last, it would be all right, for a big order of goods had come in that morning from Albu- querque, and three six - horse teams had gone over to fetch them. Schultze had been there, and had offered them 170 BISNAGAS MADELINE terms for their contract which had been refused, I gathered, with consid- erable shortness. He had just gone on down the line, so I would probably meet him. I did not, however, and it would have done no good if I had, for as the engineers recognized officially only the principal contractor, the dis- position said contractor made of the subs under him lay entirely outside our province. His presence was shown by several idle sections down below, and this shortened my work, so that my second visit to Tims was made much earlier than was common. As I ap- proached I saw that the overhanging cloud of dust was missing, and no shouting of foremen or teamsters could I hear, so I knew the smash must have come, and without stopping at the levee I rode into the camp. Here it was live- ly enough, for the little plaza was cov- ered with bunches of excited Mexicans, all jabbering at once in some groups in others listening to the frenzied ora- tory of some self - appointed leaders as they recapitulated their grievances against the Mayordomo Timand counselled instant vengeance against him and all gringos. Their looks promised evil to allso much so, that the knowledge that the horse I rode was able and willing to outrun any- thing in the county, afforded me con- siderable satisfaction at the time. The three saloon-tents outside the camp limits had attracted crowds which reminded one of the flies gathered around the unwashed tin plates which still stood, from the mens dinner, on the long tables in the newly enlarged shack, in front of which a small knot of Mexicans, with malignant faces and important manner, stood listening to iNoras broken Spanish as she tried to explain the situation to them as the representatives of the rest, though without much success, apparently; for from time to time they would interrupt her fiercely, with questions and ratt- ling oaths, when her right hand would twitch nervously toward a bulge in the body of her gown which I had never no- ticed before. They were too much occu- pied to notice me until I spoke; then the Mexicans departed to expound, with gestures and blasphemy, the informa tion they had gathered, and which their attendant brethren eagerly awaited on the plaza. Poor Nora Her nerve was gone now, and she almost broke down as she told me, her brogue richer than ever in her excitement, how the men had just finished eating when the great wagons came rattling back from the little railway station, fifteen miles away, laden only with a curt note from the supply-dealer, to the effect that the goods ordered had been forwarded, and awaited them on cash payment; but owing to unfavorable reports from Mr. Schultze as to their solvency, no creditnot even the usual thirty days would be given. This settled mat- ters, for Tim could as easily pay the national debt as to raise the ready money for that grocery bill, so there was nothing left to do but to announce the fact to the assembled men and abide by the consequences. The white men foremen and mechanics had grumbled a little at the delay; but as all knew the pay would come, and as work was plenty on the other con- tracts, they packed their blankets and departed, but with the greasers it was different. They couldnt or wouldnt understand anything; they wanted pay- ment at once, and threatened all sorts of things in case of its not being im- mediately forthcoming. She stopped long enough to give me a note, which she had nearly forgotten, she said, though it was to have been handed me directly I came; then she took up her story again, only too glad to have some one to talk to. I read the note; it was an order from head-quarters to return at once, as fast as your horse will car- ry you: stop for nothing. There was no trifling with this, so I started on a gallop for home. I was not used to such orders, even from our imperious old chief, and they troubled me; so I pushed on still faster as I wondered what their cause could be. Specks in the road quickly became men, with blanket rolls over their shoulders, plod- ding along in the same direction, who hailed me as I passed with questions I could not stop to answer. Then wagons, and as I flashed by I could see that they were loaded with tents, faro and craps layouts, and barrels of whis BISNAGAS MADELINE 171. key, all going to the broken camp as buzzards gather round a newly dead horse, for idle men would be but too ready to pledge their pay at an enor- mous discount for artificial whiskey, or to lose it at faro or the seductive monte. Two of these trains in one mile, five in the next, and I pulled up my winded horse at the officetdoor and ran into the chiefs sanctum. He was sitting there with his chair tilted back, softly whistling a tune as he gazed placidly into space. I had reported as ordered, I told him. He finished the air he was executing, and observing, I know it, commenced a new one. What was wanted? I asked. He interrupted his musical performance this time long enough to say, Nothing ; then took it up again exactly where he had left off. Our superior wa~ apt to be exasper- ating at times, and this was one of them. My patience was rapidly van- ishing when he roused himself sufficient- ly to say that if I had stayed in Mul- laneys camp I would probably have got hurt, for they were safe, men said, to have a row down there before long, and though he didnt care much indi- vidually, my father was a friend of his, so he would prefer returning me alive if convenient. Tims estimate had been taken and the sheriff had been sent for, so there was nothing for us to do but to keep still and endeavor, in our poor way, not to make fools of ourselves. He had talked with Schultze, he added with a chuckle, and the small Teuton had departed in some haste for the railway station, intending to return the day after the next with the money. In the outer room, where we lesser fry were wont to congregate, I learned fuller particulars. The chief, it seenis had sent for Schultze and remonstrated mildly; but Schultze was obdurate. Mullaney must wait until the first of the month, like the rest. Then waxed our chief wroth, speaking in a manner unwelcome to contractors when coming from chief engineers, and the end of the interview was as has been told. After the hastily taken estimate had been worked out, our German friend had left with barely time to catch his train. And Ill lay odds, finished Bailey, my informant, a fellow-assistant and an Englishman, that the little beggar rode three stone lighter when the chief had done with him. My word though! I wouldnt have taken that wigging for six months pay. The messenger sent for the sheriff rode up with the news that this official was ab- sent, but would return that afternoon or evening. We had left the little office building of gray adobe as we talked, and were now sitting on the edge of the cliff of black basalt overlooking the upper workwe three assistant engineers and the boys, as the subordinates of an engineer corps, irrespective of age, are called, watching the scene below. It would seem much as usual to an unaccustomed eye; but we could see differences. The big cable-way was still swinging great masses of rock into foundations of the dam, accompanied by the flicker of red signal flags, and the shouts of the masons working there. The pile-drivers thumped as usual at the ends of the long rows of piling which stretched across the flat bottom of the cafion, in the middle of which the river, a mere thread at this season, wound sluggishly along, its channel twisted and doubled by infinitesimal rises and hollows in the hot, white gravel through which it ran. Over against the bottom of the cliff, facing the one on which we sat, and forming the other side of the mesa, or table-land, which the caflon of the river cut in halves, we were ex- cavating for foundations, and all day long the scrapers t6iled in endless pro- cession down into the big pit, filling with the powdery sand, then straining up the side of the hill they had made, around its back, and down into the hole again. This procession was still there, but its order was very open now, and the horses standing in the corrals showed how many of their drivers were dotting the dusty trail which led to the lower camps. There was idleness there and bad feeling, so there would surely be much drink, and possibly a fight as well; a fight with all the odds on their side, and what Sonora greaser could re- sist such a prospect? Not these, at all events, and so they had gone, all but a few, who were volunteering their help 172 BISNAGAS MADELINE in loading a saloon outfit on a big freight-wagon. The kegs of bad whiskey and stone jugs of mescal were already in; the canvas followed, a few swarthy women of their own race, their gaudy wrappers making bright spots on the sandy stretch, were piled on top, and the whole finally creaked away down the cactus-outlined road, the attendant crowd laughing and singing as they went. Then the sheriff came by in a swinging gallop, with four deputies at his heels, all following the same path. The sun was going down now, and the whistle of the cable-way engine gave the signal for the end of the days work; the men began trooping from their pumps and pile-drivers toward the cook-house. We had just risen to go to our own dining-room when a sound of something scrambling up the face of the mesa made us pause for a mo- ment and then run round the point of rock which hid its cause. It was Made- line on Bisnaga, and both of them nearly at th~ top of that almost perpendicular cliff where it would seem that nothing but a goat could go. As we saw them, the little pony attempted to jump up on a ledge of rock from the slope where he was standing. He failed to make it, and slid half-way down the rolling stones on his haunches, but recovering himself quickly under the influence of the big spurs, he scrambled up once more, and was gathering for another spring when one of the boys, dropping over the edge of the cliff, caught the young woman bodily off her charger, handing her up to~us like a small bale of goods; while another, taking the ponys head, led him by an easier path to the top. As we set her on her feet, we noticed that there was portent in her attire. She was stripped for action, so to speak, for she had left off both sun- bonnet and parasol, while in her belt, balancing her pistol on the other side, hung, in a cowhide sheath of her own manufacture, a good-sized butcher-knife. She had come, she said, with a note to the chief. The greasers were getting ugly now. Lopes, their ex-corral boss, was leading them, and had tried to stop her as she left the camp; but she had ridden hard for the ford leading to Agua Caliente and the down-river set- tlements, and hid herself and the pony in the dense growth of arrow-weed on the rivers edge until they had passed, and then cut across country for our camp. I didnt dare try the trail up the mesa, she finished; I could too easy be stopped there, so I had to come this way. She looked down with some complacency, as well she might, at the path she had attempted, and as nearly succeeded in scaling. Heres the note, anyhow. I rode awful hard, and Im afraid Bisnagas all killed up. He cer- tainly was all killed up, for as he stood there with hanging head and his poor little flanks heaving hard, white with sweat, tinged red here and there where cactus thorns or spurs had pene- trated, one couldnt ask for a better miniature of a thoroughly played-out horse. The chief strolled up to the group, and the note was put into his hands. There were only a few words scrawled in pencil on wrapping-paper, ill spelled and ungrammatical, but very earnest, asking that help might be sent. A few would answer, but with only one white man in the camp the greasers will surely do us up, adding that he was very respectfully the chiefs T. Mul- laney. The sheriff had already gone, we told Madelineshe would have met him had she come the regular way and he could easily hold the Mexicans down, as the speed and accuracy with which he handled that exponent of frontier lawColts single action, cali- bre .45 was well and unfavorably known to them all. Words to this effect cheered her some- what, but she couldnt stay, she said, the childher would need her. She must get back. Now. She didnt want any supper. Bisnaga couldnt do it again, we urged, but if she would come in and have supper with us, she should see that he was fed to her liking and afterward could have the bay mare to ride, and some of us would go with her. The pony was clearly too much done up to be of any use, and she hesitated, but made no direct reply. Ill put Bisnaga into the corral myself, she said, and catching his halter led him off. When, five minutes later, we went to fetch her, we found the pony placid- BISNAGAS MADELINE 173 ly enjoying his customary surfeit in our feed pen, and the bay mare, the nucleus of a dusty comet, rapidly grow- ing less far down the river road. A per- son fond of her own way was Madeline, and this was characteristic; but she could hardly take much harm with the sheriff and his men hard by, so we went in to supper. The chile-con-came and the situation of affairs had been duly discussed, when suddenly in the doorway stood the sher- iff, his men behind him, eying our table wistfully. Evenin, he remarked in his soft Texas dialect, which always reminded me of Bret Hartes stories. Come down to see if I couldnt get yaw men to give us a bite of grub. Been chasm greasah cattle thieves all the mawnin. Just got back an had to come down heah. Aint eat any since six oclock. Hows Mullaneys camp? Oh, all right for now. Greasahs wah cookin theah suppuhs. Theyll be quiet enough till they get done eatin and gathah moah of a jag. Im goin back when I can get some moah men. Need em befoah mawnin, I reckon. We made room for them at the table, which most of us were ready to leave anyway, and gave orders to Joe, our Chinese cook, and Sing, his mate, to get ready whatever could be quickly prepared. It was extra work for the Celestials and they didnt like it. It broke their rou- tine, but they knew what happened to Chinamen who trifled with the sheriff, and so soon had food on the table which seemed very welcome to the half- famished men who sat down to it. We talked it over, a few of us, outside, in consequence of which, seeing that the sheriff was making a most excellent meal, and was presumably therefore in a good humor, I went in and spoke to him. A few of us wanted to see what was going on below, I told him, but we wanted it kept quiet. The chief might not like it; and for that reason he must promise not to let us in for any trial or coroners jury as witnesses. He was rather a friend of mine, and consented readily enough. Said he: I wont call on you, but youll get youah fool hides shot full of holes, like as not. I turned to leave, but he called me back. If you do have to pull youah guns, dont try to club no one with the barrels. Use em the way God meant em to be used. About belt high. Ill be thah soon. The point was gained, and communicating the joyful news to the rest, we set out, on foot; for not only would the whole camp know if we tried to saddle horses, but though it was six miles by road, the distance was reduced to less than half if one walked across the mesa where no horse could well go, for the table-land jutted out into the river-flat in the shape of a peninsula, and the trail had to double it. It was very dark at first, but after a while the moon came up, lighting a little the narrow path over the bowlder-strewn plain. We went in single file, Barton, my rodman, who knew the country like an Indian, at the head as guide, then my instrument-man. I came next, followed by Bailey, who, like most Englishmen, being unable to hit anything with a pis- tol, had armed himself with one of his many shot-gunsan eight-bore ducking affairwith twenty buckshot in each barreL After him Brown, his rodman, the rear being brought up by the long, shambling form of Smiley, a masonry inspector. He was from Alabama, and also eschewed the prevalent Colts, pre- ferring a pair of double-barrelled der- ringers, one of which he carried in each side-pocket of his trousers, in order, as he said, that he might, if occasion re- quired, nail a man through his pants, without wasting time in drawing, such being the pleasing custom of the coun- try whence he came. We slowly made our way across the neck of the penin- sula, down the steep pass on its farther side, and out on the flat. In front of us the levee showed faint- ly gray against the deep black of the opposite cliff, and turning sharply to the left, we skirted its base, silently, for our footsteps in the yielding sand gave no sound. As we went the outline of the bank grew more distinct, and finally stood in bold relief against the ruddy glare of a large brush fire, which we could hear crackling fiercely on its other side. Shrill voices floated over to us, speaking in Spanish, angrily. Then came a sound from the camp hard by, 174 BISNAGAS MADELINE followed by a dead silence; every voice hushed. We listened, and it came again, Tims brogue, unmistakable even in its agonized tones. Hands up! he cried. Hands up or Illah would ye? Drop that rifle! Quick there, stand back. We broke into a run over the bank, past the firedeserted nowaround the road into the camp. The little plaza was dark. Even the saloons outside had put out their lights, and Noras tent alone shone like pearl, as tents do when there is a light inside them. The moon was still low upon the mesa, outlining in black the suju- arro cacti that stood like giant cande- labra along its edge, and throwing the shadow of the cliff far out on the plain below. The tent had the river at its back. The flaps were down, and be- fore them stood Tim, his face white and set, with a Winchester cocked and held at ready on his hip. A space of forty feet or so, and Lopes stood, while behind him, on the edge of the shadow, were twenty or more of his comrades, all motionless as statues. As we came we saw that the ex-cor- ral bosss hands were held high above his head; but taking advantage of the diversion caused by our advent, he dropped them to his sides, but he made no move to touch the rifle, lying black against the white sand, at his feet, for that would have been death. The situation explained itself: there was nothing to say, so we all lined up, with Tim in the middle, and stood by. A little stir among the forms, dimly seen in the black shade, then all was still deathly stillness, broken only by the hooting of an owl in the brush that lined the river banks. The min- utes slowly passed, then a spark winked like a firefly half-way up the mesa; a bullet sung far over our heads, the re- port echoed faintly from cliff to cliff, and as it died away a coyote some- where on the plain above began to yelp, answered by the shrill barking of a lit- tle dog from one of the tents; then the nerve-racking silence again. Five min- utes of it, probablyhours it seemed, and I could stand still no longer, so shoving back into its holster the pistol I had drawn, I turned, and lifting a flap, looked into the tent. A lantern, hung well up to the ridge-pole in front, so that it would throw no shadow on the walls, lighted the little interior. In a cot standing on one side the two younger children, a boy and a girl, of four and three years, lay fast asleep, the elder hugging a hatchet with both arms. On a camp-stool at the beds head sat Nora. She was crying, poor thing, and wiping her eyes with her left hand, while her right held, the butt, resting on her knee, of one of those sawed-off shotguns affected by express- messengers, and so called Wells Fargos. In frQnt and on the other side of the tent was Madeline, trembling and white, but not crying, though her bare feet worked together nervously. She had just been going to bed, probably, when the danger came, for her frock lay on the floor beside her. In one hand she held her little pistol, a box of its tiny cartridges in the other. As I came in Nora looked up. Gud avenin, sorr, she gasped between her sobs, and Mad- eline gave me an uncertain kind of smile; but before I could speak a move- ment in the crowd outside caused me to drop the canvas and turn back to my place in the line. The shadow had receded somewhat now, and many stood in the moonlight. Lopes had stepped backward into the crowd, which was increasing every sec- ond, one couldnt tell just how, but simply became conscious from time to time that the cluster was extending on both sides and growing deeper. There was undergrowth on our right, and in its shadow a man stole, crouch- ing, around our flank. Smiley stood there, and his derringer barked hoarse ly. The figure disappeared, whether hit or not we never knew. Then a sharp crack from behind, and a man howled and clapped both hands to his thigh I looked aroundwe all did, I think in time to see Madelines head and shoulders protruding from under the tent, just before she disappeared sudden- ly, exactly as though Nora had caught her by the ankles and pulled her back. A young fellow, taking advantage of our divided attention, stooped to pick up the rifle Lopes had dropped. Three of us fired at once, and he fell limply, with his breast across the piece which BISNAGAS MADELINE 175 had cost him his life, his sombrero, heavy with silver, rolling almost to our feet. A moments pause was broken again by a coyote on the desert above, and as if he had given a signal, was answered by the scratching of a match on the opposite side of the plaza; then with a crackle and roar the dry thatch forming a side of the blacksmith shop blazed up, the roof caught, and all was bright as day in an instant. A man sprang away from the burning shop, and Tim fired at himand missed. A shrill yell, such as greasers delight in on every occasion was raised far back in the crowd, then taken up by them all, and the whole mass surged slowly forward. Those in front had knives in their hands, or cheap, nickle- plated six-shooters of the British bull- dog variety, and advanced slowly, with- out eagerness, but more as if forced forward by those behind them. One of our menwhich one I could not tellcried out to them to halt. A shot answered him, the ball ripping the thigh of the man standing next me ; then a volley crashed from our men as if by command, and I conld see a man drop here and there. The wounded man, Barton, had sunk to a sitting posture, and steadying himself by passing one arm round my leg, was emptying his pistol at the close - standing band of Mexicans. The smoke hung in a low cloud in front of us, and I remember, in a con-. fused sort of way, the brisk rattle of the pistol-shots, twice punctuated by the roar of Baileys big duck-gun, and of firing into the dense smoke rapid- ly with both hands. Our opponents stopped, then gave back a little, and the firing slacked somewhat. A wandering puff of wind lifted the thickness, showing a man, with a pistol in his hand, standing ahead of his fellows. I shot at him, and he pitched forward on his hands and knees, then rolled over and lay still. The sight made me sick for one mo- ment, but I forgot it in the next, for, as a warning yell sounded from among them, the crowd scuttled to cover like a flock of frightened quaiL For an in- stant the cause was not apparent, but a sharp report was followed by the sud den appearance of the sheriff from the thicket-lined road, with twelve men at his back, all riding as fast as their wiry cow-ponies could run. Most of the Mexicans had taken to the chap- arral, but a few ran down the road, and, crossing our front, the officers fol- lowed these without a sound. A few scattering shots came from the brush, and the horse ridden by one of the dep- uties reared and fell backward with a scream. The man was up in a second, uncinching his saddle, while Brown and Smiley, running to the corral, caught the mare Madeline had ridden that day, and led her out. She was saddled, mounted, and away while one tells of it. The field was clear, and, to my sur- prise, the dead and wounded were not lying around in bloody heaps as I ex- pected. Six there were, and our rod- man, seven in alL The latter had but a graze, and when we had bound it up and given him some whiskey, professed himself quite comfortable and willing to do it all over again. The posse had not gone far, and soon returned; the sheriff rode up to where we were standing. You want to get youah wife an the kids away from heah, he said to Tim. I cant spah no men to guahd this place, an thahs no tellin when them greasahsll be back with a lot moah from below. Go to the big camp. Well help you hahness up, but you must get a wiggle on. Six snorting horses were led out, and the rattling harness thrown across their backs by many willing hands, when Madeline, fully dressed, left the tent and walked over to the corraL She stood looking into the enclosure for a minute, then sat down in a heap on the sand, and for the first time in my knowledge of her, commenced to cry. I havent got no horse to ride, she wailed. It was only for a moment though, for she rose, and glancing around severely to see if her weakness had been noticed, she stalked up to the wagon, and be- gan helping to pack the things handed into it. Everything was soon ready; the cots, bedding, children, and Nora were bundled in; Barton was helped to the front seat with Tim, we followed, 176 BISNAGAS MADELINE finding places anywhere, and the horses started in a canter over the level road toward the home camp. We had toiled up a hill at a walk, and had just reached its top, where Tim, with an oath, pulled in his team and set his brake hard. iNora gave a smothered howl, and some one started to speak, but checked him- self and listened instead. We all heard it then, a sound as of many galloping horses, far away, and then a silence, which Tim broke. For good or ill, said he, theyve crossed the stretch of baked clay and are on the sand now. Theyll come to rock directly. Listen. Another moment and the clang of hoofs was plainly heard. Them horses is shod. The Virgin be praised, theyre friends. Amen, responded Nora, with a sigh; but Smiley jumped to his feet, and putting both hands to his mouth, gave the cry, well known in that country, from which the tribe of Mexican Indians take their name. qui! he called, then again yaqui ! The shrill falsetto of this carries far, like the coee of the Australians. Yaqui! a third time. They heard us now, a chorus came back in answer, and in another few seconds they had rounded the point of the mesa and streamed toward us in the moonlight, sixty strong. At their head rode the handsome form of Greaser Pete, saloon-keeper, gambler, reputed stage - robber, and all around bad man, yet, withal, a very decent sort of fellow according to his somewhat limited light; he had earned his nick- name from his relentless hatred toward the race of which it spoke, and a more congenial mission than his present one could not be found. A mixed lot fol- lowed him, mechanics, saloon-men, gam- blers, and cowboys; all were represented. Mounted though they were, each on the first four-legged thing he could snatch out of the nearest corral, some with saddles, but more without, all were heavily armed and were riding fast. Our corral boss was among them, and beside his little white mare, Baileys roan horse and my black, both fully equipped, loped contentedly along. They gathered around us with eager questions, put all at once, but their leader raised his hand to command silence, and having learned in a few words all there was to know, turned to his followers, and made what was, for him, a rather lengthy address. Boys, said he, it seems were a little late, but we may see some fun yet, if we hurry. Yamenos. Then with a yell the committee dashed off, and we started once more for our camp, which we reached with- out further incident. We saw that the Mullaneys were made comfortable in a tent, vacated by a foreman for their use, and having helped Barton to bed, turned to our own, well tired out. I had slept about ten minutes, as I thought at the time, when I became dimly conscious that I was not resting easily. I looked up, and saw that it was daylight, and that Bailey, half dressed, was shaking me violently by the shoulder. Wake up, man, cant you? he said, as soon as I was suffici- ently awake to understand him. Youre wanted. That child, Madeline, has gone, and were afraid somethings hap- pened her. Search parties are going out. The chiefs sending everyone. He left me to complete his own toilet, but I was wide - awake now, and tum- bling into my clothes, opened the door to find Bailey, already mounted, and holding the bridle of one of my horses, impatiently awaiting me. We went slowly to save our stock, for we could not tell how far they might have to trav- el before they saw their corrals again, ~nd as we jogged along, he told me what little he knew of the affair. It seemed that when she woke iNora had missed Madeline, and on making inquiry had found that she had been seen by a teamster, feeding his horses half an hour before daybreak, on Bisna- ga, cantering toward the camp she had left the night before. Tim and another man had gone at once to look for her, but except that Bisnaga was standing, tied to the corral fence, no sign of the child could they find, so they returned and roused the head-camp. It was thought that she had returned after something forgotten in the hurry of leaving, and all feared that she had met with some accident. An object, nearing us rapidly as we talked, we now saw to be a buckboard, driven in a furious gallop by Selwin, one of our instru BISNAGAS MADELINE 177 ment men. Found her? shouted Bailey, as the team came close enough for him to be heard. Seiwin nodded. Alive? Just. Im going for her mother now. The buckboard rushed by, and we pushed on .hurriedly. A group of men stood around the en- trance of the tent. Pete was among them, and the sheriff with some of his posse. We found her in the brush yonder, one of them was explaining to a new-coiner as we rode up. Least- ways that little yaller dawg did. Twas a knife that done it, all right enough, with a greaser at the end of it. The tent seemed to have grown small- er since I had seen it the night before, as I entered it. It was crowded with men, gathered around a cot standing in the middle of the little space, on which, partly covered with barley-sacks, lay Madeline. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing heavily. The upper part of her clothing had been cut away, and her body, throat, and right arm were swathed in rude ban- dages, made of bandanna handker- chiefs torn into strips, their white spots, in places, dyed a uniform color with the groundwork. Her left arm lay by her side, the hand tightly clinched. A bucket of reddened water, with a crimsoned cloth lying over its edge, stood beside the bed, flanked by a flask of whiskey. On an upturned soap-box by the cots head sat Tim, leaning over and fanning the child softly with his broad, white sombrero. Has she been conscious? I asked. No, sorr, he replied, with a catch in his breath. Just bike this. She med a little moan like eonce, thats alL Shell never tell who done it, I fear. One of the men standing near turned, and with a muttered oath, left the tent. The air was stifling in there, and close with the odor of packed humanity, and seeing Madelines knife in its cowhide sheath, lying on the ground by my feet, I drew it, and making two long slits in the canvas, opened a triangular window there. Someone followed suit on the other side, and then the fresh breeze gushed through, and Tim, drop- ping his hat, rested his chin on his hands, and stared hard at the ground between his knees. The air seemed to revive Madeline a little, for she moved her left arm and opened her eyes. I was bending over her, and as she saw me, she smiled faint- ly and unclasped her hand. It held her necklacethe buckles with the lit- tle fish I had given her. Then her eyes closed again, and the tin buckles jingled on the ground. A cowboy who stood near lifted them, replacing them gently in her upturned palm. I couldnt stand it any longer; so I left the tent, and joined the men outside. I asked the particulars, but there were few to be told. A little dogthe same which had answered the coyote the night be- forehad guided them to where she lay in the chapparal, and they had brought her inthat was all. A man had gone over to the station to wire for a doctor and a priest, but it wasnt likely they would be in time to do any good. Some men were beating around through the brush, and one of them now walked quickly toward us. I found this little gun out yoftder, he said. Its hers, aint it? A dozen voices testified to this, and the sheriff, taking it from his hand, threw open the breech, and drew out an empty cart- ridge-shelL She done her little best, said he, holding it up so all could see. She surely mahked him, whoevah he was. Find a greasah with a pin-hole in him, and weve nailed the man. You cant tell by that. She got one last night, objected Bailey. That cuss is all right. He had one o those tinwah six shootahs, so somebody killed him. He didnt do no cuttin. The buckboard had accomplishi~d its mission quickly, and now came rattling up the plaza, the horsesa different pair from those we had seen before panting and white with sweat. Nora was helped to the ground, and as she entered the tent the men inside filed silently out. We began to organize now. One- half of the men, under the sheriff, were to go through the down-river camps, to catch the criminal in case he had at- tempted to hide himself among his brethren there; the rest, divided into small squads, were to search the coun- try roundabout. I attached myself to the former party, for, knowing the lo- calities through which we were to go 178 BISNAGAS MADELINE from my daily work, I could be of more use so. It took us a good while until well along in the afternoonto get through this, for the sheriff was very thorough, and each Mexican we met was put through a most rigid exam- ination. Then, at the very last, we found what we thought was a most promising trail, and followed it, ten of us, while the rest worked on down the river. Straight across the desert it went, we following fast, and finding, at its end, an inoffensive old prospector, who, with two burros, was making for the placer grounds across the Arizona line. Tired and disgusted, Bailey and I tried to get back by a short cut, got lost, and reached our camp at midnight rav- enously hungry and tired out. The boys were still up, and had saved some canned corned beef and biscuit for us, and as we ate, in answer to our questions, told us that we were the last of the search parties to come in except Pete and his men, and no one knew where they had gone. None of the others had found anything. The priest had come in on muleback an hour be- fore. Madeline had rallied a little for a few minutes, just as he reached there, and had tried to speak, but couldnt, though when they asked her as to her assailant, had turned her eyes toward the side of the tent where the corral lay, so they thought that Lopes was the man we wanted. Anyhow, if he was caught, we would accept that hypothe- sis as correct and run it out on those lines. Didnt we think that was the best way? We did think so, and made an agreement, on the strength of this additional clew, to try it once more; then going to our quarters, we took off our weapons and spurs, lying down otherwise as we stood, to be ready when morning came. We had just fallen into a doze, or at least I had, when a foot- step on the veranda aroused me. It was easily recognized as Selwins, who was lame, and I hailed him. How is the childhave you heard? I asked. She died an hour ago, he replied, and limping to his room, threw himself on his cot, and said no more. We were not as early next morning as we had intendedwe were a long time in getting to sleep the night be- foreand it was nearly nine oclock when we got away. The camp was very still as we rode out from it. Not at all a Sunday stillness, for there were no drunken shouts coming from its sa- loons, and the voice of the faro-dealer was not heard, but a depressed sort of silence that could be felt. Prepara- tions for the funeral were already under- way, for it was to take place at noon. Such things must be done quickly in that country. The little grave was al- ready opened, among the cluster of others, on a rise of ground a few hun- dred yards away, and two of our boys were lining it with greasewood boughs, as the best substitute for evergreen that was to be had, while Selwin was kneeling over a little cross made of heavy timber, on which, with all the skill of a practised draughtsman, he had lettered an inscription, and was now carving it deep into the wood. The sight did not foster kindness of feeling toward the absent Lopes, and we pushed on, making for the nearest ford; for we meant to try the opposite side of the river to-day as the most likely place to find our man. When we reached it, however, we saw where the water was deepest a tired horse, drinking as though he would never get enough, while on his back sat Greaser Pete covered with dust, but wearing on his handsome and rather sad face an expression of the most com- plete self-satisfaction. He looked up as our horses splashed in. Did you get him? I called. I believe they did, he replied. Lopes? Yep. Little hole in his arm. Where is he now? ~ Cant say. Purgatory, likely, if there is such a place; if not, he prob- ably went straight through without stopping. Pete was becoming face- tious. This was something new. How did they send him there? asked Bailey. Cabled him, I imagine, was the re- sponse. I looked at his saddle-bow. The lariat that had always hung there was missing now, and Pete, following my glance, smiled, and calling upon his horse, walked out of the river and can- tered away. GIANTS AND GIANTISM By Charles L. Dana, MD. IT is now about two years since a band of Peruvian Indians came to this country for the purpose of amusing the American public. They were not sufficiently interesting to attract atten- tion, so they became stranded and were brought to New York. One of the members of the tribe was known as the Peruvian Giant. He was soon taken ill, and came under my observation at the hospital. I saw at once that he was not only a giant, but a victim of a peculiar disease known as acromegaly (aKpov, extremely; ,tieyaXo~, great). In persons who have this disorder, the head, and particularly the face, the hands, feet, and the chest grow to enor- mous proportions, the total height, in most cases, not being greatly increased. However, the Peruvian Giant had not only enormous feet, hands, and head, but he measured six feet nine inches in height, and in stature and weight was genuinely gigantic. He was, in fact, both an acromegalic and a giant. He died, after a short illness, from the effects of his disease, and in the brain there was found a little gland known as the pituitary body, enlarged to many times its original size. Now, it has been suspected, and by many believed, that the enlargement of this gland was the cause of the gigantic growth of the extremities in acrome- galy. It occurred to me that it might also be the cause of giantism in gen- eral, and the further legitimate infer- ence was that all giants were simply peculiar types of acromegaly, and that giantism was only a form of nervous disease. The idea that big men are not simply freaks, as has been pre- viously supposed, but victims of a neu- rosis or nervous disorder, was one of sufficient interest to justify me in fol- lowing up the subject of giants from the neurologists standpoint, and my results, I think, have justified the ex- penditure of some little time on the matter, as well as furnished, perhaps, The Variations in Human Stature. The giant Winckelmeyr, measuring 8 tt. 6 in., at the left; a new-born child to the right.

