Scribner's magazine. / Volume 19, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 914 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 AFR7379-0019 /moa/scri/scri0019/

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

Scribner's magazine. / Volume 19, Note on Digital Production 0019 000
Scribner's magazine. / Volume 19, Note on Digital Production A-B

Scribner's magazine. / Volume 19, Issue 1 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 914 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 AFR7379-0019 /moa/scri/scri0019/

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

Scribner's magazine. / Volume 19, Issue 1 Commentator Scribner's commentator Charles Scribner's Sons New York January, 1896 0019 1
Scribner's magazine. / Volume 19, Issue 1, miscellaneous front pages i-2

SCRIBNERS MAGAZINE PUBLISHED NQNTHLY WITH I LLUSTR ATION S VOLUME xix JANUARY - JUNE CHARLES SCRIBNERS SONS NEW YORK SAMPSON LOW MARSTON & C6 bnirn LONDON COPYRIGHT, 1896, j~y CHARLES SCRIBNERS SONS. iROW DIRECTORY PRINTING AND ROOK8IROING COMPANY NEW YORK I ___ I ii - I, CONTENTS OF SCRIBNERS MAGAZINE VOLUME XIX JANUARYJUNE, 1896 ABOUT THE WORLD. Arctic Exploration, 264. Atlanta Exhibition, The, 131. Bad Boys and Good Works, 660. Canals, Some of the Next Century, 394. Congress and the Forests, ~S8. Diplomacy and Peace, 261. Dumas, The Three, 658. English and American Athletes, 131. Forestry, Our One Object-Lesson in, 790. Horseless Carriage, T he, 393. ALTITUDES, LIFE IN THE-2THE COLORADO HEALTH PLATEAU Illustrations from nature by Orson Lowell AMERICA. See Br~~ish Opinion of. ANDREWS, B. BENJAMIN, President of Brown Univer- sity. History of the Last Qearter (Jeutary in the United Stetes ARARAT, MOUNT With illustrations from photographs taken by the author. ARCTIC EXPLORATION. About the World, ARISTOCRACIES AND SPORT. Point of View,. ARNOLDS, MATTHEW, LETTERS. Point of View, ART FOR ARTS SAKE. Field of Art, ARTIST, THE POOR. Point of View ARTISTIC ATMOSPHERE. Field of Art, ARTISTS WORK AND THEORY. Field of Art, ATHENS. See Olympia. ATHLETICS. See Olympia. ATLANTA EXHIBITION, THE. About the World, BABY IN THE SIEGE, A, BACON, LEE. Florentine Villas BAD BOYS AND GOOD WORKS. About the World,. BALKANS, IN THETHE CHESSBOARD OF EU- ~ted from photographs. BARRIE, J. M. Sentimental Tommy. Chapters I.XXIV. BICYCLE, THE RULE OF THE. Point of View, BIRRELL, AUGUSTINE. Frederick Locker,. BLUM, ROBERT, A DECORATIVE PAINTING BY, With illustrations from photographs of Mr. Blums dec- orative painting at the New York Mendelssohn Glee Club. PAGE Messiah, a Western, 263. Olympia, An Example for, 792. Opera, An Epoch of, 525. Salvation Army Crisis, 657. Ships, What Will the New Be, 130. Sky-Scrapers, a Halt Called On, 395. South-Sea Bubbles, New, 262. Speed of Travel, Gains in, 129. War-making, Twelve Months of, 526. LEWIS Mon~ss IDDINGS, H. F. B. LYNCH, 136 60, 175, 207, 469 15 264 255 387-.. - 125 - 520 - 785 - 524~ JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS, 131 490 323 660 663 HENRY NORMAN 13, 152, 297, 417, 549, 685 783 39 3 CONTENTS BOOKBINDING, DESIGN IN, ~v hAs twelve reproductions of bindings designed and executed by the author. See also French Binders of To-day. BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY, THE NEW BUILDING OF THE Illustrated from nature by E. C. Peixotto. BRITISH OPINION OF AMERICA BUNNER H. C. (Letter to Town The Lost Child BURNS, ON A SAYING OF. Point of View, BUSBEY, HAMILTON. The Evolution of the Trotting- Horse CANALS, SOME OF THE NEXT CENTURY. About the World CAPTOR OF OLD PONTOMOC, THE, CARNATiONS Illustrated from nature by Harry Fenn. CARRItS, JEAN. Field of Art CASSATT, MISS MARY With Frontispiece, Child Picking Fruit and repro- ductions of other paintings and pastels by Miss Cas- satt. CATHODE PHOTOGRAPHY. See Photography. CHAMELEON, A CHESSBOARD OF EUROPE. See Balkans. CHILDS GARDEN, THEOF VERSES AND OTHER LITERATURE. Point of View, . CHLOE, CHLORIS, AND CYTHEREA, CINDERELLA,~~ CLARKE, THOMAS CURTIS. Wat -Ways from the Ocean to the Lakes COLORADO. See Life in the Altitudes. COLORED ShADOWS. Field of Art COLUMBUSS DEED AFTER FOUR CENTURIES. See History. CONGRESS AND THE FORESTS. About the World, CONNELLY, J. H. Carnations CONSULATE, THE COMEDIES OF A, Illustrated by C. S. Reinhart. DAVIS, JOHN P. Field of Art DAVIS, RICHARD HARDING. C~inderella, DECORATIVE PAINTING IN AMERICA. ~Field of Art DEMOCRACY SUPREME. See History. DEMOCRAT AT THE HELM. See History. DIPLOMACY AND PEACE. About the World, DOG RIBS. See A[resk-ox. DUMAS, THE THREE. About the World, EARLE, MARY T. The Captor of Old Poutomoc,. EMPTY MENACE, AN. Point of View,. ENGLISH AND AMERiCAN ATHLETES. About the World FIELD, EUGENE. Point of View FIELD OF ART, THE. Art for Arts Sake, 125. Artistic Atmosphere, 785. Artists Work and Theory, 524. Carriils, Jean, 257. Colored Shadows, 522. Davis, John P., 392. Decorative Painting in America, 259. Flaubert, Gustav, 391. High Buildings, 127, 389. Lake Nemi. Recent Discoveries at, 521. Loan Exhibitions, 653. FLAUBERT, GUSTAV. Field of Art,...., S. T. PRIDEATJX, T. H. SULLIVAN, RICHARD WHITEING, MARY T. EARLE, J. H. CONNELLY, WILLIAM WALTON, HORACE ANNESLEY VACHELL, GERTRUDE HALL, RICHARD HARDING DAVIS, BEN. H. RIDGELY, 1AGU 199 83 371 342 760 386 564, 669 394 749 313 257 353 378 519 586 460 103 522 788 313 625 392 460 259 261 658 749 124 131 122 Monet, Claude, 125. Museum Catalogues, Our, 786. Museums, About, 258 Pennsylvania, Academy Exhibition, The, 390. Potters, Bessie C., Figurines, 126. Robinson, Theodore, 784. Statuettes, Two Contemporary, 785. Studio Furnb~hings, 522. ~ Turner, A Picture by, 260. Vermeer de Delft, 128. ~91 iv CONTENTS v FLORENTINE VILLAS LEE BACON, With illustrations by F. S. Coburn from photographs. FORESTRY, OUR ONE OBJECT-LESSON IN. About the World FRENCH BINDERS OF TO-DAY, . S. T. PRIDEAUX Illustrated with reproductions of bindings by Chain- bolle, Gruel, Lortic fils, Mercier, Marius, Michel, Raparlier, and Ruban. See also Bookbinding. FROM ENVY, HATRED, AND MALICE. Point of View GENTILITY, TEACHERS OF. Point of View. . GORREN, ALINE. The Ethics of Jlodern ,Tournalisrn GREECE. See Olympia. HALL, GERTRUDE. Chloe, (,hloris, and Cytherea HALL, OWEN. A Long Chase HARRIS, JOEL CHANDLER. A Baby in the Siege, HEARD, JOHN. September 13, 1894On the N.P.II., . HENDERSON, W. J. A Afystery of the Sea, HIGH BUILDiNGS. Field of Art HIS COLLEGE LIFE, PAeE 323 790 361 121 782 507 586 06 490 115 620 127, 389 721 WILLIAM DEWITT HYDE President of Bowdoin College. HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY IN THE UNITED STATES, A With portraits, and scenes from contemporary photo- - graphs, drawn with the co-operation of participants, fac-similes, etc. IX. A DEMOCRAT AT THE HELM X. THE NEO-REPUBLICAN ASCENDENCY XI. COLUMBUSS DEED AFTER FOUR CENTURIES XII. THE DEMOCRACY SUPREME Conclu~ion. HOPPERS OLD MAN ROBERt C. V. MEYERS HORSE. See Trotting-ilorse. HORSELESS CARRiAGE, THE. About the World HUGHES, THOMAS. Point of View HUMPHREYS, MARY GAY. Women Bachelors in London HYDE, WILLIAM DEWITT. H College Life IDDINGS, LEWIS MORRIS. Lsfe in the Altitudes IN THE SUN. Painted by THEODORE ROBINSON, Engraved by Caroline A. Powell. . JOURNALISM, THE ETHICS OF MODERN,. ALINE GORREN, KINGSLEY, HENRY. Point of View LAKE NEMI, RECENT DISCOVERIES AT. Field of Art LEIGHTON LORD (SIR FREDERICK LEIGHTON, P.R.A.~. . . . . . . Cosaso MONKHOUSE, With a full-page portrait (frontispiece) of Lord Leighton, and reproductions of paintings by the artist, the selections being made with his assistance. LETTER OF FAREWELL, A, BRANDER MATTHEWS, LETTER TO TOWN AURBAN AND SUBURBAN SKETCHES, H C. BUNNER, fllustrated by A. B. Frost. LOAN EXHIBITIONS. Field of Art LOCKER, FREDERICK AUGUSTINE BIRRELL, With a portr& t. LONDON. See Women Bachelors in. LONG CHASE, A OWEN HALL, LOST CHILD, THEURBAN AND SUBURBAN SKETCHES H. C. BUNNEE, Illustrated by Kenneth Frazier. LYNCH, H. F. B. Ascent of Afount Ararat MADAME ANNALENA BLISS PERRY, MATTHEWS, BRANDER. A Letter of Farewell MESSIAH, A WB~TBI1~N. About the World. E. BENJAMIN ANDREWS President of Brown University. 60 175 267 469 247 393 ~81 600 721 136 748 507 123 521 399 644 760 653 39 206 342 215 .97 644 CONTENTS MEYERS, ROBERT C. V. Hoppers Old Alan, MONET, CLAUDE. (See Frontispiece.) Field of Art, MONKHOUSE, COSMO. Lord Leighton, MUSEUM CATALOGUES, OUR. Field of Art, MUSEUMS, ABOUT. Field of Art MUSK-OX, HUNTJNG WITH THE DOG RIBS, lilustrated from photographs by the author. ~ ~EO-REPUBLICAN ASCENDENCY, THh~ See us- tory. NEW SPORT, A, Illustrations by W. R. Leigh from instantaneous pho- tographs taken at St. Moritz. NEWSPAPERS. See Journalism. NIGHTMARE PAGE, THE ~ in the Balkans, . NORMAN HENRY. The Quarrel of the English- SpeaLciny Peoples, OLYMPIA. A DAY AT With pictures by Corwin Knapp Linson. OLYMPIA, AN EXAMPLE FOR. About the World, OLYMPIC GAMES, THE REVIVAL OF THE, RESTORING TILE STADION AT AThENS. With illustrations from photographs. OPERA, AN EPOCH OF. About the World, OSBORNE, DUFFIELD A Day at Olympia, . PENNSYLVANIA ACADEMYS EXHIBITION, THE. Field of Art, PERRY BLISS. Afadame Annalena PHOTOGRAPH IN HISTORY, THE. Point of View, PHOTOGRAPHY BY CATHODE RAYS, THE NEW, With reproductions of typical photographs made by Professor Trowbridge. POINT OF VIEW, THE. Arnolds, Matthew, Letters, 387. Aristocracies and Sport, 255. Artist, The Poor, 520. Bicycle, the Rule of the, 783. Burns, On a Saying of, 386. Childs Garden, Theof Verses and other Literature, 5119. Empty Menace, An, 124. Field, Eugene, 122. From Envy, Hatred, and Malice, 12L Gentility, Teachers of, 782 POTTERS, MISS BESSIE C., FIGURINES. Field of Art in Bookbinding, PRIDEAUX, S. T. Design tch Binders of To-day, PROXIES OF THE PUBLIC. Point of View, QUARREL OF THE ENGLISH - SPEAKING PEO- PLES, THE RATHER TOO MUCH ENERGY RICHARDSON, RUFUS B. The Revival of the Olym- pian Games RIDGELY, BEN. H. The Comedies of a (onsulate, ROBINSON, THEODORE. Field of Art ROOSEVELT, J. WEST. Rather Ibo Mbeh Energy, RUSSELL, FRANK. Hunting Husk-Ox nith the Dog Ribs, ST. MARYS, AT Illustrated by John A. Fraser from photographs. SALA, GEORGE AUGUSTUS. Point of View SALVATION ARMY CRISIS. About the World SAMOA. See Vailima Table-Talk. FRANK RUSSELL, IAGE 247 125 399 ....786 . . . 258 . . . 235 45 OCTAVE THANET, DUFFIELD OSBORNE, . . . 635 3 513 433 792 RUFUS B. RICHARDSON, . , 453 Dircctor of the Anierican School of Cl ssical Studies at Athens. 525 433 390 97 388 501 JOHN TRowBRIDGR, Director Jefferson Physical Labo- ratory, Harvard University. Honor, 652. Hughes, Thomas, 781 Kingsley, Henry, 123. Photograph in History, The, 388. Proxies of the Public, 650. Sala, George Augustus, 254. Spring Poetry, A Basis for, 649. Wanted, A New Obstacle, 651. Wheel, The, and its Revolution, 256. Work and Life, 253. HENRY NORMAN, J. WEST ROOSEVELT, HARRY C. HALE, 126 199 11 650 513 611 453 625 784 611 235 770 254 657 vi CONTENTS Vil SEA, A MYSTERY OF TIlE Illustrated by M. J. Burns. SENTIMENTAL TOMMYTIlE STORY OF HIS Boy- HOOD. Chapters I.-XXIV. With portrait of Barrie and full-page illustrations by William Hatherell. (To be continued through the year.) SEPTEMBER 13, 1894ON THE N. P R SEVILLANA, . . . With Frontispiece, the Bull Fight and other illustra- tions by Daniel Vierge. SHIPS, WHAT WILL THE NEW BE. About the World SKY-SCRAPERS, A HALT CALLED ON. About the World SOUTH-SEA BUBBLES, NEW. About the World, SPEED OF TRAVEL, GAINS IN. About the World, SPRING POETRY, A BASIS FOR. Point of View, STADION. See Olympic Games. STATUETTES, TWO CONTEMPORARY. Field of Art, STEVENSON, ROBERT LOUIS. See Vailim Table- Talk. STRONG, ISOBEL. Vailima Table-TalkRobert Louis Stevenson, in us Home Life, 1., JL STUDIO FURNISHINGS. Field of Art SULLIVAN, T. H. The New Building of the Boston Public Library THANET, OCTAVE. The Nightmare Page THAYER, MABEL. Sevillana, TOBOGGANING. See New Sport. TROTTING-HORSE, THE EVOLUTION OF THE. Illustrated with photographs mada for this article, re- productions of old lithographs, and drawings hy W. H. Leigh and Gustav Verbeek. TROUBADOURS, THE. Painted by . TROWBRIDGE, JOHN. The New Photography by Cath- ode Rays TURNER, A PICTURE BY. Field of Art, URBAN AND SUBURBAN SKETCHES LOST CHII.D, TIlE. Illustrated by Kenneth Fraziar. LETTER TO TOWN. Illustrated by A. B. Frost.. VACHELL, HORACE ANNESLEY. A Uhameleon, VAILIMA TABLE-TALK, I, 11.ROBERT LOUIS STE- VENSON IN HIS HOME LIFE Illustrated from phofographs in the family albums. VAN SCHAICK, S. W. The Troubadours VENEZUELAN QUESTION. See British Opinion and Quarrel of the English-Speaking Peoples. VERMEER DE DELFT. Field of Art WALTON, WILLIAM. .2JIary Cassatt WANTED, A NEW OBSTACLE. Point of View, WAR-MAKING, TWELVE MONTHS OF. About the World, WATER-WAYS FROM THE OCEAN TO THE LAKES With illustrations by Carlton T. Chapman and from photographs. WHEEL, THE, AND ITS REVOLUTION. Point of View WHITELNG, RICHARD. British Opinion of America, WOMEN BACHELORS IN LONDON With illustrations from life by L Raven Hill and W. Goodrich Beal. WORK AND LIFE. Point of View X HAYS. See Photograph PACE 620 W. J. HENDERSON, J. M. BARRIE, 13, 152, 297, 417, 549, 685, Author of The Little Minister. JOHN HEARD, MABEL THAYER, 115 169 130 395 262 129 49 785 531, 736 522 83 638 169 564, 669 HAMILTON BUSBEY, S. W. VAN SCHAICK,. H. C. BIENNER. 662 501 260 342 760 378 531, 736 62 ISOBEL STRONO,. 128 353 651 526 THOMAS COlITIS CLARKE, 103 256 371 600 253 MARY GAY HUMPHREYS CONTLNTS POETRY DREAMER THE HERMIT AND THE PILGRIM, THE HOME-HELD TO THE WANDERER, THE, IDYL OF TWO MAYS AN INVOCATION LIMITATIONS LITTLE FIELD OF PEACE, THE LOVES CRYPTOGRAM OLD MARBLEHEAD PARTING PASSIONATE SHEPHERD, THE, TO HIS LOVE. ELIZABETHAN SONGS. IL. Drawn by (To illustrate Marlowes Poem.) RHYME OF RAIN, A SARASATE, . SINGER, THE SONNET SONNETS, TWOPEACESPEECH AND SILENCE, SPRING SONG SPRING, THE CLINTON SCOLLARD, CLIFFORD HOWARD,. GRACE ELLERY CHANNING, CHARLES HENRY WEBB, RUPERT HUGHES, LOUISE BETTS EDWARDS, CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS, ANDREW LANG, MARGUERITE MERINOTON, EMILY DICKINSON, J. R. WEGUELIN, CHARLES PRESCOTT SHERMON, M. L. VAN VOEST, M. L. VAN VOEST, GEORGE CABOT LODGE, EDITH M. THOMAS, ROSAMUND MARRIOTT-WATSON, RUPERT HUGHES, SUN IS LOW, THE LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON, TO LUCASTA. ELIZABETHAN SONGS. I. Drawn by J. R. WEGUELIN, . (To illustrate LovelaCes Poem.) WOOD SONGS PAGE 415 135 735 431 599 759 352 114 . 562 . 780 768 624 323 245 500 683 518 377 643 11 ARTHUR SHERBURNH HARDY, . 246 viii VIEW OF ROUEN, See The Field ofAe-/ page 125. ENGRAVED BY W. M A(KMAN FROM THE PAINTING BY CLAUDE MONET.

A Decorative Painting By Robert Blum 3-11

SCRIBNERS MAGAZINE VOL XIX JANUARY 1896 No. 1 A DECORATIVE PAINTING BY ROBERT BLUM the concert-room of of Mr. Robert Blums with the architec- the Mendelssohn Glee tural features, making of it the ilnal and Club of New York has ennobling touch to spacious panels, to recently b e e n set a friezes and mouldings, with their fragile decorative p a in tin g arabesques in relief. And while so high which is so adequate in key that it gives a creamy tone to in its essentials, so in- white walls and ceilings, the sharp notes telligent in its grace, of the gilt candelabras, which here and and, above all, so ex- there judiciously relieve the pale en- quisitely in harmony with its surround- semble, are mellowed and brought into ings, that eye and mind, resting upon tender subjugation by its subtle color- it, enjoy it in pure unconsciousness scheme. Neither timorous nor vapor- of the fact that it is but a part of a ous, it possesses a definiteness which is general scheme which evidently must the finer for being unassertive. It is like include a like composition on the oppo- an intelligent person who in good com- site wall and the half-dome of the pro- pany has the supreme art of saying the scenium. The huge frieze, some 50 feet right thing in the right way and at the long by 12 feet high, is not forced best time, and whose tact and regard for into undue prominence by these as yet others emphasizes his own fine individ- undecorated surfaces. It does not nality. Dignified, nobly balanced, full make a hole, neither does it come at all points, it suggests as little as a foi ward, like a violin playing its part Greek moulding the need of altera- in a symphony, it is content to play its tion. part in the ensemble; and it has, there- Given full credit to professional skill fore, the first though rarest quality of a of a high order, united with a remark- decorationthat of being so much a able artistic temperament, we still have part of the architectural ensemble that something to be accounted for in this one does not detach it from its environ- homogeneous and masterly result. Be- W ment. sides the thoroughly original and cx- Daylight and the artificial light at pressive way in which the work was evening playing about the large sim- conceived, what seems to me to domi- plc interior, built primarily for the de- nate it is the evidence of a process by lectation of the ear, suffuse it with a which drawing and color, ensemble and soft radiance that blends this painting details, have been considered again and Copyright~ 1895, by charles Scribners Sons. All rights reserved. MUSIC. Robert Blums Decorative Painting at the Mendelssohn Glee Club. again, and the first conception shaped, ter three years of constant strnggles, elaborated, refined, and simplified nntil enthnsiasms, and depressions when of- it has reached its last and most worthy ten a man of more ordinary fibre, less lof- expression. While to set apart and ty pnrpose, and less conscientionsness consider severally the intimately related would have been satisfied with the result, and interwoven elements of an artistic Mr. Blumn has earned the right to say: production is, if not impossible, too of- There it is; for better or for worse, it ten useless, it does not appear map- is the best I am capable of. While, of propriate in this special instance to course, nothing is felt of that process of point out the significance of what might elaboration when the completed work, be termed its ethical as differentiated as far as Mr. Blum is concerned, is there from its ~esthetic aspects. The im- triumphant, it is not without profit to portant part played by the mans realize what his creation means of prob- strenuous effort helps us to a broader lems met, of difficulties conquered, of appreciation of his work, and gives us innumerable steps leading higher and at least a better basins for our under- higher. standing of, and our respect for, the Art is no more accidental than it is artist who has labored so lovingly. Af- trifling. 5 The works of the old masters invari- ably reveal their tremendous earnest- ness. Clever hand and eye give the externals, so to speak ; the serious mind alone gives what, in spite of se- ductive virtuosity, is, after all, the es- sence, and what makes the grandeur and assures the permanent value of a work of art. The first impression of this painting, which is also the one carried away after long examination, is one of spontaneity clearly expressed. It is as simple and as complete as a flower; a little world in itself, full of the joyousness of the spring of life, a vision of a summer 6 morning on the shores of Trinacria, an idyl of Theocritus. Mr. Bluin has chosen Music for his subject. Maidens in flowing, clinging draperies fill, in long procession, the whole length of the frieze. The sense of dainty motion, of pulsating life, is so expressed that they seem poised there for an instant only; indeed, in look- ing from one to another, the rhythm of the attitudes gives a sensation of movement. They are not forms rigidly fixed in their places and postures; but like the inimitable figures alive with the sense of eternal youth that forever dance on the rcinded surface of the w Greek vases, these maidens catch you one could read or write about them. in their breeze - blown draperies and Of the harmonious poses, of the beau- whirl you undulating on over the flower- ty and piquant grace of the types, the studded Arcadian field. You feel the illustrations accompanying this article swirl of their garments; you see the give some idea; although the reduc- twinkle of their feet keeping time to a tion to within a few inches and the music as distinctly felt, translation into black and white of flg~ The artist has had in mind the idea ures larger than life, and painted in so of the symphony and its several move- high a key that black and white can- ments; the andante, allegro, allegretto, not render their delicacy of color, lim- allegro con furia, etc., are clearly cx- its, perforce, these illustrations to a few pressed and individualized, but it is elemental facts. But because of its impossible to describe in mere words extreme reduction the large illustra- such characterizations; for in art, as tion of the frieze, necessary to present a French writer has said, the simple some idea of it as a whole, and of its view of things is worth all the words plan in the architectural scheme, gives 8 A DECORATIVE PAINTING as inadequate an idea of the superb composition as of its charm of color. The manner in which the component parts of the picture hold together and compose is such that one does not feel abundance here and emptiness there, or select some special figure or group- ing, rather than others; while enjoying the details one can think but tout ensemble. Without intending a comparison, which would be absurd, Mr. Blums work brought to the mind of the writer that of Puvis de Cha- vannes, for a masterly exhibition of this great decorative quality. In Music, as in Puviss frescos in the Sorbonne and the Pantheon, the structural lines are carried out in so subtle a way that they are felt rather than seen, the space is admirably balanced, and the whole alive, full, significant in masses and de- tails, heads, figures, patches of sky as well as of ground. In a decoration the subject chosen seems almost of see- ondary importance when this most es- sential result is achieved. And to real- ize how rarely it is achieved one has but to think of the paintings by eminent artists which decorate the Paris H6tel de Ville. Good paintings they are, ex- hibiting qualities of a high order, and yet grievous failures as decorations. of the Pictures on walls, not wall pictures ; in- teresting in many ways, but making one feel that they would produce a better impression anywhere else than in the place for which they were in- tended. In reviewing the larger and more significant aspects of this work I must own to losing sight of the brilliancy of the performance, which is part of its charm and so peculiarly characteristic of the artist. While it was to be ex- pected that Mr. Blum should remain himself, it was as unexpected as it is remarkable that he should have become a great decorator. It is evident that one of the most captivatingly pictur- esque artists of our day has enlarged his sphere by holding in check the more vivacious side of his nature, striving with larger problems and triumphing over them. The same individuality is there more than ever, and charm, dain- tiness, and vivacity pervade Music, as they were the keynote of Mr. Blums Venetian or of his Japanese studies. To one who has followed carefully Mr. Blums career, its last development seems perhaps especially typical of a man who has risen with each opportu 9 nity; who, when he began his career as an illustrator, and with hardly any artistic education, sought from the dan- gerously brilliant Spaniards, at the ze- nith of their fame, mainly their graver qualities; who, impatient and dissatis- fied with his success as an illustrator, strove to become a painter. As he always did his best, and worked not to please others but to satisfy himself, he has constantly grown, until this latest achievement places him in the very front rank of the great modern decora- tors. A DECORATIVE PAINTING TO LIJCASTA ON GOING TO THE WARS TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Loved I not Honour more LOVELAcE Drawn by R. Weguelin. ELIZABETHAN SONGSL TO LUCASTA.

J. R. Weguelin Weguelin, J. R. To Lucasta. - Elizabethan Songs. I. 11-13

Drawn by R. Weguelin. ELIZABETHAN SONGSL TO LUCASTA. J. M. BARRIE. From a ~ho1ograph by F. Hol& er. SENTIMENTAL TOMMY THE STORY OF HIS BOYHOOD BY J. M. BARRIE Author of The Little Minister, A Window in Thrums, etc. CHAPTER I TOMMY CONTRIVES TO KEEP ONE OUT THE celebrated Tommy first comes into view on a dirty London stair, and he was in sexless gar- ments, which were all he had, and he was five, and so though we are looking at him, we must do it side- ways, lest he should sit down hur- riedly to hide them. That inscrutable face, which made the clubmen of his later days uneasy and even puzzled the ladies while he was making love to them, was already his, except when he leered at one of his pretty thoughts or stopped at an open door to sniff a potful; note, too, the noble forehead, which has been so much admired. On his way up and down the stair he often paused to sniff, but he never asked for anything; his mother had warned him against it, and he carried out her injunction with almost unnecessary spirit, declining of- fers before they were made, as when passing a room, whence came the smell of fried fish, he might call in, I dont not want none of your fish, or My mother says I dont not want the littlest bit, or wistfully, I aint hungry, or more wistfully still, My mother says I aint hungry. His mother heard of this and was angry, crying that he had let the neighbors know something she was anxious to conceal, but what he had revealed to them Tommy could not make out, and when he questioned her artless- ly, she took him with sudden passion to her fiat breast, and often after that she looked at him long and wofully and wrung her hands. The only other pleasant smell known to Tommy was when the water-carts passed the mouth of his little street. His street, which ended in a dead wall, was near the river, but on the doleful side of it, opening off a longer street where the cabs of a bewildering station sometimes found themselves when they took the wrong turning; his home was at the top of a house of four floors, each with accommodations for at least two families, and here he had lived with his mother since his fathers death six months ago. There was oil-cloth on the stair as far as the first floor; there had been oil-cloth between the first floor and the secondTommy could point out pieces of it still adhering to the wood like remnants of a plaster, but above all was bare. This stair was nursery to all the chil- dren whose homes opened on it, not so safe as nurseries in the part of London that is chiefly inhabited by boys in sail- or suits, but preferable as a centre of adventure, and here on an afternoon sat two. They were very busy boasting, but only the smaller had imagination, and as he used it recklessly, their posi- tions soon changed; sexless garments was now prone on a step, breeches sit- ting on him. Shovel, a man of seven, had said, None on your lip. You werent never at Thrums yourself. Tommys reply was, Aint my mother a Thrums woman? Shovel, who had but one eye, and that bloodshot, fixed it on him threateningly. The Thames is in London, he said. Cos they wouldnt not have it in Thrums, replied Tommy. Amstead Eaths in London, I tell yer, Shovel said. The cemetery is in Thrums, said Tommy. There aint no queens in Thrums, anyhow.

