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 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

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 (

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,

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

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

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!

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

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.

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-

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.

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

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

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

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.

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