Charles L. Dana, M.D. Dana, Charles L., M.D. Giants And Giantism 179-186

GIANTS AND GIANTISM By Charles L. Dana, MD. IT is now about two years since a band of Peruvian Indians came to this country for the purpose of amusing the American public. They were not sufficiently interesting to attract atten- tion, so they became stranded and were brought to New York. One of the members of the tribe was known as the Peruvian Giant. He was soon taken ill, and came under my observation at the hospital. I saw at once that he was not only a giant, but a victim of a peculiar disease known as acromegaly (aKpov, extremely; ,tieyaXo~, great). In persons who have this disorder, the head, and particularly the face, the hands, feet, and the chest grow to enor- mous proportions, the total height, in most cases, not being greatly increased. However, the Peruvian Giant had not only enormous feet, hands, and head, but he measured six feet nine inches in height, and in stature and weight was genuinely gigantic. He was, in fact, both an acromegalic and a giant. He died, after a short illness, from the effects of his disease, and in the brain there was found a little gland known as the pituitary body, enlarged to many times its original size. Now, it has been suspected, and by many believed, that the enlargement of this gland was the cause of the gigantic growth of the extremities in acrome- galy. It occurred to me that it might also be the cause of giantism in gen- eral, and the further legitimate infer- ence was that all giants were simply peculiar types of acromegaly, and that giantism was only a form of nervous disease. The idea that big men are not simply freaks, as has been pre- viously supposed, but victims of a neu- rosis or nervous disorder, was one of sufficient interest to justify me in fol- lowing up the subject of giants from the neurologists standpoint, and my results, I think, have justified the ex- penditure of some little time on the matter, as well as furnished, perhaps, The Variations in Human Stature. The giant Winckelmeyr, measuring 8 tt. 6 in., at the left; a new-born child to the right. 180 GIANTS AND GIANTISM some conclusions of interest to the gen- eral reader. Let me return for a moment to my own giant, who was certainly an ex- traordinary specimen of humanity. His advertised height was seven feet six inches, and his weight three hundred and fifty pounds. Purveyors of freaks, however, consider it legitimate by tak- ing thought to add a little to the stat- ure, in order to complete the allur- ing phraseology of their announcements. As a matter of fact, his height was a little short of seven feet, while his weight was cer- tainly over three hundred pounds; his jaws and the bones of his fore- head were great- ly projected, giv- ing to his face an elongated a n d gruesome ap- pearance. H i s hands and feet were also very large, but the growth, as in the disease acrome- galy, was more in circu m f e r e n c e than in length. The character of this growth is very well shown in the picture of the giants hand, as compared with that of an aver- age man [p. 181]. His chest was also of astonishing dimensions, measur- ing fully fifty inches without distention. When it is remembered that the aver- age man measures only about thirty- four inches about the chest, and that powerful athletes rarely get a chest measurement above forty-two or forty- three inches, this enlargement can be appreciated. I learned that in life he was quiet in manner, apathetic, not over - intelligent, and very good - nat- ured, seeming little interested, how- ever, in his surroundings. The brain was only of average size, weighing fif- ty ounces, the ordinary brain weighing forty-eight. It showed some peculiar- ities of structure which I have de- scribed in detail in a technical journal, and they need not be dwelt upon here. The disease acromegaly is a very rare one. It was described first by a French physician, Marie, about eight years ago, and since then less than one hundred cases have been observed. In all those cases in which death occurred and an au- topsy was made, the enlargement of the pituitary gland was found. No other change so striking or unique was dis- covered, hence the inference that this enlargement had something to do with the disease, was made. Fur- ther investiga- tions have shown that this modest Qrgan, to which, heretofore, little attention had been paid, has a most curious zo- ological history, an d apparently exercises a very profound influ- ence upon the nutrition of the body. In sever- al cases in which the gland was diseased it was observed that the patients wasted away; that the temperature of their bodies fell, and that they showed other and progressive disturb- ances in nutrition. Experiments upon animals still further proved that its in- jury or destruction led to emaciation, disturbance in breathing, and various evidences of impaired bodily health, ending finally in death. The pituitary gland has thus, by rea- son of these various discoveries, been raised to the rank of an important or- gan of the body, and one might now claim, with much more justice, that it, rather than the pineal gland, is the seat of the soul. I may, therefore, be fore going further in my giant story, Old cut used in advertiung the Irish (~iast Usreelius Mcs.,rath, date 1737 AD. GIANTS AND GIANTISM 181 say a word about it. It is, in healthy of sense-organ and aids in selecting the persons, a small round substance, about right kind of watery nutriment. The as large as a pea, placed at the base of other part, which is a glandular organ, the brain, just back of the nerves of discharges into the opening in the ner- vous system a fluid which has a ma- terial importance in nourishing the nerves. In other words, this pituitary gland, in the lower animals, acts as a kind of nostril for controlling and help- ing the nutrition of the nerve-centres. As the vertebrates develop and their structure becomes more complex, the necessity for the nervous part of the gland ceases, and the orifice between the mouth and brain becomes closed up. The glandular part proper, however, which furnishes some material that has an important use to the proper growth and action of the nerve - tissues, re- mains, and throughout the whole of the vertebrate series, up to man him- self, it has not materially changed in Brain of a Giant showing at X the Pituitary Gland, proportionate size, though undoubted- ly its relative importance has become very much less. Tim pituitary gland, therefore, we believe to be still an or- gan which separates from the blood some substance that has an important use in the economy. When destroyed, the body wastes and growth stops; when enlarged and over-active, exces- sive growth occurs. The first confirmation that giantism was a nervous disorder and not a freak, came through an elaborate anatomical study of the skeleton of one Cornelius McGrath, an Irish giant, made famous by the attentions originally bestowed upon him by Bishop Berkeley. This benevolent prelate is reported to have taken Cornelius, who was an orphan boy, fed him on some giant-making the eye as they cross in order to pass out of the skull into the orbits. It is securely protected in a little depres- sion in the skull, just above the roof of the throat (pharynx). This part of the throat is often diseased in children, and when such trouble occurs to a large ex- tent, the health of the child is much af- fected. Whether the close proximity of the pituitary gland has something to do with this, is a subject of legitimate speculation. Nowadays, in determining the size of some special part of the body, we often gain a great deal of light by following back the history of it throughout the animal series, and it is through ana- tomical studies of this kind that our ideas of the functions of this gland- are best obtained. In the very lowest types of our vertebrate ancestors, there is an opening between the throat or the mouth-cavity and the brain-cavity, at the point where the pituitary gland lies. This opening leads into a passage which extends through the centre of the brain and spinal cord, and by means of it water and air are carried into the nerve-centres. The pituitary. gland, in these lower animals, stands at this orifice and there exercises a two- fold duty. One part of the gland, con- sisting of nervous matter, acts as a sort VOL. XVII.17 The Hand of a Giant (with Acrowegaly) and that of a Man of Average Size. 182 GIANTS AND GIANTISM food with such success, that by the time he was sixteen years old he measured seven feet ten inches in height. Just as the good bishop had got hini fairly started, however, as an example of ripe nutrition, Cornelius died. His skeleton, which was preserved in the Trinity College Museum, at Dublin, shows an enormous cavity at the base of the skull, in the place ordinarily oc- cupied by the pituitary gland. The measurements of the bones also show all the characteristics of a case of acromegaly. Prof es- sor Cunningham, w h o has made an anatomical study of the skeleton, pronounces McGrath to be an illustration of this disease. In one of the museums of this city I found an American g i a n t seven feet four inches high, who amiably consented to let me examine him. I discovered that, in ad- dition to his admirably gigantic proportions, he had a most curious de- velopment of the bones of one side of his face and head, so that he had, besides some of the gen- eral signs of acromegaly, a real manifestation of it on one-half of one ex- tremity. He w a s five- sixths giant and one- sixth acromegaly, at least. Several other cases of acromegaly in giants have since been reported, but not to weary my readers, I will add that I have procured photographs of nearly all the living giants now on ex- hibition, together with some illustra- tions in the works of iRanke and others, and a study of their features shows that about one-half of them are evidently cases of that disease. For the rest, many seem to have normal proportions, yet it is quite possible that eventually the genuine symptoms of the neurosis will supervene, or have already done so. It might perhaps be inferred that, if the enlargement of the pituitary gland makes people giants, we could artifi- cially increase the stature by feeding persons of stunted growth upon the extract of the gland. This, however, does not, by any means, follow. It is probable that the gland exercises its in- fluence through some modification of the activities of its living cells, or by abstracting and destroying some con- stituent of the blood, and not simply by pouring its product in unusual amount into the system. Hence, feeding one with the actual gland - sub- stance would be quite ineffective. Still, we know that it is possible, by certain kinds of gland- feeding, to increase the stature of dwarfed per- sons very rapidly. There is, for example, a gland called the thyroid body, lying in the neck, the juice of which, when fed to certain kinds of dwarfs (cretins) causes them rapidly to grow. Experiments in feeding animals and men with the pituitary body are, however, now in prog- ress. Aside from the special interest which I take in the relation of giantism to nervous disorder, there are many curious facts about giants as a class that are worth no- tice. There are hardly any truthful records of the giants of ~he past, though literature is full of wondrous tales about them. A French academician, M. Henrion, once estimated the height of Adam to be one hundred and twenty - three feet, and that of Eve, one hundred and eighteen, proportions that must have appeared most formidable to the ser- pent, and made the proposition for ap- ples seem a somewhat trivial thing. The same authority brings Abraham down to twenty - eight feet, and makes Mo- A Minnesota Giant with Partial Acrome- galy. i GIANTS AND GIANTISM 183 ses only thi teen. Goliaths recorded height is, however, only nine feet nine inches, which is within the bounds of possibility. Pliny spea~ 5 of seeing a giantess ten feet two incl~es in height, and a skel- eton seventy feet long. There are weird stories of the Emperor Maximil- Chang and the Midget. ian, who was reputed to be nine feet high and to have eaten forty pounds of meat a day. He was surely Ilabelaiss model for Gargautna. In the fifteenth century there are records of giant skel- etons eighteen and thirty feet long. Evelyn speaks of seeing a giantess ten feet six inches tall, but nine feet or thereabouts seems to have been the favorite size for media~val giants. As one gets nearer the nineteenth cen tury, the height of the big men gets gradually lower. There are still some stories of nine-feet monsters, but no au- thentic record is given of a human be- ing reaching that height. The heights of the giant only become authentic in the eighteenth century. At that time he developed commercial value as a freak, and as an appendage to persons of smaller dimensions but greater so cial importance. Descriptions become more numerous in literature and fig- ures more trustworthy. An obliging and candid dealer in freaks has sug- gested to me that, if one takes from three to five inches from the advertised height of a professional giant, he can reach a fair conclusion as to the facts in the case. Applying this rule, I find that in historic times, giants have aver- aged from six feet ten inches to eight feet six inches, and the weight from three hundred to four hundred and eighty pounds. Through the help of Mr. Edward C. Dana, who has most industriously searched the literature of this subject, I have been able to collect the history of all the giants who have gone on record as public characters since 1700 and I find that the total does not A.D., much exceed one hun- dred. About twenty of these have been ad- vertised as over eight feet high. If one confines him- self entirely to t h e giants that have been accurately measured and described by sci- entists of acknowl- edged repute (Top- inard, IRanke, Vi r - chow, Langer), the list becomes very smalL Professor Cunningham collects only twelve, but to this list I can add sev- eral more. Four of these measured over eight feet, and the tallest was eight feet four and a quarter inches. The largest woman that ever lived is beyond doubt Marianne Wehde, who was born in Germany during the pres- ent century. According to Ranke (Der Mensch), at the age of sixteen and a half, she measured eight feet 184 GIANTS AND GIANTISM four and a quarter inches. The tall- est men who have ever lived were an Austrian, measured by Topinard, and said to be eight feet four and a half inebes, and Wiuckelmeyr, measured by iDoubes, and said to be eight feet six inches. Buffon refers to a Swedish giant of the same height. The num- ber of authentic eight-footers does not exceed four. The giant Chang, of pleasant memory to those who visited the shows of Bar- num, was massive as well as truly gi- gantic, but his height was only eight feet, and iRanke makes it less. At the opposite extreme is the dwarf Borulowsky, who was two feet four inches high. Nearly every race has contributed to giantism, but the English has fur- nished far the larger proportion, partly, perhaps, because the English have always been fond of seeing giants and paying for the privilege, thereby draw- ing the merit of physical bigness, which has always been modest, out of its undeserved obscurity. Next to the English, the Irish have supplied the largest number, but the Irish giant is rarely g r o w n nowaday, since that stock has been drawn upon so heavily by America. Germany and the United States have supplied, each, eight or nine men who have won publicity and fame by their exuberant physique. It seems to be the Central and Western States that sup- ply the American giants, and our war records show that in these regions, together with Maine and Vermont, the aver- age stature is the highest. There have been French and Italian, Negro and Arab giants, but the number is few, and it is evident that the temperate zones and the large races supply the most cases of gigantism. It is a curious fact that since biblical days there have been no giants among the Jews. St. Hilaire thought that giants were more frequent in the southern hen~i~phere~ but ~my rec- ords do not show this, a~ad tli~ stories of Patagonian giants h~ve not been confirmed. There are a good ina~iy giai4es~ s, but the giants outnumb4er tham ~L times, nor has the giantess ever, exet in one instance, reacheJ such propor- tions as the male. Ethuologists tell us that in small races the female equals the male, but in large races the male shoots ahead. Students should explain to us why it is that all the giants of our nursery times were strong, bold, cruel, and vo- racious, creating terror and devasta- tion in their neighborhood among sheep and bad little boys. As a matter of fact, the giant is physically weak, person- ally amiable, and not over-intelligent. We say this with due respect to all, and with the admission that there are ex- ceptions to the rule. It is true that in his early years, while getting his growth, the giant sometimes performs A Russian Giantess. GIANTS AND GIANTISM 185 feats of prodigiobs strength, but the efficient work can be got from a me- matured giant is inactive, often feeble, dium-sized human machine, as physics and never evil-minded. A man n~ty be and physiology show. Well-fed races, big or bad, but he is never both. Per- living in good climatic conditions, tend ips the cultivation of to become a little .antism might pro- larger as the genera- tote higher ethical tions pass by, but this standards, and in so increase is slight and far increase the social has, in most races, efficiency of the race. ceased to exist. The giant, I am sure, Prehistoric man was dies young. One never slightly sinall5 than sees an old giant, and the average man of to- rarely a middle - aged day, but not very much. one. In all my records There were no prehis- there is but one old tone giants. The hu- giant, and he is only man brain is perhaps a six feet ten, while gi- little larger and is cer- autism can hardly be tainly more efficient, said to begin in the but the bodily stature male short of seven is much the same as in feet. These facts are the days w h e n men quite in accordance lived in caves and with my theory, that clubbed the bear. (T. extraordinary size is a Wilson.) disease, a neurosis of It follows from my nutrition, rather than view of the case that a chance disturbance giantism is not a de- of development. sirable thing, and may Giants marry and be considered even un- even have children, but sanitary and a legiti- these children do not mate object of attack become giants, for on the part of students their giantism is an of preventive medicine. incident, like a fever, They should discour- and can no more be age giants and try to transmitted than the An American Giant, find a way of stopping measles. This would the terrific impetus to not be the case if giants were born with nutrition which the boy of thirteen to the giant tendency. Then giantism sixteen experiences when giantism sets would run through families like six flu- in. Very likely this can be done, but a gers, cleft-palates, strabismus, or club- study of the matter would take me into foot. There will never be a race of technical fields, whither I am requested giants; nor is it desirable. The most not to go. AMERICAN WOOD-ENGRAVERS GUSTAV KRUELL In Lintons use of the graver Kruell fouud the inspiration he had been striving for. It allowed him some of the freedom of the painter; he felt that he could now express himself in the wood almost as the painter does with the brush. He has always avoided so- called new methoz1.~ and novel effects in technique for th~ sake of temporary and eccentric notoriety, well knowing that such things usually indicate the want of appre~iation and thorough com- mnand of leg imate means. Honesty of intention nd vigorous, uncompromis- ing devotion to the best in his art are the dominating notes in Kruells char- acter and work. Feeling his subject with a rare power of concentration, he beVeves that a sympathetic rendering o his original is the result to strive for. To give full expression to his work he says the engraver must be first of all an artist in temperament. No amount of technique unallied with the subtle quality that lies deeper than the line, that guides and fills it with the quality we call artistic, can ever completely satisfy us. Command of the manual niceties of his art, delicacy and sureness in~ the handling of the graver, has become a minor consideration with him. His hand, thoroughly trained, instinctively responds to the governing ideas back of it. An intense feeling for the result and perhaps a certain impatience at the necessary slowness of the medium in which he works account, no doubt, for the extremely varied quality of his line. This very diversity, however, this free- dom from the bondage of any formal method, enables him to absorb himself in the personality of his subject, and to feel its living influence in his work. In the result no detail is lost, textures are carefully discriminated, peculiarities of attitude, of expression, of dress, are given with fidelity and appreciation of their relative value. To get inside is always Kruells purpose. He is per- haps most successful in reproducing ~ Three of the illustrations are typical bits of engrav- portraits from his own drawings and in lag from blocks by Gustav Kruell. combining the best qualities of several To GUSTAY KRUELL, a German by birth, but an American in all that pertains to the growth of his art, the American school of wood-engraving owes to-day much of its distinction. Mr. Kruell was born in Dusseldorf, Germany, fifty-one years ago. After serving an apprenticeship to a die-sinker and general engraver he went to Leip- sic, and later established himself as an engraver in Stuttgart. In 1873 he came to America, where his skill at once found employment with some of the leading illustrated periodicals. In 1881 he organized, with his friend Frederick Juengling, one of the most distinguished engravers America has known, the So- ciety of American Wood-Engravers. In Germany, in the time of his youth, the art that he represented was dull and lifeless and its followers mostly fac- similists. His first real sense of what might be accomplished in the wood came through a study of W. J. Lintons masterly blocks. In them he saw and felt the freedom, the impulses of the artist; they were, as he expresses it, alive.

Wood-Engravers. II. Gustav Kruell 186-189

AMERICAN WOOD-ENGRAVERS GUSTAV KRUELL In Lintons use of the graver Kruell fouud the inspiration he had been striving for. It allowed him some of the freedom of the painter; he felt that he could now express himself in the wood almost as the painter does with the brush. He has always avoided so- called new methoz1.~ and novel effects in technique for th~ sake of temporary and eccentric notoriety, well knowing that such things usually indicate the want of appre~iation and thorough com- mnand of leg imate means. Honesty of intention nd vigorous, uncompromis- ing devotion to the best in his art are the dominating notes in Kruells char- acter and work. Feeling his subject with a rare power of concentration, he beVeves that a sympathetic rendering o his original is the result to strive for. To give full expression to his work he says the engraver must be first of all an artist in temperament. No amount of technique unallied with the subtle quality that lies deeper than the line, that guides and fills it with the quality we call artistic, can ever completely satisfy us. Command of the manual niceties of his art, delicacy and sureness in~ the handling of the graver, has become a minor consideration with him. His hand, thoroughly trained, instinctively responds to the governing ideas back of it. An intense feeling for the result and perhaps a certain impatience at the necessary slowness of the medium in which he works account, no doubt, for the extremely varied quality of his line. This very diversity, however, this free- dom from the bondage of any formal method, enables him to absorb himself in the personality of his subject, and to feel its living influence in his work. In the result no detail is lost, textures are carefully discriminated, peculiarities of attitude, of expression, of dress, are given with fidelity and appreciation of their relative value. To get inside is always Kruells purpose. He is per- haps most successful in reproducing ~ Three of the illustrations are typical bits of engrav- portraits from his own drawings and in lag from blocks by Gustav Kruell. combining the best qualities of several To GUSTAY KRUELL, a German by birth, but an American in all that pertains to the growth of his art, the American school of wood-engraving owes to-day much of its distinction. Mr. Kruell was born in Dusseldorf, Germany, fifty-one years ago. After serving an apprenticeship to a die-sinker and general engraver he went to Leip- sic, and later established himself as an engraver in Stuttgart. In 1873 he came to America, where his skill at once found employment with some of the leading illustrated periodicals. In 1881 he organized, with his friend Frederick Juengling, one of the most distinguished engravers America has known, the So- ciety of American Wood-Engravers. In Germany, in the time of his youth, the art that he represented was dull and lifeless and its followers mostly fac- similists. His first real sense of what might be accomplished in the wood came through a study of W. J. Lintons masterly blocks. In them he saw and felt the freedom, the impulses of the artist; they were, as he expresses it, alive. photographs of the same person. Such work he claims to be within the prov- ince of the true artist. The modelling, the quality of line, the technical hand- ling, are his own. There is no interme- diary personality to qualify and hamper his treatment; he must invcnt for him- self the best way to interpret the char- acter and peculiarities of his subject. His most notable achievements have been with faces that possess strong and positive individuality. His portrait of Lincoln, made after the photograph used by St. Gaudens in modelling his famous statue in Lincoln Park, Chi- cago, and a life-mask by Leonard W. Yolk, taken about the time of Lincolns first election as President, is by many thought the finest of all the portraits of the great Emancipator. Both the features and sentiment of the rugged face are finely given. While working on this portrait Kruell says he was completely mastered by the profound under- current of melancholy that lay at the bottom of Lincolns character, and he could not get away from its impression. It kept beating in upon his mind like some deep dom- inant tone in a great orchestra. The first of Kruells contributions to the series of large portraits, of which the Lincoln is one of the most dis- tinguished, were exhibited in 1890. These included two of Darwin, one showing him in middle life, the other at seventy-two, William Lloyd Garri- son, and Wendell Phillips. All are marked with the highest qualities of portraiture. In the Garrison there is a freedom and breadth admirably adapted to the vigorous personality of the man; in the Phillips more reserve, greater softness and tenderness, in ac- cord with the elegance and refined sen- sibilities of the great orator. In 1891, the same year the Lincoln was engraved, appeared the portraits of Webster and LowelL The first, showing the great statesman late in life, gives a powerful impression of the seriousness and dignity that were such marked qualities of Websters face in repose. The Lowell is admirable for its refined and delicate modelling, and has been accepted by the poets family and inti- mate friends as the best portrait of 1187 Charcoal StucPes from the Life by KrueII. him in his later years. In 1892 General Grant was ad- ded to this series, andayear later the face of another great soldier, Sherman, attracted Kruell by its strong lines and expres- sion of nervous strength. But these are only a few among the many por- traits that have brought distinction to Krnell and given him such a high place among modern engravers. Much of his finest work has ap- peared in the pages of this Magazine. The beautiful portrait of Thackeray, after the crayon by Samuel Laurence, that appeared in the first volume as a frontispiece to the notable series of Thackeray Letters, will be readily re- called as presenting, with rare felicity, the tenderness and large humanity that so endeared the great humorist to those who understood him. A portrait after a photograph made in London in 1888, which accompanied an article by Dr. van Dyke on Tennysons First Flight, shows the poet seated in a chair, his hand resting on a book in his lap, and on his head a broad-brimmed hat. The face in every detail is drawn with firm- ness and a feeling for the meaning of ev- ery line. The portrait of George Fred- erick Watts, IRA., th~t appeared in the Christmas number~ of the Magazine [1894], is a superb exhibition of Kruells work in his most masterly manner. It is notable for a fine appreciation and blending of both the vigor and refine- ment that characterize the face of the original. The frontispiece portrait of James Anthony Fronde in this number is notable for its fine power of expres- sion, combined with the subtle and sympathetic feeling for character that is such a distinguishing quality in all of Kruells work, and makes his art one especially adapted to portraiture. 188 Charcoal Study frorn~the Life by KrueIl. I 2, (XU A MORAL OBLIQUITY By Francis Lynde a certain generic sense, John Devon was a type of his class. In affairs of a strictly pecu- niary nature, he was scru- pulously honest; and yet he used the time and material of his employers for his own purposes quite as freely as did any of his shopmates in the Pocon- oke Iron Works, and thought it no wrong. He would make an exact re- turn of the time used upon a remote outside job, but if given piece-work in the shop, he was quite conscienceless about slighting it, if the rough work could be hidden from the eye of the foreman, and if time could be saved at the expense of excellence. In common with other wage-workers, he held an in- nate animosity toward all things re- motely definable by the word monop- oly, including within the proscription corporations, capitalists, and employers. With these generalities, however, the parallel stopped abruptly. There was no better mechanic in Poconoke than John Devon, and his skill was ~he envy of his fellow-workmen. His accomplishments were such that he might be said to occupy the middle ground which lies between the artist and the artisan ; he possessed the delicate touch of the musician with the jewelers intuitive sense of microscopic dimensions; intricate and unfamiliar mechanisms were open books to him, and without being able to define logic, he could reason infallibly from induc- tion if the subject were ]uechanical. When the wheel-shaft in the New Hampshire Mills twisted off, it was Devon who fitted a new one, gauging the size of the gigantic and inextricable VOL. XVJI.18 pulleys with a bit of wire whose length was the diameter required. When the new rock - drill in the granite quarry was disabled by a blast, it was the same incomparable artisan who scouted the idea of sending it to Boston, and who, after working the better part of a night on the broken machine, turned it out in the morning as good as new. When the huge engine in the Nagotuck Mills burst its cylinder head, and the seven hundred looms of the great cot- ton factory were to be stopped indefi- nitely, until a new one could be pro- cured from the manufacturers, it was Devons idea to use the fractured plate for a pattern, and it was he who start- ed the engine aga4L on the third day after the accident. Devons a fine mechanic, said the gratified superintendent of the Nago- tuck to Johns foreman, when the great wheels of the mills began to revolve again. Hes a rare good one; if he could only handle men as well as he does tools, he neednt to work at the bench another day. No, I suppose not; but you dont often find such fine mechanical skill and any great amount of executive ability in the same man. Have you had Devon long? He was in the shop when I caine, an that was three years ago, come No- vember. Hes married, I suppose. Yes, hes got a nice little woman, she that was Annie Parker, an I believe theres two or three babies. Steady? Steadys a clock, never loses a day, dont drink, haint any bad habits

Francis Lynde Lynde, Francis A Moral Obliquity 189-199

2, (XU A MORAL OBLIQUITY By Francis Lynde a certain generic sense, John Devon was a type of his class. In affairs of a strictly pecu- niary nature, he was scru- pulously honest; and yet he used the time and material of his employers for his own purposes quite as freely as did any of his shopmates in the Pocon- oke Iron Works, and thought it no wrong. He would make an exact re- turn of the time used upon a remote outside job, but if given piece-work in the shop, he was quite conscienceless about slighting it, if the rough work could be hidden from the eye of the foreman, and if time could be saved at the expense of excellence. In common with other wage-workers, he held an in- nate animosity toward all things re- motely definable by the word monop- oly, including within the proscription corporations, capitalists, and employers. With these generalities, however, the parallel stopped abruptly. There was no better mechanic in Poconoke than John Devon, and his skill was ~he envy of his fellow-workmen. His accomplishments were such that he might be said to occupy the middle ground which lies between the artist and the artisan ; he possessed the delicate touch of the musician with the jewelers intuitive sense of microscopic dimensions; intricate and unfamiliar mechanisms were open books to him, and without being able to define logic, he could reason infallibly from induc- tion if the subject were ]uechanical. When the wheel-shaft in the New Hampshire Mills twisted off, it was Devon who fitted a new one, gauging the size of the gigantic and inextricable VOL. XVJI.18 pulleys with a bit of wire whose length was the diameter required. When the new rock - drill in the granite quarry was disabled by a blast, it was the same incomparable artisan who scouted the idea of sending it to Boston, and who, after working the better part of a night on the broken machine, turned it out in the morning as good as new. When the huge engine in the Nagotuck Mills burst its cylinder head, and the seven hundred looms of the great cot- ton factory were to be stopped indefi- nitely, until a new one could be pro- cured from the manufacturers, it was Devons idea to use the fractured plate for a pattern, and it was he who start- ed the engine aga4L on the third day after the accident. Devons a fine mechanic, said the gratified superintendent of the Nago- tuck to Johns foreman, when the great wheels of the mills began to revolve again. Hes a rare good one; if he could only handle men as well as he does tools, he neednt to work at the bench another day. No, I suppose not; but you dont often find such fine mechanical skill and any great amount of executive ability in the same man. Have you had Devon long? He was in the shop when I caine, an that was three years ago, come No- vember. Hes married, I suppose. Yes, hes got a nice little woman, she that was Annie Parker, an I believe theres two or three babies. Steady? Steadys a clock, never loses a day, dont drink, haint any bad habits 190 A MORAL OBLIQUITY as I knows of, an saves his money. Hes got a little place out on Spring Street about half paid for. Its a pity there are not more like him, said the superintendent, as Devon began to gather up his tools. There is a few, but theyre scarcer n hens teethoh, John hailing the workman as he was leaving the engine- room did the boss tell ye about goin up to Sawyers place? No; what does he want ? I dunno soiuethin about his safe, I believe. Ye can go up there in the mornin an see.~~ Nine oclock the following morning found the artisan at the kitchen door of a house in High Street. The servant admitted him and led him to a room opening off the front hall. Go in there an wait, she said, ungraciously; Mr. Sawyer 11 come down when he gets good an ready. Left to himself, Devon began a slow tour of the room with his hands in his pockets. It was the library, and two of the walls were covered with books. He walked along the cases and ran his eve over the titles: Humph! he said, hes got a raft o books, but I dont believe theres a Nystroms Me- chanics in the whole lot. The end of the bookcases brought him to the mantel, and he examined the brie-a- brac curiously; a vase of delicate china appealed to his love for fine workman- ship: The man that made that knowed his business; hed nough more patience than Ive got, and thats sayin a good deal. After the mantel there was a window, and he stood look- ing out into the quiet street. He was standing there when the master of the house entered: You are John Devon, from the Iron Works, arent you? he asked. Yes. They tell inc you understand locks; can you change the combination on my safe? I guess so. Can you keep your own counsel about it? Ill do better than thatIll set the tumblers, an you can take the figures yourself; then youll be sure that no- body else knows it. That will be better here is the door, pushing aside a panel in the wainscoting, and exposing the front of a large safe built into the wall. When the change was made, and Devon was screwing on the back plate of the lock, he noticed a bag of coin among the contents of the safe. Shouldnt think youd trust this box with much that you could keep in the bank, he said. Why not? Its a good safe, isnt it? Oh, yes, I spose its as good as any, but it aint much of a trick to break it open; then, again, your house sets back from a quiet street, an your neighbors aint none too close. Sawyer wrote the figures of the com- bination on a piece of paper, regard- ing them thoughtfully for a moment: What you say is quite true, but a burglar would first have to get into the house. Devon smiled derisively. Look here, he said, going to the window, you think thats a safe fastenin cause when its turned crossways you cant raise the lower sash nor pull down the upper onenow heres what it amounts to he picked up a thin metal paper- knife and slid the blade between the sashes, pushing the fastener aside a man could do that just as easy with a piece o tin from the outside, an thats only one out of a dozen ways he could get in. I suppose you are right about that, too. Sawyer leaned back in his chair and tore the bit of paper into tiny fragments. Let us say that our burg- lar is safely inside, there would be two more obstacles: the strength of the safe, and the fact that it projects into my room, and I am a light sleeper. It could scarcely be broken open without awakening me. Maybe it couldnt, an then again, maybe it could; anyway, a man thatd rob you wouldnt be beyond tappin you on the head with his jimmie for the sake o peace and quietness. Sawyer smiled: You seem to think I shouldnt prove much of a hinder- ance, and perhaps you are right again, but the Dartmouth men would have mobbed you for the insinuation on the day that I won in the singles. A MORAL OBLIQUITY 191 Devons contempt for mere strength was as profound as his respect for cunning. Your winnin a boat-race wouldnt make your head any harder to crack with a bit o steel; an about the safeIll guarantee to get into it while your backs turned five minutes, an you shant hear a sound. You can write this down for a factno man ever made a box that another man cant bust open. Sawyer looked incredulous, and Dev- on read the doubt in his face; it was almost like a challenge. Look here, he said, are you sure that safes locked? Sawyer reached over, twirled the knob of the combination and tried the handles: You see for yourself. All right; now, youre just as sure that I dont know the figures, aint you? I am. All right, again; now just turn round an give me five minutes by the watch. Sawyer took out his watch and turned away from the safe; he listened intently, but heard nothing. When the five minutes had elapsed, the safe door stood open, and Devon was grinning triumphantly: Thats how much them jim-crack locks amount to, he said, contemptuously. There was more concern than sur- prise in Sawyers manner when he saw the proof of the artisans skilL I should like to know how you did it, he said, gravely. Its no trick at all with that make o lock. You saw them notches in the edges o the tumblers well, when theyre all in line in the right place, the catch that draws the bolt falls into em. I puts my ear gainst the door, an I can tell when the tumblers come up into place. You cant do it with all of em, but they can all be opened, some way or other. Do you mean to say that such a slight difference in sound can be dis- tinguished? I guess that open door proves it, dont it? Taint so all -fired hard, when you know what to listen for. The master of the house paced the room for a few moments without reply- ing; then lie laid his hand on Devons shoulder: Its a dangerous gift, he said; if I were you, I shouldnt make use of it, even in honest ways; it might easily get you into trouble. I cant see why it should. But it might ; some evil-disposed person might hint that you acquired yonr skill in unlawful waysin plain words, that you had been a burglar be- fore you became a mechanic. Id like to catch anybody hintin such a thing, replied Devon, glower- ing; I pay my bills, an everybody knows I do. No, everybody doesnt know; on the contrary, if you ever have to prove your honesty you will be surprised to learn how few people really know any- thing about you. Ralph Sawyer had been an active man of business with a strong bent toward a very different kind of lifea life of thoughtfulness among books, and of usefulness, in the broader sense, among men. In his case, the unusual had happened, and he was sufficiently successful by the time he had reached middle life, to be able to retreat to the semi-passive ranks of those after whose names the directory compilers write capitalist. As a director in two of the Poconoke mill companies, his phi- lanthropy became the buffer between oppressive capital and aggressive labor; as the president of the Poconoke bank it found a mission in counterbalancing the popular prejudice against Jarvis Gascott, the cashier, whose misfortune it was that most people disliked him without knowing exactly why. A few mornings after Devons errand, this irreproachable man of business, whom nobody liked, was an early caller at the house in High Street. Is Mr. Sawyer down yet? he asked of the servant who answered the door-bell. No, hes at breakfast. Ask him to come down, pleasetell him its very important. Sawyer entered the library a moment later and found his man pacing the floor in a manner quite foreign to his usual habit of nerveless placidity. Good-morning, Gascott; anything wrong at the bank? 192 A MORAL OBLIQUITY No o, nothing wrong, that is everythings safe, but I came to ask if you have the combination for the outer door of the vault. I havent itI have never known it. Whats the matter? Its entirely inexcusablequite so but Sanborns been opening it, and Im ashamed to say that Ive complete- ly forgotten the combinationthrough disuse, you know. Wheres Sanborn? He went home ill yesterday, and tbis morning he is delirious; I have been to see him and he did not know me. Sawyer looked at his watch. You received the money for the New Eng- land pay-rolls, yesterday, didnt you? Yes. Then theres only one thing to do telephone the Iron Works to send men to cut into the vault. You can arrange the desks so as to screen the workmen, and open the doors at nine, as usual; Ill see that you have money enough to keep you goingit wont do to have a senseless run if we can avoid it. As Gascott stepped to the telephone, Sawyer stopped him: Tell them to send John Devon, he said. Devon was waiting at the bank when the cashier arrived. Gascott admitted him and showed him the door of the vault with the curt order : Youre to cut it open. Whats the matter with it? asked Devon, with his hand on the knob of the combination-dial. Nothing, only the combinations lost ; youll have to break into it, and times precious; do you understand? Devon nodded and stood idly turn- ing the dial while Gascott helped the clerks to make a screen of the furni- ture. He saw that the lock was like that in Sawyers safe, and was sure it could be opened in the same manner. In the moment of hesitation, the crafts- mans pride had time to overset the ar- guments of prudence and the tempta- tion to make the job costly by taking the order literally; in the bustle of re- arrangement no one noticed the work- man until the clang of the rebounding bolts announced his success. By Jove! How did you do that? Gratitude and astonishment both found voice in the cashiers excited question. Oh, its just a little trick o mine, replied Devon, with ill-concealed pride. Was there anything else you was wantin done? The cashier said no, and Devon left the bank, thinking that was the end of the matter. Unfortunately, it was but the beginning. Gascotts gratitude fell by easy degrees into suspicion; by what jugglery had the mechanic learned the combination? or, not knowing it, how did he open the door? It was a mystery, at best, and mysteries in busi~ ness matters are not to be tolerated any more than those who produce them; upon this point the cashiers mind clari- fied quickly, and the result was a sen- tence of peaceable deportation passed upon Devon. Gascott kept his suspi- cions to himself, and later in the day paid a visit to the Iron Works. Find- ing Barclay, the superintendent, alone in his private office, he went to the heart of the matter at once. What do you kn6w about this man Devon? he asked. I know he is one of the best work- men we ever had. But what do you know of his rec- ord? Before he caine here, you mean? Nothing. Gascott smiled cynically: I think a detective would have some trouble in tracing it~ Did he report the inci- dent at the bank this morning? No, what was it? We had lost the combination to the vault and he was ordered to force the door; while my back was turned he managed to set the combination, and when I asked how it was done he re- fused to telL Barclay went to the door and called to the office-boy: Tell Devon to step in here. When the workman entered and saw Gascott, he scented trouble, and took refuge in a simulated stupidity which might easily be mistaken for guilt. What was it about the bank vault, John? asked the superintendent. There want nothin about it, re- plied Devon, shifting uneasily from one A MORAL OBLIQUITY 193 foot to the other, and studying the pat- tern of the carpet. How did you open it U With the combination. I was just foolin with the knob an the catch dropped in. I guess somebody had set it, all but the last figure, maybe. It was a lie, and both his auditors knew it, but there was nothing further to be said. When they were again alone, Barclay was the first to speak. There may be something in what you say, after all; the man was confused, and he evident- ly lied. Ill look into it, and if 1 cant trace his record pretty clearly, Ill let him go. The fruit of this remark was a desul- tory inquiry among the tradesmen who supplied the Devon household. What do I know about John Devon? Why, hes a good customeralways pays his bills prompt enough. What? His rec- ord? Dont know the first thing in the world about it, nr I dont know what he dooz with his money, cept, of course, that he pays me. No, sir, he might be the biggest rascal in th caounty, an I not know it. Thus the grocer, whose reply may stand for the entire result of the investigation. Unexplained inquiry excites suspi- cion, and by the time Barclay had made his round Devons credit was much im- paired; the grocer had decided to in- sist upon weekly settlements, and the butcher had privately resolved to de- crease his chances of loss by increasing the items of his account. In the mind of the superintendent, the reflex effect of his own questions combined with the faint praise in their answers to transform doubt into certainty ; the upshot of the matter was that Devon was discharged a few days later, on the pretext of slack work and the necessity for retrenchment. Poconoke was a manufacturing vil- lage, and the mechanic was idle but a few days before he found another place. He lost it again in two weeks without knowing why, and from that time the suspicion, now grown into a well-au- thenticated story, pursued him relent- lessly, until his periods of idleness out- numbered his days of employment. Worse still, the day for the half-yearly payment on the house was approach- ing, and the small savings with which it was to have been met had long since disappeared into the hungry mouth of daily necessity. His credit had waned until it had become a negative quan- tity, and he had gone from shop to mill and from mill to foundry until there seemed to be no hope of getting further employment in the village. It was at this time, when his fortunes were at the lowest ebb, and he was beginning to feel the desperate attenuation of the partition which separates the most pros- perous wage-worker from the outer void of destitution, that he met Tom Upton, a former shopmate in the Iron Works. Are you workin now? asked Up- ton, overtaking him on his way home after an 9ther day of fruitless search. No. They walked along in silence for some moments before Upton began again, with the air of one who tries to make old comradeship bridge a sinister interval. I shd most think youd try some other place, John ; t aint much use o your stayin here after whats happened. What is it thats happened? asked Devon, absently. Sho, now, John, that aint no way to treat an old shopmate. Course you know what everybodys talkin about. I dont know nothin. Well, I declare, John Devon, I didnt think youd up an deny it to me! You didnt know how theyd found out youd been in the pen- tenchry out West for breakin into a bank? Why, Id a Its a damn lie! Devons face blazed for an instant and he quivered as if he had been struck ; then he wheeled abruptly and left Upton stand- ing agape. That worthy stared after his retreat- ing form Thats what a feller gets for tryin to be friendly, he grumbled. Course he knowed all about ithis denyin of it so nippy proves that; and so to the story of Devons disgrace there came to be added the confirmation of confession. Devons rage had time to pass from the molten to the incandescent, and from that to a black heat, before he 194 A MORAL reached home. The cruel injustice of the story made him furious at first, but the keen edge of anger was soon dulled by the grinding of present necessity; the payment of seventy-five dollars on the house would be due in three days; there was no money for this or for the more urgent wants of the family, and there was no longer a hope that he could get work in Poconoke. Before he slept, he had resolved to make one more effort in the neighboring village of Kinnequis, and if that failedthere was a confused myriad of suggestions clamoring upon the heels of the alter- native. He carried out his intention the next day, and the afternoon found him weary and unsuccessful. No one needed a machinist; a large shop had suspended a few days before, and the place was full of idle men. His last application was made in the office of a large fac- tory; he stood outside of the railing, waiting his turn, and he could scarcely help hearing the conversation between the visitor who had preceded him and the man at the desk. I thought you wouldnt mind put- ting it in your safe till to-morrow, the former was saying, handing a bulky en- velope to the agent. Certainly not, was the reply. How much did you say it was? Just an even five hundredthank you; Ill come around in the morning and get it. When Devon had received the usual negative, he wandered into the repair- shop of the mill; coming directly from the office, no one molested him and he loitered about the place for a half-hour, looking at the racks and shelves of tools with apparent curiosity. Then he left the mill, and sauntered slowly up the road toward the village. There was a bit of grass by the wayside, sloping down nuder a great elm to the bank of the stream which furnished the power for the factory. He threw himself down on the sward and stared absently at the rushing water: Twouldnt be much of a job, he said, musingly, an then it could be done so that nobodyd ever know. Its stealin, of course, but whats the dif- ference? Taint any worsen robbin a OBLIQUITY man of his good name, an thats what theyve done to me. But then, theres Annie an the young unswell, what o that? Theyll never know nothin about it. He rose and walked rapidly on to the town, dropping into a saunter again when lie saw the sign of a carriage shop. The door stood open, and in- side a workman was varnishing a wagon. Devon lounged in and watched the man until he put down the can of varnish, and went around to the other side of the vehicle; he was gone but a moment, but it gave Devon time to drop a thin stream of the sticky liquid from the brush into a pocket match- safe, and when the painter returned, he was leaning against the bench again in the same attitude of idle curiosity, ab- sently kneading a bit of black putty in his fingers. When he left the shop he wrapped the putty carefully in a scrap of paper. The factory bells were ringing for six oclock when he reached the board- ing-house where he had dined. He ate his supper leisurely, and lounged about the place until the inn-keeper began to close up. Ye want calclatin t stay all night, was ye? cause if ye be, I cd rig ye up a shake-down. The tone was hospitable, but Devon shook his head. No, Im goin to Poconoke. What time does the train go? Jest five minutes short o mid- night. All right ; guess Ill go down an loaf at the depot till it comes. At ten oclock at night, there are few places fuller of silence and solitude than the yard of a cotton factory. The great brick hive has emptied itself of its workers; the rhythmic clack of shuttles and the soothing whirr of spindles have ceased; the long lines of shafting are motionless and the throbbing pulse of the engine is still; the rapid current of the murmuring water in the canal is checked and the swift rush of the waste from the tail- race has become a black and sullen pool. The light of the electric lamp sus- pended from a mast near the gates of the Kinnequis Mill threw the front of the plain building out into sharp re A MORAL OBLIQUITY 195 lief. The night was dark and windy, and the shadows flitted and gyrated in a grotesque dance with the swaying of the lamp in the sudden gusts. Devon made the circuit of the entire inclosure before climbing the fence at the corner where the shadows were the blackest. When he was fairly inside, the thought that he was fully committed to the evil venture unnerved him a little; but a seared conscience is quickly disarmed, and the passing twinge left him cool and decided. The first necessity was to time the round of the watchman, and he crouched in the shadow until he saw the glimmer of a lanteiza passing the windows of the second story of the mill. This gave him the opportunity to get the needed tools from the repair shop in the basement, and having ob- tained them, he secreted himself in the shadows near the small office-building and waited. The office was the last station on the watchmans round; he came across the yard, let himself in and recorded the time. Coming out again, he put his lantern down while he locked the door, and its light fell directly upon Devons hiding-place; a cold sweat broke out upon the novice, and he held his breath until the danger was past and the man had gone. Then he tried the window nearest him and found it unfastened, but it grated harshly as he raised it. Once inside, he looked out toward the mill and saw that he had been too in- cautious; the watchman had heard the noise and stood irresolute. Measured by anxiety, Devon lived an age in the moment of suspense, and would have given much to have his feet set firmly in the ways of honesty again; but with the passing of the danger, the fear- kindled fire of repentance went out, and he went to work as one to whom time is precious. However much the brute courage of the professional burglar was wanting in Devon, there was no lack of dexter- ity and mechanical cunning. For light he had only the dancing rays from the swaying electric lamp without; for tools, a small ratchet, a piece of strap-iron, and a slender wire, bent at the end like a curved finger-tip. Encircling the safe with the iron band to hold the ratchet up to its work, he drilled a small hole just above the combination dial; this done, he removed the strap, wound it into a small coil and dropped it into his pocket with the ratchet. Then he inserted the wire and began the deli- cate task of setting the combination by the sense of touch. Kneeling before the lock, he turned the dial slowly back and forth, while the wire, like the sensi- tive antenna~ of an insect, followed the movement of the tumblers with unerr- ing certainty: it was as if the mind of the man were projected into the piece of mechanism. When a faint click fol- lowed the third reversal of the dial, Dev- on stood up and drew his coat-sleeve across his brow. There was but the turning of a handle between him and the money, and yet he hesitated: he knew that he had reached the dividing line between a life of decency and one of shame. Up to this point the path leading to the evil deed was retrace- able; beyond it, retreat would be diffi- cult. The sound of the bell striking eleven aroused him; in a few minutes the watchman would begin another round, and what remained must be done quickly. He swung the door open, half hoping, half fearing that the money would be in an inner steel cash-box; there was no such receptacle in the small safe, and the envelope lay in plain sight. He took it to the window and pried the flap open with the wire; the money was in a single package and he counted out a hundred dollars, replac- ing the remainder in the envelope. Another moment of irresolution came with the thought that he might take it all, but caution overcame cupidity; such a course would overset the plan by which he meant to escape suspicion. When the package was carefully re- sealed, he returned it to the safe, and shut and locked the door, filling with putty the small hole made by the drill, and touching up the surface with a drop of varnish by the light of a match. Thats what I call a pretty slick job, he muttered, gathering up the handkerchief which had been spread on the floor to catch the chips. There aint been no robberyitll only be a question o which one o them fellers 196 A MORAL OBLIQIJITY can make tother believe hes tellin the truth. He lighted a second match to assure himself that there were no telltale traces left, and blew it out suddenly at the souud of a footstep on the gravelled walk outside. He had a scant half-min- ute in which to crowd himself into a small recess between the safe and the wall, when the watchman entered. The man saw the open window im- mediately: Wonder if thats what I heard awhile ago, he said, closing the window and fastening it. Seems as if Id ought to seen it if it d been open all along wonder if anybodys been snoopin round here. He held up his lantern and peered into the ~orners. The interior of the room. with the sin- gle exception of the narrow niche beside the safe, could be seen at a glance, and a single look satisfied him; but Devon could not know this, and he had heard enough of the muttered monologue to make him sure that detection was in- evitable. Up to that point he had been simply terrified, but with the certainty of apprehension and punishment, the chill of fear left him, and a new and strange emotion succeeded: he grew hot, and the tingling of his nerves was like the stinging of nettles. Of its own volition, his hand sought the pocket from which the handle of the ratchet protruded, and his fingers closed in- stinctively around the cold iron; he watched the shadows come and go as the man went from window to window, trying the fastenings, and he felt a twinge of savage disappointment when he finally heard the door close behind the retreating figure of the watchman. It was, perhaps, a natural sequence: when once a man has put law and social order under his feet, one ill deed is much like another, and stress of cir- cumstances is likely to be the arbiter which decides whether it shall be sim- ple robbery or robbery with murder. The effect of the fit of bloodthirstiness on the artisan was first disquieting and then hardening. He came out of his hiding - place a stronger man and a worse. His caution in replacing the tools and in leaving the yard was not lessened; but the man who had entered the inclosure a novice, left it a criminal. The human ingot had both lost and gained in the devils cruciblebut the gain was of evil and the loss was of good. On the second day after the incident at Kinnequis, Devon went to pay the instalment due upon his house. Old Deacon Gilman, who held the mortgage, kept the papers in his box at the hank, and they went thither together. While the small transaction was making, some- one came in and asked for Mr. Sawyer, getting for reply the information that the president was in Boston. Devon heard both question and answer, and together they put an idea into his brain which turned with unwearying insist- ence upon the isolated house and the easily opened safe. A hundred ill-got- ten dollars are as a handful of sand held loosely, and the fruits of the Kin- nequis harvest had already shrunk to a few pieces of silver. Why should he not take advantage of the bank presi- dents absence and help himself from the stores in the insecure safe? He might follow his former plan, taking only enough to raise a question of ac- curacy in the count, and so send suspi- cion farther afield. The very audacity of the thing made it measurably safe: Sawyer would hardly suspect the man who had warned him. The idea crystallized, that afternoon, into a short steel crowbar, having a broad claw at one end. It was made in the small work-shop which was an extension of Devons wood-shed, and where he had a bench and a diminutive forge. When the small lever was fin- ished it was tested under a thick block screwed upon the bench; the tempered steel bore the strain, but the heavy screws were torn from their holdings. I guess that keyll unlock any door Im likely to run against, he said, an- swering his wifes call to supper. Have von found work yet, John? she asked, when he was washing at the kitchen sink. Yes, Ive got a curious sort of a job he avoided meeting her eyes by sluicing his face in the basin. What is it? The folds of the kitchen towel afford- ed a better screen for the remainder of the falsehood : Its a model for a man A MORAL OBLIQUITY 197 that wont even let me tell his name; bring it down upon the head of his as- says Ive got to make it at night in the sailant, but the blow fell short and the back shop, sot nobody wont steal his bar went flying across the room before idea an get a patent on it before he it could be repeated. After that the does. struggle was short and decisive; the The story was an excuse for an even- artisan, strong enough in the muscles ing in the small shop, where Devon of his craft, was no match for the cx- worked until midnight; but the model college athlete, and after a few ineffect- was a bunch of skeleton keys, the last ual efforts to break away, he fell heav- one of which was completed as the ily in the doorway between the library town clock struck the hour. and the bedroom. Sawyer sat upon Twelve oclockI guess thats late his prisoner while he loosened the cord enough, he said, dropping the keys from the porti~re and tied the mans into his pocket and hiding the small hands; then he dragged him back into bar under his coat. Now, if every- the library, sat him up against the wall, things quiet in the house, Ill be off. and lighted the gas. The softened ra- He made a circuit of the cottage, as- diance from the tinted globe illumi- suring himself that its inmates were nated a strange scene: the mechanic, asleep, and then made his way by alleys yellow with fatigue and terror, sat and back streets to the house in High braced against the wall, and before him Street. He approached it from the stood the thinly clad householder. rear and crept cautiously around to the Sawyer was not surprised when the library window, which the blue-black light gave him the identity of his shadow of an intervening tree screened prisoner. I thought as much, he from the glare of the electric lamp in said quietly. I heard the story that the street. Opening his knife, he cost you your place in the Iron Works, pushed the blade up between the sashes for the first time to-day, and I told my and pressed it against the fastening; informant that he did you an injustice. the catch resisted and he smiled grim- It seems that I was mistaken. ly. Thats one time that I put a Devon did not answer, and Sawyer tinger in my own pie, he muttered; went on: Of course youre not obliged not that it makes any great difference to criminate yourself, but I should like them screws cant be moren five- to know how long you have been at this eighths. kind of work. The thin edge of the crowbar was in- He paced up and down before his serted under the lower sash and the captive, whose eyes followed his move- pressure was applied in a series of gen- ments like those of a dog watching an tle little jerks; the crack at the bot- angry master: There aint no call tom widened noiselessly and finally the for you to believe what I say, but window went up an inch or two. Dev- honest to God, this is only the second on put his fingers under it and in- job o this kind I ever was in. creased the aperture by impercepti- V/here was the other? ble degrees until it would admit him. Down. at Kinnequis Mill, the other Making his way silently across the nighf room, he went down upon his knees be- Sawyer stopped abruptly. Kinne- fore the panel in the wainscoting and quis? How much did you take? felt softly for the knob of the catch; I got a hundred dollars out o the when he grasped it, the air of the room mill-office safe. vibrated with the sharp rattle of an So thats where that money went electric bell, and before he could re- to! Sawyers voice hardened. I gain his feet he was twisting in the suppose youre beyond caring for such grasp of an athletic figure in pajamas. things, but your theft has cost an hon- The surprise was complete and the est man his place. Why did you do it? mechanic was taken at a disadvantage, Cause people had lied about me but he knew the consequences of de- till I couldnt get work nor creditan feat and fought desperately. 1n rising, besides, I was owin Deacon Gilman on he grasped the jimmie and tried to the mortgage. VOL. XVII. 19 198 A MORAL OBLIQUITY So you verified the lie by turn- ing burglar; wellhow does it pay? Youve gained a hundred dollars and the chance to work at your trade in the penitentiary for the next eight or ten years; and whats to become of your wife and children? Devon hung his head and Sawyer re- sumed his nervous walk up and down the room: he intended to be severe it was the plainest duty; and yethis own mention of the mans family soft- ened his anger, and the magnanimity which follows close upon the heels of victory in the heart of a generous man, was already beginning to reach out toward the criminaL Doubtless the man deserved punishmenthe was a criminal, a common robber, a danger- ous man who had not hesitated at an attempt to murder when his liberty was in jeopardy; it was manifestly right that he should reap the harvest of his own sowing. But after all, it was the others who would have to eat the bitter fruit; and what a burden of grief for the wife, and what a load of obloquy for the innocent children! And the man himselfwas he quite be- yond reclaiming? Might not ths be made the turning-point in his life? Sawyer was a man of quick intuitions, and vindictiveness had no part in his character; he turned suddenly upon the humbled artisan. John Devon, what would you do if I were to untie your hands and tell you to go? Devon did not look up; the mention of Annie and the children had touched him, and his voice was husky and al- most inaudible. Id quit this busi- ness for one thing, an then Id get work or starve lookin for it. And what else? Id sell my house an pay back that hundred dollars; an Id straighten up things down to Kinnequis, if I had to turn States evidence against myself to do it. Im going to see if you mean what you say. Sawyer stooped and untied the cord. The workman rose and rubbed his hands to dispel the numbness. Thank ye, he stammered; and being imme- diately overwhelmed with a sense of the triteness of the phrase, added: I guess you know what I mean. I dont; I know what I hope you meanthat you are going to turn back this disfigured leaf and begin over again. So far as you seem to deserve it, Ill help you. The hundred dollars you took was mine, and if you show a disposition to pay it back, you neednt sell your house; and it wont be neces- sary for you to go to KinnequisIll take that off your hands too. Devon tried to reply, but the words choked him and he began over again: I guess you know how it isan then again, may be you dont, either. Men o my kindmechanics an suchdont get much help from you folks as dont have to work for a livin, an when it comes, it sort o knocks a man in a heap. I aint no great hand to palaver, an never was, but what I want to say is that this here job youve laid out for me aint a-goin to be spoilt by no slop- work o mine. I hope not, and youd better make it thorough. Sawyer led the way through the darkened hail to the front door and stood with his hand on the lock. The beginning of this nights work lies away back in your life when you took the first hour of time or the first piece of material from your em- ployer. A man cant steal even by lit- tles, and keep his sense of right and wrong unimpaired. He opened the door and Devon went out. On the step lie hesitated. I spose Ill have to leave Poconoke that fool storys done me up here. Dont do anything of the kind; fight it out and live it down right here where it began. I told you Id help yougo around to the Iron Works in the morning after Ive had time to see Barclay. Devon choked again and half held out his hand; Sawyer grasped it heart- ily. God help you, my man; good- night. THE PASSING OF THE WHIGS By Noah Brooks T is difficult to fix the precise time at which the party known as the Anti - Federalist was renamed the Democratic. W h e n the title by which it was originally called became odious (the Federal Constitution having become fixed in the affections and confidence of the people), Jefferson gave the organi- zation a new name. In a letter written to Washington in May, 1792, the father of the so-called Jeffersonian iDemocra- cy said: The Republican party, who wish to preserve the government in its present form, etc. This is the first use of the name under which Jeffer- sons party was known, until the break- ing out of the French Revolution of 1793; when, the ultra - French faction in the United States being absorbed into the Anti-Federalist or Republican party, the name of Democrat was adopted. The so-called Jacobins (who flourished exceedingly in Philadelphia), enthusiastically assumed the name of Democrat ; it was a link that bound them to their friends in France ; and the Federalists employed it as a term of reproach. But it was not until after Jefferson had quitted the stage of action that the distinctive title Democratic, was given to the party of which he was the founder. As for the political principles of the Democratic-Republican party, original- ly and authoritatively set forth, we must look for them in the Kentucky and Virginia resolutions, as well as in the writings of Jefferson himself. As yet, party platforms were not. Gener- ally speaking, the Jeffersonian party was pledged to a strict construction of the Constitution. In the opinion of the leaders, State governments were the foundation of the American political system; the powers of a State are un- limited, except by State constitutions and the Federal Constitution; the Fed- eral Government has no powers other than those granted to it by the Con- stitution, with the consent of the sev- eral States; and whenever there is a doubt as to the exact location of a power, it is to be presumed that said power resides in the State, not in the Federal Government. In other words, the Federal Government has no power to define the boundaries of its authority and functions; that right was reserved to the States. And the seed of seces- sion was wrapped up in the assumption that the Federal Government might assume powers that had not been granted to it, and that in such a case its acts are to be opposed by the legis- lative, executive, and judicial authority of the States. Particularly, and in addition to these fundamental principles, the Democrat- ic-Republicans were opposed to a pub- lic debt, to large expenditures of the public money (and incidentally to inter- nal improvements), to a navy, to any exercise of the governmental functions in any way related to private enter- prises or interests, and to life-terms for the judiciary. They favored liber- al naturalization laws, an elective ju- diciary, and direct taxes on the people. But no sooner were they in the pos- session of full power in the govern- ment, than the Democratic-Republi- cans made an abrupt change of front on many of the cardinal principles of their political faith. Although strict constructionists of the Constitution, when that instrument had been in- voked for the guidance of the National Executive, they regarded with joyful complaisance President Jeffersons pur- chase of the Louisiana territory, utter- ly unauthorized and arbitrary though it was; they calmly voted to re-charter the United States bank, although Jef- ferson had declared that the National Government had no power to grant such a charter; and,in addition to these and other flagrant invasions of State rights, they finally voted to in-