J. M. Barrie Barrie, J. M. Sentimental Tommy - The Story Of His Boyhood 13-39

SENTIMENTAL TOMMY THE STORY OF HIS BOYHOOD BY J. M. BARRIE Author of The Little Minister, A Window in Thrums, etc. CHAPTER I TOMMY CONTRIVES TO KEEP ONE OUT THE celebrated Tommy first comes into view on a dirty London stair, and he was in sexless gar- ments, which were all he had, and he was five, and so though we are looking at him, we must do it side- ways, lest he should sit down hur- riedly to hide them. That inscrutable face, which made the clubmen of his later days uneasy and even puzzled the ladies while he was making love to them, was already his, except when he leered at one of his pretty thoughts or stopped at an open door to sniff a potful; note, too, the noble forehead, which has been so much admired. On his way up and down the stair he often paused to sniff, but he never asked for anything; his mother had warned him against it, and he carried out her injunction with almost unnecessary spirit, declining of- fers before they were made, as when passing a room, whence came the smell of fried fish, he might call in, I dont not want none of your fish, or My mother says I dont not want the littlest bit, or wistfully, I aint hungry, or more wistfully still, My mother says I aint hungry. His mother heard of this and was angry, crying that he had let the neighbors know something she was anxious to conceal, but what he had revealed to them Tommy could not make out, and when he questioned her artless- ly, she took him with sudden passion to her fiat breast, and often after that she looked at him long and wofully and wrung her hands. The only other pleasant smell known to Tommy was when the water-carts passed the mouth of his little street. His street, which ended in a dead wall, was near the river, but on the doleful side of it, opening off a longer street where the cabs of a bewildering station sometimes found themselves when they took the wrong turning; his home was at the top of a house of four floors, each with accommodations for at least two families, and here he had lived with his mother since his fathers death six months ago. There was oil-cloth on the stair as far as the first floor; there had been oil-cloth between the first floor and the secondTommy could point out pieces of it still adhering to the wood like remnants of a plaster, but above all was bare. This stair was nursery to all the chil- dren whose homes opened on it, not so safe as nurseries in the part of London that is chiefly inhabited by boys in sail- or suits, but preferable as a centre of adventure, and here on an afternoon sat two. They were very busy boasting, but only the smaller had imagination, and as he used it recklessly, their posi- tions soon changed; sexless garments was now prone on a step, breeches sit- ting on him. Shovel, a man of seven, had said, None on your lip. You werent never at Thrums yourself. Tommys reply was, Aint my mother a Thrums woman? Shovel, who had but one eye, and that bloodshot, fixed it on him threateningly. The Thames is in London, he said. Cos they wouldnt not have it in Thrums, replied Tommy. Amstead Eaths in London, I tell yer, Shovel said. The cemetery is in Thrums, said Tommy. There aint no queens in Thrums, anyhow. 14 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY Theres the auld Licht minister. Well, then, if you jest seed Trafalgar Square! If you house! jest seed the Thrums town- St. Pauls aint in Thrums. It would like to be. After reflecting, Shovel said in des- peration, Well, then, my father were once at a hanging. Tommy replied instantly, It were my father what was hanged. There was no possible answer to this save a knock-down blow, but though Tommy was vanquished in body, his spirit remained stanch; he raised his head and gasped, You should see how they knock down in Thrums! It was then that Shovel sat on him. Such was their position when an odd figure in that house, a gentleman, passed them without a word, so desirous was he to make a breath taken at the foot of the close stair last him to the top. Tom- my merely gaped after this fine sight, but Shovel had experience, and Its a kid or a coffin, he said, sharply, know- ing that only birth or death brought a doctor here. Watching the doctors ascent, the two boys strained their necks over the rick- ety banisters, which had been polished black by trousers of the past, and some- times they lost him, and then they saw his legs again. Hello, its your old woman! cried Shovel. Is she a deader? he asked, brightening, for funerals made a pleas- ant stir on the stair. The question had no meaning for be- wildered Tommy, but he saw that if his mother was a deader, whatever that might be, he had grown great in his companions eye. So he hoped she was a deader. If its only a kid, Shovel began, with such scorn that Tommy at once screamed, It aint! and, cross-exam- ined, he swore eagerly that his mother was in bed when he left her in the morn- ing, that she was still in bed at dinner- time, also that the sheet was over her face, also that she was cold. Then she was a deader and had at- tained distinction in the only way pos- sible in that street. Shovel did not shake Tommys hand warmly, the forms of congratulation varying in different parts of London, but he looked his ad- miration so plainly that Tommys head waggled proudly. Evidently, whatever his mother had done redounded to his glory as well as to hers, and somehow he had become a boy of mark. He said from his elevation that he hoped Shovel would believe his tales about Thrums now, and Shovel, who had often cuffed Tommy for sticking to him so closely, cringed in the most snobbish manner, craving permission to be seen in his company for the next three days. Tom- my, the upstart, did not see his way to grant this favor for nothing, and Shov- el offered a knife, but did not have it with him; it was his sister Ameliars knife, and he would take it from her, help his davy. Tommy would wait there till Shovel fetched it. Shovel, baffled, wanted to know what Tommy was put- ting on hairs for. Tommy smiled, and asked whose mother was a deader. Then Shovel collapsed, and his wind passed into Tommy. The reign of Thomas Sandys, never- theless, was among the shortest, for with this question was he overthrown: How did yer know she were cold? Because, replied Tommy, triumph- antly, she told me herself. Shovel only looked at him, but one eye can be so much more terrible than two, that plop, plop, plop came the, bal- loon softly down the steps of the throne and at the foot shrank pitifully, as if with Ameliars knife in it. Its only a kid arter all ! screamed Shovel, furiously. Disappointment gave him eloquence, and Tommy cowered un- der his sneers, not understanding them, but they seemed to amount to this, that in having a baby he had disgraced the house. But I think, he said, with diffidence, I think I were once one. Then all Shovel could say was that he had better keep it dark on that stair. Tommy squeezed his fist into one eye, and the tears came out at the other. A good-natured impulse was about to make Shovel say that though kids are undoubtedly humiliations, mothers and boys get used to them in time, and go on as brazenly as before, but it was 0CC ~ C CD CD 00 ~ o C~ CD 16 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY checked by Tommys unfortunate ques- tion, Shovel, when will it come? Shovel, speaking from local experi- ence, replied truthfully that they usually came very soon after the doctor, and at times before him. It aint come before him, Tommy said, confidently. How do yer know? Cos it werent there at dinner-time, and I been here since dinner-time. The words meant that Tommy thought it could only enter by way of the stair, and Shovel quivered with delight. Hst! he cried, dramatically, and to his joy Tommy looked anxiously down the stair, instead of up it. Did you hear it? Tommy whis- pered. Before he could control himself Shovel blurted out: Do you think as they come on their feet? How then? demanded Tommy; but Shovel had exhausted his knowledge of the subject. Tommy, who had begun to descend to hold the door, turned and climbed upwards, and his tears were now but the drop left in a cup too hur- riedly dried. Where was he off to? Shovel called after him ; and he answered, in a determined whisper: To shove of it out if it tries to come in at the win- der. This was enough for the more know- ing urchin, now so full of good things that with another added he must spill, and away he ran for an audience, which could also help him to bait Tommy, that being a game most sport- ive when there are several to fling at once. At the door he knocked over, and was done with, a laughing little girl who had strayed from a more fashiona- ble street. She rose solemnly, and kiss- ing her muff, to reassure it if it had got a fright, toddled in at the first open door to be out of the way of unman- nerly boys. Tommy, climbing courageously, heard the door slam, and looking down he sawa strange child. He climbed no higher. It had come! After a long time he was one flight of stairs nearer it. It was making itself at home on the bottom step; resting, doubt- less, before it came hopping up. An- other dozen steps, and It was beauti fully dressed in one piece of yellow and brown that reached almost to its feet, with a bit left at the top to form a hood, out of which its pert face peeped impu- dently; oho, so they came in their Sun- day clothes. He drew so near that he could hear it cooing: thought itself as good as upstairs, did it! He bounced upon her sharply, think- ing to carry all with a high hand. Out you go! he cried, with the action of one heaving hay. She whisked round, and, Go boy or oo girl? she inquired, puzzled by his dress. None of your cheek! roared in- sulted manhood. Go boy, she said, decisively. With the effrontery of them when they are young, she made room for him on her step, but he declined the invita- tion, knowing that her design was to skip up the stair the moment he was off his guard. You dont neednt think as well have you, he announced, firmly. You had best go away togo to His imagination failed him. You had best go back, he said. She did not budge, however, and his next attempt was craftier. My moth- er, he assured her, aint living here now ; but mother was a new word to the girl, and she asked, gleefully, Go have mother? expecting him to pro- duce it from his pocket. To coax him to give her a sight of it she said, plain- tively, Me no have mother. You wont not get mine, replied Tommy, doggedly. She pretended not to understand what was troubling him, and it passed through his head that she had to wait there till the doctor came down for her. He might come at any moment! A boy does not put his hand into his pocket until every other means of gain- ing his end has failed, but to that ex- tremity had Tommy now come. For months his only splendid possession had been a penny despised by trade be- cause of a large round hole in it, as if (to quote Shovel) some previous owner had cut a farthing out of it. To tell the escapades of this penny (there are no adventurers like coin of the realm) would be one way of exhibiting Tommy SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 17 to the curious, but it would be a hard- hearted way. At present the penny was doubly dear to him, having been long lost and lately found. In a noble mo- ment he had dropped it into a charity box hanging forlorn against the wall of a shop, where it lay very lonely by it- self, so that when Tommy was that way he could hear it respond if he shook the box, as acquaintances give each other the time of day in passing. Thus at comparatively small outlay did he spread his benevolence over weeks and feel a glow therefrom, until the glow went, when he and Shovel recaptured the penny with a thread and a bent pin. This treasure he sadly presented to her, and she accepted it with glee, put- ting it on her finger, as if it were a ring, but instead of saying that she would go now she asked him, coolly, Go know tories? Stories! he exclaimed, IllIll tell you about Thrums, and was about to do it for love, but stopped in time. This aint a good stair for stories, he said, cunningly. I cant not tell stories on this stair, but JI know a good stair for stories. The ninny of a girl was completely hoodwinked; and see, there they go, each with a hand in the muff, the one leering, oh, so triumphantly; the other trusting and gleeful. There was an ex- uberance of vitality about her as if she lived too quickly in her gladness, which you may remember in some child who visited the earth for but a little while. How superbly Tommy had done it! It had been another keen brain pitted against his, and at first he was not win- ning. Then up came Thrums, and But the thing has happened before; in a word, Blflcher. Nevertheless, Tommy just managed it, for he got the girl out of the street and on to another stair no more than in time to escape a ragged rabble, headed by Shovel, who, finding their quarry gone, turned on their leader viciously, and had gloomy views of life till his cap was kicked down a sewer, which made the wQrld bright again. Of the tales told by Tommy that day in words Scotch and cockney, of Thrums, home of heroes and the arts, where the lamps are lit by a magician called Leerie- leerie - licht - the - lamps (but he is also VOL. XJX.2 friendly, and you can fling stones at him), and the merest children are al- lowed to set the spinning-wheels a-whirl- ing, and dagont is the swear, and the stairs are so fine that the houses wear them outside for show, and you drop a pail at the end of a rope down a hole, and sometimes it comes up full of water, and sometimes full of fairiesof these and other wonders, if you would know, ask not a dull historian, nor even go to Thrums, but to those rather who have been boys and girls there and now are exiles. Such a one Tommy knows, an unhappy woman, foolish, not very lovable, flung like a stone out of the red quarry upon a land where it cannot grip, and tearing her heart for a sight of the home she shall see no more. From her Tommy had his pictures, and he colored them rarely. Never before had he such a listener. Oh, dagont, dagont! he would cry in ecstasy over these fair scenes, and she, awed or gurgling with mirth ac- cording to the nature of the last, de- manded Nother, nother! whereat he remembered who and what she was, and showing her a morsel of the new one, drew her to more distant parts, un- til they were so far from his street that he thought she would never be able to find the way back. His intention had been, on reaching such a spot, to desert her promptly, but she gave him her hand in the muff so confidingly that against his judgment he fell a-pitying the trustful mite who was wandering the world in search of a mother, and so easily diddled on the whole that the chances were against her finding one before morning. Almost unconsciously he began to look about him for a suitable one. They were now in a street much near- er to his own home than the spurts from spot to spot had led him to suppose. It was new to him, but he recognized it as the acme of fashion by those two sure signs; railings with most of their spikes in place, and cards scored with the word Apartments. He had dis- covered such streets as this before when in Shovels company, and they had watched the toffs go out and in, and it was a lordly sight, for first the toff waggled a rail that was loose at the 18 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY top and then a girl, called the servant, peeped at him from below, and then he pulled the rail again, and then the door opened from the inside, and you had a glimpse of wonder-land with a place for hanging hats on. He had not contem- plated doing anything so handsome for the girl as this, but why should he not establish her here? There were many possible mothers in view, and thrilling with a sense of his generosity he had almost fixed on one but mistrusted the glint in her eye, and on another when she saved herself by tripping and show- ing an undarned heel. He was still of an open mind when the girl of a sudden cried, gleefully, Ma-ma, ma-ma! and pointed, with her muft across the street. The word was as meaningless to Tommy as mother had been to her, but he saw that she was drawing his attention to a woman some thirty yards away. Manman ! he echoed, chiding her ignorance; no, no, you blether, that aint a man, thats a woman; thats woman~woman. Oomanooman, the girl repeated, docilely, but when she looked again, Ma-ma, ma-ma, she insisted, and this was Tommys first lesson that how- ever young you catch them they will never listen to reason. She seemed of a mind to trip off to this woman, and as long as his own mother was safe, it did not greatly mat- ter to Tommy whom she chose, but if it was this one, she was going the wrong way about it. You cannot snap them up in the street. The proper course was to track her to her house, which he proceeded to do, and his quarry, who was looking about her anxiously, as if she had lost some- thing, gave him but a short chase. In the next street to the one in which they had first seen her, a street so like it that Tommy might have admired her for knowing the difference, she opened the door with a key and entered, shutting the door behind her. Odd to tell, the child had pointed to this door as the one she would stop at, which surprised Tommy very much. On the steps he gave her his final in- structions, and she dimpled and gurgled, obviously full of admiration for him, which was a thing he approved of, but he would have liked to see her a little more serious. That is the door. Well, then, Ill waggle the rail as makes the bell ring, and then Ill run. That was all; and he wished she had not giggled most of the time. She was sniggering, as if she thought him a very funny boy, even when he rang the bell and bolted. From a safe place he watched the opening of the door, and saw the frivo- lous thing lose a valuable second in waving the muff to him. In you go! he screamed beneath his breath. Then she entered and the door closed. He waited an hour, or two minutes, or thereabout, and she had not been ejected. Triumph! With a drum beating inside him Tom- my strutted home, where, alas, a boy was waiting to put his foot through it. CHAPTER II BUT THE OTHER GETS TN 0 Tommy, a swaggerer, came Shovel sour - visaged; having now no cap of his own, he cx- changed with Tommy, would also have bled the blooming mouth of him, but knew of a revenge that saves the knuckles: announced, with jeers and offensive finger exercise, that it had come. Shovel was a liar. If he only knowed what Tommy knowed! If Tommy only heard what Shovel had hearn! Tommy was of opinion that Shovel hadnt not heard anything. Shovel believed as Tommy didnt know nuthin. Tommy wouldnt listen to what Shov- el had heard. Neither would Shovel listen to what Tommy knew. If Shovel would tell what he had heard, Tommy would tell what he knew. Well, then, Shovel had listened at the door, and heard it mewling. Tommy knowed it well, and it never mewled. How could Tommy know it? SEN TIMENTAL TOMMY 19 Cos he had been with it a long time. Gosh! Why, it had only corned a minute ago. This made Tommy uneasy, and he asked a leading question cunningly. A boy, wasnt it? No, Shovels old woman had been up helping to hold it, and she said it were a girL Shutting his mouth tightly, which was never natural to him, the startled Tommy mounted the stair, listened and was convinced. He did not enter his dishonored home. He had no inten- tion of ever entering it again. With one salt tear he renounceda child, a mother. On his way downstairs he was received by Shovel and party, who planted their arrows neatly. Kids cried steadily he was told, for the first year. A boy one was bad enough, but a girl one was oh lawks. He must never again expect to get playing with blokes like what they was. Already she had got round his old gal who would care for him no more. What would they say about this in Thrums? Shovel even insisted on returning him his cap, and for some queer reason, this cut deepest. Tommy about to charge, with his head down, now walked away so quietly that Shovel, who could not help liking the funny little cuss, felt a twinge of remorse, and nearly followed him with a magnanimous offer: to treat him as if he were still respectable. Tommy lay down on a distant stair, one o~ the very stairs where she had sat with him. Ladies, dont you dare to pity him now, for he wont stand it. Rage was what he felt, and a man in a rage (as you may know if you are mar- ried) is only to be soothed by the sight of all womankind in terror of him. But you may look upon your handiwork, and, gloat, an you will, on the wreck you have made. A young gentleman trusted one of you; behold the result. 0! 0! 0! 0! Now do you understand why we men cannot abide you? If she had told him flat that his mother, and his alone, she would have, and so there was an end of it. Ah, catch them taking a straight road. But to put on those airs of helplessness, to wave him that gay good-by, and then the moment his back was turned, to be off through the air onperhaps on her muff, to the home he had thought to lure her from. In a word, to be diddled by a girl when one flatters himself he is diddling! Sdeath, a dashing fellow finds it hard to bear. Nevertheless, he has to bear it, for oh, Tommy, Tommy, tis the common lot of man. His hand sought his pocket for the penny that had brought him comfort in dark hours before now; but, alack, she had deprived him even of it. Never again should his pinkie finger go through that warm hole, and at the thought a sense of his forlornness choked him, and he cried. You may pity him ~t lit- tle now. Darkness came and hid him even from himself. He is not found again until a time of the night that is not marked on ornamental clocks, but has an hour to itself on the watch which a hundred thousand or so of London women carry in their breasts; the hour when men steal homewards trickling at the mouth and drawing back from their own shadows to the wives they once went a-maying with, or the mothers who had such travail at the bearing of them, as if for great ends. Out of this, the drunk- ards hour, rose the wan face of Tom- my, who had waked up somewhere clam- my cold and quaking, and he was a very little boy, so he ran to his mother. Such a shabby dark room it was, but it was home, such a weary worn woman in the bed, but he was her son and she had been wringing her hands because he was so long in coming, and do you think he hurt her when he pressed his head on her poor breast, and do you think she grudged the heat his cold hands drew from her warm face? He squeezed her with a violence that put more heat into her blood than he took out of it. And he was very considerate, too: not a word of reproach in him, though he knew very well what that bundle in the back of the bed was. She guessed that he had heard the news and stayed away through jealousy of his sister, and by and by she said, with a faint smile, I have a present for you, laddie. In the great world with- out, she used few Thrums words now; 20 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY you would have known she was Scotch only by her accent, but when she and Tommy were together in that room, with the door shut, she always spoke as if her window still looked out on the bonny Marywellbrae. It is not really bonny, it is gey an mean an bleak, and you must not come to see it. It is just a steep wind - swept street, old and wrinkled, like your mothers face. She had a present for him, she said, and Tommy replied, I knows, with averted face. Such a bonny thing. Bonny enough, he said, bitterly. Look at her, laddie. But he shrank from the ordeal, cry- ing, No, no, keep her covered up! The little traitor seemed to be asleep, and so he ventured to say, eagerly, It wouldnt not take long to carry all our things to another house, would it? Me and Shovel could near do it ourselves. And thats Gods truth, the woman said, with a look round the room. But what for should we do that? Do you no see, mother? he whis- pered, excitedly. Then you and me could slip away, andand leave herin the press. The feeble smile with which his moth- er received this he interpreted thus, Wherever we god to she would be there before ~ The little besom! he cried, help- lessly. His mother saw that mischievous boys had been mounting him on his horse, which needed only one slap to make it go a mile; but she was a spiritless wom- an, and replied, indifferently, Youre a funny litlin. Presently a dry sob broke from her, and thinking the child was the cause, soft-hearted Tommy said, It cant not be helped, mother; dont cry, mother, Im fond on yer yet, mother; II took her away. I found another womanbut she would come.~~ Shes Gods gift, man, his mother said, bat she added, in a different tone, Ay, but he hasna sent her keep. Gods gift ! Tommy shuddered, but he said, sourly, I wish he would take her back. Do you wish that, too, mother? The weary woman almost said she did, but her arms they gripped the baby as if frightened that he had sent for it. Jealous Tommy, suddenly deprived of his mothers hand, cried, Its true what Shovel says, you dont not love me never again; you jest loves that little limmer! Na, na, the mother answered, pas- sionate at last, she can never be to me what you hae been, my laddie, for you came to me when my hame was in hell, and we tholed it thegither, you and me. This bewildered though it comforted him. He thought his mother might be speaking about the room in which they had lived until six months ago, when his father was put into the black box, but when he asked her if this were so, she told him to sleep, for she was dog- tired. She always evaded him in this way when he questioned her about his past, but at times his mind would wan- der backwards unbidden to those distant days, and then he saw flitting dimly through them the elusive form of a child. He knew it was himself, and for mo- ments he could see it clearly, but when he moved a step nearer it was not there. So does the child we once were play hide and seek with us among the mists of infancy, until one day he trips and falls into the daylight. Then we seize him, and with that touch we two are one. It is the birth of self-conscious- miess. Hitherto he had slept at the back of his mothers bed, but to-night she could not have him there, the place being oc- cupied, and rather sulkily he consented to lie crosswise at her feet, undfessing by the feeble fire and taking care, as he got into bed, not to look at the usurper. His mother watched him furtively, and was relieved to read in his face that he had no recollection of ever having slept at the foot of a bed before. But soon after he fell asleep he awoke, and was afraid to move lest his father should kick him. He opened his eyes stealthi- ly, and this was neither the room nor the bed he had expected to see. The floor was bare save for a sheepskin beside the bed. Tommy always stood on the sheepskin while he was dressing because it was warm to the feet, though risky, as your toes sometimes caught in knots in it. There was a deal table in SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 21 the middle of the floor with some dirty crockery on it and a kettle that would leave a mark, but they had been left there by Shovels old girl, for Mrs. Sandys usually kept her house clean. The chairs were of the commonest, and the press door would not remain shut unless you stuck a knife between its halves; but there was a gay blue ward- robe, spotted white where Tommys mother had scraped off the mud that had once bespattered it during a lengthy sojourn at the door of a shop; and on the mantelpiece was a clock in a little brown and yellow house, and on the clock a Bible that had been in Thrums. But what Tommy was proudest of was his mothers kist, to which the chests of Londoners are not to be compared, though like it in appearance. On the inside of the lid of this kist was pasted, after a Thrums custom, something that his mother called her marriage lines, which she forced Shovels mother to come up and look at one day, when that lady had made an innuendo Tommy did not understand, and Shovels mother had looked, and though she could not read, was convinced, knowing them by the shape. Tommy lay at the foot of the bed looking at this room, which was his home now, and trying to think of the other one, and by and by the fire helped him by falling to ashes, when darkness came in, and packing the furniture in grotesque cloths, removed it piece by piece, all but the clock. Then the room took a new shape. The fireplace was over there instead of here, the torn yel- low blind gave way to one made of spars of green wood, that were bunched up at one side, like a lady out for a walk. On a round table there was a beautiful blue cloth, with very few gravy marks, and here a man ate beef when a woman and a boy ate bread, and near the fire was the mans big soft chair, out of which you could pull hairs, just as if it were Shovels sister. Of this man who was his father he could get no hold. He could feel his presence, but never see him. Yet he had a face. It sometimes pressed Tom- mys face against it in order to hurt him, which it could do, being all short needles at the chin. Once in those days Tommy and his mother ran away and hid from some one. He did not know from whom nor for how long, though it was but for a week, and it left only two impressions on his mind, the one that he often asked, Is. this starving now, mother? the other that before turning a corner she always peered round it fearfully. Then they went back again to the man and he laughed when he saw them, but did not take his feet off the mantelpiece. There came a time when the man was always in bed, but still Tommy could not see his face. What he did see was the mans clothes lying on the large chair just as he had placed them there when he un- dressed for the last time. The black coat and worsted waistcoat which he could take off together were on the seat, and the light trousers hung over the side, the legs on the hearthrug, with the red socks still sticking in them: a man without a body. But the boy had one vivid recollection, of how his mother received the news of his fathers death. An old man with a white beard and gentle ways, who often came to give the invalid physic, was standing at the bedside, and Tommy and his mother were sitting on the fen- der. The old man came to her and said, It is all over, and put her sottly into the big chair. She covered her face with her hands, and he must have thought she was crying, for he tried to comfort her. But as soon as he was gone she rose, with such a queer face, and went on tiptoe to the bed, and looked intently at her husband, and then she clapped her hands joyously three times. At last Tommy fell asleep with his mouth open, which is the most important thing that has been told of him as yet, and while he slept day came and restored the furniture that night had stolen. But when the boy woke he did not even notice the change; his brain traversed the hours it had lost since he lay down as quickly as you may put on a stopped clock, and with his first tick he was thinking of nothing but the deceiver in the back of the bed. He raised his head, but could only see that she had crawled under the coverlet to escape his wrath. His mother was asleep. 22 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY Tommy sat up and peeped over the edge of the bed, then, he let his eyes wander round the room; he was look- ing for the girls clothes, but they were nowhere to be seen. It is distressing to have to tell that what was in his mind was merely the recovery of his penny. Perhaps as they were Sund4y clothes she had hung them up in the wardrobe? He slipped on to the floor and crossed to the wardrobe, but not even the muff could he find. Had she been tired, and gone to bed in them? Very softly he crawled over his mother, and pulling the coverlet off the childs face, got the great shock of his childhood. It was another one! - CHAPTER III SHOWING How TOMMY WAS SUDDENLY TRANS FORMED INTO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN IT would have fared ill with Mrs. Sandys now, had her standoffishness to her neigh- bors been repaid in the same coin, but they were full of sympathy, especially Shovels old girl, from whom she had often drawn back offensively on the stair, but who nevertheless waddled up. several times a day With savory messes, explaining, when Mrs. Sandys sniffed, that it was not the tapiocar but merely the cup that smelt of gin. When Tommy returned the cups she noticed not only that they were Suspi- ciously clean, but that minute particles of the mess were adhering to his nose and chin (perched there like ship-wrecked mariners on a rock, just out of reach of the devouring element), and after this discovery she brought two cupfuls at a time. She was an Irishwoman who could have led the House of Commons, and in walking she seldom raised her carpet shoes from the ground, perhaps because of her weight, for she had an expansive figure that bulged in all directions, and there were always bits of her here and there that she had forgotten to lace. Round the corner was a delightful eat- ing-house, through whose window you were allowed to gaze at the great sweat- ing dumplings, and Tommy thought Shovels mother was rather like a dump- ling that had not been a complete suc- cess. If he ever knew her name he forgot it. Shovel, who probably had another name also, called her his old girl or his old woman or his old lady, and it was a sight to see her chasing him across the street when she was in liquor, and boastful was Shovel of the way she could lay on, and he was partial to her too, and once when she was giv- ing it to him pretty strong with the tongs his father (who followed many professions, among them that of finding lost dogs), had struck her and told her t~ drop it, and then Shovel sauced his father for interfering, saying she should lick him as long as she blooming well liked, which made his father go for him with a dog - collar; and that was how Shovel lost his eye. For reasons less unselfish than his old girls Shovel also was willing to make up to Tommy at this humiliating time. It might be said of these two boys that Shovel knew everything but Tommy knew other things, and as the other things are best worth hearing of Shovel liked to listen to them, even when they were about Thrums, as they usually were. The very first time Tom- my told him of the wondrous spot, Shovel had drawn a great breath, and said, thoughtfully: I allers knowed as there were sich a beauty place, but I didnt jest know its name. How could yer know? Tommy asked, jealously. I aint sure, said Shovel, praps I dreamed on it. Thats it, Tommy cried. I tell yer, everybody dreams on it! and Tom- my was right; everybody dreams of it, though not all call it Thrums. On the whole, then, the coming of the kid, who turn~d out to be called El- speth, did not ostracise Tommy, but he wished that he had let the other girl in, for he never doubted that her ad- mittance would have kept this one out. He told neither his mother nor his friend of the other girl, fearing that his mother would be angry with him when she learned what she had missed, and that Shovel would crow over his blundering, but occasionally he took a side glance at the victorious infant, and SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 23 a poorer affair, he thought, he had never set eyes on. Sometimes it was she who looked at him, and then her chuckle of triumph was hard to bear. As long as his mother was there, however, he en- dured in ailence, but the first day she went out in a vain search for work (it is about as difficult to get washing as to get into the Cabinet), he gave the infant a piece of his mind, poking up her head with a stick so that she was bound to listen. You thinks as it was clever on you, does yer? Oh, if I had been on the stair! You neednt not try to get round me. I likes the other one five times bet- ter; yes, three times better. Thievey, thievey, thief, thats her place you is lying in. What? If you puts out your tongue at me again! What do yer say? She was twice bigger than you. You aint got no hair, nor yet no teeth. Youre the littlest I ever seed. Eh? Dont not speak then, sulks! Prudence had kept him away from the other girl, but he was feeling a great want: someone to applaud him. When we grow older we call it sympathy. How Heddy (as he called her because she had beautiful red-brown hair) had appreciated him! She had a way he liked of opening her eyes very wide when she looked at him. Oh, what a difference from that thing in the back of the bed! Not the mere selfish desire to see her again, however, would take him in quest of Reddy. He was one of those supe- rior characters, was Tommy, who got his pleasure in giving it, and therefore gave it. Now, Reddy was a worthy girl. In suspecting her of overreaching him he had maligned her: she had taken what he offered, and been thank- ful. It was fitting that he should give her a treat: let her see him again. His mother was at last re-engaged by her old employers, her supplanter having proved unsatisfactory, and as the work lay in a distant street, she usually took the kid with her, thus leav- ing no one to spy on Tommys move- ments. iReddys reward for not playing him false, however, did not reach her as soon as doubtless she would have liked, because the first two or three times he saw her she was walking with the lady of his choice, and of course he was not such a fool as to show himself. But he walked behind them and noted with satisfaction that the lady seemed to be reconciled to her lot and inclined to let bygones be bygones; when at length Reddy and her patron met, Tommy thought this a good sign too, that Ma- ma (as she would call the lady) had told her not to go farther away than the lamp-post, lest she should get lost again. So evidently she had got lost once al- ready, and the lady had been sorry. He asked Reddy many shrewd questions about how Ma-ma treated her, and if she got the top of the Sunday egg and had the licking of the pan and wore flannel underneath and slept at the back; and the more he inquired the more clearly he saw that he had got her one of the right kind. Tommy arranged with her that she should always be on the outlook for him at the window, and he would come sometimes, and after that they met fre- quently, and she proved a credit to him, gurgling with mirth at his tales of Thrums, and pinching him when he had finished, to make sure that he was really made just like common human beings. He was a thin, pale boy, while she looked like a baby rose full bloom in a night because her time was short; and his movements were sluggish, but if she was not walking she must be dancing, and sometimes when there were few people in the street, the lit- tle armful of delight that she was jumped up and down like a ball, while Tommy kept the time, singing Thrum- my, Thrummy, Thrum Thrum Thrum- my. They must have seemed a quaint pair to the lady as she sat at her window watching them and beckoning to Tommy to come in. One day he went in, but only because she had come up behind and taken his hand before he could run. Then did Tommy quake, for he knew from I{eddy how the day after the mother-making episode Ma-mh and she had sought in vain for his door, and he saw that the object had been to call down curses on his head. So that head was hanging limply now. 24 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY You think that Tommy is to be ~orst. ed at last, but dont be too sure; you just wait and see. Ma-ma and Reddy (who was clucking rather heartlessly) first took him into a room prettier even than the one he had lived in long ago (but there was no bed in it), and then, because someone they were in search of was not there, into another room with- out a bed (where on earth did they sleep?) whose walls were lined with books. Never having seen rows of books before except on sale in the streets, Tommy at once looked about him for the barrow. The table was strewn with sheets of paper of the size that they roll a quarter of butter in, and it was an amazing thick table, a solid square of wood, save for a narrow lane down the centre for the man to put his legs inif he had legs, which un- fortunately there was reason to doubt. He was a formidable man, whose beard licked the table while he wrote, and he wore something like a brown blanket, with a rope tied round it at the middle. Even more uncanny than himself were three busts on a shelf, which Tommy took to be deaders, and he feared the blanket might blow open and show that the man also ended at the waist. But he did not, for presently he turned round to see who had come in (the seat of his chair turning with him in the most startling way) and then Tommy was relieved to notice two big feet far away at the end of him. This is the boy, dear, the lady said. I had to bring him in by force. Tommy raised his arm instinctively to protect his face, this being the kind of man who could hit hard. But presently he was confused, and also, alas, leering a little. You may remember that Reddy had told him she must not go beyond the lamp-post, lest she should be lost again. She had given him no details of the adventure, but he learned now from Ma-ma and Papa (she called the man Papa) that she had strayed when Ma-ma was in a shop and that some good kind boy had found her and brought her home; and what do you say to this, they thought Tommy was that boy! In his amazement he very nearly blurted out that he was the other boy, but just thnn the lady asked Papa if he had a shilling, and this abruptly closed Tom- mys mouth. Ever afterwards he re- membered Papa as the man that was not sure whether he had a shilling un- til he felt his pocketsa new kind of mortal to Tommy, who grabbed the shilling when it was offered to him, and then looked at Reddy imploringly, he was so afraid she would tell. But she behaved splendidly, and never even shook her head at him. After this, as hardly need be told, his one desire was to get out of the house with his shilling before they discovered their mistake, and it was well that they were unsus- picious people, for he could not help making strange hissing sounds in his throat, the result of trying hard to keep his sniggers under controL There were many ways in which Tommy could have disposed of his shilling. He might have been a good boy and returned it next day to Papa. He might have given Reddy half of it for not telling. It could have carried him over the winter. He might have stalked with it into the shop where the greasy puddings were and come rolling out hours afterwards. Some of these schemes did cross his little mind, but he decided to spend the whole shilling on a present to his mother, and it was to be something useful. He devoted much thought to what she was niost in need of, and at last he bought her a colored picture of Lord Byron swim- ming the Hellespont. He told her that he got his shilling from two toffs for playing with a little girl, and the explanation satisfied her; but she could have cried at the waste of the money, which would have been such a God-send to her. He cried altogether, however, at sight of her face, having ex- pected it to look so pleased, and then she told him, with caresses, that the pict- ure was the one thing she had been long- ing for ever since she came to London. How had he known this, she asked, and he clapped his hands gleefully, and said he just knowed when he saw it in the shop window. It was noble of you, she said, to spend all your siller on me. Wasnt it mother? he crowed. Im thinking there aint many as no- ble as I is! SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 25 He did not say why he had been so good to her, but it was because she had written no letters to Thrums since the intrusion of Elspeth; a strange reason for a b~y whose greatest glory at one time had been to sit on the fender and exultingly watch his mother write down words that would be read aloud in the wonderful place. She was a long time in writing a letter, but that only made the whole evening romantic, and he found an arduous employment in keep- ing his tongue wet in preparation for the licking of the stamp. But she could not write to the Thrums folk now without telling them of Els- peth, who was at present sleeping the sleep of the shameless in the hollow of the bed, and so for his sake, Tommy thought, she meant to write no more. For his sake, mark you, not for her own. She had often told him that some day he should go to Thrums, but not with her; she would be far away from him then in a dark place she was awid to be lying in. Thus it seemed to Tommy that she denied herself the pleasure of writing to Thrums lest the sorry news of Elspeths advent should spoil his re- ception when he went north. As far as she herself was concerned she could have written, because as she was never going back it did not so much mat- ter to her what the Thrums people thought. So grateful Tommy gave her the pict- ure, hoping that it would fill the void. But it did not. She put it on the man- tlepiece so that she might just sit and look at it, she said, and he grinned at it from every part of the room, but when he returned to her, he saw that she was neither looking at it nor thinking of it. She was looking straight before her, and sometimes her lips twitched, and then she drew them into her mouth to keep them still. It is a kind of dry weeping that sometimes comes to mis- erable ones when their minds stray into the happy past, and Tommy sat and watched her silently for a long time, never doubting that the cause of all her woe was that she could not write to Thrums. He had seldom seen tears on his mothers face, but he saw one now. They had been loathe to come for many a day, and this one formed it- self beneath her eye and sat there like a blob of blood. His own began to come more freely. But she neednt not expect him to tell - her to write nor to say that he didnt care what Thrums thought of him so long as she was happy. The tear rolled down his mothers thin cheek and fell on the gray shawl that had come from Thrums. She did not hear her boy as he dragged a chair to the press and standing on it got something down from the top shelf. She had forgotten him, and she started when presently the pen was slipped into her hand and Tommy said, You can do it, mother, I wants yer to do it, mother, I wont not greet, mother! When she saw what he wanted her to do she patted his face approvingly, but without realizing the extent of his sacri- fice. She knew that he had some mag- got in his head that made him regard Elspeth as a sore on the family honor, but ascribing his views to jealousy she had never tried seiiously to change them. Her main reason for sending no news to Thrums of late had been but the cost of the stamp, though she was also a little conscience-stricken at the kind of letters she wrote, and the sight of the materials lying ready for her proved sufficient t6 draw her to the table. Is it to your grandmother you is writting the letter? Tommy asked, for her grandmother had brought Mrs. Sandys up and was her only surviving relative. This was all Tommy knew of his mothers life in Thrums, though she had told him much about other Thrums folk, and not till long afterwards did he see that there must be something queer about herself, which she was hiding from him. This letter was not for her granny, however, and Tommy asked next, Is it to Aaron Latta? which so startled her that she dropped the pen. Whaur heard you that name? she said, sharply. I never spoke it to you.~~ Ive heard you saying it when you was sleeping, mother. Did I say onything but the name? Quick, tell me. 26 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY You said, Oh, Aaron Latta, oh, Aaron, little did we think Aaron, and things like that. Are you angry with me, mother? No, she said, relieved, but it was some time before the desire to write came back to her. Then she told him The letter is to a woman that was gey cruel to me, adding, with a complacent pursing of her lips, the curious remark, thats the kind J like to write to best. The pen went scrape, scrape, but Tommy did not weary, though he often sighed, because his mother would never read aloud to him what she wrote. The Thrums people never answered her letters, for the reason, she said, that those she wrote to could not write, which seemed to simple Tommy to be a sufficient explanation. So he had never heard the inside of a letter talk- ing, though a postman lived in the house, and even Shovels old girl got letters ; once when her uncle died she got a telegram, which Shovel proudly wheeled up and down the street in a barrow, other blokes keeping guard at the side. To give a letter to a woman who had been cruel to you struck Tom- my as the height of nobility. Shell be uplifted when she gets it! he cried. Shell be mad when she gets it, an- swered his mother, without looking up. This was the letter My dear Esther, I send you these few scrapes to let you see I have not for- got you, though my way is now grand by yours. A spleet new black silk, Esther, being the second in a twelve- month, as Im a living woman. The other is no none tashed yet, but my gudeman fair insisted on buying a new one, for says he Rich folk like us can afford to be mislaird, and nothings ower braw for my bonny Jean. Tell Aaron Latta that. When Im sailing in my silks, Esther, I sometimes pict- ure you turning your wincey again, for Ise uphaud thats all the new frock youve. haen the year. I dinna want to gie you a scunner of your man, Esther, more by token they said if your mither had not took him in hand you would never have kent the color of his nightcap, but when you are wrax ing ower your kail-pot in a plot of heat, just picture me ringing the bell for my servant, and saying, with a wave of my hand, Servant, lay the dinner. And ony bonny afternoon when your man is cleaning out stables and youre at the tub in a short gown, picture my man taking me and the children out a ride in a carriage, and I sair doubt your bairns was never in nothing more gen- teel than a coal cart. For bairns is yours, Esther, and children is mine, and thats a burn without a brig tillt. Deary me, Esther, what with one thing and another, namely buying a sofa, thirty shillings as Im a sinner, I have forgot to tell you about my second, and its a girl this time, my man say- ing he would like a change. We have christened her Elspeth after my grand- mamma, and if my auld grannys aye living, you can tell her thats her. My man is terrible windy of his two beauti- ful children, but he says he would have been the happiest gentleman in Lon- don though he had just had me, and really his fondness for me, it cows, Esther, sitting aside me on the bed, two pounds without the blankets, about the time ELspeth was born, and feeding me with the fat of the land, namely, tapio- cas and sherry wine. Tell Aaron Latta that. I pity you from the bottom of my heart, Esther, for having to bide in Thrums, but you have never seen no better, your man having neither the siller nor the desire to take you jaunts, and Im thinking that is just as well, for if you saw how the like of me lives it might disgust you with your own bit house. I often laugh, Esther, to think that I was once like you, and looked upon Thrums as a bonny place. How is the old hole? My son makes grand sport of the onfortunate bairns as has to bide in Thrums, and I see him doing it the now to his favorite companion, which is a young gentleman of ladylUie manners, as bides in our terrace. So no more at present, for my man is sitting ganting for my society, and I daresay yours is crying to you to darn his old socks. Mind and tell Aaron Latta. This letter was posted next day by Tommy, with the. assistance of Shovel, SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 27 who seems to have been the young gentleman of ladylike manners referred to in the text. CHAPTER IV THE END OF AN IDYLL TOMMY never saw Beddy again owing to a fright he got about this time, for which she was really to blame, though a woman who lived in his house was the instrument. It is, perhaps, idle to attempt a sum.. mary of those who lived in that house, as one at least will be off, and another in his place, while we are giving them a line apiece. They were usually this kind who lived through the wall from Mrs. Sandys, but beneath her were the two rooms of Hankey, the postman, and his lodger, the dreariest of middle - aged clerks except when telling wistfully of his ambition, which was to get out of the tea department into the coffee de- partment, where there is an easier way of counting up the figures. Shovel and family were also on this floor, and in the rooms under them was a newly married couple. When the husband was away at his work, his wife would make some change in the furniture, taking the pict- ure from this wall, for instance, and hanging it on that wall, or wheeling the funny chair she had lain in before she could walk without a crutch, to the other side of the fireplace, or putting a skirt of yellow paper round the flower pot, and when he returned he always jumped back in wonder and exclaimed: What an immense improvement! These two were so fond of one another that Tommy asked them the reason, and they gave it by pointing to the chair with the wheels, which seemed to him to be no reason at alL What was this young husbands trade Tommy never knew, but he was the only prettily dressed man in the house, and he could be heard roaring in his sleep, And the next article? The meanest looking man lived next door to him. Every morning this man put on a clean white shirt, which sounds like a splendid be.. ginning, but his other clothes were of the seediest, and he came and went shivering, raising his shoulders to his ears and spreading his hands over his chest as if anxious to hide his shirt rather than to display it. He and the happy husband were nicknamed Before and After, they were so like the picto- rial advertisement of Man before and after he has tried Someones lozenges. But it is rash to judge by outsides; Tommy and Shovel one day tracked Be- fore to his place of business, and it proved to be a palatial eating-house, long, narrow, padded with red cushions, through whose door they saw the once despised, now in beautiful black clothes, the waistcoat a mere nothing, as if to give his shirt a chance at last, a towel over his arm, and to and fro he darted, saying Yessirquitesosir to the toffs on the seats, shouting Twovegonebeef onebeeronetartinahurry to someone invisible, and pocketing twopences all day long, just like a lord. On the same floor as Before and After lived the large family of little Pikes, who quarrelled at night for the middle place in the bed, and then chips of ceiling fell into the room below, tenant Jim Ricketts and parents, lodger the young woman we have been trying all these doors for. Her the police snapped up on a charge that made Tommy want to hide himself child-desertion. Shovel was the person best worth listening to on the subject (observe him, the centre of half a dozen boys), and at first he was for the defence, being a great stickler for the rights of mothers. But when the case against the girl leaked out, she need not look to him for help. The police~ had found the child in a basket down an area, and being know- ing ones they pinched it to make it cry, and then they pretended to go away. Soon the mother, who was watching hard by to see if it fell into kind hands, stole to her baby to comfort it, and just as she were a kissing on it and blub- bering, the perlice copped her. The slut I said disgusted Shovel, what did she hang about for? and in answer to a trembling question from Tommy he replied, decisively, Six months hard. Next case was probably called im- mediately, but Tommy vanished, as if 28 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY he had been sentenced and removed to the cells. Never again, unless he wanted six months hard, must he go near Reddys home, and so he now frequently accom- panied his mother to the place where she worked. The little room had a fanny fireplace called a stove, on which his mother made tea and the girls roasted chestnuts, and it had no other ordinary furniture except a long form. But the walls were mysterious. Three of them were covered with long white cloths, which went to the side when you tugged them, and then you could see on rails dozens of garments that looked like nightgowns. Beneath the form were scores of little shoes, most of them white or brown. In this house Tommys mother spent eight hours daily, but not all of them in this room. When she arrived the first thing she did was to put Elspeth on the floor, because you cannot fall off a floor; then she went upstairs with a bucket and a broom to a large bare room, where she stayed so long that Tommy nearly forgot what she was like. While his mother was upstairs Tommy would give Elspeth two or three slip- pers to eat to keep her quiet, and then he played with the others, pretending to be able to count them, arranging theni in designs, shooting them, swim- ming among them, saying bow-wow at them and then turning sharply to see who had said it. Soon Elspeth dropped her slippers and gazed in admiration at him, but more often than not she laughed in the wrong place, and then be said ironically: Oh, in course I cant do nothin; jest lets see you doing of it, then, cocky! By the time the girls began to arrive, singly or in twos and threes, his mother was back in the little room, making tea for herself or sewing bits of them that had been torn as they stepped out of a cab, or helping them to put on the nightgowns, or pretending to listen pleasantly to their chatter and hating them all the time. There was every kind of them, gorgeous ones and shabby ones, old tired ones and dashing young ones, but whether they were the Hon- orable Mrs. Something or only Jane Anything, they all came to that room for the same purpose: to get a little gown and a pair of shoes. Then they went upstairs and danced to a stout little lady, called the Sylph, who bobbed about like a ball at the end of a piece of elastic. What Tommy never forgot was that while they danced the Sylph kept saying, One, two, three, four; one, two, three, four, which they did not seem to mind, but when she said One, two, three, four, picture! they all stopped and stood motionless, though it might be with one foot as high as their head and their arms stretched out toward the floor, as if they had suddenly seen a half-penny there. In the waiting-room, how they joked and pirouetted and gossiped, and hugged and scorned each other, and what slang they spoke and how pretty they often looked next moment, and how they de- nounced the one that had just gone out as a cat with whom you could not get in a word edgeways, and oh, how prompt they were to give a slice of their earnings to any cat who was hard up! But still, they said, she had talent, but no genius. How they pitied people without genius. Have you ever tasted an encore or a reception? Tommy never had his teeth in one, but he heard much about them in that room, and concluded that they were some sort of cake. It was not the girls who danced in groups, but those who danced alone, that spoke of their encores and receptions, and sometimes they had got them last night, sometimes years ago. Two girls met in the room, one of whom had stolen the others re- ception, and but it was too dreadful to write about. Most of them carried newspaper cuttings in their purses and read them aloud to the others, who would not listen. Tommy listened, however, an(l as it was all about how one house had risen at the girls and they had brought another down, he thought they led the most adventurous lives. Occasionally they sent him out to buy newspapers or chestnuts, and then he had to keep a sharp eye on the police lest they knew about Reddy. It was a point of honor with all the boys he knew to pretend that the policeman was after them. To gull him into thinking all was well they blackened their faces SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 29 and wore their jackets inside out; their occupation was a coi~stant state of readi- ness to fly from him, and when he tramped out of sight, unconscious of their existence, they emerged from dark places and spoke in exultant whispers. Tommy had been proud to join them, but he now resented their going on in this way; he felt that he alone had the right to fly from the law. And once at least while he was flying something hap- pened to him that he was to remember better, far better, than his mothers face. What set him running on this occa- sion (he had been sent out to get one of the girls shoes soled) was the grandest sight to be seen in Londonan endless row of policemen walking in single file, all with the right leg in the air at the same time, then the left leg. Seeing at once that they were after him, Tommy ran, ran, ran until in turning a corner he found himself wedged between two legs. He was of just sufficient size to fill the aperture, but after a momentary lock he squeezed through, and they proved to be the gate into an enchanted land. The magic began at once. Dagont, you sacket! cried some wizard. A policemans hand on his shoulder could not have taken the wind out of Tommy more quickly. In the act of starting a-running again he brought down his hind foot with a thud and stood stock still. Can anyone wonder? It was the Thrums tongue, and this the first time he had heard it except from his mother. It was a dull day, and all the walls were dripping wet, this being the part of London where the fogs are kept. Many men and women were passing to and fro, and Tommy, with a wild exultation in his breast, peered up at the face of. this one and that; but no, they were only ordinary people, and he played rub-a-dub with his feet on the pave- ment, so furious was he with them for moving on as if nothing had happened. Draw up, ye carters; pedestrians, stand still; London, silence for a moment, and let Tommy Sandys listen! Being but a frail plant in the way of a flood, Tommy was rooted up and borne onward, but he did not feel the buffet- ing. In a passion of grief he dug his fists in his eyes, for the glory had been his for but a moment. It can he com- pared to nothing save the parcel (at- tached to a concealed string) which Shovel and he once placed on the stair for Billy Hankey to find, and then whipped away trom him just as he had got it under his arm. But so near the crying, Tommy did not cry, for even while the tears were rushing to his aid he tripped on the step of a shop, and immediately, as if that had rung the magic bell again, a voice, a woman s voice this time, said shrilly, Threepence hapenny, and them jimply as big as a bantams! Na, na, but Ill gie you five bawbees. Tommy sat down flop on the step, feeling queer in the head. Was itwas itwas it Thrums? He knew he had been running a long time. The woman, or fairy, or whatever you choose to call her, came out of the shop and had to push Tommy aside to get past. Oh, what a sweet foot to be kicked by. At the time he thought she was dressed not unlike the women of his own stair, bnt this defect in his vision he mended afterward, as you may hear. Of course, he rose and trotted by her side like a dog, looking up at her as if she were a cathedral; but she mistook his awe for impudence and sent him sprawling, with the words, Tak that, you glowering partan! Do you think Tommy resented this? On the contrary, he screamed from where he lay, Say it again! say it again! She was gone, however, but only, as it were, to let a window open, from which came the cry, Davit, have you seen my man? A male fairy roared back from some invisible place, He has gone yont to Peteys wi the dambrod. Ill dambrod him! said the female fairy, and the window shut. Tommy was now staggering like one intoxicated, but he had still some sense left him, and he walked up and down in front of this house, as if to take care of it. In the middle of the street some boys were very busy at a game, carts and lorries passing over them occasion- ally. They came to the pavement to play marbles, and then Tommy noticed that one of them wore what was proba 30 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY bly a glengarry bonnet. Could he be a Thrums boy? At first he played in the stupid London way, but by and by he had to make a new ring, and he did it by whirling round on one foot. Tom- my knew from his mother that it is only done in this way in Thrums. Oho! Oho! By this time he was prancing round his discovery, saying, Im one, tooso am 1dagont, does yer hear? dagont! which so alarmed the boy that he picked up his marble and fled, Tommy, of course, after him. Alas! he must have been some mischievous sprite, for he lured his pursuer back into London and then vanished, and Tommy, search- ing in vain for the enchanted street, found his own door instead. His mother pooh-poohed his tale, though he described the street exactly as it struck him on reflection, and it bore a curious resemblance to the palace of Aladdin that Beddy had told him about, leaving his imagination to fill in the details, which it promptly did, with a square, a town-house, some outside stairs, and an auld licht kirk. There was no such street, however, his mother assured him; he had been dreaming. But if this were so, why was she so anxious to make him promise never to look for the place again? He did go in search of it again, daily for a time, always keeping a look-out for bow-legs, and the moment he saw them, he dived recklessly between, hoping to come out into fairyland on the other side. For though he had lost the street, he knew that this was the way in. Shovel had never heard of the street, nor had Bob. But Bob gave him some- thing that almost made him forget it for a time. Bob was his favorite among the dancing girls, and sheor should it be he? The odd thing about these girls was that a number of them were really boys or at least were boys at Christmas - time, which seemed to Tommy to be even stranger than if they had been boys all the year round. A friend of Bobs remarked to her one day, You are to be a girl next winter, aint you, Bob? and Bob shook her head scornfully. Do you see any green in my eye, my dear? she inquired. Her friend did not look, but Tommy looked, and there was none. He assured her of this so earnestly that Bob fell in love with him on the spot, and chucked him under the chin, first with her thumb and then with her toe, which feat was duly reported to Shovel, who could do it by the end of the week. Did Tommy, Bob wanted to know, still think her a mere woman? No, he withdrew the charge, but. but. She was wearing her outdoor garments, and he pointed to them. Why does yer wear them, then? he demanded. For the matter of that, she replied, pointing at his frock, why do you wear them? Whereupon Tommy be- gan to cry. I aint not got no right ones, he blubbered. Harum-scarum Bob, who was a trump, had him in her motherly arms immediately, and the upshot of it was that a blue suit she had worn when she was Sam Something changed owners. Mrs. Sandys made it up, and that is how Tommy got into trousers. Many contingencies were considered in the making, but the suit would fit Tommy by and by if he grew, or it shrunk, and they did not pass each other in the night. When proud Tom- my first put on his suit the most unex- pected shyness overcame him, and hav- ing set off vaingloriously he stuck on the stair and wanted to hide. Shovel, who had been having an argument with his old girl, came, all boastful bumps, to him, and Tommy just stood still with a self-conscious simper on his face. And Shovel, who could have damped him considerably, behaved in the most hon- orable manner, initiating him gravely into the higher life, much as you show the new member round your club. It was very risky to go back to Reddy, whom he had not seen for many weeks; but in trousers! He could not help it. He only meant to walk up and down her street, so that she might see him from the window, and know that this splendid thing was he; but though he went several times into the street, Reddy never came to the window. The reason he had to wait in vain at Reddys door was that she was dead; she had been dead for quite a long time when Tommy came back to look for her. SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 31 You mothers who have lost your babies, I should be a sorry knave were I to ask you to cry now over the death of another womans child. Ileddy had been lent to two people for a very little while, just as your babies were, and when the time was up she blew a kiss to them and ran gleefully back to God, just as your babies did. The gates of heaven are so easily found when we ure little, and they are always standing op~n 4o let children wander in. But though Reddywas gone away for- ever, mamma still live4 in that house, and on a day she opened the door to come out. Tommy was standing there she saw him there waiting for Reddy. Dry - eyed this sorrowfi d woman had heard the sentence pronounced, dry- eyed she had followed the little coffin to its grave; tears had not come even when waking from illusive dreams she put out her hand in bed to a child who was not there; but when she saw Tommy waiting at the door for Reddy, who had been dead for a month, her bosom moved and she could cry again. - _ Those tears were sweet to her hus~on her! band, and it was he who took Tommy You jest take care, Shovel. og his knee in the room where the booh Aint yer? were, and told him that there was no Red- Na-o! dy now. When Tommy knew that Reddy ~ Will yer swear? was a deader he cried bitterly, and the So I will swear. man said, very gently, I am glad you Lets hear yer. were so fond of her. Dagont ! Taint that, Tommy answered with__ So for a time the truth was kept hid- a knuckle in his eye, taint that as ien, and Shovel retired, casting asper- makes me cry. He looked down at his ~ions, and offering to eat all the hair on trousers and in a fresh outburst of child- Rispeths head for a penny. ish grief he wailed, Its them! This hair was white at present, which Papa did not understand, but the boy made Tommy uneasy about her future, explained. She cant not never see but on the whole he thought he might them now, he sobbed, and I wants make something of hcr if she was her to see them, and they has pockets! only longer. Sometimes he stretched It had come to the man unexpectedly. her on the floor, pulling her legs out He put Tommy down almost roughly, straight, for she had a silly way of and raised his hand to his head as if doubling them up, and then he incas- he felt a sudden pain there. ured her carefully with his mothers old But Tommy, you know, was only a boots. Her growth proved to be dis- little boy. tressingly irregular, as one day she seemed to hive grown an inch since last night, and then next day she had shrunk two inches. After her days work Mrs. Sandys was now so listless that, had not Tommy in- terfered, Elspeth would have been a backward child. Reddy had been able CHAPTER V THE GIRL WITh TWO MOTHER5 E LSPETH at last did something to win Tommys respect; she fell ill of an ailment called in Thrums the croop. When Tommy first heard his mother call it croop, he thought she was merely humoring Elspeth, and that it was noth- ing more distinguished than London whooping-cough, but on learning that it was genuine croop, he began to sur- vey the ambitious little creature with a new interest. This was well for Elspeth, as she had now to spend most of the day at home with him, their mother, whose health was failing through frequent attacks of bronchitis, being no longer able to car- ry her through the streets. Of course Elspeth soon took to repaying his at- tentions by loving him, and he soon suspected it, and then gloomily admit- ted it to himself, but never to ShoveL Being but an Englishman, Shovel saw no reason why relatives should conceal their affection for each other, but he played on this Scottish weakness of Tommys with cruel enjoyment. Shes fond on yer! he would say, severely. Yous a hay. Gar long! I believe as youre fond 32 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY to walk from the first day, and so of course had he, but this little slow- coachs legs wobbled at the joints, like the blade of a knife without a spring. The question of questions was How to keep her on end? Tommy sat on the fender revolving this problem, his head resting on his hand: that favorite position of mighty intellects when about to be photo- graphed. Elspeth lay on her stomach on the floor, gazing earnestly at him, as if she knew she was in his thoughts for some stupendous purpose. Thus the apple may have looked at Newton before it fell. Hankey, the postman, compelled the flowers in his window to stand erect by tying them to sticks, so Tommy took two sticks from a bundle of fire-wood, and splicing Elspeths legs to them, held her upright against the door with one hand. All he asked of her to-day was to remain in this position after he said One, two, three, four, pict are! and withdrew his hand, but down she flopped every time, and he said, with scorn, You aint got no genius: you has just talent. But he had her in bed with the scratches nicely covered up before his mother came home. He tried another plan with more suc- cess. Lost dogs, it may be remem - bered, had a habit of following Shovels father, and he not only took the wan- derers in, but taught them how to beg and shake hands and walkonjwo legs. Tommy had sometimes been present at these agreeable exercises, and being an inventive boy he But as Elspeth was a nice girl, let itsufflce to pause here and add shyly, that in time she could walk. He also taught her to speak, and if you need to be told with what luscious word he enticed her into language you are sentenced to re-read the first pages of his life. Thrums, he would s~y persuasive- ly, Thrums, Thrums. You opens your mouth like this, and shuts it like this, and thats it. Yet when he had coaxed her thus for many days, what does she do but break her long silence with the word Tommy ! The recoil knocked her over. Soon afterward she brought down a bigger bird. No Londoner can say Auld licht, and Tommy had often crowed over Shovels ~OLlikt2 When the testing of Elspeth could be deferred no longer, he eyed her with the look a hen gives the green egg on which she has been sitting twej~Ay days, but El- speth triumphed, sayibg the words modestly even, as if nothing inside her told her she had that day done some- thing which would have baffled Shake- speare, not to speak of most of the gentlemen iwjiosif kr Scotch constitu- encies. Reddy conicin ~ say it! Tommy cried, exultantly, and from that great hour he had nc more fears for Elspeth. Next the alphabet knocked for ad- mission; and entered first ill and P, which had prominence in the only post- er visible from the window. Mrs. San- dys had taught Tommy his letters, but he had gpt into words by studying posters. Elspetn ~emag able now to make the perilous descent of the stairs, Tommy guided her through the streets (letting go hurriedly if Shovel hove in sight), and here she bagged new letters daily. With Catlings something, which is the besLshe_eot into capital Cs; ys are found easiiy when you know where to look for them (they hang on behind); Xs are never found singly, but often three at a time; Q is so aristocratic that even Tommy had only heard of it, doubtless it was there, but indistin- guishable among the masses like a ce- lebrity in a crowd; on the other hand, big A and little e were so dirt cheap, that these two scholars passed them with something very like a sneer. The printing-press is either the great- est blessing or the greatest curse of modern times, one sometimes forgets which. Elspeths faith in it was abso- lute, and as it only spoke to her from placards, here was her religion, at the age of four: PRAY WITHOUT CEAsING. HAPPY ARE THEY wHO NEEDING KNOW THE PAINLEsS PoRous PLASTER. Of religion, Tommy had said many fine things to her, embellishments on the simple doctrine taught him by his SENTiMENTAL TOMMY 33 mother before the miseries of this world made her indifferent to the next. But the meaning of Pray without ceasing, Elspeth, who was Gods child always, seemed to find out for herself, and it cured all her troubles. She prayed proniptly for everyone she saw doing wrong, including Shovel, who occasion- ally had words with Tommy on the sub- ject, and she not only prayed for her mother, but proposed to Tommy that they should buy her a porous plaster. Mrs. Sandys had been down with bron- chitis again. Tommy raised the monetary difficulty. Elspeth knew where there was some money, and it was her very own. Tommy knew where there was money, and it was his very own. Elspeth would not tell how much she had, and it was twopence halfpenny. Neither would Tommy tell, and it was twopence. Tommy would get a surprise on his birthday. So would Elspeth get a surprise on her l)irthday. Elspcth would not tell what the sur- prise was to be, and it was to be a gun. Tommy also must remain mute, and it was to be a box of dominoes. Elspeth did not want dominoes. Tommy knew that, but he wanted them. Elspeth discovered that guns cost fourpence, and dominoes threepence halfpenny ; it seemed to her, therefore, that Tommy was defrauding her of a halfpenny. Tommy liked her cheek. You got the dominoes for threepence halfpenny, but the price on the box is fivepence, so that Elspeth would really owe him a penny. This led to an agonizing scene in which Elspeth wept while Tommy told her sternly about Reddy. It had be- come his custom to tell the tale of Reddy when El~peth was obstreperous. Then followed a scene in which Tom- my called himself a scoundrel for fright- ening his dear Elspeth, and swore that he loved none but her. Result; recon- ciliation, and agreed, that instead of a gun and dominoes, they should buy a porous plaster. You know the shops where the plasters are to be obtained by great colored bottles in their win- VOL. XJX.3 dows, and, as it was advisable to find the very best shop Tommy and Elspeth in their wanderings came under the influ- ence of the bottles, red, yellow, green, and blue, and color entered into their lives, giving them many delicious thrills. These bottles are the first poem known to the London child, and you chemists who are beginning to do without them in your windows should be told that it is a shame. In the glamour, then, of the romantic bottles walked Tommy and Elspeth hand in hand, meeting so many novel- ties that they might have spared a tear for the unfortunate children who sit in nurseries surrounded by all they ask for, and if the adventures of these two fre- quently ended in the middle, they had probably begun another while the sailor- suit boy was still holding up his leg to let the nurse put on his little sock. While they wandered, they drew near unwittingly to the enchanted street, to which the bottles are a colored way, and at last they were in it. but Tommy rec- ognized it not; he did not even feel that he was near it and look for a human door, for there were no outside stairs, no fairies strolling about, it was a short street as shabby as his own. But someone had shouted Dinna haver, lassie; youre blethering! Tommy whispered to Elspeth, Be still; dont speak, and he gripped her hand tighter and stared at the speaker. He was a boy of ten, dressed like a Londoner, and his companion had dis- appeared. Tommy never doubting but that he was the sprite of long ago, gripped him by the sleeve. All the savings of Elspeth and himself were in his pocket, and yielding to impulse, as was his way, he thrust the fivepence halfpenny into James Gloags hand. The new millionaire gaped, but not at his patron, for. the why and wherefore of this gift were trifles to James beside the tremendous fact that he had fivepence halfpenny. Almichty me ! he cried and bolted. Presently he returned, hav- ing deposited his money in a safe place, and his first remark was perhaps the meanest on record. He held out his hand and said, greedily, Have you ony mair? This, you feel certain, must have been 34 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY the most importsnt event of that even- ing, but strange to say, it was not. Be- fore Tommy could answer Jamess ques- tion, a woman in a shawl had pounced upon him and hurried him and Elspeth out of the street. She had been stand- ing at a corner looking wistfully at the window blinds behind which folk from Thrums passed to and fro, hiding her face from people in the street, but gaz- ing eagerly after them. It was Tommys mother, whose first free act on coming to London had been to find out that street, and many a time since then she had skulked through it or watched it from dark places, never daring to dis- close herself, but sometimes recogniz- ing familiar faces, sometimes hearing a few words in the old tongue that is harsh and ungracious to you, but was so sweet to her, and bearing them away with her beneath her shawl as if they were some- thing warm to lay over her cold heart. For a time she upbraided Tommy pas- sionately for not keeping away from this street, but soon her hunger for news of Thrums overcame her prudence, and she consented to let him go back if he prom- ised never to tell that his mother came from Thrums. And if onybody wants to ken your name, say its Tommy, but dinna let on that its Tommy Sandys. Elspeth, Tommy whispered that night, ~ Im near sure theres something queer about my mother and me and you. But he did not trouble himself with wondering what the something queer might be, so engrossed was he in the new and exciting life that had suddenly opened to him. CHAPTER VI THE ENCIIANTED~ STREET IN Thrums Street, as it ought to have been called, herded at least one-half of the Thrums folk in London, and they formed a colony, of which the grocer at the corner sometimes said wrathfully that not a member would give sixpence for anything except Bibles or whiskey. In the streets one could only tell they were not Londoners by their walk, the flagstones having no grip for their feet, or, if they had come south late in life, by their backs, which they carried at the angle on which webs are most eas- ily supported. When mixing with the world they talked the English tongue, which came out of them as broad as if it had been squeezed through a mangle, but when the days work was done, it was only a few of the giddier striplings that remained Londoners. For the ma- jority there was no raking the streets after diversion, they spent the hour or two before bed - time in reproducing the life of Thrums. Few of them knew much of London except the nearest way between this street and their work, and their most interesting visitor was a Presbyterian minister, most of whose congregation lived in much more fash- ionable parts, but they were almost ex- clusively servant girls, and when de- scending area-steps to visit them he had been challenged often and jocularly by policemen, which perhaps was what gave him a subdued and furtive appear- ance. The rooms were furnished mainly with articles bought in London, but these became as like Thrums dressers and seats as their owners could make them, old Petey, for instance, cutting the back off a chair because he felt most at home on stools. Drawers were used as baking-boards, pails turned into salt- buckets, floors were sanded and hearth- stones camed, and the popular supper consisted of porter, hot water, and soaked bread, after every spoonful of which they groaned pleasantly, and stretched their legs. Sometimes they played at the dambrod, but more often they pulled down the blinds on London and talked of Thrumsin their mother tongue. Nevertheless few of them wanted to return to it, and their favorite joke was the case of James Gloags father, who being home-sick flung up his situa- tion and took train for Thrums, but he was back in London in three weeks. Tommy soon had the entry to these homes, and his first news of the inmates was unexpected. It was that they were always sleeping. In broad daylight he had seen Thrums men asleep on beds, and he was somewhat ashamed of them until he heard the excuse. A number of the men from Thrums were bakers, the first emigrant of this trade having drawn SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 35 others after him, and they slept great part of the day to be able to work all night in a cellar, ihaking nice rolls for rich people. Baker Lumsden, who be- came a friend of Tommy, had got his place in the cellar when his brother died, and the brother had succeeded Matthew Croall when he died. They die very soon, Tommy learned from Lumsden, generally when they are eight and thirty. Lumsden was thirty- six, and when he died his nephew was to get the place. The wages are good. Then there were several masons, one of whom, like the first baker, had found work for all the others, and there were men who had drifted into trades strange to their birthplace, and there was usually one at least who had come to London to better himself~ and had not done it as yet. The family Tommy liked best was the Whamonds, and especially he liked old Petey and young Petey Whamond. They were a large family of women and men, all of whom earued their living in other streets ex- cept the old man, who kept house and was a famous knitter of stockings, as probably his father had been before him. He was a great one, too, at telling what they would be doing at that moment in Thrums, every corner of which was as familiar to him as the ins and outs of the family hose. Young Petey got fourteen shillings a week from a hatter, and one of his duties was to carry as many as twenty band-boxes at a time through fashionable streets; it is a matter for elation that dukes and states- men had often to take the curbstone, be- cause young Petey was coming. Never- theless young Petey was not satisfied, and never would be (such is the Thrums nature) until he became a salesman in the shop to which he acted at present as fetch and carry, and he used to tell Tommy that this position would be his as soon as he could sneer sufficiently at the old hats. When gentlemen come in to the shop and buy a new hat, he ex- pliined, they put it on, meaning to tell _- you to send the old one to their address, and the art of being a fashionable hatter lies in this: you must be able to curl your lips so contemptuously at the old hat that they tell you guiltily to keep it, as they have no further use for it. Then they retire ashamed of their want of moral courage and you have made an extra half-guinea. But I aye snort, young Petey ad- mitted, and it should be done without a sound. When he graduated, he was to marry Martha Spens, who was waiting for him at Tillyloss. There was a Lon- don seamstress whom he preferred, and she was willing, but it is safest to stick to Thrums. When Tommy was among his new friends a Scotch word or phrase often escaped his lips, but old Petey and the others thought he had picked it up from them, and would have been con- tent to accept him as a London waif who lived somewhere round the corner. To trick people so simply, however, is not agreeable to an artist, and he told them his name was Tommy Shovel, and that his old girl walloped him, and his father found dogs, all which inventions Thrums Street accepted as true. What is much more noteworthy is that, as he gave them birth, Tommy half believed them also, being already the best kind of actor. Not all the talking was done by Tom- my when he came home with news, for he seldom mentioned a Thrums name, of which his mother could not tell him some- thing more. But sometimes she did not choose to tell, as when he announced that a certain Elspeth Lindsay, of the Marywellbrae, was dead. After this she ceased to listen, for old Elspeth had been her grandmother, and she had now no kin in Thrums. Tell me about the Painted Lady, Tommy said to her. Is it true shes a witch? But Mrs. Sandys had never heard of any woman so called the Painted Lady must have gone to Thrums after her time. There aint no witches now, said Elspeth, tremuhonsly; Shovels mother had told her so. Not in London, replied Tommy, with contempt; and this is all that was said of the Painted Lady then. It is the first mention of her in these pages. The people Mrs. Sandys wanted to hear of chiefly were Aaron Latta and Jean Myles, and soon Tommy brought news of them, but at the same time he had heard of the Den, and he said first: 36 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY Oh, mother, I thought as you had told me about all the beauty places in Thrums, and you aint never told me about the Den. His mother heaved a quick breath. Its the only place I hinna telled you o, she said. Had you forget it, mother? Forget the Den! Ah, no Tommy, your mother had not forgotten the Den. And, listen, Elspeth, in the Den theres a bonny spring of water called the Cuttle Well. Had you forgot the Cuttle Well, mother? No, no; when Jean Myles forgot the names of her children she would still remember the Cuttle WelL Regardless now of the whispering between Tommy and Elspeth, she sat long over the fire, and it is not difficult to fathom -her thoughts. They were of the Den and~ the Cuttle Well. Into the life of every man, and no woman, there comes a moment when he learns suddenly that he is held eligi- ble for marriage. A girl gives him the jag, and it brings out the perspiration. Of the issue elsewhere of this stab with a bodkin let others speak; in Thrums its commonest effect is to make the callants body take a right angle to his legs, for he has been touched in the fifth button, and he backs away broken- winded. By and by, however, he is at his workamong the turnip-shoots, say guffawing and clapping his corduroys, with pauses for uneasy meditation, and there he ripens with the swedes, so that by the back-end of the year he has dis- covered, and exults to know, that the reward of manhood is neither more nor less than this sensation at the ribs. Soon thereafter, or at worst, sooner or later (for by holding out he only puts the womens dander up), he is led captive to the Cuttle Well. This well has the reputation of being the place where it is most easily said. The wooded ravine called the Den is in Thrums rather than on its western edge, but is so craftily hidden away that when within a stones throw you may ~give up the search for it; it is also so deep that larks rise from the bottom and carol overhead, thinking themselves high in the heavens before they are on a level with Nether Drumleys farm- land. In shape it is almost a semicircle, but its size depends on you and the maid. If she be with you, the Den is so large that you must rest here and there ; if you are after her boldly, you can dash to the Cuttle Well, which was the tryst- ing place, in the time a stout man takes to lace his boots; if you are of those self-conscious ones who look behind to see whether jeering blades are following, you may crouch and wriggle your way onward and not be with her in half an hour. Old Petey had told Tom that, on the whole, the greatest pleasure in life on a Saturday evening is to put your back against a stile that leads into the Den and rally the sweethearts as they go by. The lads, when they see you, want to go round by the other stile, but the lasses like it, and often the sport ends spiritedly with their giving you a clout on the head. Through the Den runs a tiny burn, and by its side is a pink path, dyed this pretty color, perhaps, by the blushes the ladies leave behind them. The .burn as it passes the Cuttle Well, which stands higher and just out of sight, leaps in vain to see who is making that cooing noise, and the well, taking the spray for kisses, laughs all day at Romeo, who can- not get up. Well is a name it must have given itself, for it is only a spring in the bottom of a basinful of water, where it makes about as much stir in the world as a minnow jumping at a fly. They say that if a boy, by making a bowl of his hands, should suddenly car- ry off all the water, a quick girl could thread her needle at the spring. But it is a spring that will not wait a moment. Men who have been lads in Thrums sometimes go back to it from London or from across the seas, to look again at some battered little house aiid feel the blasts of their bairnhood playing through the old wynds, ai~d they may take with them a foreign wife. They show her everything, except the Cuttle Well; they often go there alone. The well is sacred to the memory of first love. You may walk from the well to the round ceme- tery in ten minutes. It is a common walk for those who go back. First love is but a boy and girl play- ing at the Cuttle Well with a birds egg. Drawn by WbZiam Haflierell. Let her alane. Let my bairn pray for Jean MyleePage 39. 88 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY They blow it on one summer evening in the long grass, and on the next it is borne away on a coarse laugh, or it breaks beneath the burden of a tear. And yet. I once saw an aged woman, a widow of many years, cry softly at men- tion of the Cuttle WelL John was a good man to you, I said, for John had been her husband. He was a leal man to me, she answered with wistful eyes, ay, he was a leal man to mebut it wasna John I was thinking o. You din- na ken what makes me greet so sair, she added, presently, and though I thought I knew now I was wrong. Its because I canna mind his name, she said. So the Cuttle Well has its sad mem- ories and its bright ones, and many of the bright memories have become sad with age, as so often happens to beauti- ful things, but the most mournful of all is the story of Aaron Latta and Jean Myles. Beside the well there stood for long a great pink stone, called the Shoaging Stane, because it could be rocked like a cradle, and on it lovers used to cut their names. Often Aaron Latta and Jean Myles sat together on the Shoaging Stone, and then there came a time when it bore these words, cut by Aaron Latta: HERE LIE5 THE MANHOOD OF AARON LATTA, A FOND SON, A FAITHFUL FRIEND AND A TRUE LOVER, WHO VIOLATED THE FEELINGS OF SEX ON THI5 SPOT, AND IS NOW THE ScUNNER OF GOD AND MAN. Tommys mother now heard these words for the first time, Aaron having cut them on the stone after she left Thrums, and her head sank at each line, as if someone had struck four blows at her. The stone was no longer at the Cuttle Well. As the easiest way of obliterat- ing the words, the minister had or- dered it to be broken, and of the pieces another mason had made stands for watches, one of which was now in Thrums Street. Aaron Latta aint a mason now, Tommy rattled on: he is a warper, because he can warp in his own house without looking on mankind or speak- ing to mankind. Auld Petey said he minded the day when Aaron Latta was a merry loon, and then Andrew McVit- tie said, God behears, to think that Aaron Latta was ever a merry man! and Baker Lumsden said, Curse her ! His mother shrank in her chair, but said nothing, and Tommy explained: It was Jean Myles he was cursing; di4 you ken her, mother? she ruined Aaron Lattas life. Ay, and wha ruined Jean Myless life? his mother cried, passionately. Tommy did not know, but he thought that young Petey might know, for young Petey had said: If I had been Jean Myles I would have spat in Aarons face rather than marry him. Mrs. Sandys seemed pleased to hear this. They wouldna tell me what it were she did, Tommy went on; they said it was ower ugly a story, but she were a bad one, for they stoned her out of Thrums. I dinna know where she is now, but she were stoned out of Thrums! No alane? There was a man with her, and his name wasit was His mother clasped her hands ner- vously while Tommy tried to remember the name. His name was Magerful Tam, he said at length. Ay, said his mother, knitting her teeth, that was his name. I dinna mind any more, Tommy concluded. Yes, I mind they aye called Aaron Latta Poor Aaron Latta. Did they? I warrant, though, there wasna one as said Poor Jean Myles? She began the question in a hard voice, but as she said Poor Jean Myles something caught in her throat, and she sobbed, painful dry sobs. How could they pity her when she were such a bad one? Tommy an- swered, briskly. Is there none to pity bad ones? said his sorrowful mother. Elspeth plucked her by the skirt. Theres God, aint there? she said, inquiringly, and getting no answer she flopped upon her knees, to say a baby- ish prayer that would sound comic to anybody except to Him to whom it was addressed. You aint praying for a woman as FREDERICK LOCKER 39 was a disgrace to Thrums! Tommy Let her alane, she said, with a cried, jealously, and he was about to twitching mouth and filmy eyes. Let raise her by force, when his mother her alane. Let my bairn pray for Jean stayed his hand. Myles. (To be continued.) FREDERICK LOCKER By Augustine Birrell THE author of London Lyrics and notice in these columns of Frederick Patchwork has so many friends in Locker. the United Statesfriends won by the He came of a race of men who had all pen and by the spirit, far better de- a strong bias for literature, but who had serving the name than t e mere bab- pursued it as an avocation rather than bling host of personal acquaintances, as the business of their lives. His great- that no apology is needed for this brief grandfather was John Locker, a barris- ter-at-law, commissioner of bankrupts and clerk of the companies of leather setters and clockmakersall excel- lent things to be. In the clerkships he succeeded to his father, Stephen, who fol- lowed the same old - fash- ioned calling as did Miltons father, that of a scrivener in the city of London. John Locker was educated at Mer- ton College, and while read- ing for the bar in London found himself the occupier of the chambers in Grays Inn where Francis Bacon once kept. He was impres- sionable a n d enthusiastic and for the rest of his days the great man whose rooms he had once inhabited was much in his mind. He showed his reverence after a characteristic family fash- ion by preparing a complete edition of the philosophers works. But he did not hurry. A commissioner of bankrupts never hurries, and when death overtook him he had not gone to press. His papers passed into the hands of IDr. Birch and Mr. Mallet, Frederick Locker. who were not unmindful of From a photograph in the possession of Charles 5. Foote Esq., to whom it their obligations, but most was sent by Mr. Locker, in April, 1895. handsomely acknowledged