Noah Brooks Brooks, Noah American Politics. II. The Passing Of The Whigs 199-213

THE PASSING OF THE WHIGS By Noah Brooks T is difficult to fix the precise time at which the party known as the Anti - Federalist was renamed the Democratic. W h e n the title by which it was originally called became odious (the Federal Constitution having become fixed in the affections and confidence of the people), Jefferson gave the organi- zation a new name. In a letter written to Washington in May, 1792, the father of the so-called Jeffersonian iDemocra- cy said: The Republican party, who wish to preserve the government in its present form, etc. This is the first use of the name under which Jeffer- sons party was known, until the break- ing out of the French Revolution of 1793; when, the ultra - French faction in the United States being absorbed into the Anti-Federalist or Republican party, the name of Democrat was adopted. The so-called Jacobins (who flourished exceedingly in Philadelphia), enthusiastically assumed the name of Democrat ; it was a link that bound them to their friends in France ; and the Federalists employed it as a term of reproach. But it was not until after Jefferson had quitted the stage of action that the distinctive title Democratic, was given to the party of which he was the founder. As for the political principles of the Democratic-Republican party, original- ly and authoritatively set forth, we must look for them in the Kentucky and Virginia resolutions, as well as in the writings of Jefferson himself. As yet, party platforms were not. Gener- ally speaking, the Jeffersonian party was pledged to a strict construction of the Constitution. In the opinion of the leaders, State governments were the foundation of the American political system; the powers of a State are un- limited, except by State constitutions and the Federal Constitution; the Fed- eral Government has no powers other than those granted to it by the Con- stitution, with the consent of the sev- eral States; and whenever there is a doubt as to the exact location of a power, it is to be presumed that said power resides in the State, not in the Federal Government. In other words, the Federal Government has no power to define the boundaries of its authority and functions; that right was reserved to the States. And the seed of seces- sion was wrapped up in the assumption that the Federal Government might assume powers that had not been granted to it, and that in such a case its acts are to be opposed by the legis- lative, executive, and judicial authority of the States. Particularly, and in addition to these fundamental principles, the Democrat- ic-Republicans were opposed to a pub- lic debt, to large expenditures of the public money (and incidentally to inter- nal improvements), to a navy, to any exercise of the governmental functions in any way related to private enter- prises or interests, and to life-terms for the judiciary. They favored liber- al naturalization laws, an elective ju- diciary, and direct taxes on the people. But no sooner were they in the pos- session of full power in the govern- ment, than the Democratic-Republi- cans made an abrupt change of front on many of the cardinal principles of their political faith. Although strict constructionists of the Constitution, when that instrument had been in- voked for the guidance of the National Executive, they regarded with joyful complaisance President Jeffersons pur- chase of the Louisiana territory, utter- ly unauthorized and arbitrary though it was; they calmly voted to re-charter the United States bank, although Jef- ferson had declared that the National Government had no power to grant such a charter; and,in addition to these and other flagrant invasions of State rights, they finally voted to in- 200 THE PASSING OF THE WHIGS terdict and prohibit all the commerce of the several States on rivers, lakes, and the ocean, by the Embargo and Non-intercourse acts of 180012. While the Federalist party remained to combat these acts by a feeble pro- test, this was done, although it must be said that the prot- estants were quite as incon- sistent as their adversaries. They argued against the ex- ercise of Federal powers which they had repeatedly invoked during the administrations of Washington and Adams; they denied now the constitution- ality of acts which they had before insisted were not only necessary but constitutional. The fact is apparent that there was grov~ing up in the tri- umphant and overwhelming- ly victorious Republican par- ty, a faction which was deter- mined to commit the party to a policy of loose construction of the Constitution. It was found that the stricter con- struction w a s exceedingly awkward to the party in power, binding it as it did to certain methods that tied the dominant party, and ham- pered its functions when it got possession of the govern- ment. The peace - at - any- price policy of Jefferson and Madison crippled the nation while it was being hurried into war; and the suspension of Amer- ican commerce not only angered the people of the Middle States, but event- ually blighted with poverty the agricul- tural States, which were supposed to be indifferent to the effects of the Em- bargo. The neglect of the navy and the failure to provide means of defence, were the legitimate outcome of a strict construction of the Constitution. The Embargo, arbitrary and un-democrat- ic as it was, was only one of many acts which proved how incompetent the dominant party was to carry on a war which was eventually concluded by a peace in which not one of the objects for which the war was begun was secured. During the deceptive peacefulness which bears the fitld of The Era of Good Feeling, when President Monroe was making a triumphal progress under the influence of which all the people were jubilantly embracing each other and singing, Let party names no more, the loose constructionists of the Democratic - Republican organization were silently arraying themselves for their first campaign. Henry Clay, the Mill Boy of the Slashes, who was born in a Virginia log-house and who start- ed in life as a clerk in a retail store in Richmond, had by the sheer force of his genius worked himself up to a com- manding position in the front rank of Kentucky lawyers, had already served part of a term in the United States Sen- ate (beginning it before he wa~ of legal age to hold that office), and was now, in the first of his five terms of office as Speaker of the House of Representa- tives, the fore-ordained leader of the Loose Constructionists. John C. Calhoun. From a picture by King at the Corcoran Art Gallery. THE PASSING OF THE WHIGS 201 This brilliant, dashing, and entirely self-possessed young man took a lead- ing part in Congressional debates. He advocated internal improvements at the national expense, a protective tariff, and a war of reprisals that should carry American aggression into the British possessions in Canada. Exercising his functions as Speaker, he so constituted the standing committees of the House that the war party of young Republicans, of which he and John C. Calhoun were leaders, virtually controlled the legis- lation of that body. Later on, when Clay and his comrades had seen the inglorious end of a war into which they had hurried the irresolute Madison, they were partially consoled by the bat- tle of New Orleans, which shed a fleeting lustre over the American arms in the closing scene. Clay, who had been one of the negotiators of the Treaty of Ghent, gladly said that Andrew Jackson s vic- tory made it possible for the American envoys to go to London without humil- iation of spirit. And, still a Republican, the gallant young Kentuckian entered the scrub race for the presidency in 1824. His competitors were John Quin- cy Adams, then Secretary of State, W. H. Crawford, Secretary of the Treasury, and Andrew Jack- son, the hero of New Orleans, with whom Clay was to have many a fierce bout before either laid down his arms. These were all Republicans, or Democratic - Republicans, if you please, and the contest for the presidency had now, in the absence of party com- petition, degenerated into a personal squabble; and the squabble became disgraceful when the wrathful Jackson, disappointed in winning the prize, subsequently denounced the bribery and corruptions by which, as he averred, he had been cheated out of an election. - Clay and Adams favored a loose construction of the Con- stitution; Crawford and Jack- son were strict construction- ists; but Jackson favored a protective tariff, and Calhoun, who was an almost unopposed candidate for the vice-presi- dency, was a loose construc- tionist so far as internal im- provements were concerned, but an ardent State Rights man and a strict constructionist where other matters were involved. Monroe had vetoed the Cumberland road bill, thereby still further unifying the loose constructionists and embarrassing the Republican party ; and when Clay emerged from the scrub race for the presidency, fourth in the list of candi- dates and therefore ineligible as a can- didate in the electionthen thrown into the Househis final and irreparable alienation from the Jacksonian faction becoming formidable, actually began. The new parties were slowly taking shape. Unfortunately for Clay, it had be- come a tradition that the office of See- / retary of State was the training-post Henry Clay. From a photograph by Rookwood of an old dagoerreotype. 202 THE PASSING OF THE WHIGS for the presidency. Every Secretary had been eventually translated to the Chair of State, except in instances where appointment had been made to tide over an emergency. Clay, as Speaker of the House, was a greater and more powerful man than Clay, Sec- retary of State, could possibly be. But, with the presidential bee still buzzing in his bonnet, he consented to take the State Department portfolio from Adams, whose election by the House he had so powerfully promoted; and he thereby invited the undying enmity of Andrew Jackson, and laid himself liable to the charge of making a corrupt bar- gain when he supported for the presi- dency John Quincy Adams, whose fit- ness for the place Clay had all along declared to be far greater than that of either Crawford or Jackson. Nobody seemed to consider that Clay, who was an advocate of a loose construction of the Constitution, would naturally favor the only loose constructionist kept in the field after his own relegation to the fourth and hopeless place on the list of eligibles. Although Clay angrily denied all par- ticipation in any bargain for Adamss elevation to the presidency, and many eminent persons, Chief Justice Mar- shall, Justice Story, Daniel Webster, and Lewis Cass. had joined in giving what modern backbiters would call a coat of whitewash to Clay, the bar- gain and corruption~~ allegation would not down. Jackson, who had at first been inclined to let the matter drop, was awakened to a sense of his wrongs by the fiery and acrimonious addresses with which he was greeted on his way to his Tennessee hermitage; and Clay, on his homeward way, too, was obliged to stop here and there and explain, de- precate, and argue. For many a long year this distressing business clung to his skirts, a persistent burr, irritating his sensitive nature and obstructing his political progress. All these things created party fac- tions; for we must bear in mind the fact that there was as yet but one par- ty, the Democratic-Republican, of which every one of the leading statesmen of the Republic was a member in good standing. Adams, whose ill-advised in- vitation of Clay to a place at his council- board had given color to the charge in which both were implicated, still fur- ther estranged the friends of Jackson (and friends of other disappointed statesmen, perhaps), and now proceed- ed to alienate yet further from him the strict constructionists. Generally, he had inclined toward a policy which fairly represented his disposition to in- terpret loosely the Constitution when the powers of the National Government were to be defined. Now he proposed a great variety of internal improve- ments, some of which, apparently modelled on the lines of the state in- stitutions of learning and science pat- ronized by monarchical governments, frightened even Clay and other mem- bers of the Cabinet. To crown all, the President appointed commissioners to a congress of American republics to meet at Panama for the purpose of concerting measures for mutual pro- tection, thereby committing the United States to the undertaking, and disre- garding the right of Congress to act in a matter so important. It was this latter incident that drew Clay into the duel which he subsequent- ly fought with John Randolph. The slave-holding interest had now become tolerably solid. The sudden breaking out of the pro-slavery feeling over the proposal to exclude slavery from Mis- souri, which Jefferson said had alarmed him like a fire-bell in the night, not only disclosed the determination of the slave-holding States to resist any at- tempt to restrict the cherished institu- tion, but it acted as a synthetic process, causing the instant coherence of all the elements of the Republican party that were divided on other lines but were fully in sympathy on this single issue slavery must not be touched by an un- friendly hand. The debates on the Pan- ama Convention, while they served as a muster of the anti-Administration forces, disclosed the fact that there was a fierce faction in the Republican party that was unalterably opposed to any interference with slavery. Certain of the South American republics that were to sit in the Panama Convention had already become abolitionists by the enfran- chisement of their slaves. Others had THE PASSING OF THE WAIGS 203 men of a dark color among their legis- lators and generals. The proposition to meet these men in an international council was odious. When Randolph commented, with his usual vitupera- tiveness, upon this proposed union of John Randolph. From a picture by Jarvis in 1811, at the New York Historical Society. American Republics in convention, he went out of his way to attack Clay, whom he hated, and coarsely bracketed Adams and Clay together as the coalition of Blifil acid Black Georgethe combina- tion, unheard of until now, of the Puritan and the blackleg. This was the casus belli that led up to the dueL No blood was shed; and Thomas H. Benton, who described the encounter with undis- guised zest, in his Thirty Years Yiew, spoke of it as about the last high- toned duel, as well as the highest- toned, which he ever witnessed. Under such conditions as these were formed the factions of Republicans and National Republicans, Demo- cratic-Republicans Adams and Clay Republicans and Jackson Republi- cans ; for all parties still clung to the old name and title. Under such con- ditions was the Whig party born. For although high tariff and low tariffs, bank and no-bank, the extension of slavery and the restriction of slavery, for a time continued to divide the heirs and assigns of Jeffer- sonian democracy into jarring factions, the schism already open was too deep for heal- ing. John Quincy Adams was cold, reserved, and a purist of the purists. When he and Andrew Jackson met at a lev- ee in Washington, after their memorable contest for the presidency, the crowd, seeing the two men approach, fell back in mute expectancy; it was possible that there might be a scene. But the defeated Jackson, with fine urbanity and manner, addressed the President-elect in most cor- dial terms; and the victori- ous Adams, failing to respond to the proffered olive-branch, chilled the ardent hero of New Orleans with formal iciness. Adams, if he saw that he had created a new party, failed to make anything of his oppor- tunities, and, while he persist- ed in putting forth his favor- ite theories of government, took no pains to conciliate Congressional or other form of public opinion to secure the advance of those theories to practice. During Adamss term of office, the Administration had but a small and diminishing majority in Congress. If Henry Clay, with his win- ning manner, his fascinating address, and his happy facnlty for compromise, had then been in the presidential chair, what wonders for the new party he might have accomplished! Nevertheless, the loose construction- ists who were to some extent then aided by log-rolling and the Western men, were able to enact the tariff of 1828, afterward known as the tariffof abom- inations, a measure so extreme in it~ protection that mutterings of nullifica 204 THE PASSING OF THE WHIGS tion were again heard in the South; and there was a general overhauling of the Virginia and Kentucky resolutions by those who fell back on the reserved rights of the States whenever the as- pect of things did not please them. The constitutionality of internal improvements at the public expense also came up for dis- cussion during this adminis- tration, and although Con- gress did not indorse Adamss extravagant notions of a pa- ternal government, unusually 1 a r g e appropriations were voted. Party feeling ran high, and the debates in Congress and in the newspapers verged on indecency in their malig- nity and venom. But nothing in modern times can equal the virulence and the apparent exacerba- tion of the presidential cam- paign of 1828, when Andrew Jackson was formally entered in the presidential race against John Quincy Adams. For the first time in the his- tory of the Republic the con- test assumed a sectional as- pect. The Democratic - Re - publicans had nominated An- drew Jackson, of Tennessee, and John C. Calhoun, of South Carolina ; the National Republican nominees were John Quincy Adams, of Mas- sachusetts, and Richard Rush, of Pennsylvania. For the first time in our history, too, the presidential electors were chosen by popular vote, South Car- olina alone holding out for the old meth- od of election by the Legislature. And by this time, the system of National nom- inating conventions had come into gen- eral use, bringing with it the machine and the machinery of politics. In Jack- sons candidacy there were abundant signs of that working up public sen- timent that has since given us litera- ry bureaus and similar appliances of a presidential campaign. Personal abuse was rife. Adams, the impeccable, the frigidly just, was ac- cused of a variety of crimes, one of the least of which was that he acted as a pro- curer for the Czar of Russia. Clay was branded as an unprincipled adventurer, a professional gambler, a libertine, and an accomplice of Aaron Burr. Jackson was stigmatized as a murderer, a duel- ling manslayer, a cock-fighter and a turf-sportsman. One of the bitterest attacks upon him was made by Jesse Benton, brother of the great Thomas. Jesse, although his brother had made his peace with Jackson, still writhed with anger over the duel he had fought with the old hero in the streets of Nashville, fifteen years before, and he pursued him with a pamphlet in which thirty-two separate and distinct crimes and misdemeanors were charged against him. These included only acts for which Jackson himself was responsi- ble. It was reserved for a Washington newspaper to give currency to a cruel slander relating to the private life of the wife of the General. The lady had been divorced from a former husband John Quincy Adams. From a picture by Gilbert Stuart. THE PASSING OF THE WHIGS 205 before she re-married, and both she and Jackson were horrified, later on, at the discovery that that divorce was il- legal. The matter was rectified and the couple were lawfully joined in wed- lock after they had innocently gone through proceedings which they had supposed lawful. Jacksons wife died just before he was first inaugurated President; and with the wound still rankling in his heart, he refused to meet the retiring President whom he held rcsponsible for the publication of the slander of Mrs. Jackson. When the triumphant hero was on his way to be sworn in at the capital, his prede- cessor in office was solitarily beginning his journey homeward. The Whig party, as yet unnamed, had been de- feated, Jackson having received one hundred and seventy-eight electoral votes against the eighty-three cast for Adams; Calhoun had one hundred and seventy-one votes, Rush eighty-three. Calhoun had been deprived of seven votes (thrown away on one William Smith, of South Carolina) by the machi- nations of W. H. Crawford. Now the reign of the people had come. Jackson represented the acces- sion of the great unwashed to power, after the breed of Revolutionary statesmen and the favorites of the Virginia dynasty had passed away. Jackson was wofully deficient in education and grotesquely unfamiliar with the rudimen- tary principles of statecraft. He was wilful, easily deceived by the representations of men in whom he might trust, pas- sionate, obstinate to the last degree, a fierce hater, and nev- er averse to taking the re- sponsibility, however compli- cated the proceeding or how- ever limited his knowledge of the exigencies of the situa- tion. But his personal integ- rity was absolute, unquestion- able. In two traits he resem- bled Abraham Lincoln: his honesty and his identification as a man of the people. But only in these two respects do the two men appear alike. The Old Hero, who was now in his sixty - third year, was supposed, as Daniel Webster humorously said, to have res- cued the country from some great but undefined danger. The dear people swarmed to Washington in vast numbers, intent on two things a sight of the hero, and a grab at the of- fices. For somehow it had gone out that there was to be that clean sweep which has since become a custom, but was then a threat in suspense. One writer says of the multitudes, It was like the inundation of the northern barbarians into Rome, save that the tumultuous tide came in from a different point of the compass. The West and the South seemed to have precipitated themselves upon the North and overwhelmed it. At the presidential levee in the White House, a mob which poured into the mansion to gaze upon the Hero and dip into his barrels of punch, was so Andrew Jackson. From a photograph by Srady. 206 THE PASSING OF THE WHIGS disorderly and riotous that tubs of the tipple were carried out of doors to entice a division of the hungry and thirsty; and broken glasses, soiled fur- niture, and wet carpets proclaimed the advent of the sovereign people. From this time we date that quad- rennial division of the spoils of office which has unto this day engaged the attention of the American people. Jackson so composed his cabinet as to make his hostility to Clay as pro- nounced as possible. It was as if a President should seek to gall his rivals and enemies by calling to his council- board a man whose only fitness for the place was the disfavor in which he might be held by said rivals and ene- mies. We have seen that Jefferson was the first President to depart from the tradition of making fitness, honesty, and capability the only tests in official ap- pointment. But the arbitrary politi- cal changes ordered by Jefferson, un- precedentedly numerous though they were, were as nothing when compared with the wild sweep made by Jackson. Daniel Webster estimated these at two thousand or more; and this was a large number, if we regard the smallness of the Federal establishment of 1829. But it was William L. Marcy, a Senator from New York, who gave currency, three years later, to the saying so often attributed to Jackson, To the victor belongs the spoils. Marcy was de- fending Van Buren and the Albany politicians when he said: They see nothing wrong in the rule that to the victors belong the spoils of the en- emy. And to these illustrious Dem- ocratsJackson, Van Buren, and Mar- cywe owe the formal setting up of the spoils system. Another of Jacksons innovations was the discontinuance of cabinet councils. His imperious spirit irked even the nominal restraint of advice; and al- though he may have consulted with a few individuals of his cabinet, more especially the wily and astute liXiatty, as he called Martin Van Buren, Sec- retary of State, he had little to do with others. The Mrs. Eaton scandal was one of the causes of the final disruption of the never very harmonious cabinet. Mrs. Eaton was the wife of the Secre tary of War; her maiden name was Peg ONeal, and her reputation had been tri- fled with by Washington gossips during her widowhood as Mrs. Timberlake; she was given a cold shoulder by the la- dies of the national capital, and when the wives of cabinet ministers refused to receive or recognize her, President Jackson, who had thrown himself into the unsavory quarrel with character- istic heat, made social recognition of the lady a test of loyalty to him, if not to the Government of the United States. In his blind and unreasoning fury, he banned friends and foes, foreigners and Americans alike in his determination to compel respect for the hapless woman who had won his dangerous but honest and chivalrous friendship. Jacksons dislike for Calhoun, which was later bound to appear in a more serious crisis than this petty scandal, was increased by his discovery that Cal- houn, while Secretary of War in Mon- roes cabinet, had disapproved of the course of General Jackson when he in- vaded Florida and carried matters there with a high hand, as if he were an im- perial conqueror and not the military servant of a republic. For a time at least, the cohorts of Calhoun and Clay were brought together by the well-nigh insane hatred which Jackson had for those two chieftains. Jackson regarded Clay as the inciter of ill-reports about Mrs. Jackson and Mrs. Eaton. Mrs. Calhoun would not receive Mrs. Eaton, and her husband had criticised the course of the general as an invader of Spanish territory. From such sor- did materials may political crises be evolved! It was Jackson who gave us the in- vention of the Kitchen Cabinet, an institution that outlasted his day. Three newspaper men, Duff Green, Amos Kendall, Isaac Hill, were the core of this junta. William B. Lewis, related to Jackson by marriage, was a fourth member, and when Duff Green fell from grace and went over to Cal- houn, Francis P. Blair became his legit- imate successor. These men influenced the unconscious Jackson and fabri- cated many statements which the honest old hero employed with great zeal as facts. It was Jackson who gave THE PASSING OF THE WHIGS 207 us that immortal declaration Our Federal Union it must be preserved. It was Calhoun, who, on that same oc- casion (a Jeffersonian birthday dinner in Washington), who answered Jack- sons challenge with the toast, The Union, next to our liberty the most dear; may we all remember that it can only be preserved by respecting the rights of the States, and distributing equally the benefit and the burden of the Union. Jackson, too, invented the pocket veto, the first example of which was given when he availed himself of his privilege to keep in his figurative pocket for ten days a bill authorizing a government subscription to a Kentucky toll-road, during which interval Con- gress adjourned and left the bill to die there. This expedient was subse- quently useful to President Jackson. It was resorted to by President Lin- coln, in 1864, when the Wade-Davis re construction bill was similarly put to death. It is not necessary here to trace the history of Jacksons war on the United States Bank, except to recall the fact that one of the arguments which Jack- son used against the bank was drawn from Henry Clay, who, earlier in his career, was a con- sistent opponent of that insti- tution. We may recall, too, with amusement, B e n t o n long and chivalrous fight for the expunging of the Senates resolutions of censure of~Pres- ident Jackson for his course in ordering the cessation of deposits in the United States Bank. It was not until the last days of Jacksons second term of office that the inde- fatigable Benton, who provis- ioned the Senate chamber as for a long siege, finally dra- gooned and wheedled the senators into adopting the famous Expunging Resolu- tions, and the journal was brought in, and broad black lines were drawn around the now historic entry. Clays misfortune was his identification with the bank war when, in 1832, he became a candidate for the presidency against Andrew Jackson, and virtually stood on a platform pledged to support the United States Bank scheme. The Jackson men were not only ac- tive and numerous, but they had a good cry to go to the country with, and the popular response to the con- vention that nominated Clay and eu- logized the bank was emphatic and overwhelming. One of the earliest champions of a protective tariff; advo- cating a scheme of finance to which he gave the taking title of the Amer- ican system, Clay permitted, even ad- vocated, the dragging of the bank ques- tion into the canvass for the purpose of alienating from Jackson the vote of Pennsylvania, that State being the home of the banking institution. In the presidential election of 1832, we must note one of those curious Daniel Webster. From a picture by Healy at the State Department Washington. 208 THE PASSING OF THE WHIGS cross - currents in American politics, which from time to time have amused us and puzzled foreign observersthe Anti-Masonic diversion. Beginning in Genesee County, New York, with the alleged niurder of William Morgan, in 1826, by Freemasons who suspected him of writing a book revealing the secrets of their order, the popular feel- ing excited against the Freemasons finally assumed a political bias under the skilful manipulation of certain par- ty managers. Local candidates stood or fell as they were opposed to or were in favor of Freemasonry ; and in due course of time there appeared, as lead- ers of the new party, William H. Sew- ard, Millard Fillmore, and Thurlow Weed, the last of whom gave to the world of politics the phrase a good enough Morgan until after election, the remark being made when doubts were thrown on the statement that the body found floating in Niagara River was that of the abducted and murdered William Morgan. In 1830, the move- ment was strong enough to excite the New Yorkers with hopes of carrying a national election on that issueoppo- sition to Freemasonry. So, when party lines were again drawn for a presidential campaign in 1832, the Anti - Masons were in the field with William Wirt, of Maryland, and Amos Elimaker, of Pennsyivania, as their candidates for President and Vice-President. Mr. Seward, then a young man in politics and in years, had previously gone to Massachusetts to endeavor to induce John Quincy Adams to re-enter politics as the presidential candidate of the Anti - Masons. Mr. Adamss reception of Mr. Seward was characteristic. The chilled ambassador from Auburn records that he could then understand why Adams went out of public life with so few friends. Mr. Wirt received only the electoral vote of Vermont in that canvass. This was the first and last appearance of the Anti-Masons in the open field of Na- tional politics. But they were able, in 1835, and again in 1839, to frighten the Whig nominating conventions of those years into dropping Clay, who was a Freemason, and putting up, instead, William Henry Harrison, who, though not an Anti-Mason by political affilia- tion, was not a member of the masonic order. In the election of 1832, all par- ties put forward candidates named by National conventions; but the Demo- crats, as if they regarded Andrew Jack- son as their sufficient platform, pre- sented the hero to the people, without a word of comment or a pledge of pol- icy. Jackson once more inaugurated and the bank war taken up with renewed spirit, another political crisis came when South Carolina, pushing to their utmost the doctrines enunciated in the Virginia and Kentucky resolutions, de- clared that the tariff of 1828 (with its modifications of 1832) was unconstitu- tional, null and void, and should be dis- regarded. Jackson made preparations to execute the provisions of the cus- toms laws, and to hang the leaders of the conspiracy for treason. Clay, the Great Pacificator, dexterously inter- posed with his famous compromise tar- 1ff of 1833, and again the country was saved. It may be remembered that the bill passed by Congress to aid in the enforcement of the tariff law was called the Force Bill, although in South Carolina it was known as the Bloody BilL In these later days, a bill to pro- vide for Federal supervision of elections in certain contingencies has been stig- matized in like manner, but without the sanguinary epithet. We may recall, too, the fact that Cal- houn was a protectionist in 1816 ; in 1831, he denounced the protective prin- ciple as unconstitutional and oppres- sive to the South. So too, Clay, who had, in 1810, furnished Andrew Jack- son with anti-bank arguments, found it convenient and consistent, in 1828, to make the cause of the bank his own. And Daniel Webster, on nearly every one of these burning questions of the time, changed his godlike front with equal ease. It was in February, 1834, that James Watson Webb, of the New York Cour- ier and Enquirer, hit upon the title of Whig for the National Republican par- ty brought into existence by the ad- ministration of John Quincy Adams and led by Henry Clay. The name was suggested, as Webb averred, by THE PASSING OF THE WHIGS 2O~ the fact that the party was pledged to resist arbitrary government, as the Eng- lish Whigs resisted royalist tyranny. It was sought, though unsuccessfully, to brand the Democratic-Republicans with the odious name of Tories. The Tories, said Clay, were the support- ers of executive power, of royal prerog- ative, of the maxim that the king can do no wrong; the Whigs, he added, were the champions of liberty, the friends of the people. What more ap- propriate distinction than this could be made between the Jackson men and the followers of the Great Commoner? The nickname Locofoco stuck to the Democrats with more adhesiveness than the epithet borrowed from English pol- itics. Anti - bank Democrats of New York, holding a meeting in Tammany Hall, in October, 1835, were annoyed by the bank faction of their own party who, failing to get possession of the meeting, turned off the gas from the main source of supply. The anti-bank men lighted locofoco matches, as fric~ tion matches were then called, and con- ducted their deliberations thereby to a close. A self-lighting match was it- self a misnomer, but the name stuck to anti - bank Democrats, who were hostile to the moneyed interests of the country for a long time after this. Andrew Jackson, broken in health and long past the me- ridian of life, was yet able to. designate his own successor,. and Martin Van Buren had one hundred and seventy elec- toral votes, in 1837; William H. Harrison had seventy-. t hr e e, Hugh L. White, of Tennessee, twenty-six, Daniel Webster, fourteen, and Willie P. Mangum, of North Caro- lina, eleven. The Hugh L. White bolt, as it was called, was one of the political curi- osities of the time. It was said that Judge White was moved by Calhoun to defeat the election of his old chiefs candidate for the presidency, and the Heros own State cast its electoral vote for the bolt- er. There was no election of Vice-President by the people, and the Senate chose Colonel Richard M. Johnson, of Ken- tucky, in whose behalf a whiff of the incense of hero-worship was entreated by his friends. and admirers, for Colonel Richard Men- tor Johnson was credited with hav- ing killed Tecumseh during the war of 1812, an exploit which his opponents celebrated in the satirical jingle: High-coekalorum rumpsey dumpsey! Colonel Johnsou kille~I Tecuonsela The political creed of the Jackson Democrats was embodied in the fare- well address of the hero who had made the party what it was, when he left the White House for his Hermitage. The man who had so deeply impressed his personality upon the Democratic party insisted on the inestimable value of the Union; the danger of sectionalism; the evils of a powerful government; the Martin Van Saran. From a photograph by Brady. 210 THE PASSING OF THE WHIGS necessity for and safety of simple and inexpensive public institutions; the per- ils of surplus revenues; the injustice of a high tariff; the unconstitutionality of internal improvements at the Nations cost, and the danger of paper money. But Jacksons bold experi- ments in finance were soon to plant thorns in the chair of state which he had reserved for his successor. The copper penny tokens struck in the first year of Mar- tin Van Burens administra- tion represented a j a c k a s s ambling with extended feet across the surface of the coin, with the legend, I follow in the footsteps of my illustrious predecessor. These modest words of Martin Van Buren were as much indicative of his intentions as was his servile adoption of Jacksons cabinet, as he found it when he took the presidential office. The financial storm had begun to gather before Jackson left the Y\Thite House, and his last hours in that place were irri- tated by the distress peti- tions that came pouring into his cabinet from artisans and manufacturers who were be- ginning to feel the effects of the stringency caused by the fitful and irrational financial policy of the Administration. The summary checking of speculations which were the natural outcome of Jacksons course in regard to banks and banking, resulted in the distressful panic of 1837. The elated Whigs exultingly cried, We told you so! and dire disorder reigned in poli- tics as well as in the world of com- merce. Whig successes in the elections con- tinued, and the Democratic majority in Congress began to melt away. Finally, the Whigs triumphed in 1840, William Henry Harrison, for a second time can- didate of his party, being elected by two hundred and thirty-four electoral votes; Van Buren had only sixty votes. In that election the anti-slavery ele- ments made their first appearance in a National canvass. James G. Birney, the candidate of the Liberty party, polled a popular vote of 7,609; but he carried no State. General Harrison was the first Presi- dent to die in office, arid that lamentable event at first caused much confusion as to the exact status in law of the Vice- President, John Tyler, who now suc- ceeded to the functions of the Execu- tive Chief. But Tyler at once disposed of all doubt; he took the title of Presi- dent, and thus established the requisite precedent. With him came the epithet of Tylerization. He soon broke with his party, the Whigs, and by his veto of a bill to create a Bank of the United States he alienated and embittered the Whig chiefs of whom Clay was the fore- most. It was insisted (especially by Clay), that the bank question had been a dominant issue in the canvass which sent Harrison to the White House. This was not strictly true. In point of William Henry Harrison. From a copy at the Corcoran Art Gallery of a painting by Beard in 1 840. THE PASSING OP THE WHIGS 211 fact, the campaign of 1840 was carried on by the Whigs in a wild delirium of hard cider, log-cabins, and coon-skins. Silas Wright, replying to Clays asser- tion, ironically said that if the voice .of the people, manifested in the late can- vass, was to be heeded, the Capitol must be replaced by a log-cabin decked with coon-skins. In that canvass something of the old dramatic and unreasoning spirit that had characterized the Jack- son campaigns prevailed, only that log- cabins bad replaced hickory poles. Nor was there anything in the decla- rations of the convention that nominat- ed Harrison, in 1840, to warrant Clays statement; that convention made no official deliverance on any subject what- ever. The Democrats, on the other hand, adopted a strict constructionist platform, in which they denied the power of Congress to re-charter a Na- tional bank, carry on public improve- ments at the Nations expense, protect manufactures by a tariff, or interfere with slavery in the States. John Tyler was a strict constructionist of the Cal- houn school, and when his Whig cabinet was broken up and he was formally read out of the Whig party, the new men who came in to keep company with Daniel Webster (who was left standing, the lone Whig, grand, gloomy, and peculiar ), they were de- scribed by President Tyler as all original Jackson men who mean to act on iRepub- lican principles. Tylers course was claimed as a great Democratic victory, and his subsequent manifes- tations of indirectness and vacillation of purpose still further alienated from him his Whig friends and allies. T h e Democratic jubilation took a ludicrons form. The word veto, made popular among them by Tylers re- peated disapprovals of bills passed by a Whig Congress, was adopted as a party war- cry, and was conferred by en- thusiastic Democrats u p0 n vessels, horses, and even chil- dren. The Whigs burned Tyler in effigy and lampooned him with wrathful zest. Their political adversaries were in paroxysms of delight and tri- umph. During Tylers term cam on a time of monetary stringency; and as it happened that a species of influenza raged at that time, everybody was set to talking about the prevalent Tyler grip. More serious than this, was the looming of the Texas question, now slowly rising in the background of American politics. When Jefferson had concluded the Louisiana purchase, some doubt prevailed as to the precise loca- tion of the western boundary of the newly acquired territory. Whether the Sabine or the IRio Grande defined its southwestern limit was not settled. When Florida was purchased, a dicker was made with Spain, and we bartered the disputed territory and accepted the Sabine as the limit of our possession John Tyler. From a photograph by Brady. 212 THE PASSING OF THE WHIGS in that direction. And now the South demanded that the limit of slavery should be (in the Southwest) at the Rio Grande, on the confines of Mexico, and not on the Sabine, the eastern boundary of Texas. Tyler negotiated a treaty for the annexation of Texas, but the Whig Senate rejected it by an over- whelming majority, and seven Demo- crats voted on that occasion with the Whigs, to Tylers great discomfiture. By slow degrees, but with impres- sive certainty, the Democratic party became more closely identified with the support of slavery. It was to stand as the apologist and defender of the insti- tution. Finally the Democratic Nation- al Convention of 1844, which nominated James K. Polk, of Tennessee, declared in favor of the annexation of Texas; and Martin Van Buren, whose position on the Texas question had incurred for him the hostility of the Southern dele- gates, was defeated for a renomination by the skilful enforcement of the rule (which still prevails), that a two-thirds vote should be required for a nomina- tion in a Democratic National Conven- tion. Clay was nominated on a platform drawn for the benefit of the loose con- structionists but which was silent on the subject of the annexation of Texas. Subsequently, however, Clay wrote the so-called Raleigh letter in which he de- liberately announced his opposition to annexation; then, becoming alarmed by the dissatisfaction of his friends in the South, he wrote again, this time the Alabama letter, in which he tem- porized with the burning question. He failed to reinstate himself in favor with the South; he lost much of his Northern support; and Polk was elected with one hundred and seventy votes, Clay receiving one hundred and five votes. One of the war-cries of that campaign was Polk, Dallas, and the Tariff of 1842. The tariff of 1842 was a modifica- tion of that drawn by Clay in 1833 to pac- ify the South Carolina nullifiers. Now it was asserted that the Clay Whigs were opposed to that tariff, which was a protective measure. The cry helped to carry Pennsylvania for Polk; and the tariff of 1842 was repealed with de- lightful abandonment of principle by the Polk Democrats, as soon as they were in power. Another slogan of the Democrats was Fifty-four forty, or fight, these figures representing the parallel of North latitude on which it was proposed to rest immovably our claim for a Northwestern boundary of the Republic. But President Polk, with the advice and consent of the Senate, compromised on the parallel of forty- nine. In the South Texas or disunion was the rallying cry and the toast. The strict constructionists who sup- ported Polk in Congress agreed that he might violate the Constitution by the annexation of a foreign State, without the incidental intervention of a treaty, provided he were willing to take the responsibility. Texas, with its exist- ing war with Mexico, was annexed in December, 1845. The facile compro- mise with England on the Northwestern boundary was hastened by the compli- cations of the Southwestern frontier. The Mexican war was bitterly op- posed in the Northern States, especi- ally by the Liberty party, and by such Whigs as Thomas Corwin and Abra- ham Lincoln. Orators who denounced the war expressed their belief, if not their hope, that the invading hosts on Mexican soil would be welcomed with bloody hands to hospitable graves.~~ It was out of the fever and excitement of this period of political turmoil, that the country received the masterly sat- ires of James Russell Lowell, known as the Biglow Papers, the first of which was an address to a recruiting sergeant drumming up recruits for the Mexican war. When the war was over and peace had returned, conquest and treaty had added to the United States the terri- tory now occupied by the States of Texas, California, and Nevada, parts of the States of Colorado and Wyoming, and the Territories of Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico. With this magnifi- cent acquisition to the National do- main came a reopening of the ques- tion which was supposed to have been forever settled by the adoption of the Missouri Compromise, under the ma- nipulation of Clay, the Great Pacificator, in 1820. It opened in American poli THE END OF THE CONTINENT 213 tics the field in which the battle between Freedom and Slavery, after one more truce, was to be fought out to the end. During the campaign that had car- ried Polk to the White House a new dancethe polkawas introduced in- to the United States from Bohemia by the way of Vienna and Paris. It was facetiously said that Polk had been danced into office. And it was with a light heart that the merry - making slaveholders at the Polk inauguration balls celebrated their victory. They had defeated the personal party of Henry Clay; for to this complexion the Whig party had come, in 1844. But in that canvass, New York, once more the pivotal State, was lost to the Whigs only by anti-slavery votes, pur- posely thrown away on James G. Bir- ney, the nominee of the Liberty party. The revolution had begun. _- - - ~ Among the Ruins of the Old Spanish Settlement Point Deoire Patagonia THE END OF THE CONTINENT By John R Spears PEOPLE who are interested in stories of journeys out of the way will find here a record of a part of what one may see and learn in a voyage along the coast of Patagonia, through the Strait of Ma- gellan as far as Cockburn Channel, and thence south, and east among the waters of the Cape Horn archipelago as far as the antarctic Staten Island. It is a voyage in the wake, so to speak, of the old-time South Sea pedlers and pirates who, with the title of admiral, sailed away from European ports prepared, as occasion offered, to swap gewgaws for gold, or to plunder the ships and peo- ple found under other flags than their own. Until within less than a dozen VOL. XVIJ.20 years, one who wished to make this voy- age had need to charter a ship, and a well-found one, too; but now, owing to changes in the region which add re- markably to the interest of the voyage, one may make it in safe though uncom- fortable little steamers belonging to the Argentine navy. These, at intervals of about three weeks, leave Buenos Ayres, bound over the route, and make a regu- lar business of carrying freight as well as passengers. I left Buenos Ayres for this voyage on April 18, 1894, and the reader should keep in mind that the Patago- nia April is a fall month. For nearly six days the little steamer butted and bobbed along through head - seas, and