Augustine Birrell Birrell, Augustine Frederick Locker 39-60

FREDERICK LOCKER 39 was a disgrace to Thrums! Tommy Let her alane, she said, with a cried, jealously, and he was about to twitching mouth and filmy eyes. Let raise her by force, when his mother her alane. Let my bairn pray for Jean stayed his hand. Myles. (To be continued.) FREDERICK LOCKER By Augustine Birrell THE author of London Lyrics and notice in these columns of Frederick Patchwork has so many friends in Locker. the United Statesfriends won by the He came of a race of men who had all pen and by the spirit, far better de- a strong bias for literature, but who had serving the name than t e mere bab- pursued it as an avocation rather than bling host of personal acquaintances, as the business of their lives. His great- that no apology is needed for this brief grandfather was John Locker, a barris- ter-at-law, commissioner of bankrupts and clerk of the companies of leather setters and clockmakersall excel- lent things to be. In the clerkships he succeeded to his father, Stephen, who fol- lowed the same old - fash- ioned calling as did Miltons father, that of a scrivener in the city of London. John Locker was educated at Mer- ton College, and while read- ing for the bar in London found himself the occupier of the chambers in Grays Inn where Francis Bacon once kept. He was impres- sionable a n d enthusiastic and for the rest of his days the great man whose rooms he had once inhabited was much in his mind. He showed his reverence after a characteristic family fash- ion by preparing a complete edition of the philosophers works. But he did not hurry. A commissioner of bankrupts never hurries, and when death overtook him he had not gone to press. His papers passed into the hands of IDr. Birch and Mr. Mallet, Frederick Locker. who were not unmindful of From a photograph in the possession of Charles 5. Foote Esq., to whom it their obligations, but most was sent by Mr. Locker, in April, 1895. handsomely acknowledged 40 FREDERICK LOCKER them in the preface to their edition of Bacon which appeared in 1765. Dr. Johnson, in his life of Addison, pronounces Mr. Locker to be a gen- tleman eminent for curiosity and lit- erature, a favorable judgment, which he had fairly earned by communicating to the lexicographer a collection of ex- amples selected by Addison from the works of Tillotson with the intention of making an English dictionary. This was just the sort of service which John- son, who was as lazy a fellow as ever did a giants work, dearly loved and never forgot; although he character- istically observed that the collection came too late to be of use, and that consequently he had inspected it but slightly. In the fifth volume of Nicholss Liter- ary Anecdotes, a long series of tomes which make one in love with the eigh- teenth century and thankful to have lived in the nineteenth, it is recorded how John Locker came to know modern Greek. Coming home late one evening he was addressed in modern Greek by a poor Greek priest, a man of literature from the Archipelago, who had lost his way in the streets of London. He took him to his house, where he and Dr. Mead jointly maintained him for some years, and by him was perfected in that language so as to write it fluently, and had translated a part, if not the whole, of one of Congreves comedies into Greek. To anyone acquainted with Frederick Lockers amazing gift for strange adventures in London streets, and his boundless hospitality to perfect strangers, there is something almost ludicrous in the closeness of the resem- blance between the great-grandfather and the great-grandson. John Locker married a granddaughter of Bishop Stillingileet, and the sister of the once famous Benjamin Stillingfleet, the color of whose hose and whose affection for the society of learned ladies (and in the eighteenth century there were really learned ladies) gave rise to a nickname which still survives. But the hero of the Locker family was William Locker, Johns eldest son. Of him the editor of the anecdotes al- ready referred to, who usually xvield s a somewhat sleepy pen and rarely gets beyond the region of mere tombstone panegyric, writes with a noble enthu- siasm. He says William Locker entered early into the Royal Navy. The spotless excel- lence of this gentlemans character would alone entitle him to the notice of the biographer. While distinguished by good natural parts, by the highest sense of honor, by an enlarged inter- course with the world, and by that in- artificial politeness which had been contracted in the highest society, his conduct uniformly displayed the inno- cence of a child and the humility as well as the piety of a saint. His per- sonal courage was equalled only by his kindness, and his general benevolence only by the warmth of his private friendships. As a son, a father, a broth- er, and a master he stood unrivalled. Such were the excellencies by which his private station was adorned, nor was his professional life less admirable. It is difficult to say whether his pru- dence, his bravery, his humanity, his zeal for the service, or his discipline were the most remarkable. This is the uniform account given by those who had the happiness to serve with him, for not a word ever fell from himself on these subjects. His virtues, if we may venture so to say, received their last polish from his perfect modesty. He was appointed a lieutenant in 1756, and holding that station on board the Experiment, in 1758, was wounded in a very gallant action with the Tele- maque. He was appointed a master and commander in 1763, a post-captain in 1768, in the American war command- ed the Lowestoft on the Jamaica sta- tion, and at that time had with him young Nelson, the future gallant hero of the Nile, to whom he had the honor of being nautical tutor. In February, 1793 (being then commodore at the Nore), he became lieutenant-governor of Greenwich Hospital, where he died De- cember 26, 1800, at the age of seventy, and his funeral was attended by his sons, his noble pupil, Lord Nelson, and two old private friends. I must apologize for the length of this quotation, but there are so many touches in this description of the grand- FREDERICK LOCKER 41 father which portray the grandson that In 1833 King William IV. and his the space is not otherxvise than well filled, consort visited Greenwich Hospital and The two following letters of Lord were attended while examining the Nelsons still glow with that manly af- pictures in the Painted Hall by Sir fection which is perhaps the most de- Richard Keats, the then governor. The lightful trait of human nature. The king stopped before the portrait of first was written to William Locker. William Locker, and, turning to Sir Richard, said: Theres the best man I PALEEMO, 9 February 1799. ever knew. I mention this not be- Mr DEAR FRIEND: I well know your cause the poor king had enjoyed the goodness of heart will make all due al- society of so many good men as to lowances for my present situation, and make his compliment of rare value, but that truly I have not the time or power because Locker owed it to the fact that to answer all the letters I receive, at the he had once the boldness to reprove moment. But you, my old friend, after Prince William Henry for the profanity twenty-seven years acquaintance, know of his language, a reproof which, though that nothing can alter the attachment not immediately successful, bore at all and gratitude to you (sic). I have been events some fruit in later years, in the your scholar. It is you who taught shape of the aforesaid compliment. me to board a French man-of-war by Captain Lockers youngest son, Ed- your conduct when on the Experiment, ward Hawke Locker, was educated at It is you who always said, lay a French- Eton, and after various naval appoint- man close and you will beat him, and ments became civil commissioner of my only merit in my profession is be- Greenwich Hospital, where he formed ing a good scholar. Our friendship will the Royal Naval Gallery. He married, never end but with my life, but you in 1815, a daughter of the Reverend have always been too partial to me. Jonathan Boucher, who died vicar of Believe me ever your faithful and Epsom, but who had spent a good deal affectionate friend, of his life in America, where he was a NELSON. friend of George Washington. The Lt. Governor Locker. War of Independence severed their friendship, for the divine stuck to his The next letter was written the day king, and his last sermon preached at after William Lockers death to his son Annapolis, with pistols on his pulpit- John. cushion, concluded as follows: As long 27 DEcEMBER 1800 as I live, yea, while I have my being, Mv DEAR JOHN: From my heart do will I proclaim God save the king. I condole with you on the great and ir- Several of Washingtons letters to Mr. reparable loss we have all sustained in Boucher were in Mr. Lockers possession the death of your dear, worthy father and were lent by him to Thackeray a man whom to know was to love, and when he was writing The Virginians. those who only heard of him, honoured. Edward Hawke Locker, though a The greatest earthly consolation to us, martinet with a strong dash of austerity, his friends that remain, is that he has possessed the family gift for friendship, left a character for honour and hon- and was greatly beloved by those who esty which none of us can surpass, and knew him. Sir Walter Scott held him few, very few, attain. That the poster- in high regard. He was an excellent ity of the righteous will prosper we are writer. In Charles Knights Half taught to believe, and on no occasion Hours with the Best Authors will be can it be more truly verified than from found an extract from his memoir of my dear much lamented friend, and Captain William Lockerand a better that it may be realized in you, your piece of work is not in the selection. sisters, and brothers, is the fervent He was a fair artist, as his Spanish pict- prayer of, my dear John, ures, a record of his travels in that Your afflicted friend, country in 1813 with Lord John Rus- NELsoN. sell, remain to prove. He was a col- John Locker, Esq. hector of pictures and had a decided VOL. XIX.5 42 FREDERICK LOCKER faculty of surprising his friends by do- ing the most unexpected things. The author of London Lyrics took a great deal of interest in his forebears, and when the memoirs he prepared for the entertainment of his descendants come to be published, they will be found to contain many amusing things about a succession of brave and inter- esting men. Frederick Locker himself was born in Greenwich Hospital, in 1821, and after divers adventures in various, not over well-selected, schools and a brief experience of the city and of Somerset House, became a clerk in the Admiral- ty, serving under Lord Haddington, Sir James Graham, and Sir Charles Wood. He was twice married-first, to Lady Charlotte Bruce, a daughter of Lord Elgin (of the Marbles), and sec- ondly, to the only daughter of Sir Cur- tis Lampson, Bart., of ]lowfant in Sus- sex, where he died last May. It is hard, perhaps impossible, for anyone who was brought into close contact with Mr. Locker to consider either his works or his ways apart from a personality which combined in an extraordinary degree an enchantingly gentle bearing, a kindness of heart that defies description, a keen perception, and (though in undertones) a rare in- cisiveness of speech. For his friends and he had friends everywhere and in all ranks of lifethere was nothing he would not do. It makes my lets ache to think of the trouble he would be at only to give them a little pleasure. It seenied as if he could not spare himself. I remember his calling at my chambers one hot day laden with many things, all presents. I can only remember two of the thingsa bust of Voltaire and an unusually lively tortoise, which seemed always half-way out of its paper-bag. Wherever he went he found an occa- sion for kindness, and his whimsical adventures would fill a volume. For mere appearance he cared not a straw. Yet the friends for whom he toiled made a great mistake if they imagined he was incarable of perceiving their faults. He saw them clearly enough, and could have described them tooif need had beenbut kindness of heart and a genuine humility (perhaps the rarest of the Christian virtues) pre- vented his satirical gifts from free play. His relation to his own poetry was somewhat peculiar. A critic in every fibre of his body, he judged his verses with a severity he would have shrunk from applying to anybody elses. Clumsy praise was torture to him, though his kindness of heart prompt- ed him to find an excuse even for that. It was kindly meant, he would say, writhing. The editor of Lyra Elegan- tiarurn knew his subject at ~least as well as any living man. He could never mistake good verses for bad. He was not only modest and full of humility, but far too prone to be profoundly dis- satisfied with himself and out of conceit with his undeniable gifts and graces. You might almost describe him as being on bad terms with himself. No one ever saw him self - complaisant. None the less he was far too good a critic~ot to know when he had succeeded, and he was compelled, half sorrowfully, to ad- mit that he had written some very good verses indeed. His poetry meant a great deal to him, for he had taken great pains with it; but he had so shy a spirit, so subtle a sense of humor, was so apt to scent extravagance, and so in- disposed to detect his own merits, that though he liked to be praised, you had to see to it that you praised nothing but his best, or else your compliment was greeted with a sad civility, which made you feel that you had given more pain than pleasure. And yet, for all that, he stood in need of sympathy and of allies aoainst his own despondency. Matthew Arnold once asked Lord Bca- consfield what was the best way of get- ting on with very great people. Flat- tery, was the instant answer, and, Mr. Arnold, you need not be afraid of using too thick a brush. Flattery of this kind is odious, degrading, but as be- tween true friends, such a thing as lov- ing flattery, corresponding to Charles Lambs Sick Whist, is perhaps per- missible, or, at all events, is seldom found fault with. But it only made Mr. Locker uneasy, as if he were rob- bing others of their due. Conse- quently he got but little praise, not nearly as much as he deserved, for his best verses are heart-compelling dit FREDERICK LOCKER 43 ties, which secure him a permanent place among the poets of his class. I have already said that he took im- mense pains. He was a great student of verse. There was hardly a stanza of any English poet, unless, indeed, it was Spenser, for whom he had no great af- fection, which he had not pondered over and duly considered as does a lawyer his cases. He delighted in a successful verse, and grieved over any lapse from the path of metrical virtue, over any ill-sounding rhyme or unhap- py expression. He once reproved me for speaking lightly, as he thought, of the unfortunate ending of the seventh stanza of Cowpers Castaway. How can you! said he, sorrowfully. I pro- tested I meant no harm, and that I was as incapable of laughing at Cowper as was the hero of Happy Thoughts at sneering at a mother. But the mis- chief was done, for he was very fond of Cowper, saying of him, He writes so very like a gentleman. And so always did Frederick Locker, who was, how- ever, no mere mannered poet, but one whose verses are the product of a kind human heart and of an exquisite fancy. We live in days when every bough is tuneful. Nobody was more struck than Locker with the amazing facility and average of excellence of onr annual po- etical output. In fact it struck him dumb. He used to regard the small volumes which rained upon his desk with a mournful smile. I wish I could read them, he would say. I am sure they are so good. Any notice, however short, of Mr. Locker would be wofully incomplete if it did not make some reference to his collecting proclivities. At the same time it would be a mistake to attribute to him any consuming passion. With him collecting was but a virtuosos whim, a pleasant freak, a romantic fancy. From the unpleasant vices of the tribe he was entirely free. He never bragged of and rarely made a bargain, nor was he ever known to boast of a treasure. In fact he never spoke of these things unless spoken to with some degree of insistence, and if forced to make any reference, he did so with a depreciating air. If you demanded to see the famous Rowfant Library, which was kept in an iron room in an out-of- the-way corner, he produced the keys with an apology. I can see him now, provided with a nicely graduated foot- rule, measuring with grave precision the height to a hair of his copy of Robin- son Crusoe ~(the first edition, of course) for the purpose of ascertaining whether it was taller or shorter than one vaunted for sale in a catalogue just then to hand. His face was a study, exhibiting alike a determination to discover the exact truth and the most humorous realiza tion of the inherent triviality of the whole business. As he practised it the craft of book-hunting was a delightful thing, clear of all taint of huckstering and devoid of every kind of weakness. He commenced collector not with books, but with ancient furniture Louis Seize gimcracks, china, and curi- osity. His only object was to make his rooms pretty. His rare taste, his unresting energy, and his early~ date enabled him to fill his restricted quar- ters in Victoria Street quite full enough with good things. Prices began to rise, and as his resources were then but small, he gave up his first pursuit, and betook himself to make a representa- tive collection of drawings by the great masters of the Renaissance and small pictures. Here again he was very successful, till the long purses crowded into the market and compelled him to bid farewell to what he calls his inno- cent pleasures and pious excitements. And then it was that he became a book- hunter, beginning with little volumes of poetry and the drama from about 1590 to 1610. Thus the IRowfant Library came into existence, which, though it never grew to large dimensions, for I suppose a thousand volumes contains the whole of it, is yet a collection never likely in its own way to be surpassed. Mr. Locker and the second-hand book- sellers were on the best of terms. He had, indeed, a way of his own which won all hearts. I do not say they low- ered their prices for him, for I dislike exaggeration, but they served him as if they loved him, and were eager to aid him in his ends. Mr. Locker possessed all the qualities of a good collector; he knew what he wanted and could not be persuaded to take what he did not 44 FREDERICK LOCKER wanthe did not grow excited in the presence of the quarryhe had patience to wait and also courage to buy. In 1886 he printed his Catalogue, and a most readable book it is. To a but half-baptized heathen like myself, the charm of the Rowfant Library con- sists in the fact that there you will find the first or very early editions of all the poems and plays and essays and tales you know and love bestfrom Shakespeare to Tennyson, from Mar- lowe to Sheridan, from Bacon to Lamb, from Richardson to Charlotte and Em- ily Bront& All are there, the old fa- miliar names, though in a garb far from familiar. Izaac Walton is there printed in S. Daustans Churchyard. Fleet Street (1653); and the Lives, sold by most boolesellers (1670), with auto- graph corrections by the author, and Bunyans Pilgrims Progress, in the third, but first complete, edition of 1679. Only one other copy of this edition is known, and such was the goodness of Mi~. Lockers heart, that he believed him- self to be sorry that it was incomplete. The Vicar of Wakefield, printed at Salisbury, in 1760, is of course not wanting, and inside is inserted a let- ter from Forster to Mr. Locker, war- ranting it a genuine first issue; and Gullivers Travels and Robinson Crusoe and Bewicks without end, and the Kilmarnock Burns and By- rons Waltz and Poes Raven and Brownings Pauline. But lest the antiquarians begin to sniff and to com- pose a sneer, I hasten to add that in the Rowfant Library are also to be found Englands Helioon and Davison s Poetical Rapsodie and Eclwardes Paradys of Dainty Devices (1578) and Greenes Groats Worth of Wit and Meres Wits Treasury (though im- perfect) and Nashs Have with you to Saffron Walden and Storers Wol- sey and the two volumes of The Palace of Pleasure Beautified by Will- iam Painter Clarke of the Ordinance and Armaric, 1566 and 1567. After rar- ities such as these, it is slicer bathos to mention such mere nobodies of books as Florios Montaigne (1603), Miltons Poems (1645), or Sir Philip Sidneys Defence of Poesie, 1595. These treasures are all safely housed at Rowfant, cared for by the loving hands of wife and children. Long may they be cherished there! Woe worth the day when they conic to be scat- tered over half the town. But for a time, at all events, it is impossible to take pleasure in them. What gave them charm and individuality, almost sense and feeling, has been taken from them, their collector is no longer among them to point out their partic- ular virtues, or, in hushed tones, as if humorously anxious not to hurt their feelings, to specify some hidden defect, or some carefully repaired page. While Mr. Locker lived, each book had its story. Now the Rowfant Library is dumb. Sometimes at breakfast, a meal at which Mr. Locker, like all really agree- able companions, was apt to be a lit- tle depressed, he would tell of a bad dream which occasionally visited him, in which it was revealed to him that all his title-pages were in fac-simile. The expert who examined the library for purposes of the Inland Revenue after its owners death, discovered but two such fac-similes, but they were in highly prized volumes. Mr. Locker may have had his suspicions. Hence the bad dream. Property is burdensome, even when it wears the pleasant shape of old books. Occasionally when a taller copy came into the market of some book he already had, he would be good enough to buy it, and then the earlier volume would be ejected from its former home, where it had proudly dwelt with its equals, and be forced to abide among my ill-bred and ill-bound, though far more numer- ous flocks and herds. They may easily be detected, these ex-Rowfant books, in their new surroundings, where it must be owned they look as much out of place as would a duchess and her train on Margate sands on a bank holi- day. But I mean to keep them there, all the same, to remind mc of their donor. No words of Nelsons can ever become hackneyed, and I can therefore bring these few remarks to an end by saying of Frederick Locker what Nel- son said of William Locker, that he was a man whom to know was to love, and that he has left behind him a character for honor and honesty which none of us can surpass, and few, very few, attain. V HEN Palefaces in Canada first fra- ternized with Red- skins, it was found arts of peace the Ind- ian oj Northern America could give his European visitor at least three new experiences: Lacrosse, the Snow- shoe, and the Toboggan. It is with the development of the last of these the toboggan in Canada, and especially in Switzerland, that this article will deal. The descent of man in tobogganing, as in all else, has been the result of gradual selection. Hunters in the Himalayas have perilously bumped down mountain-passes seated in their VOL. XIX.6 s~O~RT W,.RILEIIkII. :PHOTOt~APII3 1 WRITZ iron camp basmns~ Roman soldiers (so say the chron~ ides) have used their shields and spears. to slide down wintry paths into the hostile territory; but the earliest form. of the toboggan must have been that rude board which was soon found to be the handiest defence against the effects of friction, down a firm snow slope, upon the lightly clad anatomies of our early ancestors. This primitive board has remained, with very little alteration, the dominant type of the toboggan in Canada; for the machine still used on the chutes of Montreal is practically the same long, narrow sled of birchwood about one- N AMP ILL I15~t AT 46 fourth of an inch thick, with one end curved backwards and kept in place by leather thongs, which was the otoban- as/c of the Crees. Wearing his snow- shoes, and dragging his toboggan after him, loaded with game or skins, the md- n had early developed the best forms A NEW SPORT had hardened the soft surface-snow upon the C6te des Neiges, or MacTav- ishs Hills, at Montreal, the toboggan easily proved its superiority over the snowshoe, and flew straight across the sloping country, down hillsides and over cahots, across the roads, and of transport or of locomotion possible, cross the snowy wastes of uncivilized Canada. The first French settlers were con- tent to copy what they found, and to leave the toboggan as they found it, for they were of a stock that cared little for out-door games or sports. But when the Saxon had first conquered the fa- mous plains of Abraham, and then played cricket on them, he straightway began to improve the Indian methods of travel and transport into pastimes requiring considerable skill and cour- age, iu which the joy of rapid motion and the satisfaction of defeating natural obstacles were the chief things aimed at; and the supreme delight of compe- tition with another man in speed was not impossible. When the first touch of hard-frost through the scattered pine-trees, at a pace which needed no little skill and nerve to manage to a safe conclusion. Mr. J. Keith Reid, for instance, the first secretary of the Tuque Bleuc Club, once steered five people down a mile and a quarter of the C6te des Neiges Road in one minute, seventeen seconds, using a kind of double toboggan called a bob- sleigh, which will be described later. But as time went on and the houses crept farther and farther over the country, tobogganers were obliged to go to Clarke Avenue at C6te St. Antoine, or Fletchers Field, instead of the old open mountain-sides. Yet at Kingston there was still a good ride of a mile and more at Fort Henry; at Quebec there was a chance of risky steering almost any-~ where; at the Moutmorenci Falls the great ice-cones gave a sudden sharp Topharns Start. A NEW SPORT 47 fall and then a shoot across the frozen surface of the river, where a different form of the machine on rnnners, was employed. Here was the right indica- tion of ultimate successthe runner, had it only been recognized; but the toboggan continued to develop only on the lines of the broad-l~ottomed oto- bamask~ though strips of wood down its centre and at each side (varying in width with the weight to be carried) were indeed tried. The best machines are, however, now built of three or four lengths of selected straight-grained birch, fitted with countersunk screw fastenings. They are from five to seven feet long by about one and one-half to two feet broad, and highly polished. It was these strange cones, formed by the frozen spray upon the Montmor- enci, which may have suggested the peculiar development of tobogganing upon artificial chutes now practised in Canada and our Northern States. The pastime had become so popular with the fair sex, and every location favorable to the sport was in conse- quence so crowded with enthusiasts of very various degrees of skill, that some system was necessary which would avoid the risk of dangerous accidents, both to the weaker (and perhaps more fascinating) section of tobogganers, and to experts from the, bad riding of their too-numerous companions. So chutes were built, high sloping scaffoldings of wood, with hard snow pressed down and iced, divided longitudinally into three or more courses, each about two and one-half feet wide, and governed by such rules as to almost preclude tbe possibility of hurt; while the corners where they existed, were built with a sweep so gradual and wide that scarce- ly any skill was needed to get round them. The novices and ladies secured the sensation of a fall without strik- ing anything, and perhaps found their chief enjoyment in the climb back to- gether; the Whish! and Walkee Milee of the Chinaman was justified. Such has been the origin and devel Between the Start and Church-Leap. 48 A NEW SPOPT opment of tobogganing in Canada; and it is somewhat disappointing. It is not strange that the pastime, on this side of the Atlantic at any rate, has grown somewhat stale and lost its hold on public interest. Indeed, if to lie down, alone or with some three or four companions, on a flat board, and slide at a speed proportionate to the weight of your party, down a straight track, and then repeat the performance with trifling variations several times if this were the last word in toboggan- ing, it would hardly be worthy of being called a sport at all. But there is, fortunately, another side, and on the other side are methods, new to us, which have resulted in something in- finitely better, which is not merely an amusement bnt a hard exercise, just when the winter makes such exercise so difficult to get; something which is not an exercise merely, but a sport worthy of the name, by everything which calls for skill and strength, for quickness and resource, by every ele- ment of competition and excitement which enters into those forms of. rapid motion that are the basis of our best athletic games. It is these new meth- ods which I shall endeavoras briefly as may beto describe. After Switzerland had become the playground of Europe, she was invaded, not in summer only, but in winter too; and the spoiled children of the nations nurseries began to look around for some new pastime that was native to the soil. They foundas the first Eng- lish settlers in Canada had found that the ihhabitants had long ago de- veloped a form of transport and loco- motion over the snowy roads, and had already discovered that a platform npon runners (which still remains in its essen- tials of construction the highest type of Swiss machine) gave results enormous- ly superior to the primitive board al- ready mentioned. The early hand-sled or schlittli of the old Swiss cantons was indeed little more than a diminutive reproduction of what probably first suggested it * the wood-sleigh, in which the patient Swiss horses still haul lumber down the mountain-passes. It will be noticed that the vital point of difference between the Swiss and the Canadian methods, is already apparent in the origin of the two machines: the runner is the starting-point of all real development in the sport. And if this be true, any sled or coaster npon Bos- ton Common will be nearer to perfec- tion than the fastest Blizzard or Larivi~re of Montreal toboggan clubs. And this is not all; for in the making of the runs, and in methods of riding and of racing there is to-day no less a differenceas between the Swiss and the Canadian systemsthan in the machines that are used in Montreal and in the Engadine. It was the late John Addington Sy- monds who first raised the old Swiss schlittli from its utilitarian position as a mere small carriage, into a ma- chine for races (down the post-roads of Davos) between the natives and their foreign visitors. The first of tb ese com- petitions organized by Mr. Symonds came off in February, 1883, two years before any race - meeting had been regularly carried out by the oldest Club in Canada. The original otobans1~, as we have seen, has for long remained sufficient for Ca- nadian tobogganers, probably because the pastime with them is hardly more than the original means of locomotion it provided for the Indians, and competi- tion in speed was never a successful pos- sibility. The primitive Swiss coaster was destined to a far shorter suprem- acy, when put to the keen tests of the racing that developed it. Men soon got all that was possible, in the way of speed, out of sitting on a wooden frame- work balanced upon flat iron bars. And Mr. L. P. Child, of New York, supplied. the want, by producing in the winter of 1887 an American clipper-sled~ which beat every rider in Davos out of sight, whether native or imported. He rode it lying headfirst on his side, steering with one mocassined foot swinging out behind, after the method familiar on the chutes of Montreal. Owing to lo- cal prejudice and habit, this head-first position had not penetrated to Switzer- See Notes on Tobogganing at St. Moritz (Second land till long after it had been well Edition), by T. A. Cook, to whom I am indebted for various photographs reproduced in this article, known elsewhere. But even the intro- duction of the new position was not so essential an advance as was the long spring-runner of Mr. Childs machine, by means of which steering was made far more accurate and easy than with the old flat runner of the schlittli. Mr. E. Cohen, another American, by winning the best race at St. Moritz, sitting on one of the new clipper-sheds, proved, conclusively the merits of the right machine, even when it was ridden in the wrong way, and showed that on hard ice as well as on the snow of the post - roads, the new machines and methods were a great advance. It was just about this time that the famous Cresta run at St. Moritz, in the Engadine, was beginnin~, to develop its perfections. Not content with the gradual slopes and curves of the snowy passes of Davos, the riders of St. Mor- itz had some years before attempted to build for themselves a more ambitious ice-run across the fields that slope down the valley of the river Inn from St. Moritz toward Cresta, a little village not far from the mountainous streets of Pon- tresina. With the beginnings of this run are connected the honored names of Mr. G. P. Robertson and Mr. Digby Jones; but for the completion of their first idea and the perfection of what is now the best crooked ice-course for to- boggan-racing in the world, lovers of the sport have to thank Mr. W. H. Bul- pett, an old officer in the English En- gineers, whose skill is only equalled by his enthusiasm and pertinacity. As it was built for the races of 1895, the Cresta run measured exactly three quarters of a mile in length. In this dis- tance there is a fall of six hundred feet, at a gradient of rather more than one in eight, the slope being much more 49 Topham on Second Bank of Church-Leap. severe at some places than at others. The course is built throughout, with- out any wooden fouudations, of packed snow, beaten hard aud finished with a surface of extremely hard and polished ice. The run is by uo meaus strai~-ht, aud this, not only for geographical reasons, but also for purposes of sport. At some points the corner to be turned is so sharp, and the gradient at the same place so steep, that twenty feet of ice-bank, as at Church-Leap, for in- stance, has to be built up to prevent the tobogganer from being swung bodily out of the course, with the sheer mO- mentum of his descent. The same principles of construction, and for very similar reasons, may be noticed at the corners of the best modern race-tracks for bicycles. The surface of these banks, and indeed of the whole run, is kept so hard that the round steel run- ners are sometimes grooved to enable them to bite at all, so that the steering- powers of the rider become all-impor- tant. He must calculate exactly where, upon that sloping curve of ice before him, he will place the nose of his tobog gan, so as to get safely round at the particular pace at which he may be travelling at the moment. He must be as watchful for what is coming as he is careful of his position at every point he passes. For it is plain that if he begins his turn a foot too late, nothing can stop a fast tobogganer going over the highest bank ever constructed, by the mere impetus of his macbine continu- ing in its original direction. Yet if he begins his turn too early there results an evitable loss of priceless speed, and the mysterious laws which regulate the phenomenon of skidding may begin, and end almost as surely in disaster. The theory of this style of riding has been carefully developed and described at length by lion. H. Gibson, a winner of the St. Moritz race tbree years ago.* It may be imagined with what amaze- ment the natives regarded the Cresta when it was first built, and still more when first its iced surface was in any degree perfected. It is recorded that the village postmanone of a class who, from constant practice of their calling Tobogganing on Crooked Runs, by Ron. narry Gibson. 50 -.~\ ~ a:- ~~- ( Pulitzer on Third Bank of Church-Leap. usually provide the native champions of snow road-racing, made an attempt, sitting on his Swiss hand-sled, at the Church-Leap; with the result that he became entangled in the trees above the top of the first bank, and after buffeting them violently for some time, fell head- long down the steep ice into the run. This tired him so much that he now uses a snow-road exclusively. On an- other occasion a native with a wood- sleigh stood waiting on the run itself, and artlessly regarded an~ approaching rider; in a moment the expectin0 rus- tic was rolled up in a confused mass of arms and legs, machines, and wood- sleighs; and during the week ensuing the Swiss lawyers were much exercised as to the probable verdict of the court; suicide, murder, accidental death, the visitation of Providence, force of grav- ity, the well-known English madness; each was in turn suggested, until the man himself recovered, and put it all 51 down to the uncanny nature of the new toboggan-run. It is possible already to realize how great a difference sueb a course as this has produced on the serious methods of riding a toboggan. No trifling is possible, for recklessness means danger. and success is only to be won by hard practice and careful study of the run itself. A mere slide downward by the force of gravity is changed into an ex- citing rush that makes every demand upon the pluck and skill and energy of the rider. The muscles of the back and legs and sboulders all come into play in a descent that, with a speed (in some places) almost as great as any chute can give, involves far higher qualities of swift resource, of balance, of unerr- ing eyesight, than are ever needed by the best Canadian tobogganer. And it must also be remembered, in any com- parison of mere speed between the methods, that a Canadian toboggan of- I Coming Around Battledore. A NEW SPORT ten carries as much as six hundred pounds or more down straight inclines, on which every pound accelerates pace; while on the Cresta the weight involved (and it would seem that generally the less the better) is only that of one man with his machine, travelling in a crooked course, around corners, each of which takes off a little from his speed. The flat-board type of toboggan from Can- ada had only to be tried to be abandoned, when such niceties of accurate steering and regulated speed became required of it. Known distinctively, hencefor- ward, as a Canadian in the Enga- dine, it was relegated to the lighter and more feminine portion of the commu- nity; and only three first-class riders cared to try its capabilities, during the last few seasons, down the difficulties of the Cresta conise. Mr. Arthur Hodg- son, a young Englishman, has lately been by far the most graceful and suc- cessful exponent of the art of riding this form of toboggan in the Engadine. 52 He fitted long steel runners (without any spring to them) along the bottom of his machine. It was a right instinct which thus led visitors in Switzerland to see greater facilities for sport in the runners of the clumsy schittli than in the grace- ful lines and curves of the fiat-bottomed Canadian. After Mr. Symonds had first shown the possibilities of racing, Mr. Childs and Mr. Stephen Whitney (another American at Davos) developed the capacities of the runner on their clipper-sleds; and the head-first posi- tion gradually established its superiori- ty and completed the success of tobog- gan-racing in the Alps. The machine itself, however, had one more stage to pass through before at- taining its perfection. Mr. Bulpett of St. Moritz, turning his attention for a moment from his run-making to the toboggans flying down his course, con- ceived the brilliant idea of making n machine entirely of steel. By remov~ Coming off Sattledore on to Shuttlecock. A NEW SPORT 53 ing the strip of wood just above the spring-runner of Mr. Childs clipper- sled, and welding a flat bar of steel to each end of the curved metal that re- mained, he produced his famous Skel- eton, as Swiss tobogganers have christ- ened it, and did away at once with the jarring of the old machine, while he re- moved all dangers of the warping and cracking of the wood, that in the dry climate of the high Alps had proved the chiefest source of danger. The only woodwork in the skeleton-type is in the platform or centreboard which sup- ports the riders weight; but this, al- though fastened to the framework, is not an integral part of it, and can go through any of the changes to which wood is subject at a high altitude, with- out affecting the spring or accuracy of the runner. As hasp been pointed out, this was an advance in the science of tobogganing as great as the invention of the pneumatic tire in bicycling. A fully detailed description of the way to manufacture this machine may be found in either of the books to which I have already referred. Bat the dia- gram here reproduced will indicate the method of its construction, and various other pictures in these pages will give the reader an accurate idea of the pro- portions such a machine should bear to its possessor. It will indeed be abso- lutely necessary, for comprehension of the small figures which occur in the pictures of the run itself, that these larger presentments of a rider with his toboggan should be first studied and I. F C 4E.F K ~ A carefully kept in mind. The measure- ments of this machine, used on the Cresta Run in 1895, and designed by W. H. Bulpett for a man of 5 feet 11 inches, are as follows: Length over all on the top (including the counterboard, K), 4 feet 1 inch. Length of each run- ner on the ground (from A to B), 3 feet VOL. XIX. 7 6 inches7 with a spring of 10 milli- metres. Breadth. 12 inches, from cen- tre to centre of munner~ Height (with- out cushion), 5 inches. d, e, is the original bar of round English steel, carefully polished, and usually about 16 millimetres thick. At B, this bar is bent round C to D, and at A is similar- ly bent to E. A fiat bar of German steel is welded to the points ID and E. The two runners are accurately made on exactly the same modeL They are kept exactly parallel by the flat cross-bars, x, x, riveted to the underside of the German steel in each runner and to the centreboard, F, F, which lies npon these cross-bars and between the tops of the runners. On the centreboard is a low cushion, the front of velvet, the rest leather. The noses of the runners are joined at the top by a round bar of steel at C, C; and between this bar and the cushion they are wrapped in rope or leather, to secure a firm grip for the hands. It will thus be seen that when once American inventiveness had begun the development of the hand-sled in Mr. Symondss races at Davos, the centre of activity changed to St. Moritz, where, to Mr. Gibsons theories, to Mr. Tophams practice, and to Mr. Bulpetts building, are due the great advance in toboggan- ing there, beyond anything known or attempted on this side. Yet it must not be thought, from what has been said above, that racing has never been attempted at all upon our chutes. The old Tuque Blene slide at Montreal was often, in former days, the scene, not only of ordinary rac- ing, hut of both high and broad jump K) ing as well. The first races ever given by any club in Canada were held under the auspices of the Tuque Blene on January 17, 1885, just a month be- fore the first race recorded on the Cresta Run at St. Moritz. After a run of 200 yards on almost level ground, a jump of 37 feet 11 inches broad was made by A. Dub6 from the top of an inclined chute 3 feet higha feat which can be fully realized by anyone who has seen the leap sometimes taken by a fast rider on the top of the hill at the finish of the Cresta course. Mr. J. Paton did 4 feet 5 inches in the high jump, but no record 54 A NEW SPORT is given of the winners time in the most interesting race of all, for single riders. It would seem that the speed upon the old Montreal slide pitch was practically that of a falling body, for in 1886 it is said that a toboggan loaded with three men was timed to have done 900 yards on that slide in 30 seconds; but the pace of the toboggan on the level afterwards depended so entirely on the condition of the various tracks that timing was ne- glected, and it was even found neces- sary to settle starting-positions by toss of the coin. It is indeed well-nigh im- possible to secure a fair breast-race in any form of tobogganing; the slight- est differences of sunlight or construc- tion are fatal to the equality of the runs. Each rider must race against the watch, over the same course, and in as short an interval of time as possible, to secure fair conditions of competition. But the enormously increased popular- ity of the pastime, with both sexes and all classes, in Canada, soon made even these first attempts at racing quite im- possible. Tracks had to be built not so much for speed and skill as for the absolute safety of the greater number. The objects which Mr. Bulpett has to attain in building the Cresta Run at St. Moritz are very different. And al- though I can but very lightly touch up- on the methods he employs to get the varied curves and ice - banks of his course, I shall at least be able to show the superiority of its results as the fin- est race-track for skilled tobogganing that is now in existence. The heaviest snowfall in the Engadine is generally down by Christmas, or the early days of January, and the first flakes fall upon a quantity of high stakes that have already marked out the main lines of the course to be con- structed. Banks of earth, too, have been thrown up at a few points to les- sen labor later on; streams have been dammed or bridged, and careful ar- rangements made to secure a constant and convenient supply of water to ice the final surface. The building begins from the bottom, and the workmens first task is to trample down the snow between the marking stakes with their heavy Engadiner boots swathed in coarse bandages. Then the banks, looking rather smaller than they will be later on, are thrown up roughly with great wooden shovels, and snow is added or taken away from the straight parts of the run, as may be considered necessary. These banks are in turn trodden down firmly by the mens feet and are then levelled off with spades, ready for the engineers inspection. Not before he has tried each one, riding over it at the proper speed on his to- boggan, does he proceed to give the finishing touch by icing the whole sur- face till it is as hard and polished as a slab of marble. A strong stream of water from a hose is the best means of doing this; and a kind of mortar locally known as polenta, produced by mix- ing snow and water, is found to be the best substance for mending any breaks or inequalities. Great care has to be taken to keep the banks quite clean, as the least speck of dirt will attract the sunlight sufficiently to melt an appreci- able hole in the fine curves of the banks, which shine like mirrors in the sun when perfected. Screens were used, during the last season, to protect the mosL exposed parts of the run from the brilliant sunshine of the Alpine spring. Little by little the whole run is thus built upward from the finish, and parts of it, as they are completed, are opened for practice, so that when the workmen have put the last touch to the start, even new-comers will have learned at least the look of most of the corners that await them. Each bank, too, has by this time its own name; not always so hap- pily bestowed as the Battledore and Shuttlecock of Mrs. Bancroft; though Scylla and Charybdis, nearer to the finish, have a grim significance of their own; while the banks of the Church- Leap, the most astonishing feature of the run, seem worthy of a more sug- gestive appellation. The first of these banks, where the run turns sharply to the left after a stiff drop, measures twenty-four feet from base to summit at the top of the long semicircle of its curve; and the two immediately follow- ing it are each more than eighteen feet in height. The run itself seems to have entirely disappeared, for the fiat banks rise sheer out of the rough snow of the fields; and it becomes easier to A NEW SPORT 55 realize the pace at which a man must come to stay upon these sloping sheets of ice at all; for naturally, if his mo- mentui~i did not overcome the down- pull of his weight, he would slide off the banks at once into the snow be- neath. And yet his pace must always be within his accurate control; a foot too high, a shade too fast, and the best rider in the world is done for. There is no incident in sport which calls more suddenly on a mans resolution and re- source than this; a moments inatten- tion, and his chance is over. I well remember, one day just before the races of February, 1894, when a heavy rider, who had with difficulty se- cured the last place in the team of the St. Moritz Club, that was to race against Davos, came at this leap hard and fast, for his last practice-run before the race. His eye caught the well-known figure of a rival near the run; and to our astonishment we heard him shout a greeting, and then go flying at full pace up the whole height of the great ice- bank to his right. Man and machine came toppling down together into the snow some twenty feet beneath, and he was very lucky to escape with no worse misfortune than a broken collar-bone. He described to me his sensations after- ward: I never saw that bank at all, said he; my shout to C. and the shock of falling from my machine seemed al- most simultaneous. The moral is not that such runs are dangerous, but that such riding is. Carelessness of this kind was far more frequent in the old days than at present. Before the run itself had reached the hard and glitter- ing perfection of the 1895 course, and while the Swiss hand-sled had fallen into contempt, yet had not been superseded, a novice was once challenged to drink a glass of whiskey while he rode down the Church - Leap. The Alpine Post reported the result laconically: The drink got down; the novice didnt. On the other hand, I have seen men crawl along the Cresta coursestop- ping their pace by digging into the ice with the iron rakes on their bootsas slowly as any crowded omnibus up Montmartre. Beginners are sometimes wise enough to do this, and anyone with defective eyesight is practically obliged to do so. It was amusing, for instance, to watch the creator of the daring Sherlock Holmes in his first effort to negotiate this Alpine steeple- chase. He got down safely and with due deliberation, and no sooner reached the finish than he made a bet to race the heaviest and clumsiest rider within sight. So contagious are the elements of rivalry upon the Cresta course. Even ladies cannot be persuaded from imitating their masculine admir- ers. Though as they still persist in riding in a sitting posture, they have no chance of pace and very little even of safety. A few young girls ride in the same position as the men; but even bloomers, should they penetrate as far as the Engadine, will scarcely, I imagine, persuade any elder sisters to attempt the full course lying down. Upon an easier run, indeed, or upon a portion of the Cresta, I have seen ladies riding with absolute grace and ease in the sideways position which Mrs. Mac- laren used so well on her American clipper-sled, or with the Canadian to- boggan to which Lady Archibald Camp- bell and her daughter gave a short- lived popularity. But the Cresta run, as a whole, is really built only for men, and chiefly for the highest rate of speed, a rate which would be hardly credible on so se- vere a course, were it not carefully an- thenticated by vari- ous officials of the club. It may be in- teresting to give a few figures in sup- A NEW SPORT port of this~ The pace has been in- creasing steadily each year, as the building of the run itself improved and as new methods of riding have developed. In the crack race of Feb- ruary, 1895, two riders, one after the other (Messrs. Bird and Gibson), did what at the time of writing is a rec- ord for the run, 71 seconds for the measured three-quarters of a mile. Al- though this means an average speed over the whole course that on a straight run would be by no means extraordi- nary, yet when such difficult turns as Battledore or the Church - Leap are taken into consideration, it becomes an astonishing performance. Down cer- tain straight parts of the course men have been timed to be travelling at the rate of a mile in 1~ minute; and a little nearer to the finish the pace is certainly well over sixty miles an hour. These last four or five hundred yards are purposely built to give that variety of riding which is necessitated by great speed without hard corners, as a con- trast to the steering difficulties on the curves above; a variety in which body- balance and great delicacy of touch are the all-important factors of success. The briefest consideration of the ac- companying pictures will make it evi- dent that only one man can be on the run at once, about ninety seconds be- ing the average interval between each rider. So that racing must always be done against the watch, the time-keeper being placed in such a position that he can accurately see the rider pass both starting - point and finish. The com- petitors ride in an order settled be- forehand by the chance of the draw. Each has to run three times, and each beat is arranged in a different order, so that every chance may be given to the most consistently good rider to secure a win. The prize goes to the lowest aggregate time of the three runs added together, and a special prize is given for the single course which is done fastest in the whole race. But record-breaking is not .always the object a rider wishes to attain, and there are, fortunately, many other possi- bilities both of speed and pleasure. By the gradual opening of the run, capi- tal courses are provided for those who like to race upon a portion at full pace, yet are not skilful enough to ride over the entire length. And since the fever of competition seems inseparalQe from this as from mc~st other forms of sport based upon more or less rapid motion, those who insist on racing, yet feel the completed Cresta to be quite beyond their powers, can get all they want upon the smaller village runs and the snow~.roads of the valley; and they will appreciate good riding in the greater races all the better when they have thus mastered the first steps to excel- lence. Perhaps the race producing the most exciting riding on the Cresta in late years, has been that of February 21, 1894, which may be taken as a typical day in the history of Engadine tobog- ganing. The sun rose brilliantly above the snow-peaks in a cloudless sky, and in the air was that peculiar quality of tonic keenness which can lend life and enthu- siasm to the laziest, in that clear, dry cli- mate of six thousand feet above the sea. To a new-corner the sparkling colors displayed in the grand stand, with its wavy line of fluttering sunshades, sug- gested some August gathering at New- port or Bar Harbor, rather than the actual deep expanse of solid snow be- neath him. The first American repre- sentative, a boy of fifteen only, did a course of 76~ seconds, after brandishing his legs above the banks of Battledore in most alarming fashion. The best time in the first round was accont- pushed by Mr. Harold Topham, an Englishman, who remains to this day the finest exponent of the art in Swit- zerland. Two more rounds had to be ridden, in which the same men reap- peared in different order. In these Mr. Topham steadily increased his lead, and finally won. The very last course of all was ridden by an Ameri- can, who had, though a former winner, hitherto shown no chances of attaining the front rank in this year; but, by a magnificent effort, Mr. J. F. Patterson (from Montreux) achievedat this last momentthe fastest course yet ridden, and secured the second prize. In the races of 1895 Mr. Topham once more proved the winner, and young Ralph A NEW SPORT 57 Pulitzers good riding secured the third prize for the States. None of the rep- resentatives of Davos did much in either of the last Grand Nationals, as these races on the Cresta Run are called, in which representative teams from the rival clubs are pitted against each other. A return race is also held over the snow - roads of Davos, where a longer variety of the Skeleton * with thicker runners has been successfully tried, and it is only fair to say that / / A Fast Finishthe Leap on the Brow of the Hill at the End of the Create. St. Moritz finds it just as hard to pro- vide a winner over a course away from home. It remains to say something of the best costume for wearing on such runs as I have just described. In this mat- ter Switzerland is certainly, even still, far behind the Canadians. For a long while indeed the costume in the Alps was not merely completely inappropri- ate but also absolutely ugly. And this, perhaps, because the ladies have not been the integral part of each toboggan- load, in the Engadine, that they are in MontreaL The sincerest form of flat- tery (if nothing else) has led Canadian tobogganers into the right paths of neat * The Giant Skeleton had runners 20 mm. in di- ameter, 4 feet 3 inches long (on the ice), with a spring of half an inch. The machine was 5 inches high, 13 inches hroad, and 6 feet 2 inches long (over all) including 15 inches of conuterhoard. Bow and stern were curved alike, as at c in the diagram on page 53. VOL. XJX.8 and effective dress. But the sterner ne- cessities of racing on the Cresta have at least developed a costume in the last few years, which answers all the pur- poses required of it, though from the artistic point of view it still leaves much to be desired. There is an Engadine garment of stout whitish cloth, which combines the advantages of high-fitting trousers and gaiters that strap tightly around the boots. This is the best cov- ering for the nether man.. Above, it is a useful trick to wear a stout coat with padded elbows strongly sewn with leather, to prevent the unpleasant effects of touching hard ice when at full speed; to this leather can be buckled the long gloves that complete the ri- ders protection from cold and flying snow. The strap used for pulling up his toboggan should be fastened tightly round his waist. His cap must be small and close-fitting, without the pos- sibility of coming off at any ~riti- cal corner; a proceeding as dan- gerous to his own steadiness as to the runners of the machine which follows; his boots cannot be too stout or too well oiled; and fixed upon them with an iron toe-cap should be the sharp, strong spikes by means of which he steers or takes off pace, using the right foot, for instance, when he wishes to turn in that direction, and both feet equally when he desires to go slow. His costume, in fact, while strong and close - fitting, must allow the rider perfect freedom and elasticity of move- ment. Nothing is more ludicrous than an unsuitably dressed performer, who must be as uncomfortable himself as he is dangerous to others. This is gradually becoming better understood than was formerly the case. None, for instance, would at the first glance have recognized the Lord Chan- cellor of Ireland in that workmanlike figure in a cloth cap and snuff-colored leggings, which used to career down the village run at St. Moritz, sitting on an old-fashioned Swiss machine, with all the enthusiasm which tobogganing can arouse, even in the breast of a member of the doomed Upper House. It seems indeed as if Swiss tobogganing, when properly managed, can provide riding of every kind, for young and old, for strong and weak alike. And of what endless merriment have these same small runs at St. Moritz been the scene! Bets have there been decided upon rocking- horses; there clipper-sleds and double- pigstickers and bob-sleighs, rippers, fearful wildfowl of all sorts and kinds may be descried of a fine afternoon slid- ing round Caspars Corner toward the shores of the frozen lake. Swiss nurses, carrying babies in their arms, career down the snowy road, hotly pursued by infants, hardly larger than the babies and jauntily astride of tiny hand-sleighs no bigger than a biscuit-box. Several la- dies flash past on a Canadian, balanced by the swinging foot of their young guide, who sits behind them, leaning on his side and looking over all their pretty shoulders as he steers. There is a per- petual swing and flash of movement and bright color; a ring of laughter in the frosty air; while the warning cry of Achtuftg echoes from every corner, as the rattling sleds go by, and more keep coming upward from below to start again. Upon the snowy post-roads, too, that 58 lend themselves without any further preparation to such varieties of the sport, the double-ripper, known in the Enga- dine as a bob-sleigh, provides endless amusement. Two toboggans of the American or clippersled variety are so arranged, with a long plank above tbem, that the skipper~ can sit in front and steer with a ring and pulley in each hand to swing round tbe first machine; while a brakesman sits behind, ready to dig a nail-studded board with all his strength into the snow and take off pace when necessary. Between these two sit three or four more passengers, who strive, when once the ship is started, to solve the double problem of keeping in their seats at all for the machine is very like a spirited buckboard upon runners and curling away their legs and boots as much out of their own and everybody elses way as possible. A long and lusty post-horn adds greatly to the success of the descent, and when the short run from St. Moritz down the Cresta Road has been safely learned, the Passes of the Julier, even the Maloggia, remain to be conquered by the flying bob, which is pretty certain to be carrying lady- passengers along its middle seats. This is, indeed, the light side of to- Coming Around Caspers Corner, Village Run. bogganing, the only part of it which seems a little known outside of Switzer- land, the only part of it which real to- bogganers in the Engadine scarcely ever touch. For the American visitor pre- fers to get a move on quickly, and when he finds that high speed can be com- bined with the skilful ridin~, needed on the Cresta Run, there is he in the midst of it. Since 1888, and earlier, there has hardly been a year in which an Ameri- can has not secured one of the best prizes in the great toboggan-races of St. Moritz or Davos. But why should we go so far afield to find a sport that we might reproduce, if not improve, at home? Tobogganing on this side of the Atlantic seems, as a mat- ter of fact, to be passing under a cloud, either of indifference or satiety. I have tried to indicate not only the reasons but the remedy for this. That the Swiss runs, and the Swiss methods generally, are infinitely better than any straight- track variety we have here or in Canada, no reader of these lines canI veutnie to believedeny. I am equally con- vinced that the accompanying virtues of Mr. Bulpetts steel machine (which any- one can make) have only to be more widely known to be appreciated as they deserve. This slight description of the new possibilities may perhaps serve as the first incentive to an emulation which (as the past year has amply shown) will rarely fail in any branch of sport. 59 The pahngs have e herd time. Going Around Caspers Corner, Villege Ran. T. F. Bayard, State. W. C. Endicott, War. W. C. Whitney, Navy. W. F. Vilaa, Poatmanter-GenI. Daniel Manning, Treanary. A. H. Garland, Atty-Geni. L Q. C. Lamar, Interior. A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY IN THE UNITED STATES BY E. BENJAMIN ANDREWS A DEMOCRAT AT THE HELM CLEVELANDS STRENGTH DEATH OF GENERAL GRANT THE NEW NAVY THE GREAT EARTHQUAKE PAN-ELECTRIC SCANDAL THE election of Grover Cleveland, the first Democrat to press the presidential chair after Buchanan left it in 1861, brought grief to millions of honest THE PENSION VETO CHICAGO ANARCHISTS THE MILLS BILL BARTHOLDI S STATUE FISHERIES DISPUTES hearts. On assurance that Cleveland had really won, an old lady exclaimed: Well, the poor wont have any work this winter, thats certain! A col Prenide nt Clevelanda Fi rat Cabinet.

E. Benjamin Andrews Andrews, E. Benjamin A History Of The Last Quarter-Century In The United States. IX. A Democrat At The Helm 60-83

T. F. Bayard, State. W. C. Endicott, War. W. C. Whitney, Navy. W. F. Vilaa, Poatmanter-GenI. Daniel Manning, Treanary. A. H. Garland, Atty-Geni. L Q. C. Lamar, Interior. A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY IN THE UNITED STATES BY E. BENJAMIN ANDREWS A DEMOCRAT AT THE HELM CLEVELANDS STRENGTH DEATH OF GENERAL GRANT THE NEW NAVY THE GREAT EARTHQUAKE PAN-ELECTRIC SCANDAL THE election of Grover Cleveland, the first Democrat to press the presidential chair after Buchanan left it in 1861, brought grief to millions of honest THE PENSION VETO CHICAGO ANARCHISTS THE MILLS BILL BARTHOLDI S STATUE FISHERIES DISPUTES hearts. On assurance that Cleveland had really won, an old lady exclaimed: Well, the poor wont have any work this winter, thats certain! A col Prenide nt Clevelanda Fi rat Cabinet. A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 61 lege president discoursed lugubriously played, the President exceeded the cx- to his students upon the Democratic pectations of his friends, and disap- victory, as portending he knew not pointed his enemies. He performed what of ill. Many good souls thought his exacting duties with dignity and the Government in effect at an end. in t e 11 i g e n c e, was Those of less pessimistic temper, straightforward in prophesied simply a financial panic. his actions, and did The South is again in the saddle, not seek popularity still others said ; slavery will be re- by drifting with the stored. Most Republicans supposed current. Whatever that the new President would, at the else might be said very least, fill every office with a Dem- against him, n o n e ocrat. The Democracy, with excep- could call him a dem- tions, was correspondingly jubilant. agogue. If in the Over a hundred thousand people vis- exercise of his ap- ited the capital to view the Inaugura- pointing and remov- tion Day ceremonies, and a quarter as ing power he made many actually marched in the proces- some mistakes, the sion. Of this both colored troops and wonder was, all ex-Confederates formed part. The in- thin g s considered, augural address was received with great that he made so few. enthusiasm, even Republican Senators Democrat he was, yet and Representatives publicly express. President of all the ing approval of its tone. The Cabinet people. In manners was on every hand pronounced an able he continued at one, and nearly all the great diplomatic Washington to be what he had been at offices abroad were filled with first-rate Buffalo and at Albany simple with- men. out any affectation of simplicity. Like Those who predicted that the Presi- Blame, he wrote with his own hand every dent would be inefficient proved false word of his official papers. Even his prophets. Mr. Cleveland governed, wedding invitations were autographs. The Treasury he administered with economy. The development of our Navy was continued, systematized, and accelerated. No clean sweep of office- holders occurred, and where a colored man was displaced, a colored man suc- ceeded him, provided a good one could be found. Extensive land grants, shown to be fraudulent, were declared forfeited. Cattle kings were forced to remove their herds from Indian reser- vations. Federal troops kept boom- ers from public lands. A conspiracy by members of the railway postal ser- vice to strike was nipped in the bud, and the conspirators discharged. When on March 31, 1885, the Prestan rebels in Panama seized an American ship, marines were promptly landed on both sides of the isthmus to maintain the rights and dignity of this Republic. Such vigor in administration soon con- vinced all that the ship of state was safe with a Democrat at the helm. In the self - command, independence, and executive ability which he dis MARRIAGE or PRESIDENT CLEVELAND A ri~w weeks after his inauguration as President, Mr. Clevelands engage- ment was announced, to Miss Frances Folsonci, the daughter of his friend and partner, Oscar Folsom, who had died in 1875. They were married on June 2, 1886, at the Execu- tive Mansion. The old edifice had al- ready been the scene of eight nuptial cere- monies, but all these had been very pri- vate. Now, however, the occasion could not but have public significance, s in cc for the first time the President of the United States was a principal party. A little before seven a Gov. John P. Altgeid, of Ilfnois. Terence V. Powderly. Ft-ow e ~hobograg5h by Kuebler. 62 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY The President delivering his inaugural address from the grand central portico of the Capitsl, March 4,1885. Painted by Chs7de Ifassanz from g57rotegruplos. small company were received in the Blue Room by the Presidents sisters, Mrs. Hoyt and Miss Cleveland. The Cabinet, save Attorney - General Gar- land, were of the number, the rest, aside from the officiating clergyman and his wife, being intimate friends either of the bride or of the bride- groom. Miss Folsom entered the room on the Presidents arm, the corn- pany falling back in a semicircle, while the Marine Band, in resplendent uni- forms, rendered Mendelssohns Wed- ding March. The music was followed by a sovereign salute of twenty-one guns and the ringing of church bells in the city. Meanwhile the marriage ceremony was concluded, and Mr. and Mrs. Cleveland left Washington for the summer cottage they had taken. The Inasgaration of President C!eeeland. A HISTOPY OF THE LAST QUAPTEP-cENTUNy 63 THE DEATH OF GRANT THE elect of the Solid South, and de- termined to give that section its rights, Mr. Cleveland yet took every occasion to recognize the results of the war, and to honor those who had made it suc- cessful. On learning of General Grants death, he, on July 23, 1885, wrote Mrs. Grant: Mv DEAR MADAM: Obeying the dic- tates of my persoiial feelings, and in ac- cord with what I am sure is the univer- sal sentiment of his fellow-countrymen toward your late husband, I am solicit- ous that every tribute of respect and affection should be duly rendered, and with constant cousideration of your personal wishes on the subject. Ad- jutant - General Richard C. Drum is charged with the delivery of this note, and will re- serve and convey to me any intimation of the wishes of yourself and your children in respect to the selection of the place of burial and conduct of the funeral ceremonies, and the part which may be borne by those charged with the administration of the government. dolence, Your friend and servant, GROVER CLEVELAND. For months intense suffering had been General Grants lot, but he bore William E. Chandler. With sincere con- The Fishery Commission of 1888. John B. Moore, American Secy. James B Angell. Sir Charles Topper. J. H. G. Bergne, British Secy Sir Lionel Saclseille-Went. W. L. Potnom. Thomas F. Baysrd. Joseph Chamberlain. 64 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY it in a heros way. Never before had the gates, nearly or quite three hun- his character seemed so admirable as dred thousand people gazed upon the in this battle with disease, in which he corpse. was doomed to fall. No word of com- As day broke, August 8th, was heard plaint escaped him. Work upon his the first of the dirges that till sunset Memoirs, whose salesuch his pov- were at no moment intermitted. The ertyhe expected to be his familys sound came nearer and nearer, till five sole source of support, when he was hundred veterans of Meade Post, Grand gone, he persistently kept up till four Army of the Republic, came in sight. days before the end. His protracted Soon Old Trinitys grave chimes pealed affliction made the Silent Man seem forth. At seven, notes of mourning each ones next of kin. When it was from all distances and directions rose, known that he was gone, the entire na- floating up to the barred gates behind tion bent over his bier which lay the remains. in tears, every house- At 8.50 General Han- hold in the land, North cock and staff slowly and South, feeling itself entered the plaza, first bereaved. Southern presenting front to City cities half-masted their Hall in honor of the flags in Grants honor, dead, then facing Southern legislatures Broadway, prepared to passed resolutions lead the solemn march. speaking his praises At 9.35 the funeral car and adjourned out of approached, drawn by respect for him. Even twenty-four jet -black Jefferson Davis unbent horses, a colored man for a moment, uttering at each bridle. Twelve about the deceased soldiers who had commander a greater formed the Guard of number of kindlywords Honor at Mount Mc- than the public had Gregor, reverently lift- heard from him before ed the casket upon the in twenty-five years. car, which, as it moved, The death had oc- Joseph E. Gary. was flanked by vete curred at Mount Mc- rans. Gregor, near Saratoga. From the even- The procession, eight miles long, ing of August 4th till 10.30 A.M., Au- wended up Broadway between lines of gust 5th, the body lay in state at the old soldiersflags veiled, drums muf- Capitol in Albany, where it was viewed fled, and arms reversed. The Grant by over seventy-seven thousand per- family, except Mrs. Grant, who was un- sons. The public funeral took place able to be present, followed in four car- in New York City on August 8ththe riages, succeeded by the Generals old most imposing spectacle of the kind staff his cabinet officers, and detach- ever seen in America. Business was ments from Grand Army Posts. Mem- suspended. Crowds poured in from bers of the Aztec Club, survivors of the all the neighboring States, every train Mexican War, formed a group. Presi- and steamer being packed to its ut- dent Cleveland rode with Secretary most capacity. Positions convenient Bayard, and they were followed by the for surveying the procession sold for Vice-President and the Cabinet, the as much as fifty dollars apiece. City Supreme Court Justices, liJuited States Hall, the immense pillars and wind- Senators, and a Committee of the ing stairs of its vestibule impressive- House. Governor Hill and his suite ly draped in black, received the cof- and a Committee of the State Legisla- fin, and through its iron portals for ture were of the cortege, also gentle- hours flowed a steady stream in double men who had occupied diplomatic and columns of twos. It was thought consular offices under Grant while that from the opening to the closing of President. Besides all these were of- ficial guests filling a hundred and fifty carriages. Over the ashes of the man who had said: Let us have peace, all bitter memories were forgotten. Speaker Carlisle and ex-Speaker Ran- dall rode with Congressmen Hiscock and Reed, Seuator Morrill with Sena- tor Coekrell, Sherman with Ransom, Ingalls with Harris. Famous Con- federates, distinguishable by their gray silk sashes, fraternized with Federal chieftains. Generals Joe Johnston an& Buckner officiated with Sherman, Sheri- dan, and Logan among the pall-bearers. Three other gallant Southerners, Wade Hampton, Fitzhugh Lee, and Gordon, were also present at the funeraL The tomb had been prepared in the upper city, near the North River and within sight of the Palisades. Directly opposite it, that day, lay the Despatch, We are peaceable. The Tragedy in Haymarket Square, Chicago. The scene during Fieldens speech just be fore the bomb was thrown. 66 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY Shortly after t w 0, trumpets heralded General Hancock and staff. Sweeping past the tomb, they drew rein beneath trees a hundred yards north. Soon a thunder - peal from the Pow- hatan shook the bluff; being re- turned, multi- plied, from the Jersey shore. The salute was repeated at in- Abram S. Hewitt. tervals. Shortly after four anoth- er strain of trum- pets was heard; then the sound of muffled drums, announcing the approach of the catafalque. In - fantry companies which Ii ad es- corted it formed a hollow square between it and the tomb, and to the middle of this the body about to be laid away was transferred. Henry George. The family mourners, alight- ing, stood nearest, then General Han- cock, with President Cleveland, Vice- President Hendricks, and members of the Cabinet. Close to the head of the bier were Generals Sherman and Sheri- dan, ex-Presidents Arthur and Hayes, Admiral Porter, General Fitzhugh Lee, General Gordon, and General Buckner. Representatives from Meade Post circled the casket and went through the Grand Army ritual, after which came the bur- ial service of the Methodist Episcopal Church. At the close of this Tattoo was sounded, ending the ceremonies, save that three volleys of musketry and as many of artillery were let off while the Grant family re-entered their carriages. THE INTERSTATE COMMERCE ACT ANTAGONISTIC as Cleveland and the Re- publicans were, some good laws passed the Forty-ninth Congress, among them the Interstate Commerce Act, placing the great railroads of the country un- der the General Governments super- vision. This was meant to remedy the unfair discrimination in railway fa- cilities and charges theretofore preva- lent between different persons and dif- ferent places. The dead-head system had grown alarmingly. Favored ship- pers obtained rates enabling them to crush their rivals by this advantage alone; and long-haul tariffs were far too low in comparison with those for short hauls. Shippers of freight from Rochester to San Francisco had found it profitable to pay transportation charges first to New York City, their goods then going straight back through Rochester again. The a~t of February 4, 1887, for- bade special rates to special shippers. It also inhibited charging or receiving for the carriage of passengers or a given class of freightconditions being the sameany greater compensation for a shorter than for a longer haul over the same line, in the same direction. These provisions worked well. More ques- tionable was the interdiction of pool- ing, since almost universally evaded. The act provided for a commission of five members to administer and en- force it. THE NEW NAVY ANOTHER point of public policy about which the President and Congress sub- stantially agreed, was the building up of the navy. In 1881 the grand old frigate Con- stitution, h e r ensign at last hauled down, was put out of c o m mission, dismantled, and placed beside the Ticondero- ga, slowly to fall in pieces. This step had been con t e m pl a t e d Fr6d~ric Augusta Bartholdi. The Bartholdi Statue of Liberty, from Communipaw N J Painted from no/nrc by Otto II. Backer. down! These rot- ting hulks typefied our neglected and degen- erate navy, with its thirty - seven cruisers, all but four of wood,~ * The American schooner Da- vid J. Adams, calling at the port of iDigby, Nova Scotia, May 5, 1886, to procure bait, was seized by captain Scott of the steamer Landsdowne. The captain of the Adams declared he had called to see friends, and was re- leased, bnt ran agronnd going out of the harbor, and since the truth had meanwhile been learned, the schooner was re- seized, everything movable be- ing sold at auction to cover ex- penses. The matter was in dis- pute between England and the United States for a long time. Drawn by M. ~. Burns from pita- /ogra~/us. twenty years before but the poet then pro- cured for the venera- ble warrior a stay of execution by the plea beginning, Aye, tear her tattered ensign t On Sunday, January 6, 1878, a number of American sailors were engaged in taking herring in Long Harbor, Fortune Bay, Newfoundland. They were at- tacked by the Newfoundlanders who destroyed one of their seines and forced them to stop fishing. The matter was for years one of the international questions in dispute between England and America. 68 The Newfoundland Fiuherieu.Fiah-eheds at Quidi Vidi. The Second Seizure of the Schooner David J. Adams. Drawn by M. ~. Burns from pioo/ogrn~ss by Parker and descrzb1~on. he hortune Bay Aftairt A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 69 its fourteen single - turreted monitors either in commission or building, their built during the war, its guns all or cost varying from $3,000,000 each for nearly all muzzle-loading, and many of the battle-ships Oregon, Massachuaetts, them smooth-bores. Hon. William E. Indiana, and Iowa, to $25,000 for the Chandler, Secretary of the Navy under smallest torpedo-boat. The sea-going President Arthur, deserves the honor of and fighting qualities of the new ships, being the rst pungently to urge the and the comforts and even luxuries building of a new navy worthy the which they provide for their officers A icrican nation. Mr. Arthur cordially en- dorsed the recommen- dation. As a result, a Naval Advisory Board of able and experienced officers was appointed in 1881. It recommend- ed a programme for the ~oaoing see riso. a d crews, have evoked admira- tion both at home and abroad. Their plate is an alloy of nickel and steel, superior to any yet pro- __ duced in Europe. The old Constitution could, with her best guns, at 1,000 yards, pierce twen- ty-two inches of oak, next eight about the thickness of years, which, her own hull at water line. The ~ - inch steel while involving the vast outlay covering at the Atlantas of $30,000,000, -~ water line had nearly the would place in same resisting power as commission the .\~ the Constitutions twenty- twenty-one two inches of oak. The iron-dads ab- Scenes in Quidi Vidi a Typical Newfoundland Fishisg Atlantas 6 - inch guns solutely need- Town. will, at 1,000 yards, bore ed, seventy through a surface having unarmored cruisers, five rams, five tor- twenty times the resisting power of pedo gun-boats, and twenty to pedo- her own or the Constitutions hull at boats. To make a beginning, Congress water-line. At the same range her 8- in 1882 authorized the construction of inch guns pierce fourteen inches of three unarmored cruiseis, he Atlanta, iron. The Atlanta is about half as the Boston, and the Chicago, and of the large as the Constitution, but their du- despatch-boat Dolphin. ties in war are the same. Both are, The policy thus entered upon was to technically, frigates, a sort of naval be permanent. The Cleveland years cavalry, to accompany and assist battle- marked important forward steps in it, ships as scouts, or to convoy friendly and since then progress has been con- commerce and destroy that of the cue- tinuous, rapid, and splendid. To Dc- my. This predatory r6le is indeed a cember 4, 1894, forty-seven vessels were cowardly one, like privateering, or like VOL. XJX.9 70 land warfare upon civilians and their property; but so long as naval tactics admit such barbarism, ships able to per- petrate it will be prized. The Atlanta can riddle her like when hull down on the horizon, while battle-ships, like the immense Iowa, which displaces 11,300 tons, to make any serious impression on one another must approach to within at least 4,000 yards. At the international naval f~tc in 1895, when the Kid Canal was opened, our New York and Columbia were ob- jects of utmost curiosity. The Coluin- bia is a protected cruiser 348 feet long on the water-line, 69 feet broad, and of 24 feet mean draught, with a displace- ment of 10,231 tons, about the size of the old Constitution. Her armament consists of one 8-inch breech-loading rifle, two 6-inch and eight 4-inch rapid- fire guns, twelve 6-pounder and four 1- pounder rapid-fire guns, and four Gatlings. Built for a commerce de- stroyer, though closely resembling a merchantman, she can, like a wolf in sheeps clothing, draw fatally near her victim without exposing her true char- acter. After the navalf& tc referred to, La Pctrie, of Paris, said: What has struck France and all Europe with surprise mixed with fright, is the speed of one of the vessels of the American fleet. The Columbia will be able to accept or refuse combat according to her wishes. She will thunder forth A HISTOPY OP THE LAST ~j2LJARTEN-CENTURY shot and shell or run away at will. She can with impunity cover the sur- face of the oceanwith ruins and wrecks, or laugh at the avengers sent to pur- sue her. The European nation which should have the foresight to create a large number of these terrible cruisers would be unassailable, invulnerable, and invincible. Of her powers to overhaul most merchantmen or to run away from battle-ships, the Columbia soon gave signal proof, making the trip home from Southampton under natural draught and in spite of some heavy weatherthough, it is said, using extra coal and exhausting her menin 6 days, 23 hours, and 49 minutes, an average speed of 18.53 knots an hour, the best long-distance run ever made by a war- ship. For a shorter time she is good for 22 knots. The St. Louis, an ocean greyhound then newly built, and the swift Augusta Victoria, both starting just behind the Columbia, failed to catch her. Great was the jubilation when, on August 3, 1895, her snowy hull, stained with spots of rust, and her four buff smoke-stacks crystalled over with salt from the waves, ap- proached her anchorage on this side. All the standing-room on the Battery and the North River front was full of people, whose cheers joined the diver- sified applause. Such a chorus of screeches, grunts, toots, and shrieks is seldom heard in New York waters. The United States Steamship. Columbia on her Government Speed Trial. From o /usotogro~?s Oy Rae. A HISTORY OF THE LAST ~2UARTER-cENTURY 71 THE CHARLESTON EARTHQUAKE NOTWITHSTANDING this pleasant har- mony of parties ,upon a few weighty matters, tbe opposition to Cleveland was resolute and bitter. Each doubt- ful act of his was exhibited in the worst possible light, and innumerable falsehoods forged to aggravate his dis- credit. If there appeared a direful portent in the sky or a deadly fever or tornado on the earth, there were not wanting persons ready to arraign the Administration therefor. The first week of September, 1886, a destructive earthquake shook impor- tant portions of the United States. In lower New York City chandeliers were swayed and clocks stopped by the mo- tion. Vibrations were felt from Cape Cod as far west as Chicago and Mil- waukee and south to Jacksonville, Fla. The earth-dance was slight in Balti- more, alarming in Washington. The worst that occurred at oth- er points was but a hint of the fearful fate which over- took Charleston, S. C. The horror broke upon the in- habitants in tbe dead of night, and so awful was the rocking and rumbling of the ground that women and children went insane. Droves of blacks rushed, frantic and half-clad, to the fields and parks. A pious old negro in the midst of one dense throng, engaged in prayer. Good Lawd, his petition ran, Come and help us! Oh, come flow! An come yoself, Lawd; taint no time for boys! The first shock occurred Tuesday night. On Friday night, when all, worn out, had sought slumber under such ter as remained, suddenly came a new convulsion advertised by a deafen- ing alarum like thunder. Once more the shrieking multitudes rushed to the open amid showers of bricks and plaster, negroes making the night doubly hideous with their weird lam- entations. Almost precisely twenty- four hours later came a third shock, milder, but snfficient to evict the people still again. The indication t h at t h e terrestrial ague was periodic pat men awatch for another dis- turbance on Sun- day night, and they were not dis- appointed. At the same hour as before, the demon came amid ap- palling throes. Fortunately, this fourth quaking was his adieu, When the tele- graph lines were again in order, permitting the world to learn what had taken place, it was found that seven-eigbths ni e dl a of Charlestons honses had been rendered unfit for habitation, scores of persons killed, and $8,000,000 worth of property de- stroyed. The handsomest streets snf- fered most, desolation as from in- numerable dynamite explosions being visible far up and down many of them. Railroad tracks were torn awry, rifts and gullies gaping in all directions. For days all highways to tl~ie city were impassable, cutting off relief. BLOWING UP HELL GATE MANY conjectures were uttered re- garding the cause of. the earthquake, none very satisfactory. Fancy, how- General John Newton. Plan of the Operations at Flood Rock. By Jernzzssieo of flee Sczeo/r7ic American. 72 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY ever, could hardly avoid connecting dented and devised on so large a scale, it somehow with the artificial earth- that in anticipation many people living quake of the preceding October, when, near suffered terrors as if a disastrous through a brilliant piece of engineer- convulsion of nature were at hand. That ing executed by General John Newtoli, the mine should be set off on Sunday, as the channel from East River to Long had been arranged, was also a source of Island Sound was rid of the last Hell- distress. General Newton, however, was gate ledge which dangerously choked unwilling to imperil life by delay. At it. Since 1848 this bit of coast had high-tide, therefore, on Sunday Septem been the subject of many futile experi- ber 24th, his baby daughter was allowed ments. Strong t i d e s to touch the elec- sweeping back and tric key, and in- forth over the reefs had stantly t h e thir- strewn the spot with teen thousand po- wrecks; yet the neces- tent germs were sities of commerce, es- hatched. For pecially of the coast- three seconds the wise trade, kept it a water foamed and thoroughfare. Up t o 1876 the expenditure of about $1,717,000 had resulted in the de- molition of only a few outworks. The Scylla and Charybdis, Hal - letts Point Reef and Flood Rock, remained. T h e former was made ready for annihi by the novel method of tunnelling. tunnels, corresponding to its semicir- cular form, radiated somewhat like the ribs of a fan, being connected with each other by concentric passages, the whole covering near- ly three acres. Thus honey- combed, the rock was impreg- nated with above thirteen thou- sand cartridges, containing some- thing like twenty - five tons of powder, and all were connected with electric batteries. The experiment was so unprece- Scenes after the Charleston Earthquake of 1 886. Camp of the Homeleaa on Colonial Lake. A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 73 tumbled at a height of forty or fifty feet, cowled in thick black smoke, and ejecting fragments of rock and mud. A shock was felt in New York City, at- tended by a low booming sound. The tremor extended as far to the north- east as Springfield, Mass. No damage whatever was suffered by neighboring property. Flood Rock was next assailed. It was three times the size of Halletts Point Reef, but the construction of the grid- iron system of tunnels was now watched without alarm, the earlier achievement having set all qualms at rest. Dyna- mite was the explosive used. When all was ready, General Newtons daughter, May, now eleven years of age, once more pressed the button, this time blowing 300,000 cubic yards of reef into fragmentspartly, indeed, into powder. A tremendous volume of water rose to a height of one hundred and fifty or two hundred feet, masses of white foam shining in the sunlight, resembling the appearance of a fantastic iceberg lifted bodily upon a solid basis of dark, frozen water. For five or six seconds it tum- bled aloft, and then sank back into the river, where a yellow, sulphurous glow prevailed for a minute, after which the river resumed its wonted course. THE PEE5JDENT AND THE civi~ SERVICE THE President and the Senate first came to blows early in 1886, over the Presidents act in suspending from of- fice on the preceding July 17th, G. M. Duskin, district attorney for the south- ern district of Alabama. When Con- gress reassembled, the Senate, proceed- ing upon the theory that the power of removal as well as that of appointment was committed to it jointly with the President, called on him to furnish the reasons for his action and the papers relating to the case. This demand Mr. Cleveland refused. In a vigorous mes- sage dated February 22, 1886, he held that for his acts of removal and suspen- sion he was responsible to the people alone, and that the papers asked for touching Duskin were of a private nat- ure. Reluctantly the Senate acquiesced in this position. In March, 1887, a bill VOL. XIX.1O passed Congress repealing the old Ten- ure of Office Act, and rendering ex- plicit and unqualified the Presidents independent power to remove from of- fice. It seemed to be the Senate Republi- cans purpose in this encounter to dis- credit Mr. Cleveland, by showing him insincere in his avowals of sympathy with reform. His election was largely due to the stand he had taken in regard to the evil of Congressional patronage. He had given his word to abate this so far as lay in his power, and the condi- tions at his accession to office favored the accomplishment of that purpose. No strictly party vote had elevated him to the presidency. Moreover, there were 15,000 offices, vacancies which the Pendleton Act required to be filled by non - partisan tests, and that law au- thorized the President to extend this mode of appointment if he wished. The fact was that Mr. Cleveland had assumed a task greater than he antici- pated. Democrats incessantly vocifer- ated against continuing Republican monopoly of the offices, urging him, as a Democrat, to relinquish a policy which must disintegrate the party and lose him all its support. Not one recog- nized Democratic leader stood up for the policy. Congress betrayed no cor- dial sympathy with it. In June, 1886, an attempt was made practically to an- nul the Civil Service Law by refusing to make an appropriation for the Coni- missioners. Disappointing and disgust- ing a host of his friends, Mr. Cleve- land gradually yielded. By June, 1887, nearly all the 2,359 Presidential pdst- masters had been replaced, as had 32 of the 33 foreign ministers, 16 of the 21 secretaries of legation, 138 of the 219 consuls, 84 of the 85 collectors of in- ternal revenue, 8 of the 11 inspectors of steam-vessels, 65 of the 70 district at- torneys, 64 of the 70 marshals, 22 of the 30 territorial judges, 16 of the 18 pen- sion agents, and some 40,000 of the 52,- 609 fourth-class postmasters. Within three years from his inauguration the President had replaced not less than 75,000, perhaps 100,000, Republican office-holders by Democrats, considera- bly impairing the service. But, though roundly denounced as a hypocrite, he 74 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY never recanted his profession of devo- tion to reform, and he faithfully exe- cuted the mandatory provisions of the law. ~That hurt the President most with reformers was his aid to Senator Gor- man, of Maryland, in 1887, seeming to be an effort to acquit himself of the charge, often preferred, that he was no Democrat. A Democratic author- ity stated that in Baltimore election after election had been carried by bare- faced fraud; that to stop a ballot in an important ward murder was recognized as a political service ; that ballot-boxes were continually looted, and that in one ward nineteen men of criminal record drew pay from the city for their evil activities. Yet Mr. Clevelands aid and comfort to representative Democratic leaders came too slowly and grudgingly to win their support in return. They thought him meanly obsequious toward Independents, and declared that he was betraying his party. Western Demo- crats, in particular, were never enthusi- astic for Mr. Cleveland, owing partly to his views upon the civil service and partly to his hailing froiu New York. With them Thomas A. Hendricks, of Indiana, had been the magic and draw- ing part of the ticket. What occurred on Inauguration Day indicated this. As the procession moved along Pennsyl- vania Avenue toward the Capitol, cheers for the President-elect were at points rather faint, but the appearance of Mr. Hendrickss carriage was the signal for a prolonged roar that testified to the love and confidence the people felt for him. Many thought that this ob- vious contrast piqued the President, and ascribed to it a cci tam lack of cordial- ity on his part toward the Vice-Presi- dent, kept up till the latters death. A month after the inauguration Mr. Hen- dricks had an interview with the Presi- dent. On returning to his room at Willards Hotel he seemed disappointed, and said: I hoped that Mr. Cleveland would put the Democratic party in power in fact as~well as in name, but he does not intend to do it. A South- ern Congressman told his Democratic friends: Gentlemen, weve got a big elephant on our hands. I fear there will be some disappointment about the offices. Too few Republicans were turned out to suit Democratic workers, yet enough continually to keep up of- fice-seekers hopes. Those disappointed after long suspense were doubly unfor- giving. The President would have done well to remember Machiavellis precept: Matters of severity should be finished at one blow, that so they may give the less distaste and be the sooner forgot- ten. PAN-ELEcTiuc SCANDAL IREPUnLIcAK papers made all possi- ble political capital out of the pan- electric scandal, affecting Attorney- General Garland. One Rogers had received a patent on a telephone which he hoped would rival Bells. He as- signed his rights to Democratic mem- bers of Congress, who transferred them to a certain Pan-Electric Company, receiving stock in return. When the Democratic party came into power the Pan-Electric managers moved the Gov- eminent to institute suit inquiring into the validity of the Bell patent. Though owning Pan-Electric stock which would rise in value a round million if the Bell patent were annulled, the Attorney- General did not forbid Solicitor-Gener- al Goode to attack that patent. This Goode did, though the Interior Depart- ment soon took the case off his hands. It was argued that Garland should not have allowed his subordinate to act in the matter, or, at any rate, should have divested himself of all interest in it by disposing of his stock. That he could at worst only argue the case and could not decide it, and that the court would specially scrutinize his plea as that of an interested party, was by most peo- ple forgotten or ignored. A congi~es- sional committee exonerated Garland, Goode, and Mr. Lamar, Secretary of the Interior, from all censurable action in the premises. When Mr. Cleveland took office the pensioning of Union soldiers was too indiscriminate, neither party venturing to advocate an economy of expenditure or a scrutiny of claims by which veter- ans might suffer. The Treasury sur- plus presented an irresistible tempta- tion to foolish and pauperizing liberal- A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-cENTURY 75 ity. Greedy pension attorneys loved the swag which the system offered. Ultra protectionists also connived at it out of a wish to keep the high tariff intact. At that time pension attorneys were given access to soldiers records in the War Department. Knowing that the record in any case would be ap- pealed to in verifying the claim, they would obtain an old soldiers leave and set up on his behalf a claim for every trouble shown in his record. One at- torney issued a circular announcing Desertion marks quietly removed, the adverb being cancelled in ink. In- numerable fraudulent claims came to the Bureau, too many of them success- ful. A New England merchant worth $50,000, who never smelled powder or even served so much as three months, tried for a pension on the ground that his bad health was due to catarrh con- tracted in the army. An application was actually received at the Bureau for injury by the chin of a comrade while drilling on the ice near Brattleboro, Vt. A wagoner who had lost his leg tumbling off a wagon when drunk ob- tained a pension. In several cases men who escaped service by shooting away their fingers got pensions for this disability. PENSION EXTRAVAGANCE To relieve those whom for any reason the Bureau had denied, thousands of private bills were passed. The House of Representatives usually devoted one meeting each week to the passage of these personal bills, only a