John R. Spears Spears, John R. The End Of The Continent 213-227

THE END OF THE CONTINENT 213 tics the field in which the battle between Freedom and Slavery, after one more truce, was to be fought out to the end. During the campaign that had car- ried Polk to the White House a new dancethe polkawas introduced in- to the United States from Bohemia by the way of Vienna and Paris. It was facetiously said that Polk had been danced into office. And it was with a light heart that the merry - making slaveholders at the Polk inauguration balls celebrated their victory. They had defeated the personal party of Henry Clay; for to this complexion the Whig party had come, in 1844. But in that canvass, New York, once more the pivotal State, was lost to the Whigs only by anti-slavery votes, pur- posely thrown away on James G. Bir- ney, the nominee of the Liberty party. The revolution had begun. _- - - ~ Among the Ruins of the Old Spanish Settlement Point Deoire Patagonia THE END OF THE CONTINENT By John R Spears PEOPLE who are interested in stories of journeys out of the way will find here a record of a part of what one may see and learn in a voyage along the coast of Patagonia, through the Strait of Ma- gellan as far as Cockburn Channel, and thence south, and east among the waters of the Cape Horn archipelago as far as the antarctic Staten Island. It is a voyage in the wake, so to speak, of the old-time South Sea pedlers and pirates who, with the title of admiral, sailed away from European ports prepared, as occasion offered, to swap gewgaws for gold, or to plunder the ships and peo- ple found under other flags than their own. Until within less than a dozen VOL. XVIJ.20 years, one who wished to make this voy- age had need to charter a ship, and a well-found one, too; but now, owing to changes in the region which add re- markably to the interest of the voyage, one may make it in safe though uncom- fortable little steamers belonging to the Argentine navy. These, at intervals of about three weeks, leave Buenos Ayres, bound over the route, and make a regu- lar business of carrying freight as well as passengers. I left Buenos Ayres for this voyage on April 18, 1894, and the reader should keep in mind that the Patago- nia April is a fall month. For nearly six days the little steamer butted and bobbed along through head - seas, and then, late in the morning, we saw, through the gray mists ahead of us a great vertical dirt wall. It is Cape Ninfas, said the captain; we are seven hundred miles southwest of Buenos Ayres. You are glad to see Patagonia, eh? I believe you are, but you will find the country more interest- ing than beautiful. So we all thought when, a few hours later, the ship had cast anchor in the southeast corner of the all-but-circular New Gulf, the entrance to which is guard- ed on one side by Cape Ninfas. In the trip across the gulf, for instance, there was nothing picturesque, and yet it is said that more whales have been killed in that place than in any other enclosed body of water in the world, and that the only area of water of its size any- where that ever equalled New Gulf as a resort for these monsters, was off-shore 4 from Nantucket when that island was first dis- covered. The nook of the bay, too, in which we an- chored was not pictu- resque, but it was inter- esting in a variety of ways. To the eye the water was the floor of a great desert amphithea- tre. The sand and grav- el of the beach rose in brown and gray ridges to a sweeping circular crest, say six miles away and four hundred feet high. These ridges were spotted a n d blotched with bushes that were a darker brown than the sand, and the whole nat- ural scene was so utterly dreary and desolate that even warm sunlight could not relieve or brighten it. And yet, as we could see when we had landed, that desert bad been at one time a section of the bottom of the ocean which nature had only yesterday, in the oeologists calendar, thrown up for the in- spection of man. There were the sea- shells oyster - shells a foot long, for instance right on top of the hills, and around them water - worn pebbles and the dust of them that had been made by attrition. Nor was that all. When ~ came to think over what the books said about it, those hills were nothing but layers of mud and sand and pebbles, the washings of floods that during un- told centuries had broken down the mountains of antediluvian Patagonia, and had made of the rocks a bed of shingle more than a th6usand miles long, two hundred miles and more wide, and nobody knows how deep. More wonderful still, some of those old lay- ers of mud, now hardened almost to the consistency of stone, were known to contain the petrified remains of the fauna and flora of antediluvian Pata- gonia, petrified monkeys, parrots, and THE END OF THE CONTINENT 215 kangaroos among the rest. As we learned before the voyage ended, the remains of beings hitherto unknown to the scientific world may be found there too, for an Italian naturalist came on board, as we were homeward bound, bringing the remains of two different kinds of birds that existed in the days before feathers had been fairly devel- oped. So much for the traveller whose mind runs to science. For the man of af- fairs there was matter of equal interest. Here we were, more than seven hundred miles from Buenos Ayres as the ship sails, while the journey by land to the cultivated pampas of the Argentine was over hundreds of miles of just such desert wastes as we could see about us. And yet on the beach was a well-made wooden pier whereon began a rail- way track that stretched away up the brown ridges till the crest was reached, and then away south fifty-one miles without water, as a sign written in six languages saidsouth to the valley of the Chubut River. What could be more interesting to a man of affairs than the story of a line of railroad in such a region? It is a story interesting even to others than men of affairs. It begins in 1865, when, in the dead of winter, a ship brought one hundred and fifty men, women, and children to that spot in New Gulf, and left them there. It was a place of their own choosing, too. They were Welsh, and had sought a far country, that they might make a colony wherein the tongue of Prince Llewellyn might be perpetuated in its purity. From New Gulf they toiled over the fifty-one miles without water to the Chubut, and there went to work to make farms out of the treeless, waterless desert along the river. How for six years they were wholly supported by the Ar- gentine Government; how, when the ship with food failed to reach her des- tination, the rc men of the desert, the Tehuelehes, brought the meat of the guanaco, the panther, and the ostrich to save them from starvation ; how they eventually made irrigating ditches from the river, that its water might take the place of rains that had there- tofore been hoped for; how even then prosperity came with leaden heels, so that for ten years they were objects of charity; how at last they freed them- selves from the galling yoke, and in- creased and multiplied till every avail- Santa Cruz. able acre for seventy miles along the river was taken up, the colony had grown to a thriving population of three thousand souls, and a railway to carry their surplus produce to the nearest port was needed all this is a story that is, to my mind, as interesting as any known to the history of coloniza- tion. There were but four dwellings in the settlement on the bay, of which one, the home of the naval lieutenant who 216 governed the district, was a painted wooden structure, bnt all were cosey within. After a glance at these, and another at the caves in a hill-side where the original pilgrims lived for a time, we sailed away to enter Port Desire, where Cavendish first landed on Ameri- can soil, and where two of lus crew were attacked by Indians, whose foot- prints were measured and found to be eighteen inches in length. It was here that the Spaniards founded a col A Tehueluhe Squaw. THE END OF THE CONTINENT 217 ony at the end of the eighteenth cen- tury, after the English Jesuit priest Faulkner visited the country, and printed a rather glowing, but in the main an accurate, account of it. Al- though the site was officially abandoned in 1807, not only are the old stone walls of their houses and corrals still in good order, but in a gulch nearby one finds a quince and cherry orchard still bearing fruit. The old ruins stand on a grassy knoll at the foot of a rugged precipice of vol- canic rock more than one hundred feet high, on the north side of the river that forms the port. On the south side of the stream one sees a prairie rather than a desert. It is the only stretch of land seen in the voyage north of the Strait of Magellan where there is green grass. The curious Y - shaped stone known as Tower Rock, that is nientioned by all the old navigators who touched here, rises from the grassy plain just where it would be most conspicuous in the eyes of one entering the port. On the whole, here is a place that is naturally beautiful, in spite of the lack of trees, but modern enterprise has come along to spoil it in the eyes of one who cares only for the picturesque. In the midst of the old ruins stands a great zinc-white, corrugated iron dwell- ing, with a barn and a storehouse of the same material handy by. Here lives a ranchman to whom the buildings were given by the Government, to in- duce him to make a home there. On the south side, between Tower Rock and the harbor, stands anoth- er shanty, and here lives the naval lieu- Ienant who rules the districta district of sixty people all told, who are in the cattle business. When Darwin was at Port Desire lie wrote that the zool- ogy of Patagonia is as limited as its flora. That is pretty nearly true, but in few parts of the world is the study of zoology likely to be found more interesting. There are the guan- acos, the species of camel, with curi- ous habits, that has come down to us from antediluvian times. Nowhere is the panther found in greater numbers, and here it is known as the friend of man, because it has often been known to defend men from the attack of the savage jaguar. There are humming- birds and butterflies clear down to the Strait, in spite of the lack of flowers. But, more interesting still to a Yankee, are the shore birds, for in the southern summer he may find here old friends that he saw before at home in the north- ern fall. It is a fact that some migrat- ing birds that breed in the Arctic region, and on their way south in the northern fall touch on the coast of the United Stateseven pass through the glare of the torch of Liberty in New York City journey on and on across the seas, across Venezuela and Brazil and the pampas south, to rest at last in Pata- gonia, till the mysterious voice from the north calls them once more to their nesting-place. Once more we steamed away south, and so reached the most wonderful river of Patagonia the Santa Cruz. Imagine a stream that flows for hun- dreds of miles through a desert, and yet has everywhere a current too deep as well as too swift to ford. Of course it rises in an Andes lake and is fed by Andes snows. To the arch~ologist this A Tehuelche Camp. lake is of interest, because on its rocks he may find those cu- rious pictures of human beings, serpents, panthers, and things past finding out, which some pre-historic race of travellers made on other rocks in the Isthmus of Panama, in New Mexico, and elsewhere in the Amer- icas. It is near the Santa Cruz that the paleontologist gathers his greatest Pat- agonia harvest of petrified monkeys and other tropical beings. It is here that the guanacos, impelled by a curious in- stinct, have for ages sought, when they felt the pangs of death within them, the shelters of thickets and overhanging rocks. So it has happened that the col- lections of bones here have given rise to tales of guanaco cemeteries. Nor is the place devoid of interest to the man of affairs. The town-site boomer is found here. I went ashore to see the settle- inent called Santa Cruz. It contained nine houses, of which one, a pink frame, was the hoteL Here a young man spread a blue-print map before me, a map of a great city with plazas, ave- nues, boulevards, streets, and street-car routes. This was the city of Santa Cruz as surveyedthe city to grow up there on the desert plain and spread up over the desert hills. It was enough to make one gasp to hear of the ship- ments of wool made from that port, of the cheapness and excellence of the pastures thereabouts, of the gold finds at the head of the creek, of the experi- ments to be made in wheat culture, which will doubtless succeed, and so on. Neither in the outskirts of the Yankee metropolis, nor among the vines of California, could the boomer have told the story in better form. 218 Then away we steamed again, to call at the last port on the coast, Gallegos. Here we found a score of buildings like mine-camp shanties, of which one was a church that had a wing for a school- house attached, and another was a prison with adobe walls. This was a town of interest to the politician, for it was the capital of all the region south of Chu- but, which is known to Argentine geog- raphy as the territory of Santa Cruz. But just how it would interest the poli- tician, will appear in what is to be said about another Argentine capital farther on. For the man of affairs, however, Gal- legos is the most interesting town on the coast. One need only take a smart gallop along the shore from this place, to arrive at one of the most remarkable gold diggings in the world. As the reader remembers, all Patagonia is one vast bed of washings from an antedi- luvian range of mountains, save only for a few spots where some volcanoes spouted their lava up through the shingle. It appears now that that an- cient range, which was a pretty large oneextended all along the length of the countryhad in it a vein of iron ore that carried free gold. That vein was broken down long ago, but it became a layer of black sand and gold dust just as long as the range of mountains had been. This layer was buried pretty deep by other washings, but it never- theless crops out just below low tide, at intervals, all along the coast north of GaliegosHome of the Governor of Santa Cruz and Church. THE END OF THE CONTINENT 219 Cape Virgin. The wrecked crew of a fishing schooner found it when digging for water at Cape Virgin, nearly twenty years ago. Because it is so far iaud& r water the pay streak cannot be worked directly. The gold hunters have to sit down and wait for a gale with a Cape Horn surf. That throws enough of the stuff up within reach to keep them humping themselves. When the stuff was first discovered there was such an accumulation of the jetsam that the dust was gathered by the kilo. Now mere day wages, fifty grammes a week, is all the plodders get on Cape Virgin. They do better than that near Gallegos, but the fact that this place, though a territorial capital and the nearest town to a gold camp, had only t~ s~r~ ~f X~u2Ain~, vvoxihl probably be, in a way, one of the most interesting facts the man of affairs could find in Patagonia. Leaving Gallegos one afternoon, we steamed away south all that day and until daylight next day, when we hove to in a thick fog and waited in dismal silence, for the air was calm as well as thick with moisture. By and by the sun got up high enough to clear away the mists somewhat, and a low beach of sand, with what seemed to be a wide wooden house on it, was seen dimly. The captain was delighted at the view. It is Paramo, he said. That is the mining camp on Tierra del Fuego. Sure enough, we were off the east coast of that great island, and a most interesting island we were to find it. It was on the day of the e] even thousand virgins, 1520, that Magellan first saw the signal fires of the natives of this island; and that was a long time ago. After him came an increasing host of other fortune-seekersa host that increased until, in later years, it is likely that never a day passed when the eyes of some adventurous seeker for wealth were not directed toward some part of this is 1 and. They robbed ships, plundered inoffensive settlements, enslaved their captives did everything that men will do through greed, and yet sailed right along within sight of coasts where goldgenuine placer goldlay in the bcach and just beneath the grass roots farther back from the sea. Right here, on this beach be- fore us, gold was found in abun- dance. It had been scooped up with knives and spoons where lay- ers were found farther back by the first prospectors. In the buildings (for what seemed to be one proved to be three) were thirty men, who were employed washing gold from the sand of the sea. The broken-down reef that had furnished gold to the miners on Cape Virgin had extended Tehuniche Indian from Santa Cruz. 220 THE END OF THE CONTINENT across the strait, and had been broken more effect. Sheep are spreading over down in like fashion here. Tierra del Fuego in spite of the Ona Back of this camp and away to the Indians, just as they spread over Aus- north, we saw a rolling, grassy prairie, tralia in spite of the black - fellows. and we learned that all Tierra del Fue- But the shepherds and the prospect- go, save a comparatively narrow belt on ors, too, must needs carry rifles always, the west and south sides, was much like and even then many a white man gets the country we could seea region of killed every year. The Onas are ruak- luxuriant grasses, sparkling lakes, and ing a fierce fight for their homes. dancing streams; while along the foot- From Paramo, we steamed north and hills of the mountain-chain to be found went through the strait to anchor at west and south were forests of beauti- the Cape Horn metropolis, Punta Are- ful and valuable timber. And then the nas. All the modern books of travel climate was said to be something re- speak of this port as the most south- markable. We could see that it was em civilized settlement in the world. so, too. The sailors were at work Although this is not true, it is a most about the ship barefooted, although it interestin~ place. Founded as a penal was then in the month of May and we settlement for Chili convicts, it began were in 530 south latitude. It was to grow as a port when, in 1867, the simply an ideal country for the ranch- first line of steamships began plying men. between England and the west coast of I should think the ranchmen of South America; for it was necessarily Patagonia would all move down here, made a coaling-place. Other lines fol- said I to one who knew the region. lowed the pioneer. Then the region They would like to do so, he said, around was found to be well adapted and some have come. to sheep and cattleso well adapted Why do the rest hesitate? for them that all the open land, for They are afraid of the Indians. nearly one hundred leagues north, has Here was a new matter of interest, been taken up for ranches. The find- We had seen a few of the Tehuelehes ing of the gold on Cape Virgin helped of Patagonia, great stalwart fellows the town a little, and the finding of who, in spite of the degenerating in- gold in the creek on which the town fluences of white associates, were still stood helped it more. There never large enough to make one believe they was a rush and a boom such as came were giants in other days. But the to the California and Rocky Mountain Tehuelehes had had the fighting spirit thrashed out of them by the Ar- gentines. Not so the prairie Indians of Tierra del Fuego. The first man who put sheep on these prairies had hired a mis- sionary to take charge of the shepherds, hop in g that he would be able to convert the Indians to Christianity, and perhaps m a k e herders of them. The Indians attended the powwows with joy, but they stole sheep at night nevertheless. So the sheep-owner sent for re- peating rifles, which were used thereafter in place of sermons, and with An Ona Indian Family at thu Doorway of a Hut. camps, but at any time since 1866, the man out of work and in need of money could take a pick and shovel and go dig some gold, as one of the citizens said to me. More than that, there was, and still is, a plenty of saw-timber back on the mountains. As a sea- port, a supply depot for the ranches, a gold camp, the head-quarters of several gangs of lumbermen, and the home port of a fleet of tiny cruisers that trade with the Indians among the isl- ands west and south, Punta Arenas is the liveliest town of its size on the con- tinent. The people claim a population of three thousand five hundred. The Rocky Mountain sporting - man would judge from this description that Punta Arenas would be just the place he was looking for, but the truth is that, while it supports nearly one hundred saloons, there is neither a gambling-den nor a dance-house there. Until we had entered well into the Strait of Magellan, we had not had one glimpse of natural scenery of a sort to enliven the spectator. On the one hand there had been a stormy sea, and on the other a sombre coast. Tierra del Fuego was everywhere a vast undula- ting plain, grass covered, indeed, but the grass was dry and yellow to the eye. The picture as a whole was like a see- tion of Colorado east of the mountains. But when we approached Punta Are- nas everything changed. The plains of Patagonia rose into green verdure-clad mountains, while green valleys nestled between. Beyond these on the Pata- gonia side, and away to the south on the opposite side, were mountains that pierced the clouds and were covered with eternal snows. The route of our little steamer, after leaving Punta Are- nas, was through straits and channels that had been made when mountains had been split apart by the mighty convulsions of nature. We steamed through reaches where we could have passed safely as close to the antarctic beaches or the precipitous mountain- sides, as the steamers on the Albemarle Canal pass to the overhanging verdure of the Dismal Swamp. We had seen only storms of wind. Now every blast was laden with sleet or snow, while gi- ant williwawsthe tornadoes of the re- gioncame whirling down from glac- ier-lined gorges to gather the spray of the seas into columns that went waltz- ing away over the foaming waters, and hurled themselves to destruction on the opposite shore. Even in a well-found steamer the navigator of that region need have a cool head, a clear eye, and a firm hand. There are no more dan- 221 The Main Business Street nf Punta Arenas. gerous waters anywhere. Nevertheless, the traveller is likely to see at almost any turn a Cape Horn gold-seeker cruising along in a twenty - five foot catboat. Incredible as it may seem, these dare- devils have cruised right away down to the Horn itself, in just such boats as are used by pleasure-seekers, in fair weather only, on the coast of the United States. Of course many are lost, but what does it matter? We wont go till the time comes,~~ as they say. They have found gold, too, in nug- gets and dust, on the south and west coasts of Tierra del Fuego, on Lennox and New Islands, and even on New Years Islands, off the north shore of Staten Island. There is gold there now, plenty of it, but the quest is so danger- ous and the returns so uncertain, that only those who have the curse of the wandering foot go there for it. After leaving Punta Arenas we steamed through Cockburn Channel down to the Southern Sea. We were coasting then the region inhabited by a tribe of Indians seen by almost all who pass through the Strait of Magellan on the big European steamers, the Alacu- loofs. They have been often described as a dirty, naked tribe, who come to the 222 ships in canoes to beg for liquor, tobac- co, and food. They are robbers as well as beggars. I saw a trading sloop with a bloody deck at Punta Arenas, that had been through a fight with them where two white men and an unknown num her of Indians were killed. They are tractable, however, for a mission has been established among them, and we may eventually find that they are inter- esting and intelligent instead of utter- ly degraded, as they seem to be to the casual observer. One needs to make just the voyage we were making to understand how great a mistake the casual observer is likely to make in connection with a tribe of Indians. Never was a tribe so entirely misunderstood as that found in the territory for which we were bound; never did the arrogant, com- placent conceit of the white man bring swifter destruction to any race of so- called savages. We were bound to Ijshuaia, a settle- ment on Ushuaia Bay, in the Beagle Channel, and this settlement is at once a missionary station and the capital of Argentines part of Tierra del Fuego. It is this place that is the most southern town in the world; but that is about Ushuala, Capital of Argentine Territory in Tierra del Fuego. Th a Mission Station at Uahaaia. the least interesting fact that I know concerning it. The Indians of the immediate vicinity of Cape Horn are called Yahgans. Dar- win summed up the descriptions of all previous observers of this race when he called them savages of the lowest grade. So they have seemed to be to all other casual observers who have followed him. But when, in 1870, an English missionary came to live among them permanently, the facts which he learned about them were found so as- tonishing as to almost pass belief. Thus the explorer, observing that their huts were but wretched wind - breaks, and their manufactured articles but few in number, had always supposed them men- tally incapable of providing decently even for the necessaries of savage exist- ence. Their canoes, because made of bark, were called wretched, but the observations of the missionary proved that they were as seaworthy as any the Vikings ever made. They could even outride the terrible strain of the willi- waw., The Yahgans had but few weapons or tools, only slings, spears of two forms, and shell-knives, but these were of the best form and the most effective that could be made from the materials at hand. They made neither bowls nor bottles, but their baskets, the bag-like leaves of seaweed, and the big shells of the beach served for storing even liq- uids; while food was always cooked by roasting and never eaten raw, except certain kinds of shell-fish. They lived practically naked, but nat- ure had provided a layer of fat beneath the skin which they supplemented with copious applications of grease without. Melting snow or sleet could have little, if any, more effect on a Yahgan than on a porpoise. To the eyes of the explorer their painted faces seemed hideous, but when those faces were washed, men with faces as intelligent as any from the valley of the Mohawk, and maidens as attractive as those of the schools of Tahlequah, were revealed. Darwin had said of a Yahgan, I should think there was scarcely another human being with so sniall a stock of language ; but when the missionary had completed a lexicon of the language, lie found it contained forty thousand items, or ten thousand more than the hi~hcst estimate of the number in any Iroquois tongue. They had orators, historians, poets, and novelists, in spite of their lack of a 223 224 THE END OF THE CONTINENT written language. Their folk-lore was They had neither chief nor ruler, an of the greatest interest, and their poetry mental superiority gave a man greater was delightful, but the most remarkable influence than physical strength did. part of their literature was in their tales, To this wonderful people came a of which the point was found in what missionary confident that he could im- the listener was pretty sure to think of prove them in earthly as well as spirit- and not directly in what the speaker nal matters. He was backed by a great. said, society, and assisted by white men and It was a heathen tribe. They had no women who believed as he did, To im- word for Deity or a future existence. prove the Yahgans warm hou ses were They called a dead animal dead, but built to take the place of twig wigwams, when a human being passed away he some of the Yahgans were taught to dig, was lost. They sold their women, to plant, to saw lumber, and so on. In but even second-cousins were held sa- return for furs and labor on the mis- cred by the worst of their men. They sionary plot of ground, the Yahgans re- were courteous to a marvellous degree. ceived clothing and soap, which they They never gave orders, and had no such were taught to use. An orphanage was a word as obey. Even tbe man who erected where orphan children were en- wanted his squaw to perform some ser- tirely supported. vice, used an exprcssion meaning, Tell Of course, all who could be reached to do, as if she were to tell some other received spiritual instructions daily, ac- person to do the thing. He even spoke, cording to the creed of the missionary. when in her presence, of his most use- After eleven years the baptismal roll ful weapon as our spear. Matters of numbered one hundred and thirty-six. which two men or a man and his squaw This number was counted small, but so might properly talk in private, were great had been the influence of the either not mentioned in gatherings, or teachings, that the character of the tribe were alluded to as delicately as they as a whole had been changed, until sea- would be in a civilized drawing-room. men wrecked on the coast could ap- proach t h e na- tives with the certainty of re- ceiving assist- ance, instead of meeting death as had formerly been the case. Appar- ently, great good had come to the tribe. This is a sober relation of facts of the greatest importance t 0 missionaries. The appearances were deceptive. The tribe had been ruined by its friends. The Indians who had thrived when naked and living on whale -blubber, did not thrive as clothed farm- Alaculoof Indians and Hut. Yahgan Indians in Camp. 226 THE END OF THE CONTINENT laborers living on bread. The woollens of the whites were less efficient as cloth- ing than whale-oil. Children who had been sturdy and strong when naked in the storms of sleet, died when well dressed and living in a warm orphan- age; every child taken into it died. Pneumonia and consumption b e - came plagues. The apparent success of the mis- sion attracted the attention of the Ar- gentine Govern- ment, so that the bay was, chosen as a site when a cap- ital for Argentine Tierra dcl Fuego was to be estab- lished. Since then Argentine steamers have regularly vis- ited the port, bring- ing the ills of civ- ilized life. Worse yet, the native tribes had been set against white men by the cru- el treatment they had met with from sealing vessels, and so the very hos- tility of the natives protected. them. So says the missionary record. But the missionaries overcame this hostility, and thereafter the forecastle brute was free to come and go among the na- tives. In 1871 there were three thousand Yahgans. In 1894 there are less than three hundred. In 1871 every man among them was ready and eager to stand up and fight for his home, man- fashion. Of those that a traveller now may see, every soul is a cowering hypo- critical beggar. The attempt to change a tribe of wandering fishermen into farmers failed utterly. Nature had not fashioned fhem so. Of IJshuaia as a civilized capital, little need be said. It consists of a score of small wood-and-iron houses, scattered along a narrow sloping grass-plot that lies between the mountains and the bay, but nature has made it picturesque. For a few rods up the slope behind the ho uses there is open land, and then be- gins the antarctic forest, that covers the steep mountain - sides for perhaps a. thousand feet. Then even the bushes. fade away, and the naked or glacier-coy- ered rocks appear and rear their heads three thousand feet in air, while feath- ery plumes wrought by the wind from drifting snow wave and toss about a. thousand feet higher still. Rarely can one find such a magnificent background for a settlement, and rarely can one find a settlement more unworthy of th& beauty of its setting. As at Gallegos, so here, there is the usual list of officials necessary to the dignity of a seaside capital. Executive, judicial, police, military, and naval offi- cials with their followings may all be found here. There was also a school- master and a school-matron. But the governor did not have three score of subjects in sight; the courts had no dockets; the police had no criminal class ; the teachers had no pupils. Not a soul of them all had a stroke of work to do worth mentioning. Four men not in government employ had little shanties, with stocks of liquors, food, clothing, etc., used in trade with Indians and prospectors. Including the mission station, there are perhaps~ fifty people all told in the capital of Beagle Channel. NEL MEZZO DEL CAMMIN 227 Tierra del Fuego. They had no em- is a great and flourishing sheep-ranch ployment, they had no libraries, they on Beagle Channel, thirty miles east did not have even the relief of sitting of the capital. The government main- down by the fire to smoke, for there tains a subprefectura at Thetis Bay, and another with a lighthouse on the east end of Staten island. These may possibly at- tract settlers af- ter a time. Sheep seem to thrive ev- erywhere in the region, while the i r rep r e ss i b 1 e prospector is like- ly to find true fig- sure veins and pay streak~ at any time in the moun- tains. After see- ing what bas been a eco mplished along the Strait of Magellan within ____ __ the last ten years, it is tolerably easy A Part of French Mountain Seagie Channei. to believe that Ti- erra del Fuego, in was neither a fireplace nor a heating- spite of the bad name it has had, may be- stoxe in the settlement. come the home of a prosperous popula- \X ith Ushuaia the interest ot the voy- tion; while even the bleak islands about age piactically comes to an end There it may not be left to utter desolation. NEL MEZZO DEL CAMMIN By A. B. Carr WEARY with upward toil myself I flung Upon a midmost rock there chanced to be, Haply to yet find strength to climb among The far-off heights that beckoned still to me, When, as I turned my head, lo, suddenly The path behind me, into vision sprung, And all my journey since the day was young Lay like a map, clear for my eyes to see. There was the blossoming mead my first steps knew, And there Armidas garden where I slept, And yonder, where I fell. Ye Gods! how plain The way iny feet sought afterwards in vain But which I missed; and which had I but kept I had scaled, even now, you shining peaks of blue!