handful, far less than a quorum, being present. Bill after bill becanie law merely upon the recommendation of the Committee, without recording a vote and without discussion. The Senate was also slack. April 21, 1886, it passed 500 pension bills in two hours. Instead of doubling watchfulness upon special legislation, our bicameral system seemed to halve it; each house shifting upon the other the onus of rejecting unworthy but in- fluential claims ; both, as a result, leaving that useful but thankless task to the Executive. Little wonder that many unworthy claimants sought presi- dential endorsement. But they did not any longer receive this. While favoring, for the truly worthy, pensions even more bountiful than were then allowed by law, the President insisted, both as a matter of due economy and in justice to loyal and true pensioners, on careful dis- crimination in making up the pension list. Till Clevelands time but one pension bill had been rejected by the Executive, but in 1886 he vetoed 101 out of the 747 which passed Congress. The veto-messages were bold and often caustic. It was easy to represent all this as betraying hostility to old wearers of the blue, and Republican organs and orators were not slow to arraign the President thus. But, although many attempts were made to pass pension bills over the veto, only one was suc- cessful. Hostility toward the Presi- dent was immensely intensified when he negatived the Dependent Pension Bill, passed in 1887, which pensioned all dependent veterans who had served three months in the Union army, and also all dependent parents of such. The veto was, however, agreeable to not a few even among the Republicans, who had begun to look with dread upon the rising tide of paternalism in our Gov- ernment, a tendency which found ex- pression in the Blair Educational Bill, meant to give governmental support to certain State schools all over the South, and in the Texas Seed Bill, to aid needy farmers, passed by the House and Senate, but vetoed by the Presi- dent. THE REBEL FLAG ORDER MORE scathing yet was the condemna- tion visited upon Mr. Cleveland in con- sequence of his unfortunate Rebel Flag order. Hastily and without au- thority, he had given permission that the various Confederate flags in possession of the Government might be returned to the Southern States from which they were borne forth. The permission did not take effect, as these flags were pub- lic property and could be restored only by act of Congress, but the mischief was done. The rank and file of the Grand Army of the Republic felt out- raged, and post after post passed reso 76 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY lutions fiercely denouncing the order, some of them hinting at lack of patriot- ism in its author. General Butler styled the order, An attempt to muti- late the archives. Just previous to the national encampment at St. Louis, in 1887, a number of posts in western Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and Ohio held a camp-fire at Wheeling. A ban- ner had been suspended across the street on the line of their march, bear. ing the Presidents portrait with the inscription, God Bless our President, Commander-in-Chief of Our Army and Navy. Most of the posts refused to pass under, marching through the gut- ters instead, with colors folded and re- versed. The President had accepted an invitation to the St. Louis encamp- ment, but owing to this extreme rancor toward him felt constrained to decline attendance. I should, he said, bear with me there the peoples highest of- fice, the dignity of which I must pro- tect, and I believe that neither the Grand Army of the Republic as an or- ganization, nor anything like a major- ity of its members, would ever encour- age any scandalous attack upon it. If, however, among the membership of this body there are some, as certainly seems to be the case, determined to denounce me and my official acts, at the Nation- al Encampment, I believe that they should be permitted to do so unre- strained by my presence as a guest of their organization, or as a guest of the hospitable city in which their meeting is held. We have seen that, spite of its little love toward him, Tammany almost unanimously voted for Cleveland. This had the unpleasant effect of leading such as inclined to be severe on him to lay all Tammanys sins at Clevelands door. And Tammany had not changed. The boodle alderman scandal of 1886 emphasized the fact that the spirit of Tweed still haunted Manhattan Island. Jacob Sharp all but challenges admira- tion for the persistency of his assault upon the virtue of the New York City government. He secured from the aldermen his first franchise as early as 1851, in that case, too, over the Mayors veto and in face of an injunction; with the result, however, of sending one al derman to jail in addition to the fine which he paid in common with his fel- lows. From that time Sharp had toiled unremittingly to secure at Al- bany such legislation as would enable him once more to begin hopeful con- flict in New York City. Success wait- ed upon him in 1884, bringing him privileges for which a million dollars had been more than once offered. Charges were preferred against mem- bers of the Board of Aldermen for 1884, accusing them of having granted a charter to the Broadway Surface Railroad Company in consideration of $300,000, divided equally among them. It appeared that thirteen members had combined for the purpose of selling their votes on important enterprises. Twelve of these thrifty gentlemen were formally indicted, of whom three were convicted and sentenced to years of imprisonment with heavy fines. The charter of the road was annulled by the Legislature, and Sharp prosecuted and tried for bribery. He was con- victed, but granted a new trial, before the conclusion of which, in the spring of 1888, his health broke down com- pletely and he died. The investigation of this scandal cost $48,000. THE SOUTHWESTERN STRIKE THE year 1886 brought several labor movements which had grave political and social significance. The Texas Pa- cific Railroad was a bankrupt corpora- tion in the custody of the United States Courts. Its receiver having refused to re-employ a dismissed foreman, the Ex- ecutive of the Knights of Labor, in March, ordered the employees to quit work. The strike rapidly spread over the entire Gould system in the South- west, Missouri Pacific employees mak- ing common cause with the original strikers. St. Louis was the storm cen- tre. Here violence and terrorism were rife, and the United States troops had to be sent to restore and keep the peace. April 7th and 9th bloody riots occurred, fatal to several and destroy- ing vast amounts of property. A crowd of three or four hundred persons gath- ered on a bridge near the Louisville A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 77 and Nashville iRajiroad crossing, which was guarded by eight special deputies brought from distant points. Taunts were freely thrown at them, especially at one who was conspicuous on account of his tall figure, surmounted by a shock of red hair. He was counselled to go shoot himself. Instead, he advanced and dragged forth his tormentor, where- upon a tumult ensued, and all the small boys set up a cry of Rats! The other deputies, furious, all followed the exam- ple of the red-haired one, when he lev- elled his gun at the crowd. Someone called out, Dont shoot! but the re- sponse was a volley that felled five men and a woman. Now panic-stricken in their turn, the deputies sought safety in the jail, one in his flight killing still another man. The wrathful populace dispersed to secure arms, and, once more assembling, were about to advance upon the jail. This violence was avoided and many lives saved by the leaders of the Knights of Labor, who hastened to the spot and implored the people to make no unlawful demonstrations. That even- ing, however, some $50,000 worth of property was destroyed by incendiar- ism. Perishable goods spoiled, the St. Louis flour industry was stopped, and the price of provisions greatly increased. When coal rose from $5.50 to $40 a ton, factories of all descriptions had to shut down. At last, some agreement being reached, General Master Workman Pow- derly, of the Knights, ordered work re- sumed; but feeling had become so bitter that in St. Louis his mandate was diso- beyed. Martin Irons, head of the St. Louis Knights, assumed the leadership and kept the conflict, raging for some time. Congress raised a committee to investigate the strike, and before this, in the course of time, Irons came. He had been born in Scotland in 1832, arriving in America when fourteen. For years he was a rover, but at length settled at Se- dalia, Mo., near Jesse Jamess old camp- ing ground. His ultra policies, much more than his ability, had made him a labor leader. It was a weak, irresolute, half-cunning, half-frightened face, that he turned toward the committee. He wore a dirty white shirt and a dirty white collar held in its place by a brass stud. An imitation diamond relieved the discolored area of his shirt-front, and a heavy brass watch-chain dangled from his unbuttoned vest. His first act after taking his seat was to draw a spittoon toward him and take a huge quid of tobacco, which he chewed heavily while he listened to Chairman Curtins open- ing address to him. Irons and many more were examined. It was the old story: hot heads of a lax labor organi- zation making rash demands; stiff capi- talists readier to die than yield a point. The strike worse than failed of its pur- pose, at least of its immediate purpose. It is estimated that the strikers lost $900,000 in wages, and non - striking employees deprived of work not less than $500,000. The Missouri Pacific lost nearly $3,000,000. CHICAGO ANARCHJ5T5 SERIous as was this disturbance, it was temporarily forgotten in the more sombre event which occurred in Chicago on the very evening when the South- western strike terminated. Chicago la- bor organizations had recently started a movement to secure the adoption of an eight-hour labor day. Forty thousand workmen struck to enforce the demand, in efforts to withstand which some work- men had been shot by police and by Pinkerton detectives. On the evening of May 3d was announced a public in- dignation meeting for next day in Hay- market Square, which good speakers would address. On Tuesday some 1,400 workmen assembled. Most of the ad- dresses were comparatively mild in tone, but about ten oclock, after the Mayor had gone and part of the audience dis- persed, Samuel Fielden gave utterance to vehement incendiary remarks: John Brown, Jefferson, Washington, Patrick Henry, and Hopkins said to the peo- ple: The law is your enemy. We are rebels against it. The skirmish lines have met. The people have been shot. You have been robbed, and you will be starved into a worse condition. At this point a body of 180 policemen marched up. Halting within a few feet of the wagon Captain Ward said: I command you, in the name of the People of the State of Illir~ois, to immediately and peaceably disperse. Fielden said: We 78 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY are peaceable. He was arrested. As the police were carrying him off a gleaming missile was seen to curve in the air and fall among them. A deaf- ening explosion ensued, and a third of their number fell writhing, seven being fatally wounded. Fall in; close up! The officers still on their feet obeyed instantly, and, not knowing the extent of the disaster or whether the cowardly attack would be repeated, dashed against the mob, of whom over fifty fell, the rest fleeing. Such magnificent courage in the presence of a sudden, mysterious, and horrible danger, of a nature spe- cially calculated to breed panic, won for the Chicago police force admiration at home and abroad. Army-disciplined gendarmerie or regular troops could have behaved no better. The Chicago people have done well to commemorate the deed with a monument. A storm of wrath fell upon the Anar- chists, who had thus for the first time tried their methods in America. The actual thrower of the bomb was prob- ably Rudolph Schnaubelt; but by shaving off his beard immediately af- ter the event he avoided identification, though twice arrested, and finally es- caped to unknown parts. Excitement was increased by the discovery in Cin- cinnati of Anarchists to the number of 600, organized and armed with rifles. Efforts were redoubled to bring the heads of the Chicago conspiracy to justice. The bomb used was probably the production of Louis Lingg, who all the afternoon before the riot had, with his assistants, been filling bombs similar to the one thrown. Besides Lingg seven other men were indicted, connected with two anarchist sheets, The Alarm, Albert R. Parsonss paper, and the Arbeiter Zeitung, conducted by Augustus Spies. An extract from the Alarm of February 21, 1885, runs as follows: DYNAMITE! Of all the good stuff; this is the stuff. Stuff sev- eral pounds of this sublime stuff into an inch pipe (gas or water pipe), plug up both ends, insert a cap with a fuse attached, place this in the immedi- ate neighborhood of a lot of rich loaf- ers who live by the sweat of other peo- ples brow, and light the fuse. A most cheerful and gratifying result will fol low. The dear stuff can be carried around in the pocket without danger, while it is a formidable weapon against any force of militia, police, or detectives that may want to stifle the cry for justice that goes forth from the plun- dered slaves. A pound of this good stuff beats a bushel of ballots all hol- low, and dont you forget it. When this passage was read in court the ac- cused seemed greatly amused at the wit of it. It was mainly upon such extracts from Anarchist papers that the prose- cution was based. As accessories be- fore the fact, equally guilty with the un- known principal, having by speech and print advised the commission of mur- der, Augustus Spies, Michael Schwab, Samuel Fielden, Albert H. Parsons, Adolph Fischer, George Engel, and Louis Lingg were, on August 20, 1886, sentenced to deatb. Oscar Neebe was sentenced to fifteen years~ imprison- ment at hard labor. With the ap- proval of Judge Gary and District At- torney Grinnell, Governor Oglesby com- muted Schwabs and Fieldens sentence to life imprisonment. Lingg escaped the gallows by suicide, or, as his friends maintained, by murder at the hands of the police, a bomb, his chosen weapon, being exploded in his mouth. Four more bombs were found in his celL Engel failed in an attempt to kill him- self by poison. On November 11, 1887, Engel, Parsons, Fischer, and Spies were hanged, remaining defiant to the last. Their bodies were buried two days lat- er. A procession of Anarchists followed them to the grave, singing the Marseil- laise and disporting red ribbons. There were people of intelligence, standing, patriotism, and high courage who, then and later, differed from the prevailing opinion touching the proper method for dealing with the convicted. Some believed that Anarchy would be more effectively discouraged by mild- ness than by severity; others thought that all the condemned, though guilty, were proper objects of executive clem- ency; still others were convinced that the seven were unjustly convicted. Henry D. Lloyd, of Chicago, Mr. How- ells, and many others strongly favored clemency. Even Judge Gary, who pre A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 79 sided at the trial, wrote: In copying these fierce denunciations, these recit- als of alleged tyranny and oppression, these seemingly pitying descriptions of the hardships and wrongs of the hum- ble and the poor, written with apparent sincerity and real intellectual ability, I have occasionally lost sight of the atrocity of the advice given by the Anar- chists, and felt a sort of sympathy with the rioters who would have praised my assassination as a virtuous act. Mr. Black, of the counsel for the defence, was deeply touched by what he consid- ered the wrongs of his clients. Speak- ing at the graves of the executed, he confessed that he loved these men when he came to know of their love for the people, of their patience, gentle- ness, and courage. Between eight and nine years after the Haymarket riot, Governor Altgeld, of Illinois, pardoned the three Anar- chists still in the penitentiary, thus bringing upon himself unmeasured and lasting condemnation, increased by the fact that he chose for his act the day of the dedication of a monument to the dead Anarchists. His Excellency de- clared that the. pardon was not mercy, for which there was no place, but tardy justice. He insisted that the men had not been legally convicted. Their con- viction proceeded solely upon the ground that they had generally, by speech and print, advised classes, not particular individuals, to commit mur- der, and that, in consequence of such advice somebody not krnown threw the bomb. There was no evidence that any of the accused threw it, or that the one doing so, whoever he was, ever read or heard a word that proceeded from the mouth or pen of any of the accused. Governor Altgeld was thought by many to have established that the jury was prejudiced, and that their admission to the panel, as also the principle upon which conviction was had, was a legal novelty. He charged that the jury was packed, and the judge not judicial in conducting the trial or in delivering sentence. He suggested that the mur- der was not upon the seditious advice of those obscure Anarchist sheets, but was an act of personal retaliation for some of the several instances of police or Pinkerton shooting and brutality which he alleged. In 1886, labor strife stirred New York City as well as Chicago. Here, in June, Johann Most and three other Anarchists were convicted of inciting to riot and imprisoned. Several mem- bers of labor unions were also sentenced for boycotting. The same year Henry George ran as Labor Candidate for the office of mayor, polling nearly seventy thousand votes. In this campaign the foreign element for once deserted Tam- many. To stem such adverse tide the braves nominated Abram S. Hewitt, a gentleman of courage, ability, and in- tegrity. It thus came to pass that one of the best mayors New York ever had, was the official choice of Tammany Hall. Never previously had he been in even ostensible alliance with that body, and he has not been so since. Indeed, he was one of the famous 1894 Com- mittee of Seventy, of whose work the reader will learn later. REVENUE REFORM AGITATION THE tariff problem was little dis- cussed in the campaign of 1884. The platform on which Cleveland was elected did not speak strongly re- garding it, and the Republicans had then by no means agreed upon the ex- treme form of protection embodied in the McKinley Act of 1890. When elect- ed, Cleveland had no definite purpose concerning this subject, but the con- dition of the Treasury, present and prospective, soon drew his thoughts thereto. This History has already re- marked that the Governments inabil- ity to pay its four-and-a-half per cent. bonds before 1891, or its fours before 1907 was unfortunate, and that the threes of 1882 were happily made pay- able at the Governments option. A call for the last of these was issued on May 20, 1887, interest to cease on the next July 1st. After this time no bonds were subject to par payment at the Governments discretion, and sur- plus piled up ominously. December 1, 1887, after every possible Govern- ment obligation had been provided for, $55,258,701 remaineda sum increased 80 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QJJARTER-CENTURY by the end of that fiscal year, June 30, 1888, notwithstanding considerable purchases of long-term bonds at high rates, to $103,220,464. There was no method at once legal and economical for paying this out. The Secretary could of course buy long bonds in the open market, and during 1888 he to some extent did so; but, obviously, if entered upon in a large way, this course must carry up the price of those bonds considerably. The President could not but foresee that the question, how to keep the money of the country from be- coming locked up in the Treasury and sub-treasuries of the United States, was destined to be grave. In his message to Congress in De- cember, 1885, he said: The fact that our revenues are in excess of the actual needs of an economical administration of the Government, justifies a reduction in the amount exacted from the people for its support. . . . The proposi- tion with which we have to deal is the reduction of the revenue by the Govern- ment, and indirectly paid by the people, for customs duties. The question of free trade is not involved. . . . Jus- tice and fairness dictate that in any modification of our present laws relat- ing to revenue, the industries and in- terests which have been encouraged by such laws, and in which our citizens have large investments, should not be ruthlessly injured or destroyed. We should also deal with the subject in such a manner as to protect the inter- ests of American labor. . . . With- in these limitations a certain reduction should be made in our customs revenue. I think the reduction should be made in the revenue derived from a tax upon the imported necessaries of life. The Forty-ninth Congress did noth- ing to carry out these suggestions, but the Morrison and the Randall bill, re- ported and discussed in the House, re- vealed among the Democrats a rapidly strengthening current of sentiment for lower duties. The President~s convic- tions meantime became more pro- nounced. In his bold and candid rues- sage of 1887, he said, referring to the Treasury situation: It is a condi- tion which confronts usnot a theory. The question of free trade is absolutely irrelevant, and the persistent claim made in some quarters that all ef-. forts to relieve the people from unjust and unnecessary taxation are schemes of so-called Free-Traders, is mischiev- ous and far removed from any consid- eration of the public good. The sim- ple and plain duty which we owe to the people, is to reduce taxation to the nec- essary expenses of an economical oper- ation of the Government, and restore to the business of the country the m6ney which we hold in the treasury through the perversion of governmental pow- ers. This message recommended the tax- ing of luxuries, the free-listing of raw wool, the radical reduction of duties on all raw materials, and the lowering or total abrogation of the tariff on neces- saries. On the convening of the Fif- tieth Congress, surplus revenue being more and more a menace, the House felt forced to attempt a reduction of the Governments income. The Mills Bill resulted, hotly denounced and vio- lently opposed by the Republicans as a Free-Trade measure. It was far from being this, though many of the argu- ments adduced in support of it would have been equally valid against all pro- tection. The bill passed the House, 169 to 149. In the Senate a Republi- can substitute was reported but never pushed. PRESENTATION OF THE STATUE OF LIBERTY WE pass from domestic affairs to a pleasant event of international interest. June 19, 1885, the New York Alder- manic Chamber, late witness of the presidential count, might have been seen tricked out with our red, white, and blue, and with the French tn-color, to welcome the bringers of Barthol- dis statue of Liberty Enlightening the World, presented by Frenchmen to the people of America. M. Bartholdi had conceived this enterprise before the Second Empire fell. Obeying a hint of M. Labouleyc touching American love for Lafayette, he wished that French and American effort might erect a monument typical at once of A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 81 American independence and of liberty itself. Soon after the re-establishment of the Republic, a French-American Union was formed in France to realize this idea. Bartholdis plan being ap- proved, a popular subscription from 100,000 Frenchmen brought in more than $200,000, the cost of the statue, to which Americans added $300,000 for base and pedestal. The United States set apart as the site of the statue Bed- bes Island, now Liberty Island, in New York Harbor, occupied since early in the century by the star fort which forms so suitable a part of the base be- neath the statue. Upon the soil of the island was laid a solid block of con- crete, the largest in the world, 90 feet square at the bottom, 65 at the top, and 52 feet high, and this was sur- rounded by a concrete arch covered with turf. Above rose the masonry of the pedestal proper, with huge, rough- hewn quoins. The work of art was formally made over to our Minister in Paris on July 4th. When the IsZ~re, bearing it, ap- proached our shores, Senator Evarts, chairman of the Pedestal Committee, Mayor Grace, the French consuls of New York and Chicago, with many in- vited guests, steamed down to meet her. The naval progress up the har- bor was led by the Despatch with Sec- retary Whitney on board. Other Amer- ican men-of-war followed, behind them the French frigate Flore, and then the Is~re, with an American vessel on each side. Over a hundred excursion boats, big and little, sail and steam, brought up the rear. Clouds of smoke and incessant thunder from the forts re- minded one of the Yorktown celebra- tion. This noise gave place to a bed- lam of shrill steam whistles when the fleet reached Bedlocs Island. Here the American Committee and their French guests landed, while French choral so- cieties of three hundred voices sang the Marseillaise and Hail Columbia. All then crossed to the Battery, whence a grand procession moved to City HalL Three regiments of the New York State Guard, sixteen hundred strong, mounted policemen, delegations from~, the Cham- ber of Commerce and other New York bodies, prominent residents, the alder- men, with Admiral Lacombe, Captain De Saune, and other guests of honor, were formally of the procession, while thousands upon thousands of on-look- ers moved as it moved. Roofs and win- dows along the line were den~ely filled. In the Governors room at City Hall a lunch was served to the guests. Over the old-fashioned desk once used by Washington was his full-length por- trait, vis-4-vis with that of Lafayette. The table bore a model of the Is& re, of the statue on its pedestal, and an em- blematic figure of France, wearing a tri- color cap and bearing a French flag. At the formal reception, in the cham- bers, a number of addresses were made. The goddess was not unveiled till October 28, 1886. When in place she stood 151 feet high, the tip of her torch extending 305 feet above low water. Her weight was 440,000 pounds. Be- side her the Colossus of Rhodes would seem a good-sized boy. The statues only rivals in size are certain figures in India cut from the living rock, but they are hardly works of art or of engineer- ing. The frame consists of four heavy corner posts, joined by horizontal and diagonal braces. The contour is approx- imated by similarly braced struts, with a flying truss to support the arm. The cuticle is of copper plates, 332 inches thick, strengthened by iron strips on the inside. In contrast to the bright June day of her arrival, the day for the unveil- ing was chilly and drizzling, with mud in the streets and mist over the harbor. President Cleveland and his Cabinet, from a shelterless platform at Madison Square, reviewed a procession twenty thousand strong, as it marched to the Battery. The sidewalks were packed with humanity in two solid columns. Simultaneously with this pageant a grand naval parade of nearly three hun- dred vessels, led by French and Amer- ican men-of-war, wended toward Bed- bes Island, where at last, though with face still hidden, stood the goddess, beautiful indeed. Afternoon saw the island crowded with distinguished guests. The head of the French Cab- inet, the Minister of Public Instruc- tion, members of the Senate and Cham- ber of Deputies, and the vice-president 82 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY of the Paris municipal council, were of the number. Comte de Lesseps spoke for France, when Senator Evarts, in a more extended address, delivered the statue to the President as representing the people. When M. Bartholdi re- moved the veil cannon roared on every side. President Cleveland in a few words accepted the gift. Addresses by M. Lef~vre and Hon. Chauncey M. Depew followed. Unfortunately the weather prevented the intended pyro- technic display in the evening, though the harbor craft were all illuminated. THE FI5HERIE5 DI5PUTE WHILE these happy events cemented the old good-will between us and the French Republic, our relations with England were in danger of being strained over the inveterate Fisheries Dispute, which had come down from the very birthday of the nation. On July 1, 1885, the fishery clause~ of the Treaty of Washington ceased to be operative. Canadian salt fish was now taxed by us, who, on the other hand, found, to our sorrow, the cruel provisions of the 1818 Treaty again legally binding, and the Canadian authorities bent on their strict construction and enforcement. Our citizens could not now fish with- in three marine miles of any of the coasts, bays, and harbors of her Bri- tannic Majestys dominion in North America. In determining this limit England measured from the head- lands or extreme points of land at the entrance of bays or indents of the coast, forbidding Americans to fish in such bays even if more than three miles from shore. American vessels could not enter Canadian ports for bait. During the season of 1886 thirty-two of our vessels were detained at Cana- dian ports, some of them under most aggravating circumstances, though but two were condemned. Crews were re- fused water, on the ground that they had not conformed to certain port or customs regulations. For weeks the dispute greatly excited our country. Threats of war with Canada were ut- tered, and careful estimates made of the force we could throw across our northern border in case of need. In May, Congress placed in the Presi- dents hands power to suspend commer- cial intercourse between ourselves and Canada. Later a bill was introduced in the House cutting off all commer- cial relations with Canada by land or water. The Senate advanced a more moderate proposition, to limit the pro- posed arrest of traffic to water com- merce and to Canadian vessels, also to leave its enforcement optional with the President. This became law on March 3, 1887. Under this legislation the President, on being assured that fishing- masters or crews were treated in Cana- dian ports any less favorably than mas- ters or crews of trading vessels from the most favored nations, could, in his discretion, by proclamation to that effect, deny vessels, their masters and crews, of the British dominions of North America any entrance into the waters, ports, or places of or within the United States. The President did not think best at once to use this fearful power, likely enough to lead to war. He preferred to make another attempt at a peaceful settlement through a new treaty. This had constantly been the wish of the British Government. Accordingly, late in 1887, a joint commission, consisting of Secretary Bayard, President Angell, of Michigan University, and Hon. Will- iani L. Putnam, of Maine, on the part of the United~States, and of Rt. Hon. Jo- seph Chamberlain, Sir Charles Tupper, of Canada, and Sir Lionel West, the British Minister, on the part of Great Britain, met at Washington. The com- mission toiled nearly all winter, and passed to the President the result of its deliberations on February 16, 1888. The treaty which it drafted was necessarily a compromise. Canada thought the Brit- ish commissioners had yielded too much; many in the United States believed our commissioners to have done the same. The document, approved by the Presi- dent, went to the Senate, where, after long debate, it was refused ratification, August 21st. The commission had agreed upon a mod as vivendi, to hold good, unless re- voked by the Governor-General and Council of Canada, till February, 1890, under which our fishermen might oh- THE NEW BUILDING OF THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY 83 tam in Canadian ports, on payment of a license, the privileges of merchantmen. Many such licenses were taken out during the season of 1888. Most of the fishing-masters, however, did not seek licenses and were averse to the new treaty, preferring the terms of 1818 to granting their rivals any further rights in our markets. Fresh fish, including frozen and slack-salted, was already free in our ports, competing sharply with our own catch. No one longer cared to fish inside, or, except in emergencies, to provision at Canadian towns. Convenient as would be the power to obtain bait near the fishing - grounds and to transship fish home in bond, neither was indispensable. Cod are still caught with trawls and baited hooks. The best bait is squid, whose abundance upon the banks is what causes the cod so to frequent them. The squid can be had freshest as well as cheapest from the peasantry of the Newfoundland and Nova Scotia coasts; but clams carried from home were found to do nearly as well. Accordingly, few collisions occurred in 1888, and as the season of that year closed there was a prospect that, even withouCt a new convention, no necessity for American retaliation would arise. Besides the northeastern fisheries im- broglio, the seal fisheries of the North- west gave trouble. The occasion was the Treasury Departments attempt in 1886 to treat Behring Sea as a mare cla~asum, assuming that the United States had jurisdiction over it all, whereas British scalers claimed the right to hunt seals wherever they pleased if over three miles from land. In 1886 the British schooners Carolina, Onward, and Thornton, though beyond the three-mile limit, were seized, taken to Sitka, condemned, their skins con- fiscated, and their masters fined. The British Government demanded the re- lease of the prisoners and vessels and an indemnity of $160,000. The release was ordered by President Cleveland in January, 1887, though the order was not immediately executed. In the sum- mer of 1887 other British vessels, to- gether with American seal-poachers, were taken from thirty to seventy miles from land. On August 19, 1887, Secre- tary Bayard sent circular letters to the United States ministers in England, France, Germany, Japan, Russia, and Sweden, directing representations to be made to these governments that ac- tion was desirable for the better protec- tion of the seals in Behring Sea. All the powers appealed to, except Sweden, began conference with the United States in the interest named, and for the pres- ent no more British vessels were seized. THE NEW BUILDING OF THE BOSTON PUBLIC LH3RARY By T. R. Sullivan WHEN one turns from Clarendon Street or Boylston Street to- ward Bostons new Public Li- brary building it is difficult at first to realize its capacity to contain a million and a quarter of volumes. Across the open space of Copley Square the dark roof-tiles and their cresting stand out against the sky, so far detached from the neighboring roofs and towers that none among them will serve the eye as a gauge of measurement. A glance shows the architectural style to be that tech- nically known as Italian Renaissance, but ~at this distance an extreme sim plicity of outline makes the dominant impression. Upon a nearer approach, however, the dimensions begin to assert themselves with monumental force and dignity. The walls are of granite, pe- culiarly warm in tone, faintly tinged with rose-color; and the ornamental details, coming out little by little, are seen to be not only in perfect harmony with the design of the building and its use, but also interesting in themselves, as well as of great beauty; until, long before reaching the doors, one stops instinctively to study them. Just over the bust of Pallas, carved