A. B. Carr Carr, A. B. Nel Mezzo Del Cammin 227-229

NEL MEZZO DEL CAMMIN 227 Tierra del Fuego. They had no em- is a great and flourishing sheep-ranch ployment, they had no libraries, they on Beagle Channel, thirty miles east did not have even the relief of sitting of the capital. The government main- down by the fire to smoke, for there tains a subprefectura at Thetis Bay, and another with a lighthouse on the east end of Staten island. These may possibly at- tract settlers af- ter a time. Sheep seem to thrive ev- erywhere in the region, while the i r rep r e ss i b 1 e prospector is like- ly to find true fig- sure veins and pay streak~ at any time in the moun- tains. After see- ing what bas been a eco mplished along the Strait of Magellan within ____ __ the last ten years, it is tolerably easy A Part of French Mountain Seagie Channei. to believe that Ti- erra del Fuego, in was neither a fireplace nor a heating- spite of the bad name it has had, may be- stoxe in the settlement. come the home of a prosperous popula- \X ith Ushuaia the interest ot the voy- tion; while even the bleak islands about age piactically comes to an end There it may not be left to utter desolation. NEL MEZZO DEL CAMMIN By A. B. Carr WEARY with upward toil myself I flung Upon a midmost rock there chanced to be, Haply to yet find strength to climb among The far-off heights that beckoned still to me, When, as I turned my head, lo, suddenly The path behind me, into vision sprung, And all my journey since the day was young Lay like a map, clear for my eyes to see. There was the blossoming mead my first steps knew, And there Armidas garden where I slept, And yonder, where I fell. Ye Gods! how plain The way iny feet sought afterwards in vain But which I missed; and which had I but kept I had scaled, even now, you shining peaks of blue! From a photograph by Elliott & Fry London. This portrait, from the last photograph taken of Mr. Hamerton (in the spring of 1894), conveys, with unnsual success, the presence and expression of the writer and critic whose brief papers on contemporary art the readers of the MAGAZINE have followed dur- ing the past year, and whose more important works are to many of them so familiai. Mr. Hamerton, whose vigorous personality it was hard for his friends to connect with the possibility of ill-health, died suddenly on November 6, 1894, at his home at Bon- logne-snr-Seine. A critic, writing since his death of his last MAGAZINE paper, speaks of his as the hand to which readers must now cease to look for sane criticisns and safe guidance throngh the pitfalls of modern taste. It was much more than this, as readers of his other work can testify; but the words describe much of the healthy influence he exerted throngh periodical literature, and emphasize the qualities which distingnished his writingsanity, clearness, and independence of caprice; qualities which were also eminently characteristic of the man himself. MARRIAGE AMAZING BY GEORGE MEREDITH CHAPTER V A MOUNTAIN WALK IN MIST AND SUNSHINE C HILLON was right in his forecast of the mists. An over - mois- tened earth steaming to the sun obscured it before the two had finished breakfast, which was a fin- ish to everything eatable in the rav- aged dwelling, with the exception of a sly store for the midday meal, that old Mariandl had stuffed into Chillons leather sackthe fruit of secret begging on their behalf about the neighborhood. He found the sack heavy and bulky as he slung it over his shoulder; but she bade him make nothing of such a trifle till he had it inside him. And you that love tea so, my pretty one, so that you always laughed and sang after drinking a cup with your mother, she said to Carinthia, you will find one pinch of it in your bag at the end of the left-foot slipper, to remember your home by when you are out in the world. She crossed the strap of the bag on her young mistresss bosom, and was em- braced by Carinthia and Chillon in turns, Carinthia telling her to dry her eyes, for that she would certainly come back, and perhaps occupy the house, one day or other. The old soul moaned of eyes that would not be awake to behold her; she begged a visit at her grave, though it was to be in a Catholic burial-place, and the priests had used her dear master and mistress ill by not allowing them to lie in consecrated ground; affection made her a champion of religrous tolerance and a little afraid of retribution. Car- inthia soothed her, kissed her, gave the promise, and the parting was over. She and Chillon had on the previous day accomplished a pilgrimage to the resting-place of their lather and mother, among humble Protestants,iron-smelters, in a valley out of the way of their present line of march to the glacier of the great snow - mountain marking the junction VOL. XVIi21 of three Alpine provinces of Austria. Josef, the cart-driver with the boxes, who was to pass the valley, vowed of his own accord to hang a fresh days wreath on the rails. He would not hear of mon- ey for the purchase, and they humored him. The family had been beloved. There was an offer of a home for Carin- thia in the castle of Count Lebern, a friend of her parents, much taken with her, and she would have accepted it had not Chillon overruled her choice, deter- mined that, as she was English, she must come to England and live under the guardianship of her uncle, Lord Lev- ellier, of whose character he did not speak. The girls cheeks were drawn thin and her lips shut as they departed; she was tearless. A phantom ring of mist ac- comnpanied her from her first footing outside the house. She did not look back. The house came swimming and plunging after her, like a spectral ship on big seas, and her father and mother lived and died in her breast; and now they were strong, consulting, chatting, laughing, caressing; now still and white, caught by a vapor that dived away with them either to right or left, but always with the same suddenness, leaving her to question herself whether she existed, for more of life seemed to be with their mystery than with her speculations. The phantom ring of mist enclosing for miles the invariable low-sweeping, dark spruce-fir, kept her thoughts on them as close as the shroud. She walked fast, but scarcely felt that she was mov- ing. Near midday the haunted circle widened ; rocks were loosely folded in it, and heads of trees, whose round inter- volving roots grasped the yellow road- side soil; the mists shook like a curtain and partly opened and displayed a ta- pestry landscape, roughly worked, of woollen crag and castle, and suggested glen, threaded waters, very prominent foreground. Autumn flowers on banks, a predominant atmospheric grayness. THE

George Meredith Meredith, George The Amazing Marraige 229-247

MARRIAGE AMAZING BY GEORGE MEREDITH CHAPTER V A MOUNTAIN WALK IN MIST AND SUNSHINE C HILLON was right in his forecast of the mists. An over - mois- tened earth steaming to the sun obscured it before the two had finished breakfast, which was a fin- ish to everything eatable in the rav- aged dwelling, with the exception of a sly store for the midday meal, that old Mariandl had stuffed into Chillons leather sackthe fruit of secret begging on their behalf about the neighborhood. He found the sack heavy and bulky as he slung it over his shoulder; but she bade him make nothing of such a trifle till he had it inside him. And you that love tea so, my pretty one, so that you always laughed and sang after drinking a cup with your mother, she said to Carinthia, you will find one pinch of it in your bag at the end of the left-foot slipper, to remember your home by when you are out in the world. She crossed the strap of the bag on her young mistresss bosom, and was em- braced by Carinthia and Chillon in turns, Carinthia telling her to dry her eyes, for that she would certainly come back, and perhaps occupy the house, one day or other. The old soul moaned of eyes that would not be awake to behold her; she begged a visit at her grave, though it was to be in a Catholic burial-place, and the priests had used her dear master and mistress ill by not allowing them to lie in consecrated ground; affection made her a champion of religrous tolerance and a little afraid of retribution. Car- inthia soothed her, kissed her, gave the promise, and the parting was over. She and Chillon had on the previous day accomplished a pilgrimage to the resting-place of their lather and mother, among humble Protestants,iron-smelters, in a valley out of the way of their present line of march to the glacier of the great snow - mountain marking the junction VOL. XVIi21 of three Alpine provinces of Austria. Josef, the cart-driver with the boxes, who was to pass the valley, vowed of his own accord to hang a fresh days wreath on the rails. He would not hear of mon- ey for the purchase, and they humored him. The family had been beloved. There was an offer of a home for Carin- thia in the castle of Count Lebern, a friend of her parents, much taken with her, and she would have accepted it had not Chillon overruled her choice, deter- mined that, as she was English, she must come to England and live under the guardianship of her uncle, Lord Lev- ellier, of whose character he did not speak. The girls cheeks were drawn thin and her lips shut as they departed; she was tearless. A phantom ring of mist ac- comnpanied her from her first footing outside the house. She did not look back. The house came swimming and plunging after her, like a spectral ship on big seas, and her father and mother lived and died in her breast; and now they were strong, consulting, chatting, laughing, caressing; now still and white, caught by a vapor that dived away with them either to right or left, but always with the same suddenness, leaving her to question herself whether she existed, for more of life seemed to be with their mystery than with her speculations. The phantom ring of mist enclosing for miles the invariable low-sweeping, dark spruce-fir, kept her thoughts on them as close as the shroud. She walked fast, but scarcely felt that she was mov- ing. Near midday the haunted circle widened ; rocks were loosely folded in it, and heads of trees, whose round inter- volving roots grasped the yellow road- side soil; the mists shook like a curtain and partly opened and displayed a ta- pestry landscape, roughly worked, of woollen crag and castle, and suggested glen, threaded waters, very prominent foreground. Autumn flowers on banks, a predominant atmospheric grayness. THE 230 THE AMAZING MARRIAGE The sun threw a shaft, liquid instead of burning, as we see his beams beneath a wave; and then the mists narrowed again, boiled up the valleys and streams above the mountain, curled, and flew, and were Python coils pierced by bright- er arrows of the sun. A spot of blue signalled his victory above. To look at it was to fancy they had been walking under water and had now arisen to the surface. Carinthias mind stepped out of the chamber of death. The different air and scenery breathed into her timid warmth toward the fut- ure, and between her naming of the lesser mountains on their side of the pass, she asked questions relating to England, and especially the ladies she was to see at the Baths beyond the gla- cier-pass. She had heard of a party of his friends awaiting him there, without much encouragement from him to ask particulars of them, and she had hith- erto abstained, as she was rather shy of meeting her countrywomen. The la- dies, Chillon said, were cousins; one was a young widow, the Countess of Fleetwood, and the other was Miss Fak- enham, a younger lady. Carinthia murmured in German: Poor soul ! Which one was she pitying? The widow, she said, in the tone implying, naturally. Her brother assured her the widow was used to it, for this was her second widowhood. She marries again ! exclaimed the girL You dont like that idea?~ said he. Carinthia betrayed a delicate shud- der. Her brother laughed to himself at her expressive present tense. And marries again ! he said. There will certainly be a third. Husband? said she, as at the in- credible. Husband, lets hope, he answered. She dropped from her contemplation of the lady. and her look at her brother signified, It will not be you. Chillon was engaged in spying for a place where he could spread out the contents of his bag. Sharp hunger be- set them both at the mention of eating. A bank of sloping green shaded by a chestnut proposed the seat, and here he relieved the bag of a bottle of wine, slices of meat, bread, hard eggs, and let- tuce, a chipped cup to fling away after drinking the wine, and a supply of small butter~cakes known to be favorite with Carinthia. She reversed the order of the feast by commencing upon one of the cakes, to do honor to Mariandls thoughtfulness. As at their breakfast, they shared the last morsel But we would have made it enough for our dear old dog Pluto as well, if he had lived, said Carinthia, sighing with her thankfulness and compassionate re- grets, a mixture often inspiring a ten- der babbling melancholy. Dogs eyes have such a sick look of love. He might have lived longer, though he was very old, only he could not survive the loss of father. I know the finding the body broke his heart. He sprang forward, he stopped, and threw up his head. It was human language to hear him, Chil- lon. He lay in the yard, trying to lift his eyes when I came to him. They were so heavy. And he had not strength to move his poor old tail more than once. He died with his head on my lap. He seemed to beg me, and I took him, and he breathed twice, and that was his end. Pluto! old dog! Well, for you or for me, brother, we could not have a better wish. As for me, death! . . . When we know we are to die! Only, let my darling live! that is my prayer; and that we two may not be separated till I am taken to their grave. Father bought ground for fourhis wife and himself and his two children. It does not ob- lige us to be buried there, but could we have any other desire? She stretched her hand to her broth- er. He kissed it spiritedly. Look ahead, my dear girL Help me to finish this wine. Theres nothing like good hard walking to give common wine of the coi~?ntry a flavorand out of broken crockery.~~ I think it is so good, Carinthia re- plied, after drinking from the cup. In England they do not grow wine. Are the people there kind? Theyre civilized people, of course. Kindwarm to you, Chillon? Some of them, when you know them. Warm is hardly the word. Winters warm on skates. You must do a great THE AMAZING MARRIAGE 231 deal for yourself. They dont boil over. By the way, dont expect much of your uncle. Will he not love me? He gives you a lodging in his house, and food - enough, well hope. You wont see company or much of him. I cannot exist without being loved. I do not care for company. He must love me a little. He is one of a warm-hearted race hes mothers brother; but where his heart is, Ive not discovered. Bear with him just for the present, my dear, till I am able to support you. I will, she said. The dreary vision of a home with an unloving uncle was not brightened by the alternative of her brothers having to support her. She spoke of money. Have we none, Chillon? We have no debts, he answered. We have a claim on the government here for indemnification for property taJ~en to build a fortress upon one of the passes into Italy. Father bought the land, thinking there would be a yield of ore thereabout; and they have seized it, rightly enough; but they dis- pute our claim for the valuation we put on it. A small sum, they would consent to pay. It would be a very small sum, and Im my fathers son, I will have justice. Yes! Carinthia joined with him, to show the same stout nature. We have nothing else, except a bit to toss up for luck. And how can I help being a burden on my brother? she inquired, in dis- tress. Marry, and be a blessing to a hus- band, he said, lightly. They performed a sacrifice of the empty bottle and cracked cup on the site of their meal, as if it had been a ceremony demanded from travellers, and leaving them in fragments, proceeded on their journey refreshed. Walking was now high enjoyment, notwithstanding the force of the sun, for they were a hardy couple requiring no more than sufficient nourisbment to combat the elements with an exulting blood. Besides, they loved mountain air and scenery, and each step to the ridge of the pass they climbed was an advance in splendor. P~maks of ashen hue, and pale dry red, and pale sul- phur, pushed up, straight, forked, twist- ed, naked, striking their minds with an indeterminate ghostliness of India, so strange they were in shape and color- ing. These sharp points were the first to greet them between the blue and green. A depression of the pass to the left, gave sight of the points of black fir-forest below, round the girths of the barren shafts. Mountain blocks ap- peared pushing up in front, and a mountain wall and wood on it, and mountains in the distance and cliffs riven with falls of water that were silver skeins, down lower to meadows, villages, and spires, and lower finally to the whole valley of the foaming river, field and river seeming in imagination rolled out from the hand of the heading moun- tain. But see this in winter, as I did with father, Chillon! said Carinthia. She said it upon loves instinct to halo the scene with something beyond present vision, and to sanctify it for her brother, so that this walk of theirs to- gether should never be forgotten. A smooth fold of cloud, moveless along one of the upper pastures, and still dense enough to be luminous in sunlight, was the last of the mist. They watched it lying in the form of a fish, leviathan diminished, as they de- scended their path; and the head was lost, the tail spread peacockwise and evaporated slowly in that likeness; and, soft to a breath of air as gossamer down, the body became a ball, a cock, a little lizard, nothingness. The bluest bright day of the year was shining. Chillon led the descent. With his trim and handsome figure before her, Carinthia remembered the current say- ing, that he should have been the girl and she the boy. That was because he resembled their mother in face. But the build of his limbs and shoulders was not feminine. To her admiring eyes, he had a look superior to simple strength and grace: the look of a great sky-bird about to mount, a fountain-like energy of stature, delightful to her contempla- tion. And he had the mouth women put faith in for decision and fixedness. She did, most fully; and reflecting how 232 THE AMAZING MARRIAGE entirely she did so, the thought assailed her-- someone must be loving him! She allowed it to surprise her, not choosing to revert to an uneasy sensa- tion of the morning. That someone, her proec - - of rea- soning informed her, was necessarily an English young lady. She reserved her questions till they should cease this hopping and heeling down the zigzag of the slippery path-track; but on the level of the valley, where they met the torrent- river, walking side by side with him, she ventured an inquiry: English girls are fair girls, are they not? There are some dark also, he re- plied. But the best looking are fair? Perhaps they are, with us. Mother was fair? She was.~~ I have only seen a few of them, once at Vienna, and at Venice, and those Baths we are going to; and at Meran, I think. You considered them charming? Not all. It was touching that she should be such a stranger to her countrywomen! He drew a portrait-case from his breast pocket, pressing the spring, and handed it to her, saying, There is one. He spoke indifferently, but as soon as she had seen the face inside it, with a look at him and a deep breath, she under- stood that he was an altered brother, and that they were three instead of two. She handed it back to him, saying hushedly and only, Yes. He did not ask an opinion upon the beauty she had seen. His pace in- creased, and she hastened her steps beside him. She had not much to learn when some minutes later she said: Shall I see her, Chillon? She is one of the ladies we are to meet. What a pity! Carinthia stepped faster, enlightened as to his wish to get to the Baths without delay; and her heart softened in reflecting how readily he had yielded to her silly preference for going on foot. Her cry of regret was equivocal; it produced no impression on him. They reached a village where her leader deemed it advisable to drive for the remainder of the distance up the valley to the barrier snow-mountain. She as- sented instantly; she had no longer any active wishes of her own, save to make amends to her brother, who was and would ever be her brother; she could not be robbed of their relationship. Something undefined ~n her feeling of possession she had been robbed of, she knew it by her spiritlessness; and she would fain have attributed it to the idle motion of the car, now and then stupidly jolting her on, after the valiant exercise of her limbs. She continued imaging her English home and her loveless uncle, as if the fire of her soul had been extinguished. Marry, and be a blessing to a husband. Chillons words whispered of the means of escape from the den of her uncle. But who would marry me? she thought. An unreproved sensation of melting per- vaded her; she knew her capacity for gratitude, and conjuring it up in her heart, there came with it the noble knightly gentleman who would really stoop to take a plain girl by the hand, release her, and say: Be mine! His vizor was down, of course. She had no power of imagining the hineaments of that prodigy. Or was he a dream? He came and went. Her mother, not un- kindly, sadly, had counted her poor girls chances of winning attention and a husband. Her father had doted on her face; but, as she argued, her father had been attracted by her mother, a beautiful woman, and this was a cir- cumstance that reflected the greater hopelessness on her prospects. She bore a likeness to her father, little to her mother, though he fancied the re- verse and gave her the mothers lips and hair. Thinking of herself, how- ever, was destructive to the form of her mirror of knightliness; he wavered, he fled for good, as the rosy vapor born of our sensibility must do when we re- lapse to coldness, and the more com- pletely when we try to command it. No, she thought, a plain girl should think of work, to earn her indepen- dence. Women are not permitted to follow armies, Chillon? she said. He laughed out. Whats in your head? THE AMAZING MARRIAGE 233 The laugh abashed her; she mur- mured of women being good nurses for wounded soldiers; if they were good walkers to march with the army; and, as evidently it sounded witless to him, she added, to seem reasonable: You have not told me the Christian name of those ladies. He made queer eyes over the puzzle to connect the foregoing and the suc- ceeding in her remarks; but answered straightforwardly: Livia is one, and Henrietta. Her ear seized on the stress of his voice. Henrietta! She chose that name for the name of the person dis- turbing her; it fused best, she thought, with the new element she had been compelled to take into her system, to absorb it if she could. Youre not scheming to have them serve as Army Hospital Nurses, my dear? No, Chillon. You cant explain it, I suppose. A sister could go too, when you go to war, Chillon. A sister could go, if it were per- mitted by the authorities, and be near her brother to nurse him in case of wounds ; others would be unable to claim the privilege. That was her meaning, involved with the hazy proj- ect of earning an independence; but she could not explain it, and Chillon set her down for one of the inexplic- able sex, which the simple adventurous girl had not previously seemed to be. She was inwardly warned of having talked foolishly, and she held her tongue. Her humble and modest jeal- ousy, scarce deserving the title, passed with a sigh or two. It was her first taste of life in the world. A fit of heavy-mindedness ensued, that heightened the contrast her recent mood had bequeathed, between herself, ignorant as she was, and those ladies. Their names, Livia and Henrietta, soared above her and sang the music of the splendid spheres. Henrietta was closer to earth, for her features had been revealed; she was therefore the dearer and the richer for him who loved her, being one of us, though an over- earthly one; and Carinthia gave her to Chillon, reserving for herself a hand- maidens place within the circle of their happiness. This done, she sat straight in the car. It was toiling up the steep ascent of a glen to the mountain village, the last of her native province. Her proposal to walk was accepted, and the speeding of her blood, now that she had mastered the new element in it, soon restored her to her sisterly affinity with natural glories. The sunset was on yonder side of the snows. Here there was a feast of variously- tinted sunset shadows on snow, meadows, rock, river, serrated cliff. The peaked cap of the rushing rock-dotted sweeps of upward snow caught a scarlet illumination; one flank of the white in heaven was violetted wonderfully. At nightfall, under a clear black sky alive with wakeful fires round head and breast of the great Alp, Chillon and Carinthia strolled out of the village, and he told her some of his hopes. They referred to inventions of destructive weapons, which were primarily to place his country out of all danger from a world in arms; and also, it might be mentioned, to bring him fortune. For I must have money! he said, sighing it out like a deliberate oath. He and his uncle were associated in the inven- tions. They had an improved rocket that would force military chiefs to change their tactics; they had a new powder, a rifle, a model musketthe latter based on his own plans; and a scheme for fortress artillery likely to turn the preponderance in favor of the defensive ones again. And that will be really doing good, said Chillon, for where its with the offensive, theres everlasting bullying and plunder- ing. Carinthia warmly agreed with him, but begged him be sure his uncle di- vided the profits equally. She dis- cerned what his need of money signified. Tenderness urged her to say: Hen- rietta, Chillon. Well? he answered, openly. Will she wait ? Can she, you should ask. Is she brave? Who can tell, till she has been tried. Is she quite free? She has not yet been captured. 234 THE AMAZING MARRIAGE Brother, is there no one else? Theres a nobleman anxious to be- stow his titles on her. He is rich? The first or second wealthiest in Great Britain, they say. Is he young? About the same age as mine. Is he a handsome young man? Handsomer than your brother, my girl. No, no, no! said she. And what if he is, and your Henrietta does not choose him? Now let me think what I long to think, I have her close to me. She rocked a roseate image on her heart and went to bed with it by star- light. By starlight they sprang to their feet and departed the next morning, in the steps of a guide carrying, Chillon said, a better lantern than we left behind us at the Smithy. Father! exclaimed Carinthia, on her swift inward breath, for this one of the names he had used to give to her old home revived him to her thoughts and senses fervently. CHAPTER VI THE NATURAL PHJLO5OPHER THREE parts down a swift decline of shattered slate, where travelling stones loosened from rows of scree hurl away at a bound after one roll over, there sat a youth dusty and torn, nursing a bruised leg, not iu the easiest of postures, on a sharp tooth of rock that might at any moment have broken from the slanting slab at the end of which it formed a stump, and added him a second time to the general crumble of the mountain. He had done a portion of the descent in excellent imitation of the detached fragments, and had parted company with his alpenstock and plaid; preserving his hat and his knapsack, or at least the con- tents. He was alone, disabled, and cheerful; in doubt of the arrival of suc- cor before he could trust his left leg to do him further service unaided; but it was morning still, the sun was hot, the air was cool; just the tempering oppo- sition to render existence pleasant as a piece of vegetation, especially when there has been a question of your ceasing to exist; and the view was of a sustaining sublimity of desolateness: crag and snow overhead; a gloomy vale below; no life either of bird or herd; a voice- less region where there had once been roars at the bowling of a hill from a mountain to the deep, and the sliced flank of the mountain spoke of it in the silence. He would have enjoyed the scene un- remittingly, like the philosopher he pre- tended to be, in a disdain of civilization and the ambitions of men, had not a contest with earth been forced on him from time to time to keep the heel of his right foot, dug in shallow shale, fixed and supporting. As long as it held he was happy and maintained the attitude of a guitar-player, thrumming the calf of the useless leg to accompany tuneful thoughts; but the inevitable lapse and slide of the foot recurred, and the phil- osopher was exhibited as an infant learning to crawL The seat, moreover, not having been fashioned for him or for any soft purpose, resisted his pres- sure and became a thing of violence, that required to be humiliatingly coaxed. His last resource to propitiate it was counselled by nature turned mathema- tician; tenacious extension solved the problem; he lay back at his length, and with his hat over his eyes, consented to see nothing for the sake of comfort. Thus was he perfectly rational, though when others beheld him he appeared the insanest of mortals. A girls voice gave out the mountain carol ringingly above. His heart and all his fancies were in motion at the sound. He leaned on an elbow to listen; the slide threatened him, and he resumed his full stretch, determined to take her for a dream. He was of the class of youths who, in apprehension that their bright season may not be permanent, choose to fortify it by a systematic con- tempt of material realities unless they come in the fairest of shapes; and as he was quite sincere in this feeling and election of the right way to live, disap- pointment and sullenness overcame him on hearing mens shouts and steps; de- spite his helpless condition he refused to stir, for they had jarred on his dream. THE AMAZING MARRIAGE 235 Perhaps his temper, unknown to himself, had been a little injured by his mishap, and he would not have been sorry to charge them with want of common hu- manity in passing him; or he did not think his plight so bad, else he would have bawled after them had they gone by; for the youths of his description are fools only upon system, however earnest- ly they indulge the present self-punish- ing sentiment. The party did not pass; they stopped short, they consulted, and a feminine tongue more urgent than the others, and very musical, sweet to hear anywhere, put him in tune. She said, Brother! brother ! in German. Our philosopher flung off his hat. You see? said the ladys brother. Ask him, Anton, she said to their guide. And quick ! her brother added. The guide scrambled along to him, and at a closer glance shouted: The Englishman! wheeling his finger to in- dicate what had happened to the Tom- noddy islander. His master called to know if there were broken bones, as if he could stop for nothing else. The cripple was raised. The gentle- man and lady made their way to him, and he tried his hardest to keep from tottering on the slope in her presence. No injury had been done to the leg; there was only a stiffness, and an idiotic doubling of the knee, as though at each step his leg pronounced a dogged nega- tive to the act of walking. He said something equivalent to this donkey leg, to divert her charitable eyes from a countenance dancing with ugly twitches. She was the Samaritan. A sufferer dis- cerns his friend, though it be not the one who physically assists him; he was inclined by nature to put material aid at a lower mark than gentleness, and her brief words of encouragement, the tone of their delivery yet more, were medical to his blood, better help than her brothers iron arm, he really be- lieved. Her brother and the guide held him on each side, and she led to pick out the safer footing for him; she looked round and pointed to some projection that would form a step; she drew atten- tion to views here and there, to win ex- cuses for his resting; she did not omit to soften her brothers visible impa- tience as well, and this was the art which affected her keenly sensible debt- or most. They managed to get him hobbling and slipping to the first green tufts of the base, where long black tongues of slate-rubble pouring into the grass like shore-waves that have spent their bur- den, seem about to draw back to bring the mountain down. Thence to the level pasture was but a few skips per- formed sliding. Well, now, said Chillon, you can stand? Pretty well, I think. He tried his foot on the ground, and then stretched his length, saying that it only wanted rest. Anton pressed a hand at his ankle and made him wince, but the bones were sound, leg and hip not worse than badly bruised. He was advised by Anton to plant his foot in the first running water he came to, and he was considerate enough to say to Chillon: Now you can leave me, and let me thank you. Half an hour will set me right. My name is Woodseer, if ever we meet again. Chillon nodded a hurried good-by, without a thought of giving his name in return. But Carinthia had thrown her- self on the grass. Her brother asked her in dismay if she was tired. She murmured to him: I should like to hear more English. My dear girl, youll have enough of it in two or three weeks. Should we leave a good deed half done, Chilon? He shall have our guide. He may not be rich. Ill pay Anton to stick to him. Brother, he has an objection to guides. Chillon cast hungry eyes on his watch. Five minutes, then. He ad- dressed Mr. Woodseer, who was repos- ing, indifferent to time, hard by: Your objection to guides might have taught you a sharp lesson. Its like declining to have a master in studying a science trusting to instinct for your knowl- edge of a bargain. One might as well refuse an oar to row in a boat. Id rather risk it, the young man replied. These guides kick the soul 236 THE AMAZING MARRIAGE out of scenery. I came for that and not for them. You might easily have been a disa- greeable part of the scene. Why not here as well as else- where? You dont take care for your life? I try not to care for it a fraction more than destiny does. FatalismI suppose you care for something? Besides Ive a slack purse, and shun guides and inns when I can. I care for open air, color, flowers, weeds, birds, insects, mountains. Theres a world behind the mask. I call this life; and the towns a boiling pot, intolerably stuffy. My one ambition is to be out of it. I thank heaven I have not another on earth. Yes, I care for my note-book, because its of no use to a human being except me. I slept beside a spring last night, and I never shall like a bedroom so well. I think I have discovered the great secret; I may be wrong, of course. And if so, he had his philosophy, the admission was meant to say. I would advise you, Chillon said, to get a pair of Styrian boots, if you intend to stay in the Alps. Those boots of yours are London make. Theyre my fathers make, said Mr. Woodseer. Chijion drew out his watch. Come, Carinthia, we must be off. He pro- posed his guide, and as Anton was re- jected he pointed the route over the head of the village, stated the distance to an inn that way, saluted, and strode. Mr. Woodseer, partly rising, pre- sumed, in raising his hat and thanking Carinthia, to touch her fingers. She smiled on him, frankly extending her open hand, and pointing the route again, counselling him to rest at the inn, even saying: You have not yet your strength to come on with us? He thought he would stay some time longer; he had a disposition to smoke. She tripped away to her brother and was watched through the whiffs of a pipe far up the valley, guiltless of any consciousness of producing an impres- sion. But her mind was with the stranger sufficiently to cause her to say to Chillon, at the close of a dispute be- tween him and Anton on the interest- ing subject of the growth of the horns of chamois: Have we been quite kind to that gentleman? Chillon looked over his shoulder. Hes there still; hes fond of solitude. And, Carin, my dear, dont give your hand when you are meeting or parting with people ; its not done. His uninstructed sister said : Did you not like him? She was answered with an Oh, the tone of which balanced lightly on the neutral line. Some of the ideas he has are Lord Fleetwoods, I hear, and one can understand them in a man of enormous wealth, who doesnt know what to do with himself, and is dead sick of flattery; though it seems odd for an English nobleman to be raving about Nature. Perhaps its because none else of them does. Lord Fleetwood loves our moun- tains, Chillon? But a fellow who probably has to make his way in the world !and he despises ambition ! . . . . Chillon dropped him. He was antipathetic to eccentrics, and his soldierly and social training opposed the profession of het- erodox ideas; to have listened seriously to them coming from the mouth of an unambitious bootmaker s son involved him in the absurdity. He considered that there was no harm in the lad, rath- er a commendable sort of courage and some notion of manners; allowing for his ignorance of the convenable in put- ting out his hand to take a young ladys, with the plea of thanking her. He hoped she would be more on her guard. Carinthia was sure she had the name of the nobleman wishing to bestow his title upon the beautiful Henrietta. Lord Fleetwood! That slender thread given her of the character of her brothers rival who loved the mountains, was woven in her mind with her passing ex- perience of the youth they had left be- hind them, until the two became one, a highly transfigured one, and the moun- tain scenery made him very threatening to her brother. A silky-haired youth, brown-eyed, unconquerable in adver- sity, immensely rich, fond of solitude, curled, decorated, bejewelled by all the elves and gnomes of inmost solitude, must have marvellous attractions, she THE AMAZING MARRIAGE 237 feared. She thought of him so much, that her humble spirit conceived the stricken soul of the woman as of ne- cessity the pursuer ; as shamelessly, though timidly, as she herself pursued in imagination the enchanted secret of the mountain land. She hoped her brother would not supplicate, for it struck her that the lover who besieged the lady would forfeit her roaming and hunting fancy. I wonder what that gentleman is doing now, she said to Chillon. He grimaced slightly, for her sake; he would have liked to inform her, for the sake of educating her in the cus- toms of the world she was going to en- ter, that the word gentleman conveys in English a special signification. Her expression of wonder whether they were to meet him again, gave Chil- lon the opportunity of saying: Its the unlikeliest thing possibleat ~all events in England. But I think we shall, said she. My dear, you meet people of your own class, you dont meet others. But we may meet anybody, Chil- ion In the street. I suppose you would not stop to speak to him in the street? It would be strange to see him in the street! Carinthia said. Strange or not Chillon thought he had said sufficient. She was under his protectorship, otherwise he would not have alluded to the observ- ance of class distinctions. He felt them personally in this case because of their seeming to stretch grotesquely by the pretentious heterodoxy of the young fellow, whom nevertheless, thinking him over now that he was mentioned, he ap- proved for his manliness in bluntly tell- ing his origin and status. A chalet supplied them with fresh milk, and the inn of a village on a perch with the midday meaL Their appetites were princely and swept over the little inn like a conflagration. Only after clearing it did they remember the rear- ward pedestrian, whose probable wants Chillon was urged by Carinthia to speak of to their host. They pushed on, clambering up, scurrying down, tramp- ing gayly, till by degrees the chambers of Carinthias imagination closed their doors and would no longer intercom- municate. Her head refused to interest her, and left all activity to her legs and her eyes, and the latter became unobser- vant, except of foot-tracks, animal-like. She felt that she was a fine machine, and nothing else; and she was rapidly ap- proaching those ladies! You will tell them how I walked with you, she said. Your friends over yonder? said he. So that they may not think me so ignorant, brother. She stumbled on the helpless word in a hasty effort to cloak her vanity. Anxious to cheer her, he said: Come, come, you can dance. You dance well, mother has told me, and she was a judge. You ride, you swim, you have a voicefor country songs, at all events. And youre a bit of a botanist, too. Youre good at English and Ger- man; you had a French governess for a couple of years. By the way, you un- derstand the use of a walking~stick in self-defence; you could handle a sword on occasion. Father trained me, said Carinthia. I can fire a pistol, aiming. With a good aim, too, Father told me you could. How fond he was of his girl! Well, bear in mind that father was proud of you, and hold up your head wherever you are. I will, she said. He assured her he had a mind to have a bugle blown at the entrance of the Baths for a challenge to the bathers to match her in warlike accomplishments. She bit her lip; she could not bear much rallying on the subject just then. Which is the hard one to please? she asked. The one you will find the kinder of the two. Henrietta? He nodded. Has she a father? A gallant old admiral; Admiral Baldwin Fakenham. I am glad of that! Carinthia sighed out, heartily. And he is with her? And likes you, Chillon? On the whole, I think he does. A brave officer! Such a father would be sure to like him. So the domestic prospect was hopeful. 238 THE AMAZING MARRIAGE At sunset they stood on the hills overlooking the basin of the Baths, all enfolded in swathes of pink and crim- son up to the shining gray of a high heaven that had the fresh brightness of the morning. We are not tired in the slightest, said Carinthia, trifling with the vision of cushioned rest below. I could go on through the night quite comfort- ably. Wait till you wake np in your little bed to-morrow, Chillon replied, stoutly, to drive a chill from his lovers heart, that had seized it at the bare sugges- tion of their going on. CHAPTER VII THE LADY5 LETTER Is not the lover a prophet? He that fervently desires may well be one ; his hurried nature is alive with warmth to break the possible blow; and if they were not needed they were shadows; and if fulfilled, was he not convinced of his misfortune by a dark anticipation that rarely erred? Descending the hills, he remembered several omens; the sun had sunk when he looked down on the villas and clustered houses, not an edge of the orb had been seen; the Admirals quarters in the broad-faced hotel had worn an appearance resem- bling the empty house of yesterday; the encounter with the fellow on the rocks had a bad whisper of impish tripping. And what moved Carinthia to speak of going on? A letter was handed to Chillon in the hall of the Admirals hotel where his baggage had already been delivered. The manager was deploring the circum- stances that his rooms were full to the roof, when Chillon said: Well, we must wash and eat ; and Carinthia, from watching her brothers forehead during his perusal of the letter, de- clared her readiness for anything. He gave her the letter to read by herself while preparing to sit at table, unwill- ing to ask her for a further tax on her energies: but it was she who had spoken of going on! He thought of it as of a debt she had contracted and might be supposed to think payable to their mis- fortune. She read off the first two sentences. We can have a carriage here, Chil- lon; order a carriage; I shall get as much sleep in a carriage as in a bed; I shall enjoy driving at night, she said immediately, and strongly urged it and forced him to yield, the manager observ- ing that a carriage could be had. In the privacy of her room, admiring the clear, flowing hand, she read the words, delicious in their strangeness to her, notwithstanding the heavy news, as though they were sung out of a night- sky: Most picturesque of Castles! May none these marks efface. For they appeal from Tyranny. We start at noon to-day. Sailing orders have been issued, and I could only have resisted them in my own person by casting myself overboard. I go like the boat behind the vesseL You were expected yesterday, at latest this morning. I have seen boxes in the hall, with a name on them not foreign to me. Why does the master tarry? Sir, of your valiance you should have held to your good vow, quoth the damozel, for now you see me more per- plexed, and that you did not your de- voir is my affliction. Where lingers chivalry, she should have proceeded, if not with my knight? I feast on your regrets. I would not have you less than miserable ; and I fear the reason is, that I am not so very very sure, you will be so at all, or very hugely, as I would command it of you for just time enough to see that change over your eyebrows I know so well. If you had seen a certain Henrietta yesterday, you would have the picture of how you ought to look. The Ad- miral was heard welcoming a new ar- rivalyou can hear him. She ran down the stairs quicker than any cascade of this district, she would have made a bet with Livia that it could be no one else her hand was outbefore she was aware of the difference it was locked in LordF s! Let the guilty absent suffer for caus- ing such a betrayal of disappointment. I must be avenged! But if indeed you THE AMAZING MARRIAGE 239 are unhappy and would like to chide the innocent, I am full of compassion for the poor gentleman inheriting my legi- timate feelings of wrath, and beg merely that he will not pour them out on me with pen and paper, but from his lips and eyes. Time pressing, I chatter no more. The destination is Livias beloved Baden. We rest a night in the city of Mozart, a night at Munich, a night at Stuttgart. Baden will detain my cousin a full week. She has Captain Ambrane and Sir Mee- son Corby in attendanceher long shad- ow and her short: both devoted to Lord F , to win her smile, and how he drives them! The Captain has been paraded on the promenade to the stupe- faction of the foreigner. Princes, counts, generals, diplomats passed under him in awe. I am told that he is called St. Christopher. Why do we go thus hastily? My friend, this letter has to be concealed. I know someone who sees in the dark. Think no harm of Livia. She is bent upon my worldly advantage, and that is plain even to the person rejecting it. How much more so must it be to papa, though he likes you, and when you are near him would perhaps, in a fit of unworldliness, be almost as reckless as the creature he calls madcap and would rather call countess. No! soon- er with a Will o the Wisp, my friend. Who could ever know where the man was when he himself never knows where he is. He is the wind that bloweth as it listethbecause it is without an aim or always with a new one. And am I the one to direct him? I need direction. My lord and sovereign must fix my mind. I am volatile, earthly, not to be trusted if I do not worship. He him- self said to me he reads our characters. Nothing but a proved hero will satisfy Henrietta his words! And the hero must be shining like a beacon-fire kept in a blaze. Quite true; I own it. Is Chillon Kirby satisfied? He ought to be. But oh! to be yoked is an insuffer- able thought, unless we may name all the conditions. But to be yoked to a creature of impulses! Really I could only describe his erratic nature by com- mending you to the study of a dragon- fly. It would map you an idea of what he has been in the twenty-four hours since we had him here. They tell me a vain sort of person is the cause. Can she be the cause of his resolving to have a residence here, to buy up half the val- leyerecting a royal palaceand mark- ing out the site raving about it in the wildest language, poetical if it had been a little reasonable; and then, after a night, suddenly, unaccountably, hating the place, and being under the necessity of flying from it in hot haste, tearing us all away, as if we were attached to a kite that will neither mount nor fall, but rushes about headlong. Has he heard or suspected? or seen certain boxcs bearing a name? Livia has no suspicion, though she thinks me wonderfully con- tented in so dull a place, where it has rained nine days in a fortnight. I ask myself whether my manner of greeting him betrayed my expectation of another. He has brains. It is the greatest of er- rors to suppose him at all like the com- mon run of rich young noblemen. He seems to thirst for brilliant wits and original sayings. His ambition is to lead all England in everything! I readily acknowledge that he has gener- ous ideas, too; but try to hold him, deny him his liberty, and it would be seen how desperate and relentless he would be to get loose. Of this I am convinced: he would be either the most abject of lovers, or a woman (if it turned out not to be love) would find him the most unscru- pulous of yoke-fellows. Yoke-fellows! She would not have her reason in con- senting. A lamb and a furious bull! Papa and I have had a serious talk. He shut his ears to my comparisons, but ad- mits that, as I am the principal person concerned, etc. Rich and a nobleman is too tempting for an anxious father; and Livias influence is paramount. She has not said a syllable in depreciation of you. That is to her credit. She also admits that I must yield freely if at all, and she grants me the use of smiles; but her tactics are to contest them one by one, and the admirable pretender is not as shifty as the mariners breeze, he is not like the wandering spark in burnt paper, of which you cannot say whether it is chasing or chased; it is I who am the shifty pole to the steadiest of mag 240 THE AMAZING MARRIAGE nets. She is a princess in other things besides her superiority to physics. There will be wild scenes at Baden. My diary of to-day is all bestowed on you. What have I to write in it ex- cept the pair of commas under the last line of yesterday He has not come! Oh! to be caring for a he. Oh, that I were with your sister now, on one side of her idol, to correct her extravagant idolatry! I long for her. I had a number of nice little phrases to pet her with. You have said (I have it written) that men who are liked by men are the best friends for women. In which case, the earl should be worthy of our friend- ship; he is liked. Captain Abrane and Sir Meeson, in spite of the hard service he imposes on them with such comical haughtiness, incline to speak well of him, and Meth- uen Rivershere for two days on his way to his embassy at Viennaassured us he is the rarest of gentlemen on the point of honor of his word. They have stories of him, to confirm Livias eulo- gies, showing him punctilious to chiv- alry. No man alive is like him in that, they say. He grieves me. All that you have to fear is my pity for one so sensi- tive. So, speed, sir! It is not good for us to be much alone, and I am alone when you are absent. I hear military music! How grand that music makes the dullest world appear in a minute! There is a magic in it to bring you to me from the most dreadful of distances. Chillon, it would kill me! Writing here, and you perhaps behind the hill, I can hardly bear it; I am torn away; my hand will not any more. This mu- sic burst out to mock me. Adieu. I am yours, Your HENRIETTA. A kiss to the sister. It is owing to her. Carinthia kissed the letter on that last line. It seemed to her tQ end in a celestial shower. She was oppressed by wonder of the writer who could run like the rill of the mountains in written speech, and her recollection of the contents perpetually hurried to the close, which was more in her way of writing, for there the brief sentences had a throb beneath them. She did not speak of the letter to her brother when she returned it. A night in the carriage, against his shoulder, was her happy prospect, in the thought that she would be with her dearest all night, touching him asleep, and in the sweet sense of being near to the beloved of the fairest angel of her sex. They pursued their journey soon after. Anton was dismissed with warm shakes of the hand and appointments for a possible year in the future. The blast of the postilions horn on the dark highway moved Chillon to say: This is what they call posting, my dear.~~ She replied: Tell me, brother; I do not understand, Let none these marks efface, at the commencement, after most picturesque of Castles that is you? They are quoted from the verses of a lord who was a poet, addressed to the castle on Lake Leman. She will read them to you. Will she? The mention of the lord set Carinthia thinking of the lord whom that beauti- ful she pitied because she was forced to wound him, and he was very sensitive. Wrapped in Henrietta, she slept through the joltings of the carriage, the grinding of the wheels, the blowing of the horn, the flashes of the late moonlight, and the kindling of dawn. CHAPTER vm or THE ENCOUNTER or ~wo 5TRANGE YOUNG MEN AND THEIR CONsORTING: IN WHICH THE MALE READER IS REQUE5TED TO BEAR IN MIND WHAT WILD CREATURE HE WA5 IN HIS YOUTH, WHILE THE FE- MALE 5HOULD MARVEL CREDULOUSLY. THE young man who fancied he had robed himself in the plain homespun of a natural philosopher at the age of twenty-three, journeyed limping leis- urely in the mountain maid Carinthias footsteps, thankful to the Fates for hav- ing seen her; and reproving the re- inainder of superstition within him THE AMAZING MARRIAGE 241 which would lay him open to smarts of evil fortune if he encouraged a sense- less gratitude for good; seeing that we are simply to take what happens to us. The little inn of the village on the perch furnished him a nights lodging, and a laugh of satisfaction to hear of a young lady and gentleman, and their guide, who had devoured everything eatable half a day in advance of him, all save the bread and butter, and a few scraps of meat, apologetically spread for his repast by the maid of the inn; not enough for a bantam cock, she said, promising eggs for breakfast. He vowed with an honest heart that it was more than enough, and he was nourished by sympathy with the appe- tites of his precursors and the maids description of their deeds. That name, Carinthia, went a good way to fill him. Farther on he had plenty, but less contentment. He was compelled to ac- knowledge that he had expected to meet Carinthia again at the Baths. Her absence dealt a violent shock to the a~rial structure he dwelt in ; for though his ardor for the life of the solitude was unfeigned, as was his calm overlooking of social distinctions, the sell-indulgent dreamer became troubled with an alarming sentience, that for him to share the passions of the world of men was to risk the falling lower than most. Women are a cause of dreams, but they are dreaded enemies of his kind of dream, deadly enemies of the immaterial dreamers; and should one of them be taken on board a vessel of the vaporish texture young Woodseer sailed in above the cloudslightly while he was in it alonequestions of the past, future, and present, the three weights upon humanity, bear it down, and she must go or the vessel sinks. And cast out of it, what was he? The asking ex- posed him to the steadiest wind the civ- ilized world is known to blow. From merely thinking upon one of the daugh- ters of earth, he was made to feel his position in that world, though he re- fused to understand it, and assisted by two days of hard walking he reduced Carinthia to an abstract enthusiasm, no very serious burden. His note-book sustained it easily. He wrote her name in simple fondness of the name ; a verse, and hints for more, and some sentences, which he thought profound. They were composed as he sat by the roadway, on the tops of hills, and in a boat crossing a dark-green lake deep under wooded mountain walls; things of priceless value. It happened that, midway on the lake, he perceived his boatman about to prime a pistol to murder the mild- eyed stillness, and he called to the man in his best German to desist. During the altercation, there passed a country- man of his in another of the punts, who said gravely, I thank you for that. It was early morning, and they had the lake to themselves, each deeming the other an intruder; for the courtship of solitude wanes when we are haunted by a second person in pursuit of it; he is discoloring matter in our pure crystal cup. They stepped ashore in turn on the same small shoot of land, where a farm- house, near a chapel in the shadow of cliffs, did occasional service for an inn. Each had intended to pass a day and a night in this lonely dwelling-place by the lake, but a rival was less to be tol- erated there than in love, and each awaited the others departure, with an air that said: You are in my sun- light; and going deeper, more stern- ly Sir, you are an offence to natures pudency! Woodseer was the more placable of the two; he had taken possession of the bench outside, and he had his note- book, and much profundity to haul up with it, while fish were frying. His countryman had rushed inside to avoid him, and remained there pacing the chambers like a lion newly caged. Their boatmen were brotherly in the anticipation of provision and payment. After eating his fish, Woodseer de- cided abruptly that, as he could not have the spot to himself, memorable as it would have been to intermarry with Nature in so sacred a well-depth of the mountains, he had better be walking and climbing. Another boat paddling up the lake had been spied: solitude was not merely shared with a rival, but violated by numbers. In the first case, we detest the man; in the second, we fly from an outraged scene. He wrote 242 THE AMAZING MARRIAGE a line or so in his book, hurriedly paid his bill, and started, full of the matter he had briefly committed to his pages. At noon, sitting beside the beck that runs from the lake, he was overtaken by the gentleman he had left behind, and accosted in the informal English style, with all the politeness possible to a nervously blunt manner: This book is yours; I have no doubt it is yours; I am glad to be able to restore it; I should be glad to be the ownerwriter of the contents, I mean. I have to beg your excuse; I found it lying open; I looked at the page; I looked through the whole; I am quite at your mercy. Woodseer jumped at the sight of his note-book, felt for the emptiness of his pocket, and replied: Thank you, thank you. Its of use to me, though to no one else. You pardon me? Certainly. I should have done it myself. I cannot offer you my apologies as a stranger. Lord Fleetwood was the name given. Woodseers plebeian was exchanged for it, and he stood up. The young lord had fair, straight, thin features, with large restless eyes that lighted quickly, and a mouth that was winning in his present colloquial mood. You could have done the same? I should find it hard to fQrgive the man who pried into my secret thoughts, he remarked. There they are. If one puts them to paper. . . . Woodseer shrugged. Yes, yes. They never last long enough with me. So far Im safe. One page led to another. You can meditate. I noticed some remarks on religions. You think deeply. Woodseer was of that opinion, but modesty urged him to reply with a small flourish. Just a few heads of ideas. When the wind puffs down a sooty chimney, the air is filled with lit- tle blacks that settle pretty much like the notes in this book of mine. There they wait for another puff, or my fingers to stamp them. I could tell you were the owner of that book, said Lord Fleetwood. He swept his forehead feverishly. What a power it is to relieve ones brain by writing! May I ask you which one of our universities? The burden of this question had a ring of irony to one whom it taught to feel, rather defiantly, that he carried the blazon of a reeking tramp. My uni- versity, Woodseer replied, was a merchants office in Brernen for some months. I learnt more Greek and Latin in Bremen than business. I was invalided home, and then tried a mer- chants office in London. I put on my hat one day, and walked into the country. My college fellows were hawkers, tinkers, tramps, and plough- men, choughs and crows. A volume of our poets and a history of philosophy composed my library. I had scarce any money, so I learnt to idle inexpen- sivelya good first lesson. Were at the bottom of the world when we take to the road; we see men as they were in the beginningnot so eager for har- ness till they get acquainted with hun- ger, as I did, and studied in myself the old animal having his head pushed into the collar to earn a food of corn. Woodseer laughed, adding that he had been of a serious mind in those days of the alternation of smooth indif- ference and sharp necessity, and he had plucked a flower from them. His nature prompted him to speak of himself with simple candor, as he had done spontaneously to Chillon Kirby, yet he was now anxious to let his com- panion know at once the common stuff he was made of, together with the great stuff he contained. He grew conscious of an over-anxiety, and was uneasy, rec- ollecting how he had just spoken about his naturalness, dimly if at all appre- hending the cause of this disturbance within. What is a lord to a philos- opher? But the world is around us as a cloak, if not a coat; in his ignorance he supposed it specially due to a lord seeking acquaintance with him, that he should expose his condition; doing the which appeared to subject him to pa- rade his intellectual treasures and capac- ity for shaping sentences; and the effect upon Lord Fleetwood was an incentive to the display. Nevertheless he had a fretful desire to escape from the dis- composing society of a lord; he fixed his knapsack and began to saunter. THE AMAZING MARRIAGE 243 The young lord was at his elbow. I cant part with you. Will von allow me? Woodseer was puzzled and had to say If you wish it. I do wish it: an hours walk with you. One does not meet a man like you every day. I have to join a circle of mine in Baden, but theres no hurry; I could be disengaged for a week. And I have things to ask you, owing to my indiscretionbut you have excused it. Woodseer turned for a farewell gaze at the great Watzman, and saluted him. Splendid, said Lord Fleetwood; but dont clap names on the mountains, I saw written in your book. A text for Dada, you write. A despotism would procure a perfect solitude, but kill the ghost. That was my thought at the place where we were at the lake. I had it. Tell methough I could not have written it, and ghost is just the word, the exact wordtell me, are you of Welsh blood? iDad is good Welsh pronounce it hard. Woodseer answered: My mother was a Glamorganshire woman. My father, I know, walked up from Wales, mending boots on his road for a liveli- hood. He is not a bad scholar, he knows Greek enough to like it. He is a Dis- senting preacher. When I strike a tru- ism, Ive a habit of scoring it to give him a peg or timing-fork for one of his discourses. Hes a man of talent; he taught himself, and he taught me more than I learnt at schooL He is a thinker in his way. He loves nature, too. I ra- ther envy him in some respects. He and I are hunters of wisdom on differ- ent tracks ; and he, as he says, waits for me. Hes patient! Ah, and I wanted to ask you, Lord Fleetwood observed, bursting with it, I was puzzled by a name you write here and there near the end, and permit me to ask it: Cariuthia! It cannot be the country? You write after the name: A beaubful GorgonA haggard Venus. It seized me. I have had the face before my eyes ever since. You must mean a woman. I cant be deceived in allusions +o a woman: they have heart in them. You met her somewhere about Carinthia and gave her the name? You write may I refer to the book? He received the book and flew through the leaves: Here a panting look: you write again : A look of beaten flame, a look of one who has run and at last be- holds! But that is a living face, I see her! Here again: From minute to minute she is the rock that loses the sun at night and reddens in the morning. You could not create an idea of a woman to move you like that. No one could, I am certain of it, certain; if so, youre a wizardI swear you are. But thats a face high over beauty! Just to know there is a woman like her, is an antidote. You compare her to a rock. Who would imagine a comparison of a woman to a rock ! But rock is the very picture of beautiful Gorgon, haggard Venus. Tell me you met her, you saw her. I want only to hear she lives, she is in the world. Beautiful women compared to roses may whirl away with their handsome dra- goons. A pang from them is a thing to be ashamed of. And there are men who trot about whining with it! But a Carinthia makes pain honorable. You have done what I thought impossible, fused a womans face and grand scenery, to make them inseparable. She might be wicked for me. I should see a bright rim round hatred of her !the rock you describe. I could endure horrors and not annihilate her! I should think her sacred. Woodseer turned about to have a look at the person who was even quicker than he at realizing a person from a hint of description, and almost insanely ex- travagant in the pitch of the things he uttered to a stranger. For himself he was open with everybody, his philosophy not allowing that strangers existed on earth. But the presence of a lord brought the conventional world to his feelings, though at the same time the title seemed to sanction the exceptional abruptness and wildness of this lord. As for suspecting him to be mad, it would have been a common idea; no stretching of speech or overstepping of social rules could waken a suspicion so spiritless in Woodseer. He said: I can tell you I met her and she lives. I could as soon swim in that torrent or leap the mountain as re- peat what she spoke, or sketch a feature of her. She goes into blood, she is a 244 THE AMAZING MARRIAGE new idea of women. She has the face that would tempt a gypsy to evil tellings. I could think of it as a history written in a line: Carinthia, Saint and Martyr! As for comparisons, they are flowers thrown into the fire. I have had thatI have thought that, said Lord Fleetwood. Go on; talk of her, pray; without comparisons. I detest them. How did you meet her? What made you part? Where is she now? I have no wish to find her, but I want thoroughly to believe in her. Another than Woodseer would have perceived the young lords malady. Here was one bitten by the serpent of love, and athirst for an image of the sex to serve for the cooling herb, as youth will be. Woodseer put it down to a curious imaginative fellowship with him- self. He forgot the lord, and supposed he had found his own likeness, less gifted in speech. After talking of Car- inthia more and more in the abstract, he fell upon his discovery of the Great Secret of life, against which his hearer struggled for a time, though that was cooling to him, too; but ultimately there was no resistance, and so deep did they sink into the idea of pure contem- plation, that the idea of woman seemed to have become a part of it. No stronger proof of their ethereal conver- sational earnestness could be offered. A locality was given to the Great Secret, and, of course, it was the place ~vhere the most powerful recent impression had been stamped on the mind of the discoverer; the shadowy valley rolling from the slate-rock. Woodseer was too artistic a dreamer to present the pass- ing vision of Carinthia with any asso- ciates there. She passed: the solitude accepted her and lost her; and it was the richer for the one swift gleam; she brought no trouble, she left no regrets she was the ghost of the rocky obscur- ity. But now remembering her moun- tain carol, he chanced to speak of her as a girl. She is a girl? cried Lord Fleet- wood, frowning over an utter revolu- tion of sentiment at the thought of the beautiful Gorgon being a girl; for, rapid as he was to imagine, he had raised a solid fabric upon his conception of Car- inthia the woman, necessarily the woman logically. Who but the woman could look the Gorgon? He tried to explain it to be impossible for a girl to wear the look; and his notion evidently was that it had come upon a beautiful face in some staring horror of a world that had bitten the tender woman. She touched him sympathetically through the pathos. Woodseer flung out vociferously for the contrary. Who but a girl could look the beautful Gorgon? What other could seem an emanation of the moun- tain solitude? A woman would in- stantly breathe the world on it to destroy it. Hers would be the dramatic and not the poetic face. It would shriek of man, wake the echoes with the tale of man, slaughter all quietude. But a girls face has no story of poisonous in- trusion. She indeed may be cast in the terrors of nature, and yet be sweet with nature, beautiful because she is purely of nature. Woodseer did his best to present his view irresistibly. Perhaps he was not clear; it was a piece of ski- amachy, difficult to render clear to the defeated. Lord Fleetwood had nothing to say but Gorgon! a girl a Gorgon ! and it struck Woodseer as intensely un-reason- able, considering that he had seen the girl whom, in his effort to portray her, he had likened to a beautiful Gorgon. He recounted the scene of the meeting with her, pictured it in effective colors, but his companion gave no response, nor a nod. They ceased to converse, and when the young lords hired carriage drew up on the road, Woodseer re- quired persuasion to accompany him. They were both in their different sta- tions young tyrants of the world, ready to fight the world and one another for not having their immediate view of it such as they wanted it. They agreed, however, not to sleep in the city. Beds were to be had near the top of a mounv tam on the other side of the Salza, their driver informed them, and vowing them- selves to that particular height, in a mutual disgust of the city, they waxed friendlier. Woodseer soon had experience that he was receiving exceptional treatment from Lord Fleetwood, whose man-ser- vant was on the steps of the hotel in Salzberg on the look-out for his master. THE AMAZING MARRIAGE 245 Sir Meeson has been getting im- patient, my lord, said the man. Sir Meeson Corby appeared; Lord Fleetwood cut him short: You are in a hurry; go at once, dont wait for me; I join you in Baden. Do me the favor to eat with me, he turned to Wood- seer. And here, Corby; tell the Countess I have a friend to bear me company, and there is to be an extra bed-room secured at her hoteL That swinery of a place she insists on visit- ing is usually crammed. With you there, he turned to Woodseer, I might find it agreeable. You can take my man, Corby; I shall not want the fellow. Positively, my dear Fleetwood, you know, Sir Meeson expostulated, I am under orders; I dont see howI really cant go on without you. Please yourself. This gentleman is my friend, Mr. Woodseer. Sir Meeson Corby was a plump little beau of forty, at war with his fat, and accounting his tight blue tail-coat and brass buttons a victory. His tightness made his fatness elastic ; he looked wound up for a dance, and could hard- ly hold on a leg; but the presentation of a creature in a battered hat and soiled garments, carrying a tattered knapsack half slung, lank and with dis- prderly locks, as the Earl of Fleet- woods friendthe friend of the wealth- iest nobleman of Great Britain ! fixed him in a perked attitude of inquiry that exhausted interrogatives. Wood- seer passed him, slouching a bow. The circular stare of Sir Meeson seemed unable to contract. He directed it on Lord Fleetwood, and was then re- minded that he dealt with prickles. Where hav~ you been? he said, blinking to refresh his eyeballs. I missed you, I ran round and round the town after you. I have been to the lake. Queer fish there! Sir Meeson dropped a glance on the capture. Lord Fleetwood took Woodseers arm. Do you eat with us? he asked the bar- onet, who had stayed his eating for an hour and was famished; so they strode to the dining-room. Do you wash, sir, before eating? Sir Meeson said to Woodseer, caressing VOL. XVIL22 his hands when they had seated them- selves at table. Appliances are to be found in this hotel. Soap? said Lord Fleetwood. Soapat least, in my chamber. Fetch it, please.~~ Sir Meeson, of course, could not hear that. He requested the waiter to show the gentleman to a room. Lord Fleetwood ordered the waiter to bring a hand - basin and towel. Were off directly and must eat at once, he said. Soapsoap! my dear Fleetwood, Sir Meeson knuckled on the table, to impress it that his appetite and his gorge demanded a thorough cleansing of those fingers, if they were to sit at one board. Let the waiter fetch it. The soap is in my portmanteau. You spoke of it as a necessity for this gentleman and me. Bring it. Woodseer had risen. Lord Fleet- wood motioned him down. He kept an eye dead as marble on Corby, who muttered: You cant mean that you ask me? But the alternative was forced on Sir Meeson by too strong a power of the implacable eye. He knew Lord Fleetwood. Men privileged to attend on him were dogs to the flinty young despot. He protested, shrugged, sat fast, and sprang up, remarking, that he went with all the willingness imagina- ble. It could not have been the first occasion. He was affecting the qxcessively ob sequious when he came back bearing his metal soap-case. The performance was checked by another look, solid as shot, and as quick. Woodseer, who would have done for Sir Meeson Corby or Lazarus what had been done for him, thought little of the service, but so in- tense a peremptoriness in the look of an eye made him uncomfortable in his own sense of independence. The humblest citizen of a free nation has that warning at some notable ex- hibition of tyranny in a neighboring State; it acts like a concussion of the air. Lord Fleetwood led an easy dialogue with him and Sir Meeson on their dif- ferent themes immediately, which was not less impressive to an observer. He 246 THE AMAZING MARRIAGE listened to Sir Meesons entreaties that he should start at once for Baden, and appeared to pity the poor gentleman condemned by his office to hang about him in terror of his liege ladys dis- pleasure. Presently, near the close of the meal, drawing a ring from his finger, he handed it to the baronet, and said: Give her that. She knows I shall fol- low that. He added to himself, I shall have ill luck till I have it back, and he asked Woodseer whether he put faith in the virtue of talismans. I have never possessed one, said Woodseer, with his natural frankness; it would have gone long before this for a nights lodging. Sir Meeson heard him, and instantly urged Lord Fleetwood not to think of dismissing his man Francis. I beg it, Fleetwood. I beg you to take the man. Her ladyship will receive me badly, ring or no ring, if she hears of your being left alone. I really cant present my- self. I shall not go, not go. I say no. Stay, then, said Fleetwood. He turned to Woodseer with an air of deference, and requested the privilege of glancing at his note-book again, and scanned it closely at one of the pages. I believe it true, he cried; I had a half recollection of it. I have had some such thought, but never could put in words. You have thought deeply. That is only a surface thought, or common reflection, said Woodseer. Sir Meeson stared at them in turn. Judging by their talk and the effect produced on the earl, he took Woodseer for a sort of conjurer. It was his duty to utter a warning. He drew Fleetwood aside. A word was whispered, and they broke asunder with a snap. Francis was called. His master gave him his keys, and de- spatched him into the town to purchase a knapsack or bag for the outfit of a jolly beggar. The prospect delighted Lord Fleetwood. He sang notes from the deep chest, flaunting like an opera brigand, and contemplating his wretch- ed satellites indecision with brimming amusement. Remember, we fight for our money. I carry mine, he said to Woodseer. Wouldnt it be expedient, Fleet- wood. . . . Sir Meeson suggest- ed a treasurer in the person of himself. Not a form, Corby. I should find it all gambled away at Baden. But Im not Abrane; Im not Abrane! I never play; I have no ma- nianone. It would be prudent, Fleet- wood. The slightest bulging of a pocket would show on you, Corby; and they would fall on you and pluck you to have another fling. Id rather my mon- ey should go. to a knight of the road than feed that dragons jaw. I could surrender to him with some satisfaction after a trial of the better man. Ive tried those tables, and couldnt stir a pulse. Have you? It had to be explained to Woodseer what was meant by trying the tables. Not I, said he, in strong contempt of the queer allurement. Lord Fleetwood studied him half a minute, as if measuring and discard- ing a suspicion of the young philoso- phers possible weakness under tempta- tion. Sir Meeson Corby accompanied the oddly assorted couple through the town and a short way along the road to the mountain, for the sake of quieting his conscience upon the subject of his leav- ing them together. He could not have sat down a second time at a table with those hands. He said ithe could not have done the thing. So the best he could do was to let them go. Like many of his class, he had a mind open to the effect of striking contrasts, and the spectacle of the wealthiest nobleman in Great Britain tramping the road pack on back, with a young nobody for his comrade, a total stranger, who might be a cutthroat, and was avowedly next to a mendicant, charged him with quantities of interjectory matter, that, he caught himself firing to the foreign people on the highway. Hundreds of thousands a year, and tramping it like a pedlar, with a beggar for his friend! He would have given something to have an English ear near him as he watched them rounding under the mountain they were about to climb. (To be continued.) SOME OLD LETTERS HE following letters were written by Ephraim Will- ~Elijah, jams to his youngest son, between the 16th day of January, 1749, 0.5., and the 30th day of March, 1754. They were found by me recently in a chest containing papers of the last cen- tury, in an old family garret where they had been lying entirely undisturbed since 1837; having been at that time removed from a still older family gar- ret. They were in a state of perfect pres- ervation, folded as originally sent and received, each indorsed CoL E. Will- iams i~ the handwriting of the recipi- ent, and snugly tied up together with a buckskin thong. Owing to not hav- ing been much handled there were no worn edges or folds, and the ink was quite black, though the paper was yel- loW with age. They are neither political, gossipy, nor autobiographic, as so many pub- lished collections have been. Written by a plain New England puritan farmer, to his sona student in Princeton College they are published as some indication of the simple, monotonous life of those days; days when was being laid the foundation of character and of com- munities which have produced such re- sults in our magnificent empire. Ephraim Williams, the writer, was descended from Robert Williams, who early immigrated from England and settled in Roxbury, Massachusetts Bay Province. The family is a well-known one in New England. The branch so distinguished in Deerfield history is from this ancestor; as was William Williams of Connecticut, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independ- ence. IJuder Jonathan Beleher, provincial governor of Massachusetts, an Indian and Mission School was established in the western part of the territory lying next the Dutch settlements on the Hudson River. John Serjeant, tutor in Yale College, went as teacher and pastor among these aborigines (con tinning as such until his death there in 1749); and Ephraim Williams was one of those sent by the Governmentun- der treaty with the Indiansto reside among them, to anglicize and civilize, and to teach agriculture. This latter removed with his family from Newton (which his father had helped to settle, and where he himself was born in 1691) to Stockbridge in 1737. Stockbridge communicated in those days with the rest of the world only by trails to the Connecticut and Hudson valleys; and its isolation is well de- scribed in the words of a map then in- dicating its location a wilderness of forty miles on the east, a wood of twenty miles on the west, and a great and terrible wilderness on the north of several hundred miles in extent which reached to Canada. It was through this forest on the north that the French and their Indian allies came to harry the English settle- ments; settlements then feebly pro- tected by a chain of rude frontier forts lying along the line of the Hoosack River and valley. These forts were com- manded by Colonel Ephraim Williams eldest son of this writer; the same who founded Williams College, and who led the Massachusetts troops in the Johnson Expedition against Crown Point in 1755, and was killed in the fight with Dieskau at the head of Lake George. In this remote spot the writer lived and labored till failing strength un~ fitted him for active work; then he re- moved to the more settled Connecticut Valley, where one of his sons was a practising physician, and died at Deer- field in 1754. He had baptized his children Eph- raim, Thomas, Abigail, Josiah, Judith, Elizabeth, and Elijah; from which may be indicated his religious tendencies so much more markedly shown in the tone of these letters. His eldest daughter, Abigail, became the wife of the missionary John Serjeant; and after his death she married Brigadier-Gen- eral Joseph Dwight, distinguished alike