T. R. Sullivan Sullivan, T. R. The New Building Of The Boston Public Library 83-97

THE NEW BUILDING OF THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY 83 tam in Canadian ports, on payment of a license, the privileges of merchantmen. Many such licenses were taken out during the season of 1888. Most of the fishing-masters, however, did not seek licenses and were averse to the new treaty, preferring the terms of 1818 to granting their rivals any further rights in our markets. Fresh fish, including frozen and slack-salted, was already free in our ports, competing sharply with our own catch. No one longer cared to fish inside, or, except in emergencies, to provision at Canadian towns. Convenient as would be the power to obtain bait near the fishing - grounds and to transship fish home in bond, neither was indispensable. Cod are still caught with trawls and baited hooks. The best bait is squid, whose abundance upon the banks is what causes the cod so to frequent them. The squid can be had freshest as well as cheapest from the peasantry of the Newfoundland and Nova Scotia coasts; but clams carried from home were found to do nearly as well. Accordingly, few collisions occurred in 1888, and as the season of that year closed there was a prospect that, even withouCt a new convention, no necessity for American retaliation would arise. Besides the northeastern fisheries im- broglio, the seal fisheries of the North- west gave trouble. The occasion was the Treasury Departments attempt in 1886 to treat Behring Sea as a mare cla~asum, assuming that the United States had jurisdiction over it all, whereas British scalers claimed the right to hunt seals wherever they pleased if over three miles from land. In 1886 the British schooners Carolina, Onward, and Thornton, though beyond the three-mile limit, were seized, taken to Sitka, condemned, their skins con- fiscated, and their masters fined. The British Government demanded the re- lease of the prisoners and vessels and an indemnity of $160,000. The release was ordered by President Cleveland in January, 1887, though the order was not immediately executed. In the sum- mer of 1887 other British vessels, to- gether with American seal-poachers, were taken from thirty to seventy miles from land. On August 19, 1887, Secre- tary Bayard sent circular letters to the United States ministers in England, France, Germany, Japan, Russia, and Sweden, directing representations to be made to these governments that ac- tion was desirable for the better protec- tion of the seals in Behring Sea. All the powers appealed to, except Sweden, began conference with the United States in the interest named, and for the pres- ent no more British vessels were seized. THE NEW BUILDING OF THE BOSTON PUBLIC LH3RARY By T. R. Sullivan WHEN one turns from Clarendon Street or Boylston Street to- ward Bostons new Public Li- brary building it is difficult at first to realize its capacity to contain a million and a quarter of volumes. Across the open space of Copley Square the dark roof-tiles and their cresting stand out against the sky, so far detached from the neighboring roofs and towers that none among them will serve the eye as a gauge of measurement. A glance shows the architectural style to be that tech- nically known as Italian Renaissance, but ~at this distance an extreme sim plicity of outline makes the dominant impression. Upon a nearer approach, however, the dimensions begin to assert themselves with monumental force and dignity. The walls are of granite, pe- culiarly warm in tone, faintly tinged with rose-color; and the ornamental details, coming out little by little, are seen to be not only in perfect harmony with the design of the building and its use, but also interesting in themselves, as well as of great beauty; until, long before reaching the doors, one stops instinctively to study them. Just over the bust of Pallas, carved 84 THE NEW BUILDING OF THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY upon the keystone of the central arch, is the library seal in white marble re- lief of heroic size, designed and exe- cuted by Augustus St. Gaudens. The shield has for device an open book with the motto Lux Omnium Civium, and it is supported by two boyish figures holding lighted torches. The sculptor of the Farragut and the Lincoln has surpassed himself in these supporting torch-bearers, strongly original in their treatment, faultlessly modelled with in- describable grace and delicacy. Flank- ing this work are the city and State seals, from the same hand, upborne by plunging dolphins. And to right and left along the front, continued also in the side fa9ades, stretches away a double line of tablets bearing their host of noble names cut deep into the granitea fitting memorial to the gods and heroes of the tem- ple inscribed upon its outer walls. Above this level rise the high- arched windows of the principal reading-room, and between the arches is a series of stone me- dallions faithfully re- producing the emblems of famous printers from the earliest times to our own day. These print- ers marks, full of sug- gestion, prove admira- bly decorative. Here are the dolphin and an- chor of Aldus, Elzevir s sage, Caxtons cipher, old Thomas Woodcocks chanticleer, praising the Lord in full - throated ease ; and among modern devices the Riverside rising sun and Pandean piper stand pleasantly conspicuous. Higher still, in letters so large that it seems as if the world might read them, a broad band of inscription states the fact that the li- brary was built by the people and dedi- cated to the advancement of learning. The heavy stone cornice is relieved by carved ornament which accentuates the lines with due regard for light and shadow; and the bronze - work sur- mounting it repeats in little the marble dolphins of the seals. These details help the eye to determine the scale of the building, and only those who have followed its growth day by day can be aware how carefully all were consid- ered in their relation to the general effect ; how models were made, tested, and destroyed; how new ones were set up only for new rejection; the very stones, afterward, being cut and re- cut, until the zealous ardor that coni- bined them seemed to have something medi~eval in its constancy. The archi- tects, MeKim, Mead & White, should follow a good French fashion and sign their work. That trifling honor is not only accorded to the painter or the sculptor, but demanded of him. Architecture like this is a fine art. Why should the hand and brain excel- hug in it be denied the poor privilege of a name which those who come aftei us may read? The building stands upon a broad platform of granite six steps in height, and the huge blocks on either side are vacant pedestals for groups of sculpture up- on which St. Gaudens is now engaged. Pass- ing between them, un- der clustered lmps suggesting the early Florentine fanali, we cross an arched vesti- bule of Tennessee mar- ble to its inner thresh- old, where the doors, not yet in place, are to be of bronze from a de- sign by Daniel Chester French. Another step brings us to the lower entrance-hall. This hall is divided into three aisles by piers of Iowa stone. The signs of the zodiac gleam from the marble pave- ment in shining brass, and the ceiling, arched and domed, is adorned with mo- saic of delicate tints and graceful pat- terns. This modern Italian work, unique of its kind in America, recalls the Pom- peian fragments in the Naples mnseum, and is used as a setting for the names of men linked by birth or later fortunes with the State of Massachusetts, though THE NEW BUILDING OF THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBPARY 85 the fame surviving them is world-wide. The bays of the centre aisle are given to Hawthorne, Franklin, Longfellow, Adams, Peirce, and Emerson; while the six small domes in the side-vaults record eminent local historians, jur- ists, theologians, artists, scientists, and statesmen, numbering twenty - four in all. The fitness of this record is at once apparent. All these established a claim rightly to be great; all have passed away from earth, and are now honored with a lasting remembrance in the outer precincts of this great Val- halla of Learning. Intersecting passages lead from the side aisles to the Periodical and Cata- logue Rooms, which occupy the re- mainder of the front upon the ground floor. These spacious, airy rooms, with tiled and vaulted ceilings supported by columns, are well adapted to their pur- pose. But a flood of light draws us by them along the main aisle to the beauti- ful arch of Siena marble through wbich the staircase springs. A great hall opens up before us to the full height of the second story, lined throughout with the same Siena marble, in color a deep golden yellow, so lustrous and resplendent that the light streaming through the long win- dows seems to proceed from it. Mould- VOL. XJX.11 ing and wainscot, panel-arch, pilaster, and balustrade are all of this rich ma- terial, highly polished, massed in broad, plane surfaces, in solid pillar-shaft and in .carved Corinthian capitaL But the scheme has been worked out so skil- fully that there is no suggestion of heaviness. Even the colossal couchant lions of Louis St. Gaudens on the first landing look ready to leap up lightly. These lions were given by two Mas- sachusetts regiments in memory of comrades who fell in the battles re- corded upon their pedestals. As we turn by them to follow either of the two branches into which the stairs di- vide, the whole place seems steeped in sunshine, and the library motto, Lux Omnium Civium, is borne in up- on our minds at every step that brings us nearer to the lights true source. The vacant panels here are to contain decorations of the French artist, Puvis de Chavannes. With all complete this glowing stairway will be, surely, one of the finest in the world. The stairs have brought us to a wide gallery upon the main floor of the building. We are now on a level with the windows under which we passed, and leaning over the marble rail can look back across the interven- ing hall into the open court beyond, The Library at Night. 86 THE NEW BUILDING OF THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY toward the huge clock-face on its far- ther side. This is the strangers point of view unquestionably, and it may be doubted if even the most studious fre- quenter of the library will ever proceed to his work without lingering a moment here. The decorations of the gallery- wall which closes in the staircase have likewise been entrusted to the famous Frenchman. This portion of his work, already finished, has lately been exhib- ited in Paris; and, most happily, he has chosen for its subject the Muses ac- claiming Genius, the Messenger of Light. The central door, between the panels, is the principal entrance to Bates Hall; while at either end the gallery expands into a small vaulted corridor. That on the right leading to the Delivery Room door, above which stands a winged Venetian lion of early date, is brilliantly decorated by El- mer E. Garnsey, who also supplied the paler tints for the raised staff-work in the staircase and Bates Hall ceilings. Here the style is Pompeian, with a deep - red ground- work and elaborate borders in lighter colors, similar to those designed by Raphael for the log- gie of the Vatican. The details, exquis- itely drawn, attract the eye at once, and the color scheme is harmonious and pleasing. Passing through this corri- dor, we stand in what may be called the centre of the whole system the service - room from which the forces of enlightenment a r e drawn for home use. The Delivery Room is a rectan- gular hall with a high oaken wains- cot and ceiling, the latter painted in colors of which the prevailing hues are blue and green relieved by gold. On one side the wainscot is broken by a porphyry fireplace and by two pillared doorways to Bates HalL All the main doors on this floor are similarly recessed with a combination of polished marbles, those employed here being porphyry and Levantine. Opposite is a long table over which the books are distributed from an inner room communicating with the stacks. At one end is the card - catalogue, with two or three smaller tables where the applicants may refer to its bound volumes; or, waiting for their names to be called, may study to their hearts content the chief glory of the room-The Quest of the Holy Grailin a series of pict- ures filling the wall-space above the wainscot. The finished half of Abbeys great work has been often described. Speaking in general terms, one need only say now that repeated inspection fully warrants the praise bestowed upon it. The subject was singularly well se The First Landing of the Main Staircase. THE NEW BUILDING OF THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBPAP Y 87 THE MAIN STAIRCASE, LOOKING DOWN. The Monumental Lions Designed by Louis St. Gaudens were given by two Massachusetts Regiments in Memory of Comrsdes who Fell in the Bsttles Recorded upon their Pedestals. 88 THE NEW BUILDING OP THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY lected for its place and purpose. This the Round Table with its thronged is a story that all may understand; the knights and encircling angel-host is eyes of young and old alike follow a wonder of composition, toward which with ever-increasing interest the youth- one turns again and again to admire ful Galahad to the Seat Perilous, and it as a whole or to consider individual go forth with him upon his holy mis- figures. The scene is nobly dramatic, sion into the mysterious, enchanted the treatment masterly. A more sug- castle of Amfortas. The great hall of gestive and inspiring theme than this THE READING-ROOM, BATES HALL. for such a waiting-room could scarcely be couceivcd. We leave it reluctantly, with a feeling of gratitude for the earnest toil aud the thoroughness of research by which so much has been accomplished, and with an impatient longing for that half of the story still to be told. Returning to the gallery, we enter Bates Hall by the central door, at a point ~vhere its fine proportions make immediately their full effect. It is two hundred and eighteen feet in length, forty-two feet wide, and fifty feet high. The ceiling is an elliptical arch, with half-domed ends, and the rich mould- ings of its coffers are accentuated by delicate shades of color ivory and pale green. The cornice bears the names of famous men from Homer to INewton in golden letters. Dark mar- bles encase the stately doorways; but the walls are of sandstone, and their gray tone, which is the predominant 89 GALLERY OF THE STAIRCASE HALL ON THE MAIN FLOOR. The Decoration on the Right by Puvis de Chavannes. 90 THE NEW BUILDING OF THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY one, unrelieved by any striking orna- inent, seems at first severe in its sim- plicity. There is nothing which catches the eye at any single point; but, sitting down to read, one soon perceives this to be intentional, and discovers that these quiet, well-subdued surroundings are most appropriate to the uses of the place. The light is superb, yet there is no glare, no obtrusive detail to dis - tract the mind. This is the reference reading-room of the library, and its seven thousand volumes are free to all who care to take them down, without the intervention of an attendant. At the southern end, always open for con- sultation, is the card - catalogue of all the books contained in the building; any one of these will be furnished upon application, and brought from the main library to the designated table at a few moments notice. There is room for hundreds of readers to sit here from early morning to a late hour of the night in undisturbed pursuit of knowledge. Those who have tried to work in the overcrowded libraries of Europe, hampered by annoying restric- tions and wearisome delays, will fully comprehend the blessing which such freedom brings. The humblest creat- ure that ever learned to read and write THE DELIVERY-ROOM, WITH THE ABBEY FRIEZE: THE SEARCH FOR THE HOLY GRAIL. THE NEW BUILDING OP THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARy 91 THE SARGENT DECORATION IN THE STAIRCASE HALL ON THE SECOND FLOOR. has but himself to blame if he yields supinely to the darkness of ignorance in the face of advantages like these. The vaulted corridor on the left of the Staircase.gallery, larger than the right- hand one, is lighted by a window over- looking the court. As in the former case, the door is surmounted by an old Venetian lion; and the decorations of walls and ceiling, by Joseph Lindon / The Religions of the World, 92 THE NEW BUILDING OI~ THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY Smith, in the style of the Renaissance, symbolize the golden age of Venice. The white swan of cities, embodied in a graceful female figure, sits enshrined above the window between a kneeling Saint Theodore and a genius of the Adriatic, against a background of moun- tain and lagoon. The side niches record her artistic triumphs in colors emblem- atic of the sea and sky. A fleet of ships circles in the central vault, and the walls are hung with those heavy garlands of fruit, woven to this day in Venice for the Redentore feast. An inner alcove, brilliant with gold, silver, and peacock blues and greens, commemorates the Eastern eonquests of the Planter of the Lion. Here the emblems and devices, chosen from her crumbling palace-walls, are all Byzantine. Viewed from the centre of the gallery, these Pompeian and Renaissance corridors, opening out on either hand, present agreeable vistas of color, and their details demand close and careful study. The hanging lan- terns in them are modern reproductions of an old design made in Venice. Beyond the Venetian corridor follow in order three large halls, .designated respectively as the Registratjo~ Patent, and Newspaper Rooms. Mr. John Elliott has been chosen to decorate the Patent Room, and is already at work upon it; the other decorations are not yet as- signed. From the Byzantine alcove, just mentioned, a staircase ascends to the third story; and the door on .the first landing leads into a stone balcony, overhanging Bates Hall above its main entrance in the centre of the western wall. At this point a fine view may be obtained, not only of the hall itself and The Main Entrance on Copley Square. THE NEW BUILDING OF THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY 93 its silent company of readers, but also through the great fa9ade windows, out across the open square, where the IRo- manesque towers of Trinity Church rise grandly in the distance. All the stir and hubbub of the city are shut out. Standing in this clear light, one is doubly iml?ressed by the fitness of the place for study, and the voice sinks with a natural impulse to a whisper, lest, through inadvertence, the study should be interrupted. The staircase brings us out upon the third floor, which is entered by a corridor leading to the special libra- ries. This is a vaulted hall, wide and lofty, without windows, but well lighted from above. The arched ends, deeply recessed, are destined for Sargents decorations illustrating the worlds re- ligious history. The north end only is finished, an d w e turn toward it to be overwhelmed by the splendor of its color, before our first attempt to grasp the full force of the painters con- ception. Upon drawing nearer we observe that the space is divided in- to three parts a lunette, an arched ceiling, and a frieze treated separate- ly, yet interdepen- dent. The central foreground of the lunette is filled by a group of Israelites pleading for release from the rod of Egypt and the yoke of Assyria, whose mighty figures tram- ple upon the slain and threaten the living with uplifted arms. On either side are the royal attributes and idols of oppression Pasht, the cat-head- ed goddess, the ibis VOL. XIX.12 of the Nile, the Assyriaii lion. The crim- son wings of seraphs flame through all the background, and the hand of Jehovah issues from a cloud, checking the sword in its downward stroke. Red and gold are used freely, their illuminating effect being heightened by the sombre gray of the accessories. The kneeling group in bondage is splendidly composed, and the fierce Assyrian tyrant is drawn with extraordinary power and skill. The arched ceiling before the lunette displays a confusion of pagan beliefs and symbols, combined with startling originality. Above and behind, dimly discernible, but dominating them all, appears the Vault of Heaven goddess, Nut, as suggested in certain of the Egyptian temples, a colossal blue-black figure, curved along the firmament with In the Vestibule. The Courtyard and Fountain. hands and feet stretching downward to crescent, with a cobra coiled at her feet. the earth. The signs of the zodiac in Upon the left sits the idol Moloch, the a golden circle surround her breast- Sun-god and Devourer, in a blazing plate of the stars. In the higher fore- glory, the rays of which are tipped with gronnd, Tammuz, the Phcenician Apollo, golden hands. His gigantic hnmau attacks the python, figuring both as shape has a bulls head, triple-eyed; the slayer and the slain in their deadly and his attendants are rampant lions. conflict, according to. a myth of the re- Lower still, between two solemn Egyp- current seasons; lower down, on the tian deities, the soul escapes, phunix- right, rises the jewelled presence of As- like, from its mummy case in the guise tarte, the moon-goddess, attended by of a bird fluttering over the winged her votaries and enveloped in her pale- sun-disk that typifies resurrection. The blue web of Death. She stands upon a ornaments and attributes in relief, heav- 94 & Looking Down on the Courtyard from the Outer Gallery. -3 Q C- C So 96 THE NEW BUILDING OF THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRAPY ily gilded, give unexampled richness to this part of the decoration. Below lunette and arch is the frieze, represent- ing the Old Testament prophets; those on the extreme left are grouped in atti- tudes of despair, while the correspond- ing group at the right hails the light with outstretched hands. All the paint- ers best qualities of technical method, color, and distinction seem reunited here in this band of heroic figures, which are exceptionally strong in their simplicity. Moses alone, in the central place holding the tablets of the law, stands out from the wall in high relief adorned with gold, as if to bind to- gether the component parts of the de- sign. Though complete in itself, this is really but a fragment of Sargents scheme, which includes a similar com- bination of medkeval doctrines already ordered for the southern recess, and the decoration of the intervening sides. The long eastern wall, devoted to a sin- gle scene from the New Testamentthat light toward which the hopeful proph- ets turn will thus form the central, fundamental point of the whole com- position, expressing the faith that abides, that subdues the old and con- trols the new. The artistic importance of all this mural decoration deserves much more than the passing word given to it here. The work of Sargent and Abbey is of a very high order, ranking with the best that modern Europe has produced. Whatever may be the final judgment passed upon it generations hence, the painters have certainly ap- proached their task in the reverent spirit of the old masters, which seems to shine through the result of studious years. Doors open from the corridor into the special libraries extending around the building on all four sides of the court. Here are the Bowditch, Ticknor, Barton, and Brown collections, with other of the more valuable books in a series of fine rooms furnished with tables for students. In the Barton Li- brary now stands the bronze statue of Sir Harry Vane, by MacMonniesan interesting work which looks somewhat too large for its present position, and will probably be placed elsewhere. The great central court, open to the sky, is not only a well-spring of light, but also a most satisfactory addition to the vast resources of the building. The public is admitted at all times to its marble arcade, which through many months of the year will serve as an open-air reading-room of delightful re- tirement. The cloistered enclosure, like an old Italian courtyard, with the wide grass - plot stretching inward to a central basin, is extremely dignified and beautiful. A Bacchante, the gift of Mr. McKiin, will adorn the fountain; this is the original by MacMonnies, a replica of which has been sold to the French Government for the Luxem- bourg. The arcade supports a marble balcony, always accessible from the main floor. Above this, the walls are of yellow brick, with deep-set windows, ornamental cornice, and medallions. On one side a church - tower, cutting into the sky, overhangs them picturesquely. There is no other suggestion of the outer world. In the arrangement of the main library its growth has been carefully considered, and there is ample room for extension as need requires. It is now shelved in six stories of stacks between Blagden Street and the court. To these stacks the public is not ad- mitted; but all are provided with pneumatic tubes through which written orders for books pass from Bates Hall and the Delivery-room. An automatic railway of extraordinary ingenuity con- veys the books thus ordered to an inner service-room on the main floor. These inventive triumphs supplement and con- centrate the labor of the working force which is graded by competitive ex- ainination. The attendants in the high- est grade are specialists, standing ready to put their knowledge and training at the disposal of any student who may consult them. Other working departments of the library (not open to the public) include the Librarians Room, on the main floor; the Trustees Room above, with panelled doors, wainscot, and ceiling from an old chateau in France; the Ordering, Correspondence, and Binding Rooms; and, finally, the cellars, fitted up with the machinery for light, heat, and ventilation. The mechanism of the MADAME ANNALENA 97 latter is especially interesting A huge electric fan keeps the current in active motion, and all the air so introduced is filtered through long shafts of sackcloth before distribution, after which it is withdrawn by means of a correspond- ing fan directly under the roof. Visiting in turn these arcarta of the building, one is speedily convinced that no m o d e r n contrivance tending to insure comfort has been overlooked. Comfort, as all must al- low, is eminently desirable; but the critic may question the need of so rare a set- ting for it.. Why, he may ask, would not a simpler reading-room serve the rank and file of the public as well as the arched gran- deur of Bates Hall? Why ransack the quarries of Car- rara for costly marbles? Why employ famous hands to paint the intermediate wall-surface? To all such shallow criti- cism there can be but one emphatic an- swer. The builders have dedicated this great library to the advancement of learning, in due remembrance of the fact that familiarity with things -ideally beautiful is an education in itself. With this purpose in view they have dared to build not for a day but for the time to come, and the purpose has been so well achieved that their work takes high rank at once among the few examples of architectural inspiration in America. As time goes on its influence will grow with the growth of the ac- cumulating treasure it con- tains. Here, at least, is a public library where the eye may share its pleasure with the mind, and our popular taste may gain that impulse in the right direc- tion for which, with us, the opportunity is still far too meagre. We have had no Medici to adorn our streets, and often our public build- ings have been the deplora- ble issue of inexperience and political scheming. Now, for once, we have an en- during monument, worthy of our material prosperity and progress. Turning away, we linger and look back at the long inscription of its northern fa~ade THE COMMONWEALTH REQUIRES THE EDUCATION OF THE PEOPLE A5 THE 5AFEGUARD OF ORDER AND LIBERTYand we are profoundly grateful to the coni- monwealth which has justified itself so nobly that all the world may learn from it a useful lesson. MADAME ANNALENA By Bliss Perry COASTED down the long hill into Slab -City just at sundown, the brook roaring at my right, and the sud- den coolness of the valley bathing my face and aching wrists like water. As I dismounted at Dakins post - office, general store, and tavern all in onethe cyclometer ticked off its fortieth mile since noon. Over Green Mountain roads that means rather steady pedalling. Dakin himself, smooth-shaven and VOL. XIX.13 loose-lipped, sauntered out of the L part, in his shirt-sleeves, and looked first at the wheel, then at me. _ Pretty light, he volunteered. There was a feller through here last week on one of that make. Stands up all right, does she? First rate, said I. Can you take care of me for the night? I guess so. Seems to me youd oughter have a brake, though, he con- tinned, judicially, as I unstrapped my bundle. We put up a considable few wheelmen here, week in and week out, and I aint hardly seen a brake all sum- Venetian Bronze Knocker.