James F. Dwight Dwight, James F. Some Old Letters 247-261

SOME OLD LETTERS HE following letters were written by Ephraim Will- ~Elijah, jams to his youngest son, between the 16th day of January, 1749, 0.5., and the 30th day of March, 1754. They were found by me recently in a chest containing papers of the last cen- tury, in an old family garret where they had been lying entirely undisturbed since 1837; having been at that time removed from a still older family gar- ret. They were in a state of perfect pres- ervation, folded as originally sent and received, each indorsed CoL E. Will- iams i~ the handwriting of the recipi- ent, and snugly tied up together with a buckskin thong. Owing to not hav- ing been much handled there were no worn edges or folds, and the ink was quite black, though the paper was yel- loW with age. They are neither political, gossipy, nor autobiographic, as so many pub- lished collections have been. Written by a plain New England puritan farmer, to his sona student in Princeton College they are published as some indication of the simple, monotonous life of those days; days when was being laid the foundation of character and of com- munities which have produced such re- sults in our magnificent empire. Ephraim Williams, the writer, was descended from Robert Williams, who early immigrated from England and settled in Roxbury, Massachusetts Bay Province. The family is a well-known one in New England. The branch so distinguished in Deerfield history is from this ancestor; as was William Williams of Connecticut, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independ- ence. IJuder Jonathan Beleher, provincial governor of Massachusetts, an Indian and Mission School was established in the western part of the territory lying next the Dutch settlements on the Hudson River. John Serjeant, tutor in Yale College, went as teacher and pastor among these aborigines (con tinning as such until his death there in 1749); and Ephraim Williams was one of those sent by the Governmentun- der treaty with the Indiansto reside among them, to anglicize and civilize, and to teach agriculture. This latter removed with his family from Newton (which his father had helped to settle, and where he himself was born in 1691) to Stockbridge in 1737. Stockbridge communicated in those days with the rest of the world only by trails to the Connecticut and Hudson valleys; and its isolation is well de- scribed in the words of a map then in- dicating its location a wilderness of forty miles on the east, a wood of twenty miles on the west, and a great and terrible wilderness on the north of several hundred miles in extent which reached to Canada. It was through this forest on the north that the French and their Indian allies came to harry the English settle- ments; settlements then feebly pro- tected by a chain of rude frontier forts lying along the line of the Hoosack River and valley. These forts were com- manded by Colonel Ephraim Williams eldest son of this writer; the same who founded Williams College, and who led the Massachusetts troops in the Johnson Expedition against Crown Point in 1755, and was killed in the fight with Dieskau at the head of Lake George. In this remote spot the writer lived and labored till failing strength un~ fitted him for active work; then he re- moved to the more settled Connecticut Valley, where one of his sons was a practising physician, and died at Deer- field in 1754. He had baptized his children Eph- raim, Thomas, Abigail, Josiah, Judith, Elizabeth, and Elijah; from which may be indicated his religious tendencies so much more markedly shown in the tone of these letters. His eldest daughter, Abigail, became the wife of the missionary John Serjeant; and after his death she married Brigadier-Gen- eral Joseph Dwight, distinguished alike 248 SOME OLD LETTERS in the military ~nd judicial history of the colony. From this daughter have descended noted families of Western Massachusetts. The son Elijah(Benjamin of the flock), to whom these letters were written, had been sent to the recently established Princeton College, where he pursued his course under President Aaron Burr (then at Newark), whither most of these letters were sent. After graduation he returned to Stockbridge, engaged extensively in farming, min- ing, and milling. He established the iron works at West Stockbridge, and opened the first marble quarries there; was one of the original proprietors in the settlement of Lenox and Richmond; became a prominent citizen of Berk- shire County, and died there in 1815 aged eighty-two. I can only surmise what influence these letters had in forming the char- acter of the young Elijah; possibly not more than fathers letters usually have on collegiate sons. My impression is based upon many contemporaneous pa- persthat he was of strong and sturdy character, and of great executive abil- ity. It appears that at times he had conflicts with the church (of which Jonathan Edwards had been minister), in attempts toward his religious dis- cipline; also that he was arrested and imprisoned at Boston, during the Rev- I To MR ELIJAH WILLIAMS IN NEW-ARK AT ME PRESIDENT BURR STOCKBRIDGE JanY 16- 1749. DEAR CHILD I have been from home ever since the 13th of novhr last, returned last friday evening; a long and very ex- pensive Jorney to Boston indeed, but have got Stockbridge affairs pretty well Settled: and expected to have heard from you on my arrival at home, but have not to my great Sur- prise: hopt you woold have embract olution, for alleged complicity in a tory plot. In both which matters he came off victor. These letters whose religious for- mulas suggest the hebraistic thoughts of the writerwere sent as occasion permitted; many times through the forest to the Hudson River, where Capt funda took them in his sloop to New York and left them with Mr. Buckee at Whitehall to be forwarded as opportunity was had. I judge by comparison of dates that one month was not an unusual time for corre- spondence. The remarkable spelling speaks for itself. It is variable (to say the least), after the manner of even educated peo- ple in those days; and quite uncertain, save in its phonetic character. As to the punctuation, that is reasonably past reproduction. Periods, commas, colons, dots, dashes, and other marks are so rife and so irregular in use that I have given up all idea of correctly exhibiting them (save in a few instances where the original is preserved in order to show the unique style) and have gener- ally left only what I thought would best convey the ideas of the writer. The reader will therefore please fol- low the instructions of Lord Timothy Dexter, and imagine some pages of punctuation marks to follow, then pepper to suit yourself. JAMES F. DWIGHT. all oppertunities to have let us heard from you and of your circumstances: I hope you will not faill to write by your Brother: and also to improve all other oppertunities to let us know how you are and whether you make good proficiency or not: I am well pleasd ~ your compliance in going to New-ark since my going to Cambridge, and am told that I have acted the most prud- ent part, even by the best Judges. Mr Billings and Mad send their Love to you & he intends to come & see you next Commencement; you must therefore know of the Pressident when & where it will be, & let me know as soon as you can. I hope you will wisely Redeem & improve time, for both your Temporal & Spiritual advan SOME OLD LETTERS 249 tages, for time goes on Swift wings and once lost can never be recoverd: and among other things I ernestly de- sire you to take pains to learn to Sing, that you may on all ocations awake your Glory to praise God & cCary respectfully to all, and especially pay the most dutifull regards to the iRevd President and let him pertake in all of- fices of love & Service ; this will win his love and ingage him in all possible acts of friendshyp to you; and indeav- or to win the love of boath tutors and all fellow Pupils, but above all get and keep in good terms with God & daily renew the dedication of your Selfe to be for him and him alone, let Secret Prayer be your constant prac- tice and great delight and may a gra- cious God, here, accept, and Bless you. I coold get no money to send you but hope to do it early in the Spring. your mother sisters and friends Joyn with me in sending kind love to you these from your affectionate father EPHm WILLIAMS II STOcKBRIDGE March 15 1749 j 50 DEAR CHILD I write principlely to let you know of my Indisposition, having been confind ever since I came from Boston; and now Scarce able to set up and write these few lines: am full of Paternal Concern for your wellfare and best good. Intreet and advise and charge you to improve your time to the best ad- vantage for Body & Soul. now is your day to work in, dont neglect it. time is flying on Swift wings and the past hour can never be recald: be diligent in your Studycs and I pray God bless and smile on you in them & give you abbility to make a Laudable proficiency in learn- ing: endeavor to Excell, coppy after the best patterns: endeavor by your Courteous Carriage and dutifull behav- iour to win the affections of all about you in and according to the Severall re- lations in which they stand; especially let the worthy Pressident have all pos- sible Respeetfull IRegards paid him, and be allways ready to apply to him for Instruction and advice, and thankfull for all you receive: that will Ingage his affections and ready assistance which will be of great Service, one word in your favour from him may be by and by of vast and unknown Service to you. Shun vice in every Shape and every thing leading to it, especially bad com- pany: (it is an old Saying a person is known by his company) a Stain or blot in your Charracter may be Soon got that will hardly ever wear out. and a good name is as presious ointment which spreads a wide perfume. he that walks with the wise shall be wise says Solo- men but a companion of fools shall be destroyd: dont indulge any diversion that tends to bring a bliinish. cards are what you have I hope been con- viuct. are attended with temtations not to be hazarded by those who are obligd to Shun all apperance of eviL I beg of you to learn the rules of Singing if possible, that so you may freequently wake up your Glory, I mean your Tongue to praise God. I am rejoyct to hear so well of your profici- ency by the hand of the pressident. give him no ocation to retract his good op- pinion but rather to strengthin him in it. I hope to send you wherewith to answer the demands on you there. Sometime in may if possible. I have mislaid your Letter: desire you would write again directly and let me know once more when and where the commencement will be for I have forgot what you said about it: shod. there be a short vacanncy this Spring improve it to getting forward while others may be trifling; and at com- mencement visitt us if God continue Life and health. Daily ply the throne of Grace for pardon, Grace, & every- thing you need for this & the next Life: go to Christ as an allsufilcient fountain of all good; get an Intrest in his fa- vour, then you are happy & Safe, with- out it most miserable. Constantly ask his assistance and Blessing on your Studies, that is the most likely way to Excell. this do in the exercise of faith and then you may humbly hope for ac- ceptance & a Blessing and have many gracious promises to incourage your hope: it is wisdoms voice they that Seek me early shall find me: and God 250 SOME OLD LETTERS never said to any of Jacobs Seed Seek ye me in vain. I pray God keep and Bless you and abuntantly fit you to do Service for him in the world when I shall be Silent in the Dust. we all Send our Love to you & Respects love & Service to all iRelle- tives & friends. I desire a line by the first oppertunity in which let me know the Several particulars of your weekly charge, that So I may conduct accord- ingly. there will be no difficulty now of Sending to Cap. fundas at any time: and I intreet you to mend your Spel- ling: practice and Care will soon do it; Spare no pains call in the assistance of an intimate friend, and every Spare minute may be improved Your affectionate father EPHTM XVILLIAMs III June ye 10 1750 DEAR CHILD: I have but a moment to write; and first, fault you for omiting your Duty by your Brother. I am glad to here of your having got so into favr with the President, pray dont do any thing to forfit it but use all possible endeavors to increas it dont forget these cautions: and if pos- sible make proficiency in spelling writting & Singing: but above all se- cure an instrest in Christ and labour after a solid and well founded hope and assurance of it. I send you Dr. Watts orthodoxy and Charity~~Do.~Colemans Life there is very good things to be got in boath I also send you Me Wrights treatise on Being Born again and I Desire and charge you to read it frequently; it is an excelent Directory and the rules plain and practicable: and observe well his councils and cautions in his excel- lent discourse in the close from Exodus 23 v 2. And may God teach you to proffitt by all advantages for your Souls good; and besure to pray daily for his Spirritt to sanctifie all meens for your everlasting good, comfort, and Joy, both now and forever. Mine with your mothers Love to you, and Service to all friends pertien- lerly to all Rellitives & c Your very affectionate father EPHm WILLIAMS P. 5. write by Mr. Woodbridge Iv STOCKERIDGE: March: 13th 1751 DEAR CHILD These are to let you know I have had a very uncomfortable winter not one really well day; but am I hope through the goodness of God something better th now so poorly it is with some difficulty that I write, my advice is that you Improve all the advantages you now enjoy to prepare your selfe to do Service for God in your day and generation. now is the time, your ad- vantages are great and your time at the school w111 be soon out: above all things keep close to God and let it be your constant daily practice to seek the Blessing of Heaven and all needful as- sistance from above, to Inable you to make proficiency in divine knowledge as well as Humane: give up and de- vote your selfe Soul and Body to God and beg ernestly his assistance protec- tion and Blessing in all your ways and undertakings. wait on Christ in all His Holy ordinances: God has tied us to ~ not himselfe. leave nothing undone you shall wish you had done when Death comes. be allways actually as well as Habbittualy prepard for the coming and Kingdom of Christ, and then you may go on your way allways Rejoicing in hopes of the Glory of God I woold Intreet you to endeavor daily to Improve your selfe in writting and Spelling, they are very ornimentall to a scholler; and the want of them is an exceeding great Blemish. I also doubt not you may with pains learn to bear a part in vocall musick; if your voice dont agree so well with the Ten- nor learn the Base, it is a Gracefull part of musick. as for your other studies the Rev~ President will best di- rect you: besure endeavor by your SOME OLD LETTERS 251 EpHrn WILLIAMS To MR. ELIJAH WILLIAMS AT NEWARK IN NEWJERSEY TO BE LEFT AT MR BUCKEE IN WHITE HALL: NEWYORK whole Conduct to gain in degrees of and all of us I Subscribe your very af- his affection by all possible dutifull fectionate father Cariage towards him: one line of Bee- omendation from him may some time or other be of vast Service to you: Re- member it. as to company, Shun all V that is prophane and vicious as you woold the infection of the Plague: and Remember the Aphorisme of the wisest of Israels Kings (viz) He that walketh with the wise shall be wise but a com- panion of fools shall be destroyed. I have wrote to Capt Funda of Clay- erick to send you ten Pounds New York currancy as soon as possible, to Mr. Buckee at New York. to whome you must write, desiring him to deliver it to whome you shall direct him so soon as he shall Receive it. Your Brother Josiahs wife brings this, dont fail of sending me a Letter by her at her Return; and lett me then hear of your wellfare and also in- forme me of your present Debts. I hope Co Williams * will Return from England in a short time, by whome probbably I may be int~bled to do fur- ther for you. let me know where you Board: I shod be very glad if you could get in with the President am sat- tisfied it might be greatly for your ad- vantage I woold not have you think of com- ing to visitt us till the Commencement it is so far and so chargeable: improve the vaguancy to the Best advantage, and Redeem time so that you may be Indulgd longer in your visitt at the Commencement which will be very pleasing to the President as also to me. Capt Kellogg will probbabely come or send one or two Indian Boys t sometime in April or beginning of may; if they come do all in your power to keep them easey and contented & advise others to do so; dont let the least occation of of- fence be offerd them at any time: ap- pear their friend on all occations. I wish you the protection and guidence of Heven in all your Lawfull ways: may God Bless you & make you a Blessing in your day and Generation. with herty Love from me your mother * This coil Williams was his eldest son: and a great traveller and sailor for those days. J. F. ID. t These Indian boys were doubtless some of the scholars from the mission school referred to in the intro duction. J. F. ID. DEAR CHILD, I now write by the way of Albany hoping for a speedy conveyance : I woold inform you that. Capt fonda Promist Capt Kellogg some weaks ago he woold send you ten Pounds new- york curancy, which he then owed me; I hope you have got it before now; if not, or if you have, let me hear from you speedily: I very much wonder you shod be so negligent of your duty in wrighting to me. I did not think you could have omitted it for such a length of time: if you neglect your duty in other Regards in like manner, espe- cially in the Concerns of your Soul; your case is deplorable. I once more solemnly charge you to keep close with God. in daily Secret prayer, from which you may reap abundance of comfort; the neglect of which will bring you much sorrow and bitter repentance if God ever shew you mercy. avoid bad Company; love them that behave welL incourage vertuous and manly actions, and venerate Piety wherever it appears. make a wise Improvement of time. Emulate to excell in learning, and dont forget former admonitions in many things I have cautioned you about; and besure let me have the Comfort of hearing well of you: and I pray God Bless you & qualify you for doing eminent Service for him when I shall Sleep with my fathers. we all Joyn in sending our kind love to you and are through the Goodnes of God prety well. Mr Edwards is to be reinstald here How many inhabitants living in New York City to-day know where, or what, is Whitehall. Most of them would probably say: Why! at the head of Lake Champlain. J. F. D. 252 SOME OLD LETTERS the Second thirsday in August next.* Give my respects to Mr President and excuse my not writting to him now, my hurry woold not permitt. my Service to all friends from your affectionate father EPHm WILLIAMS STOCKBRIDGE July 7 1751 VI To M~ ELIJAH WILLIAMs AT NEWARK NEW-JERSEY P~ FAY R OF MR WRIGHT STOCKERIDGE Augt 26 1751 DEAR CHILD, Yours by Mr Wright is come safe to hand; much rejoyce to hear of your welifare. I Bless God for it. am Ex- ceeding sorry to hear of Mrs Banks Death, a loud call to all the fammily in perticular to prepare for sudden Death: I expect you will be obligd to look new quarters & Indeed was very Sorry when I heard you was in a Pub- lick House. now if it be possible get in with the president; I have wrote to him to oblidge me & you. do you Sec- ond it forwith and be importunate, with great Submission for Admission. Seek and take his advice in every case wherein you think it may promote your proficiency in lerning: and besure seek it in your Soul Concerns. I am in a very poor State of health have had last weak a most severe turn of the Asthma: am scarce able to sett up to wright this short line. I desire you to come on Board for New-york the day after Commenement to see me once more, it may be it will be the last oppertunity. Send you 3 dollers by Mr Wright to pay your way along, will endeavor to gett a Horse to Capt fondas by then you Reach there. I am not able to In- * Jonathan Edwards was the successor of John 5cr- jeant, coming to Stockbridge after the disruption at Northampton. He resided and preached and wrote there nntil 1758, when he went to Princeton to succeed his son- in-law, Aaron Bnrr, as president of the college. large, refer you to Mr Wright for any- thing further. We all send our kind Love to you & Service to friends. from your most affectionate father EPHm WILLIAMS P.S.Order matters so as to get to york the day after Coint if possible. VII STOCKERIDGE JanY 27 1752. DEAR CHILD, I gladly Imbrace this oppertun- ity by your Brother to write you a short line to lett you know through the great goodness of God I am still mending as to my Health; wishing above all things my Soul may prosper and be in helth; and may that be your dayly care and prayer: and do remem- ber that they who seek God early have a gracious Promise of finding him sure- ly: give up your selfe to him daily and wait on him for his Blessing in all the ways of his appointment, draw neer to Christ at his Holy Table, it is a most scandalous neg].ect of multitudes to omit it: and I desire you woold let me know by a letter by your Brother, how much money you have got at New-York on Capt Kelloggs account, and how far that is likely to go. if you want any Books that the President thinks proper Buy them by means of his assistance: shall I hope be soon able to pay him again shod you have any need to apply to him for any. I hear last night 2d Hand from coz Elisha Williams of Weathersfield that his father is gott safe to Jamaca or An- tego; had a very long and dangerous voyage, and the Ships crew perishd with famine had not they been Relieved and Supported out of his own Private Stores. perswade your Brother not to Buy any land in the Jerseys if you can possibly; I have laid a vastly better scheem for him hear: mine and your mothers & your sisters kind Love to you, and Respects to the President and sallutations to all friends. from your very affectionate father EPHM WILLIAMS. SOME OLD LETTERS 253 VIII To MR. ELIJAH WILLIAMS AT NEWARK IN THE JERSEYS To THE CARE OF CAPT FONDA* TO FORWARD TO Mr ABRAHAM BUCKER IN NEW YORK FOR SPEEDY CONVEYANCE & CCCC STOCKBRIDGE FebY, 13 1752. DEAR CHILD I rejoyce to hear of you welifare and pray God continue your Health and give you wisdom and Grace to Improve it for His Glory and your and friends Joy & Comfort. I under- stand by your Brother what a sad Com- plaint Madtm Wheeler makes of her Son Timothys Conduct: and how wickedly he imposd on her and Cap Wheeler: I desire you to go to her and find out whether she woold be willing and is de- sirous to inform me of the whole of his management and also how much the things were worth that were unjustly taken from Her, with a desire to me to discourse him on the affair: I believe I can make him ashamed of it and do her Justice, he is in a good capacity now to do it. lett the whole case be fully laid open & what evidence can be sent & Madm Wheeler sign it with her own Hand. give my Humble Service to her & tell her I heard of it before but could not believe it till now. I suppose Capt Wheeler and all on that side the question will assist: gett me Entelli- gence as soon as possible, I will serve her all in my power: if she dont act freely drop it I will have nothing other- wise to do with the Cause & c. Blessed be God I am growing better I hope. will the reader please go with this letter from the frontier home of E. W. over to the Hudson River through the forest, two days trip, to Claverack. Then see Captain Funda and ask him to take it along next time he sails his sloop down the river, and leave it at Buckees a house of call at the (now) Battery. There it will he stuck up over the mantelpiece, till some one happens to he going over to the Jerseys: to whom Buckee Prithee take this letter to the young Englishman will- iams residing with the scholar Burr at New-ark. Thats the way it was done doubtless. In 1893 our Post-office Department expended $51,074,- 104, part of which was used in carrying your letter from whitehall to the Fort at Beriugs StraitsT,000 miles per hapsfor two cents. J. F. D. We all send our kind love to you & sallute all friends Your affectionate fathr E WILLIAMS P.s. thank Mad Wheeler kindly for the Receits she sent me, let me here from you as soon as may be. Ix STOCKERIDGE April 12 1752. DEAR CHILD I cant forbear writing to you hope- ing they will be of some service th they bring me no present Returns. We now send you to mr Buckees by mr Timothy Hopkins 3 Shirts & 2 pair of Stockings; if you want thred Stock- ings you must buy them: besure get your things carefully Repaired in Sea- son. (an old saying) A Stitch in tilne saves nine: if you want money lett me know it. I look for Co1 Williams Home from Antigua every day, hope to be able to answer your demands soon after. Prthe Remember not to Loose a minutes time you can possibly Spare in perfecting your Selfe in Spelling wrighting & Singing: these things are Essentials in a Scholler, and greatly ornimental, especially the 2 former: a Scholer and poor writer & poor Speller is a perfect Solecism. I hope the Presi- dent is not wanting in giving you his friendly instructions; but above all things look to God for a Capacity to learn & a Heart & wisdom to improve all advantages while you are favourd with them. Take time by the forelock, it is bald behind; one Hour lost can neve be Recovd: our time is very short our work very Great & our account will be very Strict, & our sentence will be ereversable: ply the throne of Grace for all you want, Erly Importunate seekers are likely to be sure finders. Walke with the wise, be not a Compan- ion of fools; be not wise in your own Eyes, be Humble watchfull prayerfulL Remember before Honour is Humility. let me hear from you by Mr Hopkins if possible & c We all send our love to you. these come from your most affectionate & concernd Father EPHm WILLIAMS 254 SOME OLD LETTERS x (No date, but probably written in May, 1752.) DEAR CHILD I have to inform you that on Lords day the first of this Instant I was all in a moments time seized with a fit of the numb Palsy which deprived me of all sence & strength on my left side from head to foot and all most deprived me of Speech for some time; but by the Blessing of God on the meens used I am so far Recovered as to be able to sett up and write a little & walk the room some little matter: may the thretning Providence be sanctified, to me & to you, to quicken us in our preparations for a sudden Death: this is of Infinite Concernment, our life is a vapour that appears for a little time & than vanishes away. give your Selfe first to the Lord and then to his Church & People according to the will of God. that is the way to Comfort here & happiness hereafter. I must inform you for may be this may be the Last oppertunity I may have to Instruct and Caution you for your best Good, that I have observd you have made but poor proficiency in writting & Spelling; and in Reading even in the Bible: you are exceeding apt to miss words and dont observe your Stops: and you Read too fast: I beg of you to take the utmost pains to mend all those Defects: it will be es- teemd an unpardonable crime to come out of Colledge: as you certainly will: so resembling one that never saw one unless you double your diligence, in amending those things: I know not what proficiency you make in other parts of learning but if they are of a Peice with what I have mentioned: and you dont amend: it woold have have been better and more especially for you that you had never gon to Col- ledge: a schollar: that can neither write nor Spell nor Read: is a terrible Solecism: I intreet you will take all possible pains to fitt and quallifie your Selfe so as to be an Honour to your family: to your Selfe & a great Bless- ing in the world in whatever Station divine Providence may fix you; and further I intreet you to learn to Sing: tho it is not so nattural as could be wisht, yet I knowe divers persons that could not sing much better than dumb persons that by taking pains have lernt to sing one part: either tenor or Base. and do it very gracefully: and that that has been done by others under like disadvantages may be done by you: your Brother Ephtm earnestly desires you woold mend in every arti- cle mentioned in the Premises or he says your Sisters will be the Better Schollarsbut care and pains and dilli- gence will surmount every difficulty: emaginable. The time now before you at Colledge will presently be out: and then the great advantages you now in- joy for these things will end in great measure. So that it is now or perhaps never with you. Your desirable Cozen John Williams of hatfield was sudenly carried out of the world by the nervous feevor and the Co his father in an exceedingly Low state: and your Brother Thomas the last we heard from him exceeding dangerously sick & his life allmost des- paired of & what may be the next news God only knows. we are every moment liable to Death in unthot of ways: your Brother got an unhappy fall from his Horse, which begun his Illuesstho he was all most recovered got out to soon and got cold and emediately Rclapst. it is a month since we have heard from him: want sadly to hear and am all most afraid. Your Brother Josiah has sold his farm over the River for near four and seventy hundred Pounds and is going back again over the Pond. and Josiah Jones is going also: and we are going to Build a sawmill just by their doars there now directly : your Sister Josiahs wife has a great mind her Brother Thomas should come and settle close by them: the land that we have contrived for him to have if he will come is one Hundred acres Joyning on your Brothers, their Housis may be within 3 or 4 score Rod of each other: and the Hundred acres will not cost above one hundred Pounds their cur- rancy: and just by the sawmill. & a Black Smith they will want forth with: among them. for there is like to be 6 or 7 fammily very soon. I desire you woold discourse with some of your SOME OLD LETTERS 255 uncle days folks. and let them know these things: if you can, see Thomas him selfe : I suppose it will be greatly for his advantage tho it be 3 mile from meeting, it is a good level Road not one Hill in it: and it will be handy to where the meeting House must stand in that society over the Pond, which will not be long first; and the sawmill so neer it will be easy building: and there is the best of timber on the Land for Building. if Mr day or any of his Brothers have a mind to come or if he cant they must convey a letter to your Brother or to me as soon as possible for there are persons anough stand ready to buy but we will let nobody have the land till we hear from them. you had best go to Brother days as soon as may be and read him this parregraff, We all send you & Brother days family our kind Love & Mr Jonathan Sergt & family and Sister Coopers with salluta- tions to all friends, pray get us an an- swer to these Requests, as soon as may be and let me know if you have got the money that Capt Kellog wrote for & c I am your very affectionate father EPHm WILLIAMS P.5.I woold have wrote to Brother day & Mr Sergt do you tell them but I am not able the doctors will not allow me to write nor Read but a few minutes at a time : and the Berer is just going also: tell Mr Sergt I expect to send him his money for Mrs. Sergts Tomb-Stone in a very short time if an oppertunity presents for safe conveyance & c. EW s XI STOCKBRIDGE June 17 1752 DEAR CHILD I with much difficulty wright you a few lines Just to let you know, that my Health & Strength seem to Decline Daily, and I dont Expect to continue long here unless some Re- markable appearance of Heaven shoP Prevent: may a Gracious & merciful God prepare me for whatever his Holy will shall be concerning me. I desire to be Humbly waiting on God my Sal- vation for all things needful either for my Comfort here or my Happiness hereafter; it is also my earnest desire & Prayer to God to Bless you and make you a Blessing to inable & dispose you to Improve your time & pressent opper- tunities & advantages for boath Soul & body dilligently wisely & faithfully. now or never is the time to provide for Eternity, now or never is the only time to quallyfie your Selfe to serve God & your Generation: let me there- fore press you Husband well your tiffie, while you injoy such a preasious sea- son. not one past moment can ever be Recald. indeavor to perfect your Selfe in every thing that is likely to Serve your best Intrist. I desire you woold observe in your wrighting to make proper Distances between words: dont Blend your words together: & use your utmost endeavors to Spell well, consult all Rules likely to help you: & such words as Require it allways begin with a Cappitol Letter: it will much Grace your wrighting: try to mend your Hand in wrighting every day all op- pertunities you can possibly get to Consult Letters. observe Strictly Gen- tlemens meathod of wrighting and su- perseribing it may be of Service to you: you can scarce Conceive what a vast disadvantage it will be to leave the Col- ledg & not be able to write & Spell well: learn to write a pretty fine Hand as you may have ocation: as for other parts of learning I hope I need not say anithing: the Pressident will he tells me let you know anything you ask of him: and gladly Serve you all in his powr. never be backward in asking his advice: it may greatly Serve you hereafter. he tells me you have made a laudable proficiency the last year. may God inable you to go on & pros- per & Bless your Studycs. Seek to him. ply the throne of Grace Day & night & cease not till you have obtaind a well Grounded hope that you are safe in Christ that your Sins are frely par- dond & you are Sanctified & Justified in the name of the lord Jesus & by the Spirrit of God. See your own nothing- ness & utter unworthiness of any mercy. See your polution & vileness & cry mightily to God: for clensing by the Blood of Christ, and for his Holy Spirit to enlighten & Sanctify you & 256 SOME OLD LETTERS Confirm you daly more & more to his moral likeness & Image: there is but one thing that deserves our highest care & most Ardent desires, and that is we may answer the great End for which we were made; viz to glorify God & do all the good we possibly can to our fel- low men, while we live in the world. Carefully improve time precious time. when you cease from labour & other Studies, fill up your time in Reading meditation & Prayer and let your Heart be Jmployed as much as possible in di- vine thoughts and allways look up to Christ for strength & Grace to inable you to perform every duty of the Chris- tian life: beg his assistance in all things, he is a very libberall giver & never said to the Seed of Jacob Seek ye me in vain. & I pray God give you understanding in all things. Behave with all possible Respect to the Revd Pressident: he will sett you an example of all that is truly valluable: keep Com- pany with the wise & you will grow wiser. Shun bad Company as much as possible, they are only a pest to hu- inane society & ought to be carefully avoided: Conversation that will proffitt is realy valluable & such only is. I want to hear the Pressidents determi- nation as to his voyage to Great Brit- tam: let me hear from you by the first oppertunity, and as often as may be: be- sure write by madm Edwards: we are ~ presst all beside my selfe in some measure of Lady Helth & send our kind Love to you & pleases to salute the Pressident & all friends. Remember & practice the above precepts. and I pray God Bless them to your advantage & c from your c~refull & most affectionate Father EPHm WILLIAMs ELIJAH WILLIAMs XII STOcKERIDGE March 29 1753 DEAR CHILD, I have received your Letter of Feby: 28. 1753. with Joy, & Bless God to hear of your Health & Proficiency. I ob- serve you have mended much in your wrighting & Spelling, nevertheless you have left Room to Grow, therefore shall chearfully continue my Instruction to you & nd propose what Rule well ob- servd will be of Service to you; viz At- tend the Rules laid down in the youths Instrucktor in the English Tounge: from Dixon Bailey Owen and Strong: Printed at Boston 1746. I direct you to furnish your Selfe with one Speedily. you must not follow my Hand wright- ing for an Example, for I am apt to mistake: I never had but Common English Learning:, I was when young several winters under Capt Goddard master, he was a Excellent master, a good Speller & charming wrighter also fine Arithmetition. Kept School at Boston many years and once told me as he was once walking down King Street met Judge Davenport, who stopt a minute, and said Capt Goddard there is one word I have often seen in your writing which you all ways spell wrong; .5r your Servant; & he said he never forgot it in his life; I woud have en- largd but am not able. I beg of you to git the Book I directed you too, and spend some time Every day in Looking into it, let me have a speedy answer. I commend you to the Grace of God & remaln. yr affectionate father EPH WILLIAMs my Service to y0 Predt & his XIII STOCEBRIDGE June 4th 1753 DEAR CHILD I gladly imbrace every oppertunity to know how the State of my Helth stands, & that of friends. I have been seemingly growing better till a few days since a remarkable Providence hapend, by which I lost perhaps 2 quarts of Blood in about 24 Hours: but I hope it is Stopt; what will be the Event time will ReveaL I refer the Circumstances of this affair to il/Jr Badgers information & c It seems to me you a little forgett the 5th Commt in neglecting to write to me in my age & under such a complication of Bodily mallidies: it will not be but a little time SOME OLD LETTERS 257 before all Correspondence of this kind will cease for Ever & c; & this is the best Season for Speedy conveyance, there- fore improve it. Remember to Im- prove well present time, our all de- pends on it Respecting Boath time & Eternity: the Book of Sollomons wise Proverbs is an Excellent Peice to be dailly Read. I mean Some portion of it: and indevour to Treasure it up in your memorie & allways look to God for his blessing on it. It is perhaps as well adapted as any of the Sacred wrighting to make you wise to Salva- tion. I hertily wish I had made it my business in youth to have made it master of the whole, & perhaps my memorie was then able to have attaind to: it would have in Some measure quallified me to entertain Conversation the most proffitable on all most all oca- tions & c & c. But I trespass on my doctors direction in writting so much as this: therefore bid you farewelL Mercy & Truth be with you: Amen: If oppertunity present give my Duty to Govr Beleher & Lady: & inform his Excelency that Providence has forbid my writting more than 25 moneths, my Head will not bear Reading or writing & Tell if I dare presume to aske such favr it would be to Receive a short line from his Exelency & c & give my Regards to the President & his Spouse & sallutations to all friends perticculerly Sister Cooper & Mr Jonthar Sergt & Spouse and all sisters fammily. & I hope the money will infallibly Come at Comt We all send you our Loves: your sister dwights poorley. yours affectionately E. WILLIAM5. XIV (Addressed to Stockbridge) DEARFIELD Augt 14t1~ 1753. DEAR CHILDREN. (Viz) Elijah, Judith and Elizebeth, Williams. I hope I may live to see you again by Gods leave, but it very uncertain. For wheather I shall be able to take a Jorney to you & Return hear before Winter is quite uncertain, unless I shod gett helpe from a difficulty that yett re- mains. I was taken with a Pain in the Pitt of my stomach & through my body in left side down to my Hip; & Can not be free from it never since, night nor day: ever Breath I drow Effecs me: but 2 days past it is movd higher up near my sholder but still from my stomach to my back. unless that is movd I shall not be able to Ride. sbo4 it be so, I shall have a great desire to see Elijah before you go to the Jerseys before Commencement; if your mother can be spard to come here, so timely as you can, come with her. and I shall be very glad to se Elize hear before she returns to Weathersfield, which I per- ceive they trust she proposses to do shortly. I desire also Elijah will not enter into now new bargain with his Brother unless he will sell him the one Hundred & fifty-five acres of Land, and at the Price he took it, till I have an op- pertunity to see you. I have a great desire you shod go to Cambridge Col- ledg the winter coming I think fur- ther learning may prove more for your advantage than money or land but above all things Improve time to the best purposes: time is very short & very pressious. now is the accepted time and now is the day of Sallvation. and a very little time more may be in which your Eternity Depends. I must beg you to be close in your attendance on the Publick worshyp of God, & dayly seek God in your clossett: & Christ has sufficiently and graciously incouragd you so to do. I woold gladly inlarge but I cant stoop to wright it so hurts my stomach. the Grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with each one of you. Amen. My most affectionate Love I send you, & desire to hear from you seveal- ly by a Line & c from your most affectionate father ~p~tm WILLIAMs Ps.Judith I desire you to send me 2 good choice cheeses, one old one & one new, I will pay you to content for themI will send my leather bags to bring them in & c. EW s 258 SOME OLD LETTERS xv (Addressed to Stockbridge) SPRINGFIELD Sepbr 1 1753 DEAR CHILD I have iRecejyd yours the day before yesterday but have had no oppertunity to discourse with your Brother. never- theless I had rather you shod come Home than take in a stranger; if your Inclination is to manage the Farme you must either have an eye Steadely over the Servants otherwise it will come to nothing. I dont know what he means by leaving the Stock & negroes you dont know what Stock there is. I believe some of the young oxen at Massachusetts * he intends to sell at Hatfield, you had best look to that. and as to the negroes you had best agree what you must give for them in case you sell them when you please and buy other helpe unless they please and lett him know. if I shod not come back to live at Stockbridge, he is to Remember I must have an Equivelent for all my Privelidges. (viz), the House Room, a Horse allways kept, firewood fitted at the door, and allso Two acres of land at the door: all which will nndoubtdly be worth one Hundred Pounds pr year old tenor & c & c then there is & will be a great Charge to bring forward the farm forthwith, or it will be of small proffitt. and every Stroak Cutt on the farm will be more proffitt to him than to you when it returns into his Handespecially if the lease be short. the Swamp must be fiowd before winter. & there must be propprer sheads sett up before win- ter and more barn Room. all such things and necessary Charge of finish- ing the House will be his proffitt & ought to be at his Expence & cbut I cant on a Sudden & in my pressent Hurry do but little about it I believe you had need to be well advised & Counceld: wish Co~ Dwight t was to advise in the Case, he will be at Home anone: and I hope to see you before you finish any bargain: till I see you * This means Fort Massachnsetts, situate near Grey- lock Mountain and commanded by his Son coL E. wil liams. J. F. D. I His Son-in-law. you cant act nothing leagally till your of age & c; wheather you will not be oblidgd to go to the Jerseyes before your mother comes down I dont know but conclude you must & if so there will be time to Informe me further, be- fore anything further is compleated. dont be concernd at all with Collhoon: I can gett better helpe, he has no more Contrivence than a babe & cbut I wish you may be well directed & that the Smiles of Providence may allways attend you: & that above allthing your Soul may Prosper & be in Health & c In utmost Hurry from your Loveing father. EPHm WILLIAMS ELIJAH WILLIAMS XVI To MR ELIJAH WILLIAMS IN STOGEBEIDGE pR MRS GRAVES. DEERFIELD, Octobr 111753 DEAR CHILD I have but a minute to write in, but least what I sent by the way of Hoosuk shod fail, I would now tell you if it be possible gett buck wheat Straw of the Indians, you may for a trifle; it is high time to do it; and lay a good Cock Round each Tree; but dont lett the Straw come within two foot of the body of the trees least the mice bark the trees; in the spring of the year you may lay the Straw near the tree, it need not be renewed more than once in two or three year if you lay it about a foot thick at first, and about 7 or 8 feet Round from the tree. you Cant Con- ceive the benefitt of it, you never need to plow up your orchard any more in case you practice doing so: unless you do the orchard so directly your orchard will begin to decay forthwith. I am more sencible of the want of aples than perhaps you may be aware of. I have sent as farr as northfield & northampton and all the Towns Round to gett 6 Bar- rills of apples, & dont yet know I can gett any at all; so that you need not feer takeing too much pains about SOME OLD LETTERS 259 bringing on a good orchard. The In- dians and father Elias aliways IRais buck-wheet, and the straw Ilotts where it is thresht in the feild; you may all- ways gett a supply which I shod Esteem a great privilledge Tell your sisters they must send my things & your mothers things as you can gett oppertunity: if you send the things I wante seasonably to Poontoo- suk,* Co Bide will Bring my things when he comes down, which will be pretty soon. I hope you have gott some shrub for me, want it; it is a sickly time still with us & in the neigh- bouring Towns. Mr Williams of Had- ley very Dangerously sick if Living. I want to hear of your wellfare, for which I am ever concernd: I wish Elize could contrive to lett me see her as she goes to weathersileld, if she purposses to winter there. Co Dwight lodgd with us & Mr Quincy the last night but one; was then well, hoped to gett home next satturday night. Wee are in some comfortable measure of Health hear, I mean in your broth- ers fammily: lett me hear from you by the first oppertunity: mine with your mothers Love to all of you. wishing you all Happiness hear and Eternall Happiness & Blessedness in the Come- ing world & c.from your very affection ate father Epum WILLIAMs. PsI want the Red Jackit & blue millatary Britchis & the Green old win- ter Jackit some good chease & the shrubb & c & c & c XVII from emediate death. We think it very strange we dont hear from you from no quarter at all: We did expect to se Eliza before now. woold have her come by Westfeild: it is so late it is not safe comeing by poontoosuk, if you dont keep the old Horse very well he will never be able to come again, and his shoos must be Removd & Sharpt. You must send the things that have been sent for: & also the thing I put over my head to keep my Ears warm which I button under my chin: your mother desires you to send her a quarter of a yard of callico, of your sis- ter Dwights; the same peice you talkt of getting her a Gown for; she wants it to border her petticoet with. Cloe wants her shoos extremely, and I shod be very glad you would gett me a pair of very good Doublesold shoos for win- ter if you can gett Mr Bancroft to make them for upper leather the same thick calve skin he made my pumps of & if you have got some of Turners sole leather I believe that will be good. I can not stir out abroad my shoes are so thin: & tell your Brother Ephtm t I want to see him very much before he goes to Bostonhe will no doubt come by northamptonI desire him to be sure to come hear, before he goes down & c & c: I am very apt to take cold if I stir abroad, otherwise I am much as I have been of some time. the rest of us are pretty welle. we dont hear from Capt Kellog since I wrote you before. We all send you our kind love to all of you. and Service to friends, wishing you Soul Prosperity as well as Bodily. & am your affectionate & very thoughtfull- Father (Addressed to Stockbridge.) DEERFIELD 110~br 7th 1753 DEAR CHILD I write to lett you know the doctr is come home & left his wife in a hopefull way of getting well, but exceeding weak. She has nott gone once across the Room as yet; he left her last friday morning; he is in some hopes of her being able to come about a fortnight hence: it was a wonderfull deliverance EPHtm WILLIAMs XVIII (Addressed to Stockbridge.) (No date: written from Deerfield in the win- ter of 1754.) DEAR CHILD I much wonder you have not let me hear from you till now; it seems to be forgotten by you, as you may find writ- ten in the 4th Chapter of Proverbs * Poontoosuk was the old, and Indian name of Pitts- fieldstill retained in the lake north of that town. Tbis sondol. williams was then a member of J. F. D. The General Court of the Province.J. F. D. 260 SOME OLD LETTERS which I desire you to read; the whole of it frequently: & I desire all of my Children to do likewise. & the Contents of that Chapter also: & frequently Read the whole Book, they are excellent Aph- orisms of the wisest of men, worthy of your daily study and close application, and earnest prayer to God for his Bless- ing on. I never forget you in my daily supplications to God in my closit & in our social worship in the family. Re- member what God says by the mouth of his Prophite in and Christ says in Matthew 6th Chap & 6 verse: there you will find a blessed & gracious prom- ise of being heard & Rewarded openly. I am under as comfortable a state of Health as I have been of late: but that is poorly and my limbs much fail me especialy my knees my thighs & rms arid my out ward man is sencibly fail- ing daily. Pray for me all of you that my Inward man may be Renewed day by day. Remember former Councels and keep close to God: and then you may hope he will keep you from temp- tations or deliver from them and pre- serve blameless to his heavenly king- dom. Amen: I cant write but a very little, it distresses my Head so that I cant bear it, therefore you must lett me hear from you the oftenner. I much want to hear from you but much more to see you alL I hope God will give me leave and oppertunity to do so once more but if he does not, his will be done. I commit all of you my Dear Children to the tender care & keep- ing of the good Providence and special grace of God who is able to keep what we thus commit to him, & will keep all such as do so till that day to whome be Glory forever. Amen. I long to hear the unhappy differences at Stockbridge were happyly ended. then I should hope the God of Love and Peaqe would be and abide with you all. Pray for it earnestly daily and commit all your ways to God, and he will direct your steps for you. I hope you will come and see me as soon as you can. I have wrote to your Brother to come this way from Boston and hope he will be hear by the weak after next at furthest. I expected he woold have been hear with you in december, and I want some money extremely. I hear it is likely the Court will Rise next Weak. If your Brother and you shod be hear about the weak after next, and there shod be good slaying I shod be glad to come with your mother and give you a visitt but I have but one Horse I send my most affectionate and kind Love to all of you & sallutations to all friends, and Pray that the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ may be with you all: Amen. from your loving and tender father EPHIn WILLIAMs. XIX (Addressed to Stockbridge.) DEERFIELD, March 3Oth~~~1754. DEAR CHILD: Wee want much to hear and know, the perticuler circumstances of the Plott * against the English at Stock- bridge. Pray dont fail of leting me know as soon as possible. Your moth- er purposses to sett out home next mon- day by the way of Poontoosuk: if she fails you might Send a Horse for her the latter end of next weak & c I have got from Roxbury some choice frute Ciences (sic): they are wrote on severaly: those for Cherys are very fine from England. I think there is but four of them. they are long enough to make two Each of them: graft them on the little Chery tree close to the Bee House. Cutt all the limbs of and sett all the cyons on that topp: it will be more likely to live then to leave any of the limbs alive to suck away the sap from the Cyons: & Cutt of every limb of the pare trees & graft boath those trees with orange pares toward the tops of those trees. & Cattern and Genitia pears all on the peare trees: all the other Cyons which I send & them which you coold graft on thorns dont move them till next year so that if they live they then may be transplanted But above all things take care to gett your Soul Ingrafted in the true olive Christ Jesus & you will be safe & Happy for Ever. Amen & cmy love to all of your from your tender father EPHtm WILLIAMS * Hostile Indian troubles. Mv young friend Felix has been holding forth to me upon the importance of sub- stituting, in thought and speech, the word civilization for the word culture. Culture, Felix says, is not so much what we need in this new country, as civilization. By civilization, as I un- derstand him, he nieans something more than that we should eat with forks instead of knives. He means, I take it, that we should learn to be better worth talking to, better worth eating with, better worth liv- ing and associating with generally, and more worthy of being alive. Perhaps he feels as others have felt, that we lack dis- tinction, and would have us get it, but whatever our need is, as he sees it, he doesnt think that culture expresses the means by which we may supply it. It is true that culture suggests some- what exclusively the cultivation of the in- tellectuals, the reading of books, the study of languages, the hearing of hard music, and the inspection of difficult pictures. Felix does not deny that culture, so understood, may help on the civilization that he cries out for, but he maintains that people may be civilized without be- ing especially intellectual, and without attaining to any very notable flights of culture. To his sort of civilization, to know good books is a help, but hardly as much so as to know good people. Relig- ion is a great power in promoting it. The arts and travel help it much the sciences and trade not SO directly. Yet people may be ever so learned, ever so pious, and travelled, and picture-wise, and yet not be civilized; so that to square with his ideal is no play-day undertaking. And yet it is a useful ideal and worth taking some thought about. The people who are the most civilized may or may not be the worthiest people, but they are the pleasantest, and the ones who seem to get the most out of life. The French are un- doubtedly better civilized than the Amer- icans, and given the same apparatus, they are able to have more fun with it. In that particular they are ahead of the Americans; yet that they are worthier than the Americans is what even their hardiest admirer would hesitate to aver, and what no good American would admit for a moment. Their capacity for legiti- mate enjoyment seems to be greater than oursfor illegitimate enjoyment too, it may be, but that we do not envy themim. If they get more pleasure thaim we do out of talk, out of eating and drinking, out of art and music and the theatre, out of fain- ily life and their social relations generally, in respect to those matters their civiliza- tion is better than ours, and they are fit examples for our emulation. While culture, according to the coin- mon acceptance of it, is largely the culti- vation of the mind, civilization, as Felix understands it, would seem to be the cul- tivation of the sympathies, the tastes, and the capacity for giving and receiving sound pleasures. The most civilized man is the man with the most catholic appreciation, the man who can be the most things to the most peop~, the man, to put it briefly, who knows best how to live. The man who is civilized can use all the culture he can get, but he can get on and still be civ- ilized with a very moderate outfit of it. But the nian who has culture and has not VOL. XVJJ.23

Point Of View Point Of View 261-268

Mv young friend Felix has been holding forth to me upon the importance of sub- stituting, in thought and speech, the word civilization for the word culture. Culture, Felix says, is not so much what we need in this new country, as civilization. By civilization, as I un- derstand him, he nieans something more than that we should eat with forks instead of knives. He means, I take it, that we should learn to be better worth talking to, better worth eating with, better worth liv- ing and associating with generally, and more worthy of being alive. Perhaps he feels as others have felt, that we lack dis- tinction, and would have us get it, but whatever our need is, as he sees it, he doesnt think that culture expresses the means by which we may supply it. It is true that culture suggests some- what exclusively the cultivation of the in- tellectuals, the reading of books, the study of languages, the hearing of hard music, and the inspection of difficult pictures. Felix does not deny that culture, so understood, may help on the civilization that he cries out for, but he maintains that people may be civilized without be- ing especially intellectual, and without attaining to any very notable flights of culture. To his sort of civilization, to know good books is a help, but hardly as much so as to know good people. Relig- ion is a great power in promoting it. The arts and travel help it much the sciences and trade not SO directly. Yet people may be ever so learned, ever so pious, and travelled, and picture-wise, and yet not be civilized; so that to square with his ideal is no play-day undertaking. And yet it is a useful ideal and worth taking some thought about. The people who are the most civilized may or may not be the worthiest people, but they are the pleasantest, and the ones who seem to get the most out of life. The French are un- doubtedly better civilized than the Amer- icans, and given the same apparatus, they are able to have more fun with it. In that particular they are ahead of the Americans; yet that they are worthier than the Americans is what even their hardiest admirer would hesitate to aver, and what no good American would admit for a moment. Their capacity for legiti- mate enjoyment seems to be greater than oursfor illegitimate enjoyment too, it may be, but that we do not envy themim. If they get more pleasure thaim we do out of talk, out of eating and drinking, out of art and music and the theatre, out of fain- ily life and their social relations generally, in respect to those matters their civiliza- tion is better than ours, and they are fit examples for our emulation. While culture, according to the coin- mon acceptance of it, is largely the culti- vation of the mind, civilization, as Felix understands it, would seem to be the cul- tivation of the sympathies, the tastes, and the capacity for giving and receiving sound pleasures. The most civilized man is the man with the most catholic appreciation, the man who can be the most things to the most peop~, the man, to put it briefly, who knows best how to live. The man who is civilized can use all the culture he can get, but he can get on and still be civ- ilized with a very moderate outfit of it. But the nian who has culture and has not VOL. XVJJ.23 262 THE POINT OP VIEW civilization is very badly handicapped. He may get a certain satisfaction out of living, but he will contribute only very moderately to the satisfaction of others. He may be respected, but he will hardly be cherished. Provided he has books enough and is of an intellectual turn, a man may get cult- ure all by himself, but he will hardly get a high degree of civilization except by rub- bing against other persons. That is one reason why the most important of all civ- ilizing agencies is the family. What libra- ries and picture-galleries are to culture, rightly regulated homes are to civilization. What a strong and thoroughly civilized family, that knows its business and lin- proves its opportunity, can do toward the civilization of a raw American city, can only be appreciated after long residence in cities where such families do not exist. It should be an encouragement to Felix and a source of satisfaction to all of us, that so sane an observer as Dr. Eliot, of Harvard, states as one of the chief bases of his hopes for the duration of our Re- public, that a better family life prevails among our people than was known to any of the republics that have perished, or, indeed, to any earlier century. IN Mr. Robert Grants paper upon In- come, mention was made of a father whose anxiety all centred in the provision for the future of his girls, his belief being that to bring up a daughter in luxury and then leave her with less than $5, 000 a year, was, a piece of paternal brutality. Mr. Grant takes issue with this opinion, and I agree with him ; though perhaps for some- what different reasons and with a wider application. Luxury is perhaps an unfortunate word, since it may be inter- preted into habits of folly or extravagance, which would of course take the force out of an adverse argument; but if it means what the father undoubtedly did mean the enjoyment of the opportunities for reasonable pleasure and f~edomn from care which money affords then there could not be a more wrong-headed theory of the education of girls, or boys either, than that which would deprive them of these things because the chances are that they ca.nnot always continue to havo them. Not even the old exploded theories as to the systematic physical harden- ing of children were more erroneous. Teachers of hygiene no longer talk about these as though warm clothing, proper food, and civilized habits did not produce a race better fitted to meet the physical struggle for life than do privation and chilliness ; all the figures are against them, like those compiled as far back as our Civil War, which showed how invari- ably the well-nourished troops from coin- iuunities where a higher standard of liv- ing prevailed, outmuarched, outstayed, and other things being equal outfought those to whom the hardening process seemed to have been most thoroughly applied by circumustance. In other than physical matters, the les- son seems slower to learn. Yet the capi- tal furnished by a properly exercised but unworn, unfagged, undiscouraged mind and morale, may be no less valuable than that of an unexhausted constitution. Gctudeamus igitur, juvenes dum szunws is good moral hygiene. Those wortby citizens who still preach the gospel of Josiah Bounderby, of Coketown, are gen- erally found insincere when brought to book, or else are aiuong the men whom nothing educates. If my choice were free, I would rather give my boy the memory of a fairly happy and untram- melled life up to twenty, and leave hini nothing then but a consequent reasonable optimism, an unsapped courage, and a disposition to regard money as a means rather than an end, than keep him con- stantly face to face with a spectre of pos- sible poverty, fill him full of premature cares, and leave him five thousand or twenty-five thousand a year and no memu- ones, or well-grounded healthy tastes, or world to live in, indeed, except such as he commonly sets out to make for himself under these circumstances, which is worse than nothing. And though with girls there may be a very considerable differ- ence in their power to decide the condi- tions of their life by their own effort, I cannot be made to believe that they will have less of that power, when need comes upon them, because of a well-filled past and a well-rounded development amid a THE POINT OF VIEW 263 certain degree of comfort. As a matter of fact and observation, among the girls one knows who have been left to make their living, after a youth in which some- one has made it for them, which have made the best success of it? According to my own report, those whose best prac- tical capital has been what they absorbed, rather perhaps than consciously acquired, during their time of luxury. Running over the names of a dozen who have made themselves a competence from nothing, I am myself surprised at the proportion which supports my theory and of the rest, I doubt if anyone attributed her success to the hardening of needless economies. Unhappily, the most of us have no choice and must do our pinching whether or no but if we have a choice, let us not worry because we have given our chil- dren more than they can always have. It is possible to make worse investments for them than those in the savings-bank of memory. How is it about gossip? Is there a jus- tification for it? Does it serve any pur- pose useful enough to warrant its exist- ence? Does a person who refuses to take part in it show himself superior to his fel- lows, or does he shirk an obligation that he owes to society? When Jack Hair- brains attentions to young Mrs. MeFliget become audaciously conspicuous, and the whole community sits around and dis- cusses them, is the community engaged in a valuable work that demands to be done, or is it merely giving evidence of its ma- licious dispositions and the emptiness of its mind? There are offences against society which it is the duty of the district-attorney, when he learns of them, to bring to the notice of the grand jury, to the end that their perpetrator may account to the law for his actions. There are also doings which society regards as offensive to itself, of which the district-attorney can take no notice, and which are not of sufficient turpitude to engage the grand jurys at- tention. But in every household there are self-constituted grand jurors who sit on malfeasances of this sort when the gos- sips bring the news of them. Yet the gos sips, instead of being commended for their vigilance, are pretty generally execrated, and most of us, when we share their la- bors, do it at some cost to our own self-re- spect, and very likely execrate ourselves. Now, it is possible that in the loftiness of our conceptions we condemn ourselves overmuch, and restrain a propensity that has been cultivated in us for goad. Gos- sip that pries into hidden proceedings, that suggests worse motives than appear, that carries tales and muakes defamatory sug- gestions, is one thing. Gossip that dis- cusses facts that are patent is another. If we should see Jake Hardmnan running away with Charles MeFligets pocketbook, we should think ill of ourselves if we did not cry Stop Thief ! and join in the chase after the rascal. But suppose we think we see Jack Hairbrain in the act of robbing McFliget of the affections of his wife. Are we really entitled to think bet- ter of ourselves for holding our tongues and overlooking this apparent larceny, than if we expressed our sentimne~ ts freely one to another? If there is enough talk, Flora McFligets ears will be close-stopped indeed if some of it does not find its way into them. Is it a kindness to her or to Jack to let their behavior pass unnoticed? When there is a bridge down on the rail- road and a train is coining, it mnay be dis- concerting to the engineer to halloo and wave a red flag at him, but after all it is kinder to jar his nerves a little while there is still timne to pull up, than out of an ex- treme politeness to let him go to destruc- tion. Besides, have we not ourselves and our own muorals to consider, and how it may affect our own standards of behavior to look on without remonstrance at such do- ings as Jacks and Floras? If we ignore that sort of hupropriety when it is done in plain sight, we mnay come presently to think there is nothing amiss in it, and even to take a turn at it ourselves. It seems possible that because gossip is disagreeable it does not get even the mod- erate amnount of credit that is its dne. It is conceded to be lively talk, but it is felt to be unamniable and even mnean. But if it were wholly bad, decent people of strong convictions about right and wrong would not countenance it, whereas such people 264 THE POINT OF VIEW do at times countenance and even take part in it, and not without occasional good results. People do not abstain from crimes for fear of being talked about, but they do oftentimes check themselves in indis- cretions out of regard for us gossips, and what we may say about them. Newspa- pers take pretty complete charge of soci- ety nowadays, and with some slight help from the courts see that human conduct is regulated before it gets intolerable. But the newspapers cannot take cogni- zance of everything, and some things which they are compelled to overlook it may be our province as gossips to see to. If Jack Hairbrain and Airs. MeFliget actu- ally elope, the newspapers will attend to their case down to its remotest details but so long as their dispositions are sus- ceptible of cure, a worse thing may hap- pen than for the gossips court to take note of their case and try to laugh them back to good behavior. WHEN an experienced writer, essayist, journalist, traveller, and a man of the world, deliberately introduces into a pict- ure of New York life a fascinating hero- ine whose most indispensable diversion is her cigarette, we are bound to take her seriously and to ask ourselycs what is the range and importance of the element in our society of which she is a type. Of course there is nothing essentially humoral in cigarette smoking. In an American woman it offends because of its present associations in the American mind. It has no such associations in some other countries, and if the practice spreads it may gradually cease to have any such associations here. But as yet it calls up images, if not reminiscences, of the petit souper and of other things which do not go wcll with the American idea of wom- anhood not only pure but innocent. I suppose that there is no question that the charming creature who exhales the odor of tobacco and vague adventure through the pages of the novel in question is not singular in her taste and habit, and that there is a certain number of women in a certain region of society who, with- out her antecedents or her aspirations, have succeeded in acquiring the cigarette art, and like it. Probably the liking is not for the physical effect, which must have been intensely disagreeable at first, but for that taste of freedom implied in doing things suggestive of naughtiness, but not at all involving it. How great this number is, no one can accurately say; but I imagine its relative importance can easily be exaggerated, and its relative im- portance is the only real importance it has. In a community where wealth and leisure and the occupations compelled by idle- ness advance and multiply rapidly, as they do in New York, time nunmber of women who thrust their eager feet just across the line fixed by old conventions may be con- siderable and its proportion to the total still be insignificant. And though the in- fluence of such a number may seem to be formidable, I do not believe it will in real- ity prove so. What is likely to happen is either that the now utterly objectionable habit may become far enough established to cease to have any peculiar suggestive- ness ; or if this does not occur, that it will be abandoned as its novelty wears off. The latter alternative is the more proba- ble. In any case I hm~ve no present fear that our wives or daughters will go far in the direction in which the cigarette smoke of current fiction is discreetly but distinct- ly puffed. The forces that mmmake for es- sentially sound and wholesome woman- hood in Ammierican society are not the creation of yesterday, and manners really involving these forces are not fixed by the ladies who decree the fashions in gowns. FLOWERS OF THE AIR. ENGRAVED BY F. S. KING. F~rr t~e painting by F. S. Church by ceurtesy of Mr. John Ge atly. WT FISK AND GOULDS GRAND OPERA HOUSE IN A STATE OF SIEGE.

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Scribner's magazine. / Volume 17, Issue 3 Commentator Scribner's commentator Charles Scribner's Sons New York March, 1895 0017 3
E. Benjamin Andrews Andrews, E. Benjamin History Of The Last Quarter-Century In The United States. I. At The Close Of The Reconstruction 269-291

ScRIBNERS MAGAZINE VOL. XVII MARCH 1895 INo. 3 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY IN THE UNITED STATES BY E. BENJAMIN ANDREWS F E\V quarter-centuries in the worlds life bristle with salient events as does the last. The series of articles here begun is an attempt to portray the chief of these so far as they relate to the United States. A detailed na- tional history since 1870 the reader must not expect. He is going upon a rapid excursion through vast tracts, with frequent use of the camera, and not upon a topographical survey. Happenings of mere local moment are ignored altogether; legal and constitutional developments we cannot so much as sketch; while many interesting and even vital matters which are brought to notice we only touch. The task is arduous. None of the sources for our most recent history have been sifted. On each specially critical occurrence studied by them congressional committees report contradictorily. Treating affairs so uncertainly vouched, the historian must keep in tense exercise a form of discretion which in better trodden fields predecessors have made unnecessary. In discussing yesterdays transactions one is open to challenge from participants. If you are right in essentials, your ideas of proportion and of the relative importance of things may seem strange. And, however sincere and unremitting the effort to treat all sec- tions, parties, and persons with perfect fairness, perhaps no man can judge his contemporaries without a degree of prejudice. To record freshly made history would thus be difficult enough had one ample space for all necessary explana- tions; being obliged to condense the narrative, as these pieces require, doubly Copyright, 1895, by Charles Scribners Sons. All rights reserved. 270 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY aggravates the undertaking. But there are two encouraging considerations: It is hoped that the doings set forth will have a peculiarly living interest precisely on account of their occurrence in our time; and that the work may here and there rescue from oblivion some significant deed which would surely meet that fate were the recording deferred. THE UNITED STATES AT THE CLOSE OF RECONSTRUC- TiON The Material Conditions. Growth of Urban Population. The Chicago Fire. Downfall of the Tweed Ring. Grants First Cabinet. Reconstruction. IN 1870 the United States covered the same tract of the earths surface as now, amounting to four million square miles. Hardly more than a fifth of this represented the United States of 1789. About a third of the vast domain was settled, the western frontier run- ning irregularly parallel with the Missis- sippi, but nearer to that stream than to the Rocky Mountains. The centre of population was forty-eight miles east by north of Cincinnati, having moved westward forty-two miles since 1860. Except certain well-peopled sections on the Pacific slope, and little civilized strips in Utah, Colorado, and New Mex- ico, the Great West had but a tenuous white population. Over immense re- gions it was still an Indian fastness, rejoicing in a reputation, which few could verify, for rare scenery, fertile valleys, rich mines, and a wondrous cli- mate. The American people numbered 38,- 558,371 souls. In the settled parts of our country the population had a density of 30.3 persons to the square mile, south- ern New England being the most closely peopled. Much of western Pennsylva- nia was in the condition of the newest States, railroads building as never be- fore, population increasing at a re- markable rate, and industries develop- ing on every hand. Petroleum, which before the Civil War had been skimmed Rise of the Liberals. The Ku-Klux Klan. Gould and Fisk. Black Friday. The Alabama Claims. Sumner and San Domingo. off the streams of the oil region and sold for medicine, in 1870 developed a yield of over five million gallons in Penn syl- vania alone, more than ten times as much as a decade previous. The West was rapidly recruiting itself from the East, the city from the country. Be- tween 1790 and 1860 our urban popu- lation had increased from one in thirty to one in six; in 1870 more than one in five dwelt in cities. There were now thirty-seven States, nine organized territories, and two un- organized ones, these being Alaska and the Indian Territory. Noteworthy among the territories was Washington, whose population had doubled in the preceding decade, was now 23,000, and during the year 1870 leaped to 30,000. Colorado had about 40,000. Utah boasted 86,000, one-third of whom were foreigners. New Mexico numbered 114,000, less than one to each square mile. Arizona was still much harried by Indians, and contained hardly 10,000 civilized men. This year female suf- frage, hitherto unknown in America, if not in the world, gained a foothold in Wyoming and in Utah. During seven years preceding 1873, the railroad facilities of the country nearly doubled. The Union and Cen- tral Pacific Roads, forming the only transcontinental line then in existence, had been completed on May 10, 1869. A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 271 Into Denver already came, besides the Union Pacific, three other railroads, all short, while Washington Territory con- tained the germ of the Northern Pa- cific, whose eastern extremity had jnst been begun at Duluth. Dakota had sixty-five miles of railway, Wyoming four hundred and fifty-nine. With these exceptions, the territories were wholly withont railroads. THE CHICAGO FIRE. IN 1870, New York, with 942,292 in- babitants, Philadelphia, with 674,022, Brooklyn, with 396,099, St. Louis, with 310,864, and Chicago, with 298,977, were, as in 1890, our five largest cities, and they had the same relative size as now, save that Chicago has since passed from the fifth to the second place. This in th Driving the Last Spike of the Union Pacific. Scene at Promontory Point, Utah, May 10, 1869. (After a photograph in the possession of General G. M. Dodge.) face of adversity. In October, 1871, the city was devastated by one of the most terrible conflagrations of modern times. It began on Sunday evening, the 8th, in a wooden barn on DeKoven Street, in the West Division. Lumber yards were numerous there, and through these the flames raged, leaping across the stream before a strong westerly wind into the Southern Division, which was closely built up with stores and warehouses. The fire continued all Monday. It crossed the main channel of the Chicago River into the Northern Division, sweeping all before it. Niagara, says an eye-witness, sinks into insignificance before that towering wall of whirling, seething, roaring flame, which swept on and on, devouring the most stately and massive stone build- ings as though they had been the card- board playthings of a child. Looking under the flame we could see the build- ings on either side of Randolph Street, whose beauty and magnificence and whose wealth of contents we admired lI~ lay be fore, in the centre of the fur- na A moment and the flickering ~amt crept out of a window; another and aiother followed ; a sheet of fire oined the whirling mass above and they were gone. One after another they dissolved like snow on the moun- 272 tam, until the fire had reached the cor- ner just before us. Loud detonations to the right and left of us, where build- ings were being blown up, added to the falling of the walls and the roaring of the flames, the moaning of the wind and the crowd, the shrill whistling of tugs as they endeavored to remove the shipping out of the reach of danger, made up a frightful discord of sounds that will live in memory while life shall last. Some one cries, TIme elevator is on fire! No, thats the reflection of the fire. Every eye is turned that way with the utmost anxiety. The smoke is so dense that we can hardly see. It blows aside, and what was the reflec- tion of the fire is now a lurid glare of flame. It is doomed. Two or three min- utes more and it is a monstrous pyra- mid of flame and thick black smoke, solid as stone. My God! Look there! There are men on the top! No! Wait a moment till the smoke clears away. Yes, there are three, five. Theyre lost. See, they are suffocating; they have crept to the corner. God! Is there no help for them? What are they doing? They are drawing some- thing up. Tis a rope. They fasten it, and just as the flames burst out around them the first one slides from the para pet and down, followed by one after an- other until the whole are saved. Thank God! For hundreds of miles over the prairie and the lake could be seen the glare. The river seemed to boil and mingle its steam with the smoke. Early Monday morning the Tribune building remained intact, the only structure left in the business quarter. Two patrols were constantly at work, one sweeping away live coals and brands, the other watching the roofs. Till four oclock the reporters passed in regular reports of the fire. At five the forms were sent down. In ten minutes the cylinder presses would have been at work. At that moment the front basement is discovered on fire. The water-plug at the corner is opened, but the water-works have been destroyed. The pressmen have to fly for their lives. By ten oclock the block is in ashes. Streets, bridges, parks are gorged with panic-stricken throngs. Not a few are crazed by terror. One old woman stumbles along under a great bundle, crooning Mother Goose melo- dies. Anarchy reigns. The horrors of the night are multiplied by drunken- ness, arson, burglary, murder, rape. Vigilance committees are formed. It was estimated that fifty ruffians first and last were shot in their tracks, among them five notorious criminals. A number of convicts locked in the basement of the court-house are sup- posed to have been burnt alive. Hap- pily for tbe safety of the city, General Sheridan was at hand with troops to keep order. The morning after the fire the in- domitable Chicago pluck began to show itself. William P. Kerfoot knocked together a shanty, facetiously called Kerfoots block, an unrivalled struct- ure for it was the only one in the neighborhood. To it he nailed a sign which well typified the spirit of the city. Win. D. Kerfoot, all gone but wife, children, and ENERGY. The next Sunday the Rev. Dr. Collyer preached where his church had formerly stood, in the midst of the city, yet in the heart of a wilderness more than a mile from human habitation. Not till Tuesday morning was the headway of the fire checked, and parts of the charred debris smouldered on for months. Nearly three and a third s ire miles were burned over; 17,450 ajld- ings were destroyed; 98,500 persons rendered homeless; and 200 killed. The total direct loss of property amounted to $190,000,000, which indirect losses 273 274 A HISTOPY OF THE LAST QUAPTER-CENTURY of various sorts would swell to perhaps $250,000,000, nearly a third of the citys valuation. Forty-four million dollars was recovered on insurance, a small part of the sum insured for, as fifty. seven of the companies involved w e r e rendered insolvent by the fire. THE TWEED RING. MEANTIME New York City was suffering from an evil worse than fire, t h e frauds of the Tweed Ring, notorious forevermore. In the summer of 1871, proof was published of vast frauds by lead- ing city offi- cials, prominent among them Boss William M. Tweed, Super- intendent of the Street Depart- ment. Having made themselves supreme in Tam- many Hall, these men so worked the city elections as to control the city government, placing them- selves, in 1866, each in the office he wished. A new charter, of which they se- cured the adop- tion, gave them absolute charge of the citys purse. Exorbitant claims for work and material had been paid, raising the citys debt from $50,000,000 to $113,- 000,000, with bills to an unknown amount not adjusted. Thus the court- house, building at this time, ostensibly cost $12,000,000. The Rings robber- ies cheated the citys tax-payers, first and last, out of no less than $160,000,- 000, or four times the fine levied on Paris by the German army. On October 28, 1871, Tweed was ar- rested and gave a million dollars bail. In November, the same year, he was elected to the State Senate, but did not take his seat. On December 16th he was again arrested, and released on $5,000 bail. The jury disagreed on the first suit, but on the second he was convicted and sentenced to pay a fine of $12,550, with twelve years im- prisonment. This sentence was set aside by the Court of Appeals, and Tweeds discharge ordered. But in the meantime other suits had been brought, among them one to recover $6,000,000. Failing to find bail for $3,000,000, he was sent to the Ludlow Street Jail. Being allowed to ride iu the Park and occasionally to visit his residence, one day in December he es- caped from his keepers. After hiding for several niouths he succeeded in reaching Cuba. A fisherman found him, sunburnt and weary, but not homesick, and led him to Santiago. Instead of taking him to a hotel, Tweeds guide handed him over to the police as probably some American fili- buster come to free Cuba. The Amen can consul procured his release (his passports were given him under an assumed name), but later found him out. The dis- covery was too late, for he had again escaped and em- barked for Spain, think- ing there to be at rest, as we then had no extradi- tion treaty with tha~t coun- try. Landing at Vigo, he found the governor of the place with police waiting for him, and was soon homeward bound on an American war-vesseL When Caleb Cushing, our Minister at Madrid, learned of his departure for that realm, he at once put the authorities on their guard. To help them identify their man he furnished them with a carica- ture by Nast, representing Tweed as a Tammany policeman, gripping two boys by the hair. Thus it came about that Twid antelme was apprehended by our peninsular friends as a child-stealer. Spains courtesy in delivering Tweed was in return for some favor shown her by Seward. Tweed promised, if re- leased, to turn States evidence, and offered to give up all his property and effects. No compromise with him was made, and he continued in jail till his death in 1878. 275 The Chicago Court Housebefore the great fire, after the fire, and at the preaent day. Facsimile of the Autograph Telegram from General Sheridan to the Secretary of War announcing the Great Fire at Chicago; in the collection of C. F. Gunther. In 1870 the national debt amounted to $2,500,000,000, three times the sum of all the, countrys state, county, and municipal indebtedness combined. Yet the revenues sufficed to pay the inter- est and gradually to reduce the princi- pal. Our total imports of merchandise in 1870 were valued at $435,958,408, which exceeded the figure for any pre- vious calendar year. The duties on these imports f o o t e d up nearly $200,000,000. The exports for the year fell short of the imports by over $40,000,000. Painful to notice was the small proportion of our commerce which was carried on in American vessels. Between 1850 and 1855 we had out- stripped England both in ship-building and in 276 Tweed. tonnage. Seventy-five per cent. of our ocean traffic was then borne in Ameri- can vessels; in 1869 the proportion had fallen to thirty per cent. The decay of our merchant marine was originally due to the fatal enterprise of Confed- erate privateers during the war, and to the change now going on from wood to iron as the material for ships. This transferred to British builders the special advantage which Americans had so long as wood was used. Why the advantage continued with the British was a much disputed question, hardly as yet political. GRANTs FIR5T CABINET. THE personnel of President Grants first cabinet surprised all. E. B. Washburne, of Illinois, became Secretary of State, but resigned to accept the position of Minister THE WESTERN UNION TELEGRAPH COMPANY. 1% - A~ ~z~4 ~nee~, 4,n~. C-see ~ ~ -~e2~ a,a~ ____ A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 277 to France. He was succeeded by Ham- appointment was found to be contrary ilton Fish, never active in public affairs, to a statute of 1789, providing that no but remembered as an admirer and person engaged in trade or commerce friend of Clays. The should hold that of- Interior Department fice. Efforts w e r e was placed in charge ~ made to remove the of J. D. Coy. A. E. legal barrier, which Boric was made See- failed, and George S. retary of the Navy, Boutwell was ap- but soon gave place pointed. to George M. Robe- The year 1870 found son. President John- in full power the par- sons Secretary of ty to which these gen- War, General Scho- tlemen belonged. In field, was retained for the Senate of the a time by Grant. Forty-first Congress General Rawlins sue- sat but nine Demo- ceeded him, but died crats, and out of its soon after and was two hundred and followed by William thirty representatives XV. Belkuap. J. A. J. (Reproduced from Harfers U~eekrj (October ~, 1871) only seventy-five were C reswell was P ~ st - by permission of Messrs. Harper & Brothers. Copy- Democrats. Spite of right, 1871, by Harper & Brothers.] master General ; E. The Brains differences in their Rockwood Hoar, At- that Achieved the Tammany Victory at the Roch- own ranks, spite of torney - General. A. eater Democratic Convention, the frantic struggles T. Stewart, the New of tbe opposition, the York millionnaire merchant, was named Republican policy of reconstruction had for the Treasury portfolio, and the Sen- been put through and ate confirmed him with the rest, but the consummated by the [Reproduced from Harpera Weekly (August 09, 0870) by permission of Messrs. Harper & Brothers. Copyright, 0870, by Harper & Bron.] I ~ . AK V~)-iO STO TIE~EOjE~IV1G?~r~Do TELL..NYTIMES. 1 ~AFA3 )-I~M. 278 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY Fifteenth Amendment, making all men belonged to it, and upon the alleged equaL Sweepingly victorious upon ev- total depravity of the Democrats and ery issue recently tried, freed, moreover, the eternal incorrigibleness of the South. from the incubus with which Said Senator Morton, of In- Presid cut Johnson had diana: The Republican T weighted them, having elect- Party . . . could not ed to the executive chair of afford to make a distinct is- the nation a hero whom prac- sue on the tariff; civil service tically the entire party and reform, or any other individ- country trusted, the Repub- ual measure; it must make licans could not but be in a its stand on these assertions: happy mood. The Democrats, if they re This self-gratulatory spirit turn to power, will either was an unhealthy sign. Hon- take away the pensions of est as were its rank and file loyal soldiers, or else will and a majority of its leaders, pension Confederate soldiers much corruption marked the Oliver P. Morton. also ; will, when they have a party. Moreover, no strictly (After a photograph by Handy.) majority in Congress, quietly positive policy inspired it. allow the Southern States to Republicans certainly opposed any re- secede in peace; will tax national bonds pudiation of the war debt, whether by and unsettle everything generally. taxing bonds or by paying the princi- There were, however, Republicans pal or the interest of them in dollars who by no means shared these views, less valuable than gold dollars. But and the lifting of their hands already this was only a phase of its war zeal, foreshadowed the bolt of 1872. Not a which always carried mens thought few republican participants in the war backward rather than wished the earliest possible re-enfran- to the future. Upon chiseinent of the Southern whites. It the tariff question it was this sentiment that carried West was impossible to tell Virginia for the Democrats in 1870. where the party stood, Re-enfranchisement was a burning ques- though, clearly, the tion also in Missouri. At the republi- Whig high - tariff por- can convention in that State the same tion of its constituency year, after a hot discussion, General did not yet dominate. McNeill mounted a chair and shouted Nothing bolder than to the friends of the enfranchisement incidental pro tee - of the white man, that they would with- tion was urged by draw from this convention to the senate anyone, except where chamber. About a Stanley Matthews. a State or section, like t h i r d of the dde- (After a photograph by Maine, tentatively com- gates, led by Carl Handy.) mended some interest Schurz, retired, and to the care, protec- nominated a Liberal- tion, and relief of the Government. In Republican S t a t e their public utterances touching the tar- ticket, headed by B. if the two great parties differed little. Gratz Brown. Sup- In each, opinion ran the gamut from pGrted by most of incidental protection, where Demo- the Democrats who it met Republican in amity, to ap- could vote, this tick- proximate free trade, which extreme et was triumphant. there were not lacking Republicans ready to embrace had that been then THE LIBERAL PARTY. Clement L. Vallandigham. an issue. Instead of looking forward and study- in the year (After a photograph in the cot- EARLY lection of Jamea E. Taylor.) ing new national interests, the party 1871, at a political grounded its claims too exclusively up- meeting in St. Louis, was manifested on the glorious record which truly the first overt hostility on the part of E. B. Washburne, State. the Liberals, or Brownites, to Presi- dent Grant. This sign of the thnes was followed on March 10th by a meeting of a dozen prominent Republicans in Ciii- cinnati, Ex-Governor Cox and Stanley Matthews being of the nnmber. They drafted a report which was signed by a hundred well-known Republicans, ad- vancing four principles: (1) general am- nestv to the late Confederates, (2) civil service reform, (3) specie payments, and (4) a revenue tariff. During the year the bolt took on national importance. Sympathy with it appeared throughout the country and in Congress, and exist- ed where it did not appear. Influenced by M r. Sumner, even the Mas- sachusetts Re- Mr. Stewart always vcfused to sit for a isortrait. The accom- allying illustration i from a painting, made after his death, by Thomas Le clear, now at St. Pauls t,hOOl, Garden City, Long Island. publican Convention, without going fur- ther, condenmed, impliedly, Grants for- eign policy. Finally a call was issued from Missouri for a National Conven- tion, to be held at Cincinnati on May 1, 1872, in opposition to Grant and his administration. In impotent wrath and bitterness, proportioned to the apparent prosperity of the Republicans, stood the Democ- racy. The more strenuous its opposi- tion to a godly thorough reformation of unrepentant rebels, the more deter- minedly had the people rebuked it at the polls. Hardly more inclined were the people to follow it upon the great ques- tion of the public debt, where the party demanded that the five-twenties should. be redeemed in greenbacks the same money for the plough-holder and the bond-holder and that all national bonds or the interest thereon should be taxed. Even in the South the leaders began to see that the tyue policy of The Reform Party the Democracys * Schofield held the office for several months after President Grants inauguration. The latter then appoint- ed John A. Rawlins. 279 President Grants First Cabinet. A. E. Bone Navy. J. A. J. Creawell Poatur-General. E. R. Hoar, Atty-General. J. 0. Con, Interior. J. M. Schofield, War. G. S. Boutwell, Treassrer. K.. ~ Aexander T. Stewart. 280 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY nom de guerre, was that voiced by the South Carolina Convention of 1870, which proposed to accept the results of the war as settled facts, and make the best of them, striking out for new issues. This was the key-note of the New Departure led by Clement L. Yallandigham, of Ohio. Yallandigham had been the most extreme copper- head in all the North. By his out- spokenness in defence of the Confed- eracy during the war he had got himself imprisoned and banished to the South. It was significant, therefore, when, in his last public utteranceshe was ac- cidentally shot a month laterlie once more joined his voice with that of South Carolina, this time in accepting the results of the war, in- cluding the three sev- eral amendments de facto, as a settlement in fact of all the is- sues of the war. Chief Justice Chase wrote Yallandigham, praising his action as a great service to the country and the party, and as t Ii e restora- tion of the Demo- cratic Party to its ancient platform of progress and reform. John Quincy Adams, Democratic can- didate for gov- ernor of Massa- chusetts, like Yalland i g ha in, proposed a hearty acquies- cence in what was past, and deplored the halting and hes- itating step with which the De- mocracy was sneaking up to its inevit- able position. The South, he continued, is galled to-day, Representative George E. Harris, of Mississippi, admitted February 23, 1870. The first colored member of the U. S. House of Repre- sentatives. Admitted De- cember 12 1871. not by the presence of the Fifteenth Amendment, but by the utter absence of the Constitution itself. Is it not silly then to squabble about an amendment which would cease to be obnoxious if it was not detached from its context? When the resuscitation of the South began, it raised a most interesting con- stitutional question, viz., what effect se- cession had upon the States guilty of it; whether or not it was an act of State suicide. That it amounted to suicide was held by many, among them Charles Sumner and Thaddeus Stevens. Both these influential men conceived the problem of the disordered States as that of an out-and-out reconstruc- tion; and they assigned Congress the right to work its will in the conquered region, changing old State lines and in- stitutions as it might please, and post- poning settlement for aminy convenient length of time. Against this theory a strong party maintained that of State indestructibility, asserting the total nullity of secession acts. The universal supposition at first was that the Southern States needed only restoration, to be conducted by the President. Restoration was the policy of Presidents Lincoln and John- son; as also of the entire Democracy. Following the idea of simple restora- tion, Lincoln had recognized loyal State governments in Virginia at the begin- ning of the war, and in Louisiana, Ar- kansas, and Tennessee later. During 1865 Johnson did the same in all the other States lately in secession. Strong considerations had led Con- Senator John F. Lewis, of Virginia, admitted January 27, 1870. Reconstructed Congressmen. Joseph F. Raisey, of Sosth Caroli cv. Hirsm R. Revels, of Missis sippi. The first colored member of the U. S. Senate. Admit- ted Febrssry 25, 1870. A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 281 gress, at this point, to assume charge of the restitution of the States, and, braving President Johnsons uttermost opposition and spite, to rip up the en- tire presidential work. The same authority which recog- nized the existence of the war seemed the only authority having the consti- tutional right to determine when, for all purposes, the war had ceased. The Act of March 2, 1867, was a legislative declaration that the war which sprang from the Rebellion was not, to all in- tents and purposes, ended; and that it should be held to continue until State governments, republican in form and subordinate to the Constitution and laws, should be established. * RECONsTRUcTION. ON March 2, 1866, it was enacted that neither House should admit a member from any seceder-State till a congressional vote had declared it en- titled to representation. The ratifica- tion of the Fourteenth Amendment, making negroes citizens of the United States and of States, and forbidding legislation to abridge their privileges, was made prerequisite to such vote. Tennessee accepted the terms in July, but, as action was optional, all the other States declined, thus defeating for the time this amendment. Congress now determined not to wait for the lagging States, but to enforce their re- construction. The iron law of March 2, 1867, replaced secessia under military rule, permitted the loyal citi- zens of any State, blacks included, to raise a convention and frame a consti- tution enfranchising negroes, and de - creed that when such constitution had been ratified by the electors to the con- vention and approved by Congress, and when the legislature under it had rati- fied the Fourteenth Amendment and this had become part of the Constitu- tion, then the State might be represent- ed in Congress. The supplementary law of March 19th hastened the pro- cess by giving district commanders the oversight of registration and the mi V tiative in calling conventions. * Opinion of Attorney-General E. R. noar. Vom~. XVII.25 After this the work went rapidly on. Registration boards were appointed, the test-oath applied, delegates elected, and constitutions framed and adopted. These instruments in all cases abol- ished slavery, repudiated the Confed- erate debt and the pretended right of a State to secede, declared the secession acts of 1861 null and void, ordained manhood suffrage, and prohibited the passage of laws to abridge this. Congress then acted. Alabama, Ar- kansas, North and South Carolina, Florida, Georgia, and Louisiana, were admitted to representation in June, 1868, agreeing never to revoke univer- sal suffrage. As Georgia was suspect- ed of evading some of the require- ments, the senators from the State were refused seats at Washington, and did not obtain them till the last of January, 1871. Georgias represen- tatives were given seats, but subse- quently, in 1869, these were vacated, and they remained empty till 1871. To regain representation in Congress, this State, too, was obliged to ratify the Fifteenth Amendment. Thus stood matters in 1870; all but four of the late Confederate States nominally back in the Union, these still contumacious, but confronted by an inflexible Congress, which barred them from every national function of statehood till they had conformed to all the conditions above described. Virginia, Mississippi, and Texas held out the longest. The Act of April 10, 1869, was passed to hasten their action, authorizing the President to call elec- tions for ratifying or rejecting the new constitutions in those States. To pun- ish the States delay, their new legis- latures were required to ratify the pro- posed Fifteenth Amendment, guaran- teeing the negros right to vote, as well as the Fourteenth. When it passed the House the bill lacked such a provision, which was moved by Senator Morton, of Indiana, an ultra Republican. All opposition was overborne, and by Feb- ruary, 1870, the new constitutions, to- gether with the Fourteenth and Fif- teenth Amendments to the United States Constitution, had been ratified, and the three belated States again stood knocking at the doors of Congress. 282 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY The House of Representatives began little military government as possible; by declaring Virginia entitled to rep- no military commissions, no classes resentation in the national legislature. excluded from suffrage, and no oath The Senate, more radical, influenced by except one of faithful obedience and the still lurking suspicion of bad faith, support to the Constitution and laws, amended this simple declaration with and sincere attachment to the Consti- a provision requiring the test-oath tutional Government of the United of loyalty from members of the Legis- States. * lature and public officers before they If the South was to become again should resume their duties, at the same genuine part and parcel of this Union, time making it a condition that the it would not, nor would the North con- constitution of the State should never sent that it should, remain permanent- be so amended as to restrict the suf- ly under military government; and, frage, the right to hold office, or the so soon as bayonets were gone, fair privilege of attending public schools. means or foul would speedily remove Similar provisos were attached to the the sceptre from colored hands. Pre- resolutions admitting senators and rep- cisely this happened. Without the resentatives from the other two States. slightest formal change of constitution Out of sheer weariness the House con- or of statute, the whites gained their curred. By January 30, 1871, all the ancient control of Tennessee in 1869, States were again represented in both of North Carolina in 1870, of Texas, Houses, as in 1860. Georgia, and Virginia from their very The method of reconstruction re- reconstruction in 187071. sorted to by Congress occasioned dread- ful evils. It ignored the natural prej- udices of the whites, many of whom THE KU-KLUX KLAN. were as loyal as any citizens in the land. To most people in that section, WHERE white mens aims could not as well as to very many at the North, be realized by persuasion or other mild this dictation by Congress to acknowl- means, resort was had to intimidation edged States in time of peace seemed and force. The chief instrumentality high - handed usurpation. If Congress can do this, it was said, any State can be forced to change its constitution for any action which Congress dislikes. This did not neces- sarily follow, as reconstruc- tion invariably presupposed an abnormal condition, viz., the States emersion from a rebellion which had involved the State government, whose overthrow, with the rebellion, necessitated congressional in- terference. Yet the inference was natural and widely drawn. Congress was wrong in the exclusion from suffrage of cer tam classes of citizens, and of all unable to take a prescribed. A Newspaper Cutting put in Evidence before the Congressional Corn- retrospective oath, and wrong mittee. also in the establishment of arbitrary military governments for the at first used for keeping colored voters States, and in authorizing military com- from the polls was the Ku-Klux Klan, missions for the trial of civilians in time of peace. There should have been as ~ Letter to National Democratic Corn ~s tath& tod odetitMaattor, Tttseateem Alabama September s~ teaa~ ~ PROSPECTIVE SCENE IN THE CITY Op OAKS, 4TH OF MARCH, 1869. a e a Ilsa, esosploateole perfectoalloss. Stand fast, goes a * f Iftheeheoetberntabehaoged.eercaaoitmiteeablo. The 5~3~ege etit tepreaents the fsAe in store fer these great posts ef 5osthern society ~~~aggeee*ed scalawagif famed in Dixies land after the break of day oc the A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 283 a secret society organized in Tennessee in 1866. It sprung from the old night patrol of slavery times. Then, every Southern gentleman used to serve on 7 this patrol, whose dnty it was to whip severely every negro found absent from home without a pass from his master. Its first post bellum work was not ill- meant, and its seventies came on gradu- ally. Its greatest activity was in Ten- nessee, Arkansas, and Mississippi, where its awful mysteries and gruesome rites spread utter panic among the super- stitious blacks. Men visited negroes huts and mummicked about, at first with sham magic, not with arms at alL One would carry a flesh bag in the shape of a heart and go around hol- lering for fried nigger meat. Another would put on an India-rubber stomach to startle the negroes by swallowing pailfuls of water. Another represented that he had been killed at Manassas, since which time some one had built a turnpike over his grave and he had to scratch like hi to get up through the graveL The lodges were dens, the members ghouls. Giants,~~ goblins ~ titans, furies, dragons, and hydras were names of different classes among the officers. boo Yonr Spol. The Hoerible Seyofekre and Bloody MooS hen at lenS aerere& Bcooe lice tO-dAY to-nooercm Life. We the aadeeeigaed andeeatand theoagh one Greed U dope thot yoa hove eeco~nornded a big Block Bigger for Male Agent en Oce an rode; reel, air, Jeet yen coadere ad in time if he-gets on therada yen ran reoheepyoermiedeepouroepe. ~ NotIce, meet e Grand Cyclepa and Conclove atben Nc. 4 eat 55 e~eek midnight, Ott. 1st, 1871. Whenyce ace inC ecawe waco von to hold yoor lounge and notepeak enmach withyoacmonthnrcthercciseyoeccillhe ~enoaaopprieeand led.nathYtheKlb~~ ned leocet to e etch hemp. 15cc-ace. Bewoce. Beware. Bewore. (Sign ) PRILLIP ISKMBAUM, Gee CprdIpL Jd~lGfBANKSTOWB. ESAU. 7)AVES. MARCUS THOMAS. BLOODY BONES. Yen knaw who. And all ethers ef the Klan. Facsimile of a Ku-Klux Warning in Mississippiput in evi- dence before the Congressional Committee. Usually the mere existence of a den anywhere was sufficient to ren- der docile every negro in the vicin- ity. If more was required, a half-doz en ghouls, making their nocturnal rounds in their hideous masks and long white gowns, frightened all but the most hardy. Any who showed fight were whipped, maimed, or killed, treat- ment which was extended on occasion to their carpet-bag and scalawag friends these titles denoting respect- ively Northern and Southern men bold enough to take the negroes side. The very violence of the order, which it at last turned against the old Southrons themselves, brought it into disrepute with its original instigators, who were not sorry when federal marshals, put up to it by President Grant, hunted den after den of the law-breakers to the death. In 1871, by the so-called Force Bill, federal judges were given cognizance of suits against anyone for depriving an- other of rights, privileges, or immuni- ties under the Constitution. Fine and imprisonment were made the penalties for conspiracy against the United States, or the execution of its laws, as by forcibly or through intimidation pre- venting men from voting. The army and navy were placed at the service of the President to enforce the act, and federal judges might exclude sus- pected persons from sitting on ju- ries. By this drastic measure and its rigorous execution in nine coun- ties of South Carolina, the organ- ization was by 1873 driven out of existence. But some of its meth- ods survived. In 1875 several States adopted and successfully worked the Mississippi plan, which was, by whatever necessary means, to nullify black votes until white majorities were assured. Less violent than the Ku - Klux way, this new one was equally thorough. It yet remained to restore the disfranchised whites and to re- move the political disabilities im- posed by the Fourteenth Amend- ment. Except in the case of a few leaders, the disabilities were annulled by the Act of Amnesty passed May 22, 1872. At about the same time general re-enfranchisement was accomplished by State legislation, Liberal-Republicans joining with those 0 Ibi /7 284 A HIS TORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY ~o?;jde YJIVo 6. ~k~-e~ sa/& 4~& K?Oe~ A Fragment in Facsimile from the Original Engrossed Test of the Fosrteenth Amendment, at the State Department, Washington. Adopted Jaly 28, 1866. Democrats, specially numerous in Mis- souri and West Virginia, who already enjoyed the right of suffrage. Much credit is due President Grant for the countrys financial success in emerging from the war. No other American, being chief magistrate, could have launched itso successfully. Bond- holders had confidence in Grants sin- cerity and strength. The policy was to get our finances back at the earliest mo- ment on to a specie basis, to refund the nations debt at lower interest so fast as possible, and to pay it off at the nearest convenient date, in gold, except where otherwise expressly stipulated. One- fifth of the public debt was liquidated during Grants eight presidential years. President Grant early announced his determination to secure a faithful col- lection of the revenue and the greatest practicable retrenchment. His partial failure in this worthy aim was due to faults of his character which were based in virtues. To the mans moral and physical courage, and his calm, all but stubborn bearing, he added a magna- nimity and an unsuspecting integrity, which were at once his strength and his weakness. Herein lay the secret of the love men bore him and of their trust in him. But these characteristics com- bined with his inexperience of civil life to disarm him against the dishonorable subtleties of pretended friends, thus continually compromising him. Said General Sherman, once: Dont give any person file least encouragement to think that I can be used for political ends. I have seen it poison so many otherwise good characters that I am really more obstinate than ever. I think Grant will be made miserable to the end of his life by his eight years experience. Think of the reputations wrecked in politics since 1865. GOULD AND FISK. Br March, 1866, the price of gold in paper money had fallen from war fig- ures to 130j~. There was much ille- gitimate speculation in the metal, deal- ing in phantom gold mere betting, that is, on gold fluctuations. Promi- nent among the operators was the firm of Smith, Gould, Martin & Co. The mind of the firm was Jay Gould, a dark little man, with cold, glittering eyes. He was clear - headed, but utterly un- scrupulous. Closely associated with him was James Fisk, a vulgar and un- principled, yet shrewd and bold, man of business. During the spring of 1869 Gould bought $7,000,000 or $8,000,000 in gold, immediately loaning it again on demand notes. There being not over $20,000,000 gold in the entire country outside the Treasury, the busi- ness community, in case of any call for gold, was at his mercy, unless the Treasury should sell. This must be prevented. In June, 1869, President Grant, jour- neying from New York to Boston, ac- cepted a place in a private box of the theatre which Fisk owned, and next day took, at the invitation of Fisk and Gould, one of their magnificent steam- ers to Fall Iliver. After a handsome supper the hosts skilfully turned the conversation to the financial situation. Grant remarked that he thought there The Reconstruction Committee. The Joint Committee of Fifteen, appointed to inquire into the condition of affairs in the so-called Confederate States, who finally adopted, April 28, 1866, a series of resolutions embodying a recommendation which afterward took form as the Fourteenth Amendment. Senators: W. P. Fessenden, Maine, Chairmen; J. W. Grimes, Iowa; Ira Harris, New York; J. M. Howard, Michigan; George H. Williams, Oregon. Representatives: Thaddeus Stevens, Pennsylvania; E. B. Washhurne, Illinois; Justin S. Morrill, Vermont; J. A. Bingham, Ohio; G. S. Boutwell, Massachusetts; Roscoe Conkling, New York; H. T. Blow, Missouri; H. M. Grider, Kentucky; A. J. Rodgers, New Jersey ; Senator Reverdy Johnson, Maryland. The last three voted against the resolutions. was a certain fictitiousness in the pros- perity of the country, and that the bubble might as well be tapped. This suggestion struck across us, said Mr. Gould, later, like a wet blanket. An- other wire must be pulled. Facts and figures were now heaped together and published to prove that, should gold rise in this country about harvest time, grain, the price of which, being fixed in Liverpool, was ind4en- dent of currency fluctuations, wduld be VOL. XVIL26 worth so much the more and would at once be hurried abroad; but that to secure this blessing Government must not sell any gold. Gould laid still other pipes. Fisk visited tile presiden- tial sphinx at Newport; others saw him at Washington. At New York Gould buttonholed him so assiduously that he was obliged to open his lips to rebuke his servant for giving Gould such ready access to him. The President seems to have been 285 286 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY persuaded that a rise in gold while the crops were moving would advantage the conntry. At any rate, orders were given early in September to sell only gold suf- ficient to buy bonds for the sinking fund. The conspirators redoubled their purchases. The price of gold rose till, two days before Black Friday, it stood at 14O~. Though he kept it to himself, Gould was in terror lest the Treasury flood- gates should be opened to prevent a panic. Business was palsied and the bears were importuning the Govern- ment to sell. At his wits end, he wrote Secretary Boutwell: Sin :There is a panic in Wall Street, engineered by a bear combina- tion. They have withdrawn currency to such an extent that it is impossible to do ordinary business. The Erie Company requires eight hundred thou- sand dollars to disburse. . . . Much of it in Ohio, where an exciting political contest is going on, and where we have about ten thousand employed, and the trouble is charged on the administra- tion. . . . Cannot you, consistently, increase your line of currency? Gould, like Major Bagstock, was devilish sly, sir. In his desperation he determined to turn bear and, if necessary, rend in pieces Fisk himself. Saying nothing of his fears, he en- couraged Fisk boldly to keep on buy- ing, while he himself secretly began to sell. Fisk fell into the trap, and his partner, taking care in his sales to steer clear of Fisks brokers, proceeded secret- lv and swiftly to unload his gold and fulfil all his con- tracts. From this moment they acted each by and for himself, Gould operating through his firm and Fisk through an old partner of his, named Belden. On Thursday, Septem- ber ~3 d, while his broker, S e rs is buying, Fisk coolly walks into the Gold Room and, amid the wild- est excitement, offers to bet any part of $50,000, that gold will rise to 200. Not a man dares take his bet. BLACK FIuPAY. ON Black Friday the Gold Room is crowded two hours before the time of business. In the cen- tre excited brokers are betting, swearing, and quarrelling, many of them pallid with fear of ruin, oth- ers hilarious in ex- pectation of big com- missions. In a back office across from the Gold Room, Fisk, in shirt-sleeves, struts up and down, declaring himself the Na- poleon of the street. At this time the Ring was believed to hold in gold and in contracts to deliver the same, over $100,000,000. Speyers, whom all suppose to repre- sent Gould as well as Fisk, begins by offering 145, then 146, 147, 148, 149, but none will sell. Put it up to 150,,, Fisk orders, and gold rises to that figure. At 150 a half million is sold him by Mr. James Brown, who has quietly organized a band of merchants to meet the gamblers on their own ground. From all over the country the shorts are telegraphing orders to buy. Speyers is informed that if he continues to put up gold he will be shot; but he goes on offering 151, 152, 153, 154. Still none will sell. Meantime the vic- tims of the corner are summoned to pay in cash the difference between 135, at which the gold was bor rc~ ad, and 150, at which the firm is willing to set- tle. Fearing lest gold go to 9~, many settle at 148. A ~,55, amid the tremen- d~6us roar of the bull bro- kers bidding higher and higher, Brown again sells Ii. ~f a million. 160 for Jamea Fiak, Jr. (After a photograph by Rock~ wood.) Jay Gould. . (After a photograph.) A HISTOkY OF THE LAST QUAkTER-CENTURY 287 any part of five millions. Brown sells ket has been broken, and by Goulds a million more. 161 for five inil- sales. Everybody now begins to sell, lions. No bid. 162 for five millions. when the news comes that the Govern- At first no response. Again, 162 for ment has telegraphed to sell four mil- any part of five millions. A voice lions. Gold instantly falls to 140, then is heard, Sold one million at 162. to 133. Somebody, cried Fisk, has 163k for five millions. Sold five run a saw right millions at 1631 Crash! The mar- miles down b into us. We are forty 2 the Delaware and dont The Scene in the New York Gold Room on Black Friday, September 24, 1869. (I ow photographo and descriptions by eye-witneooes.) 288 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY know where we are. Our phantom gold cant stand the weight of the real stuff. Gould has no mind permanently to ruin his partner. He coolly suggests that Fisk has only to repudiate his con- tracts, and Fisk complies. His offers to buy gold he declares off making good only a single one of them, as to which he was so placed that he had no option. What was due him, on the other hand, he collected to the utter- most dollar. To prevent being mobbed the pair encircled their opera-house with armed toughs and fled thither. There no civil process or other molestation was likely to reach them. Presently certain of the thieves judges, as they were called, came to their relief by issuing injunctions which estopped all transac- tions connected with the conspiracy which would have been disadvantageous for the conspirators. THE TREATY or WASHINGTON. FAR the strongest side of Grants administration was the State Depart- ment, headed by the clever diplomat, Hamilton Fish, one of the most success- ful Secretaries of State who ever served our country. Here great ability and absolute integrity reigned and few mis- takes were made. Were there no other testimony, the Treaty of Washington would sufficiently attest Mr. Fishs mastery of his office. Ever since 1863 we had been seeking satisfaction from Great Britain for the depredations com- mitted during the war by Confederate cruisers sailing from British ports. Negotiations were broken off in 1865 and again in 1868. In 1869 Reverdy Johnson, then our Minister to England, negotiated a treaty, but the Senate re- jected it. In January, 1871, the British Government having proposed a joint commission for the settlement of ques- tions connected with the Canadian fish- eries, Mr. Fish replied that the adjudi- cation of the Alabama Claims would have to be first considered, as an es- sential to the restoration of cordial and amicable relations between the two governments. England consented to submit this question also to the coin- mission, and on February 27th the high commissioners met at Washington. The British delegation included, besides several noblemen, Sir E. Thornton, the Queens minister at Washington, Sir John Macdonald, of Canada, and Mount- ague Bernard, Professor of Interna- tional Law at Oxford. The American commissioners were the Secretary of State himself, Justice Nelson, of the Su- preme Coui t, Robert C. Schenek, our Minister to England, E. iRockwood Hoar, late Ui~ited States Attorney-Gen- eral, and George H. Williams, Senator