Bliss Perry Perry, Bliss Madame Annalena 97-103

MADAME ANNALENA 97 latter is especially interesting A huge electric fan keeps the current in active motion, and all the air so introduced is filtered through long shafts of sackcloth before distribution, after which it is withdrawn by means of a correspond- ing fan directly under the roof. Visiting in turn these arcarta of the building, one is speedily convinced that no m o d e r n contrivance tending to insure comfort has been overlooked. Comfort, as all must al- low, is eminently desirable; but the critic may question the need of so rare a set- ting for it.. Why, he may ask, would not a simpler reading-room serve the rank and file of the public as well as the arched gran- deur of Bates Hall? Why ransack the quarries of Car- rara for costly marbles? Why employ famous hands to paint the intermediate wall-surface? To all such shallow criti- cism there can be but one emphatic an- swer. The builders have dedicated this great library to the advancement of learning, in due remembrance of the fact that familiarity with things -ideally beautiful is an education in itself. With this purpose in view they have dared to build not for a day but for the time to come, and the purpose has been so well achieved that their work takes high rank at once among the few examples of architectural inspiration in America. As time goes on its influence will grow with the growth of the ac- cumulating treasure it con- tains. Here, at least, is a public library where the eye may share its pleasure with the mind, and our popular taste may gain that impulse in the right direc- tion for which, with us, the opportunity is still far too meagre. We have had no Medici to adorn our streets, and often our public build- ings have been the deplora- ble issue of inexperience and political scheming. Now, for once, we have an en- during monument, worthy of our material prosperity and progress. Turning away, we linger and look back at the long inscription of its northern fa~ade THE COMMONWEALTH REQUIRES THE EDUCATION OF THE PEOPLE A5 THE 5AFEGUARD OF ORDER AND LIBERTYand we are profoundly grateful to the coni- monwealth which has justified itself so nobly that all the world may learn from it a useful lesson. MADAME ANNALENA By Bliss Perry COASTED down the long hill into Slab -City just at sundown, the brook roaring at my right, and the sud- den coolness of the valley bathing my face and aching wrists like water. As I dismounted at Dakins post - office, general store, and tavern all in onethe cyclometer ticked off its fortieth mile since noon. Over Green Mountain roads that means rather steady pedalling. Dakin himself, smooth-shaven and VOL. XIX.13 loose-lipped, sauntered out of the L part, in his shirt-sleeves, and looked first at the wheel, then at me. _ Pretty light, he volunteered. There was a feller through here last week on one of that make. Stands up all right, does she? First rate, said I. Can you take care of me for the night? I guess so. Seems to me youd oughter have a brake, though, he con- tinned, judicially, as I unstrapped my bundle. We put up a considable few wheelmen here, week in and week out, and I aint hardly seen a brake all sum- Venetian Bronze Knocker. 98 MADAME ANNALENA mer. He was still shaking his gray, close-cropped head, as he led me up- stairs. At supper I enjoyed a most amiable conversation with Amanda Dakin, who waited on the table, and afterwards I stood in the doorway a while, surveying Slab City. At the right of Dakins was a blacksmiths shop of rickety brick; at the left a dozen story-and-a-half white houses were scattered along the road before it dipped again into the forest;. opposite lay a dam and saw-mill, and above the dam, on the steep hillside, was a square frame-house, with a Man- sard roof. That was all, except the encompassing mountains, the plangent voice of the brook, and the darkening green of the August sky. Dakin came out of the L with his coat on, and seated himself communi- cably upon the long steps before the door. Gettin along toward mail time, he remarked, and at that I joined him. Do you handle much mail here? I inquired. Well, no. No great sight; but moren youd think for. Theres a good many folks drive in here for their mail two or three times a week, and then theres most always some letters for Slab City. Dunham he waved his hand toward the saw-mill and the slope above it he takes two daily papers, but he dont scarcely ever get a letter. Is that Dunhams place? I asked, glancing up at the house with the Mansard roof. Dakin nodded. Con- sidable of a house, aint it? The conversation flagged. Presently the blacksmith, a handsome fellow of thirty, joined us, and then three or four old men hobbled up the road from the tiny houses, and greeting Dakin noise- lessly, took their accustomed places on the steps. The blacksmith and I ex- changed some observations on the state of the roads, the distance to the Junction, and the approaching end of the trout season. Then we relapsed into silence, and the crickets began to chirp in the grass around the mill-dam. It seemed like fall. All at once a lamp gleamed from an uncurtained window of the square house upon the hillside; then another, in a room apparently across the hail; and a moment later a mans figure, as I thought, passed from one chamber- window to another, leaving a lamp in each. Jabez is lightin up, piped one of the wizened old loungers. Time for the mail now. Lightin up for Annerlener, said Dakin, jocosely, glancing at me as if he half expected to be questioned. Hes spiled a sight of kerosene, firstn last, commented the octogena- rian, severely. And no one to wash up them lamps for him either. Who is she? I ventured, with a strangers privilege of impertinence. Aint you never heard of her? de- manded Dakin. Shes a singerkind of perfessional opery singer, they say. I guess shes about as high-priced as they make em, too. Down to Boston, a spell ago, they say she was drawin her thousand dollars a night right along, whether she sung or not. You dont mean I exclaimed, and at that instant I recalled some obscure newspaper paragraphor was it a gossip at the club ?about the birthplace of the prima donna. You mean that Madame Annalena Belonged right here in Slab City, exclaimed Dakin, with ill - concealed local pride. And does yet, I guess, cordin to law. Thats her legal hus- band, puttin them lamps in the windows now. As he spoke the solitary figure appeared for an instant at the tiny windows in the Mansard roof, leaving a lamp upon each silL Hes been doin that for nigh on to ten years, regular. Awful sight of oil, repeated the octogenarian, for a man as close as Jabez. I was on my feet, I think, gesticu- lating. For Madame Annalena is simply the greatest soprano now alive, save Patti. For twenty yearsever since her W9but in London as JJiliarguerite-- all that the world can offer to a prima donna has been hers. Four times, at least, has she announced her farewell season, yet her full - orbed voice has seemed to grow more glorious with every year. She has never lingered long in America, and I had fancied, for sonic reason or other, that she was MADAME ANNALENA 99 Welsh. And to come upon her traces here, in the heart of the Green Moun- tains! Ever see her? demanded Dakin. Twenty times! I cried. Not five months ago, the last time. And I felt as if it were not five minutes ago. She had sung in oratorio, after the close of the opera season, and in a hall crowded to the stairway I had stood on tiptoe to watch her as she came in to sing her first aria. The grim conductor had smiled for once, as he led her past the front of the applauding chorus, and the first violin moved his chair to make room for the long folds of her ermine wrapthe gift, it was said, of a Grand iDuke and the audience quite forgot they were listening to the Creation, and stormed as they always do when Madame Annalena comes on in Taun- h~user. Well, said Dakin, deliberately, for hosses and church-singin the Green Mountains claim to beat the world. Not for hosses, put in the black- smith, who was not a native. I want to know the rest of it, said I, facing around to Dakin. Where did she get her name? Annerlener? Ann Ellensee? Ann Ellen Darby was her maiden name, and now, by rights, its Ann Ellen Dunham Mis Dunham. Mis Jabez Dunhamthats right, said the octogenarian. But how did she ever come here, in the first place? I demanded. And how did she ever get to London, and how in the world did she ever marry Dunham? Well, she got to London or Bostonin the first place, because she did marry Dunham. I guess thats the how of it. She went on his money, and whats more, he told her to go. She was raised up here in the Hollow: one of Sam Darbys girlstheyre all moved away now. And Ann was the liveliest of em, I tell you! She upn married Jabez all of a sudden, when there was two other fellers payin attention to her. I dunno but there might a been some spite in it, and then again I dunno as there might. Anyhow she upn mar- ried him, for all he was a good ten years oldern she. Jabez allus was old, interrupted the octogenarian. He was born old. There want no boy to him. Used to work hard all day, and read nights, explained Dakin. Couldnt hardly get him to go to cattle-show. Well, Ann Ellen married him, and they took a trip to Niagry Falls, and put up at the best hotel. They hadnt been back moren a week before I see Jabez a settin on a log over there at the mill one mornin, and the log was clamped on the carriage, and Jabez was travellin straight toward that six -foot circular saw and never moved. I hollered, and run over, and he got up, just in the nick of time. Shes goin to Boston for a while to study singin, says he, kind o foolish, for I hadnt said nothin about Ann Ellen. And Im kind o favorin it, Dakin, says he. Shell be more contented after shes tried it. Shes a young thing, you know, says he, and after shes kind o had her fling in Boston shell settle down and like Slab City first-rate. No, Mr. Dakin, put in the old man, querulously, that want quite it. When Ive had my turn, Jabez, Ill come back. Thats what Annerlener said.~ Youve got it all mixed up, deacon, replied Dakin,commiseratingly. Thats what Jabez said in here to the store, the next day. Im talkin about what he said over to the saw-mill. The octogenarian grumbled, but was silenced. And of course she has never come back, said I. Once, said Dakin, sure, and may- be twice. For over-night, thats all. Curious critters, said the black- smith; aint they? I sat looking at the flaring windows of the solitary house on the hillside. The first time she came back,~~ Dakin went on, shed been gone well on to three years. Been livin in Boston, they sayI guess that must a been before she went to Europeand some say she got good pay, and some say she didnt. Anyhow Orrin Waterman brought her up from the Junction one night on the stagethat was old Orrin father to this oneand left her up to Jabezs house. The next mornin he 100 MADAME ANNALENA see her take the Boston train, down to the Junction, but there didnt no one bring her down. She must a walked it. Guess she found she couldnt go Jabez, after all. And the other time? I asked. Well, said Dakin, the other time want moren ten years ago. We didnt know nothin about Annerleners be- in home, but young Orrins boy was prowlin round Jabezs house after pears one night, and said he saw a black- haired woman, with diamonds on, set- tin on Jabezs lap. That boy of Orrins, chirped the deacon, excitedly, hes deal now, but when he was alive hed lie the bark off a tree. Why, the minister at the Hol- low want scarcely willin to preach his funeral sermon! There cant nobody make me think Annerlenerd come back twice, without stayin a spelL She could come to the Junction in one of those parlor-cars, argued the blacksmith, and get some feller to drive her over here and back by the Hollow road. Whod know anything about it? The curis thing is, continued Da- kin, ignoring the blacksmiths query, that just about that time Jab~z got this trick of lightin up the house an hour after the express is due down to the Junction. That looks to me as if she had come after all, and it had kind o turned the cusss head, after waitin so long, so that now he expects her every night. You notice how hell be dressed up when he comes down for his maiL Orrins late to-night, aint he, Marcus? The blacksmith pulled out his watch. No, he drawled. Guess thats Orrin now. There was a clatter upon the bridge above the mill - dam, and a Concord buggy swung up to the rail in front of Dakins. The big black horse began to gnaw the rail the instant the reins were flung upon his back. Orrin Waterman pulled the mail - bag from under the seat. No one - spoke to him until he had pitched it on to the steps for Dakin to pick up; then the interchange pf greetings grew active. The postmaster disappeared to sort out the mail for the Hollow, and Orrin went behind the counter and helped himself to a five- cent cigar. Then he sat down with us to wait. Jabez is well lighted up to-night, he observed to the blacksmith. Yes, said the latter, nodding toward me, weve been telling this gentleman about Jabez. Orrin Waterman pulled away at his cigar. What did you think of that liniment? he inquircd. Well, Orrin, it aint no sure cure for spavin, but then, what is? A bullet in the head, said Orrin, gloomily, whereat the deacon tittered. I wanted to hear more about Jabez Dunham. I suppose nobody ever says anything to Dunham aboutabout this? I asked. An oath that sounded almost solemn escaped from under Orrins morose mustache. I guess not! Why, there was a Canuck once, workin for Jabez, who gave him a little lip about it, just for a joke, and Jabez grabbed a cold- chisel and come at him like a cat. Came d n near killin him. No, we dont none of us say nothin. to Jabez. Its kind o mean, you know, and he aint just right. He lifted his cigar toward his forehead. Sort of a learned cuss, too, he went on, for a man who runs a saw-mill. Takes a New York and Boston paper right along, and they say he cuts out everything he finds on Annerlener. Sh! said the blacksmith. A black-clothed figure was crossing the bridge and turning toward us. Good-evening, Mr. Dunham, chir- ruped the octogenarian. No one else spoke. The husband of Madame An- nalena stopped in front of us, with a quick glance at the delivery window of the post-office. He was a smallish man of fifty odd, scrupulously dressed, with clean - shaven upper lip, long grayish beard, drooping mouth, and gentle blue eyes that shifted uncannily in their sockets. Good-evening, gentlemen, he said. His voice was slightly husky. The in- tonations were those of a man of re- finement, but they had that curious detachment which is sometimes to be noticed in the voices of the insane. I was rather glad, for one, to hear the MADAME ANNALENA 101 delivery-window rattle, and as by a common instinct we all rose and filed inside. Much to-night? inquired the dea- con. Well, no, said Dakin, tossing the mail-bag for the Hollow over the coun- ter to Orrin Waterman. I guess Mary Witherbees got another letter from that Bellows Falls feller. Likely feller, too. And Sams got a postal from that mower n~ reaper drummer sayin hell be round next week. You hear that, Marcus? You want to see him too, dont you? Hold on, Orrin; throw out lVJis Bennetts Sunday-school paper as you go by, will you? she wants it to-night. And heres that fish- hook for the Trow boy. Its one cent; make him pay you. The black horse and Concord buggy disappeared into the dusk. Heres your papers, Mr. Dunham, said the postmaster. Is thereperhapsa foreign let- ter? inquired Dunham. The black- smith nudged me, cautiously. Not to-night, Jabez, was the kind- ly answer. Three or four Slab City girls came in, glanced at the mail-boxes, then at me, and went out giggling. Jabez Dunham unfolded one of his papers, and his eye ran furtively over two or three columns, by the light of the one kerosene lamp. The loungers pretended not to watch him. I observe that the St. Louis has made a very quick westward passage, he remarked, turning to me with a bow. Yes? I replied. The St. Louis is a good boat. She brought over a large number of well-known people, he continued, letting his eye traverse the column once more. Literary and musical celebrities; not the most distinguished, perhaps, but still well - known people. You are interested in such things, sir? Very much. Oh, are you? I am glad to make your acquaintance, sir. You anticipate a brilliant winter in New York? I no- tice there will be Italian opera, and Ger- man opera besides. I believe so, said I. I should like to see that big opera- house since it was renovated. How do you think, he asked, tentatively, al- most confidentially, it compares with the one in Paris? The exterior, said I, is not so im- posing, but there are some people who prefer it for other reasons. Indeed, he replied. So I have read. And at Berlin; how is it there? Could you tell me? I told him, and we went on to Milan, while the crowd watched us dispassion- ately. I suppose, he said at last, you have been at St. Petersburg? No, said I; not at St. Peters- burg. He looked disappointed. I have never seen a man who has attended the opera in St. Petersburg. I should like to, very much indeed. Do you travel yourself? I asked. Oh, no! he exclaimed, with a sort of fright in his voice. I went to western New York once, when I was a young man, but since then it has been very important that I should be here every day. I have no one to leave my house with, you see, he added, cun- ningly. I nodded. I must bid you good-night, sir, said he. It has given me ~ileasure to make your acquaintance. We have common interests, sir. Do you remain long in Slab City? Only till morning. Perhaps I may see you. I should like to leave you my card. Good-even- mg, gentlemen. And he folded his papers, buttoned his black coat care- fully, and walked out. I swan! ejaculated the black- smith, he was great on language to- night! When Annerlener gets back, quoted one of the loungers coarsely, and I inferred that the phrase had grown proverbial at Slab City. Half-past eight, gents, announced Dakin, succinctly, beginning to empty the change from the counter drawers into his trousers pockets. The loung- ers rose reluctantly. As I stood on the steps watching them disappear into 102 MADAME ANNALENA the shadows of the maples, my arm was clutched by the octogenarian deacon. Dakin kind o shut me up, he whispered, eagerly, but I know what Annerlener said, just as well as he does. When Ive had my turn, Jabez, Ill come back. Thats what she said, and Dakin knows it. It want what Jabez said; she said it herself. It was a promise. And thats what makes me think shell cone, some day, when she gets sick o singin. Jabez could give her a good home. Just look at that big house up there, and not a soul in it but Jabez. Shell come back. Why, it aint right for her to stay away nigh on to twenty-two years! Dont you think a real woman, now, would want to come back? Ann Ellen used to be a likely girlwild as a hawk, but fond of her folks, and I allus held to it she was fond of Jabez. Little ashamed of the saw-mill, most likely, when she found out how much money she was makin, but kind o sneakin fond, just the same. She wouldnt never have come back that once, if she hadnt been. And Im sayin that when she gets tired o singin kind o makes her farewell tower, you know shell be back here; dont you think so? He moved off, still shaking his cane emphatically, as Dakin locked the L door. When Annerlener gets back, echoed an ironic repartee of one of the loungers, far down among the maple shadows. I went up to my room in time to watch the lamps extinguished, one by one, in the big house beyond the mill- dam, and another night settle down solemnly upon that lonely hollow in the hills. Would she ever come back? Could she? Could the Madame Anna- lena who had queened it for so long, the artist finished to the finger-tips, come back to Slab City and to Jabez Dunham, after all? She had come once, it seemed. Perhaps she had come twice. Would the woman in her be deeper than the prima donna, at the end? And I fell asleep, still wonder- ing over it, with two or three of her notes in Fidelio chiming in my ears like some great golden-hearted bell. The next morning, as I was strap- ping my bundle to the handle-bar, pre- paratory to starting, Dunham crossed over from the saw-mill. He wore over- alls and a flannel shirt, and there was sawdust caught in his gray beard. His manner was less excited than it had been the night before, but in his eyes there was the unchanged, unworldly light, the same persistent hallucina- tion. You are the young gentleman I conversed with last evening? I am sorry you are to leave us. This is a beautiful section of country. I would like, sir, to give you my card. He took one out of the pocket of his overalls. On it was printed, JABEZ DUNHAM. SAwinG. SLABS AND SHINGLES. TERMs STRICTLY CASH. Possibly you understand, he said, with a cunning shift of his eyes into mine, that all this he waved his hand deprecatingly toward the saw- mill is a temporary occupationonly temporary. Some day, possibly any day, I expect to enjoy the pleasures of life. Meantime, he added, his eyes falling to the ground, I saw wood. Terms strictly cash. We are all in that business more or less, said I. He looked up swiftly, almost joyous- ly, and nodded. The Canal Office et Weet Troy. FROM THE OCEAN TO THE LAKES By Thomas Curtis clarke KIN G ALFONSO of Castile con- tented himself by merely saying, in his royal manner, that if he had been consulted, he could have shown God how to make a much bet- ter world than this. The men of our day prefer deeds to words. Africa has been made an island, and it is hoped that South America soon will be. While enthusiasts are talking of making Lake Erie, or the St. Law- rence, flow into the Hudson, the men of Chicago are actually turning Lake Michigan into the Mississippi. Such schemes appeal strongly to the imagin tion; and among that sanguine part of mankind which listens with credulity to the whispers of fancy, and pursues with eagerness the phanto us of hope are those who dream of pierc- ing every isthmus by ship-canals. Oriental trade has fascinated the minds of men from the days of Yasco de Gama, and Columbus down to the present time. Although the value of its teas, silks, and other merchandise is great, its tonnage is small, as compared with that of the great lakes of North America. This is shown by the often quoted comparison between the tonnage pass- ing through the St. Marys Falls Canal, at the outlet of Lake Superior, and that of the Suez Canal, which is exceeded by the former; although hardly fifty years have passed since Superior was a lonely lake, traversed only by the Indian canoe and the sail-boat of the Mackinac voy- ageur. Although everybody appreciates tIme success of the Erie Canal, few consider what a remarkable piece of engineering it is; leaving, as it does, natural lines of water communication, and creating a purely artificial one. This grand idea of a canal, directly from Lake Erie to the Hudson, avoiding locking down into Lake Ontario, and back again, seems from the strongest evidence to have been first conceived WATER-WAYS

Thomas Curtis Clarke Clarke, Thomas Curtis Water-Ways From The Ocean To The Lakes 103-114

The Canal Office et Weet Troy. FROM THE OCEAN TO THE LAKES By Thomas Curtis clarke KIN G ALFONSO of Castile con- tented himself by merely saying, in his royal manner, that if he had been consulted, he could have shown God how to make a much bet- ter world than this. The men of our day prefer deeds to words. Africa has been made an island, and it is hoped that South America soon will be. While enthusiasts are talking of making Lake Erie, or the St. Law- rence, flow into the Hudson, the men of Chicago are actually turning Lake Michigan into the Mississippi. Such schemes appeal strongly to the imagin tion; and among that sanguine part of mankind which listens with credulity to the whispers of fancy, and pursues with eagerness the phanto us of hope are those who dream of pierc- ing every isthmus by ship-canals. Oriental trade has fascinated the minds of men from the days of Yasco de Gama, and Columbus down to the present time. Although the value of its teas, silks, and other merchandise is great, its tonnage is small, as compared with that of the great lakes of North America. This is shown by the often quoted comparison between the tonnage pass- ing through the St. Marys Falls Canal, at the outlet of Lake Superior, and that of the Suez Canal, which is exceeded by the former; although hardly fifty years have passed since Superior was a lonely lake, traversed only by the Indian canoe and the sail-boat of the Mackinac voy- ageur. Although everybody appreciates tIme success of the Erie Canal, few consider what a remarkable piece of engineering it is; leaving, as it does, natural lines of water communication, and creating a purely artificial one. This grand idea of a canal, directly from Lake Erie to the Hudson, avoiding locking down into Lake Ontario, and back again, seems from the strongest evidence to have been first conceived WATER-WAYS I-I 0 (Th ~ a CD 2a0 O~ ~ ct- CD C ~ ~ CD02 t-~ct- 02 ~CD ~CD ~ ct- ~CD ~ C.. ~CD 02C~e~. Q Q~ ~ ~ ~ ~CD~CD C ~ ~-~at-~ ~ 02 ~4- ct- Q ~ ~ ~ ~.t- t-~~CD ~ CD ~ C ~02 C CD Ct ~D ~02 ~ ~ t.~ ~CD. t-t~ I ~iCmt-~CD.~. a act-a CD A Map of the Country Traversed hy the Erie Canal. Prep red under the supervision of the author, Mr. T. C. Clarke. WATER-WAYS FROM THE OCEAN TO THE LAKES 1105 mentioned this plan, was an energetic person named Jesse Hawley. He was so much interested that he went all over the proposed route, and, having satisfied himself of its practicability, wrote many letters in the newspapers to in- fluence public opin- ion. In one of these letters, printed in the Ontario Messenger at Canandaigua, in 1807, he actually describes the route of the Erie Canal, as well as any- one could do to-day. The only difference between it and the real canal is, that both Morris and Haw- ley proposed to feed the canal entirely from Lake Erie. From motives of economy this was not douc, and trouble has always been caused from a want of water on the middle divis- ion of the canal, which is fed from local streams. As we ride in a railway train through the rich valleys of central New York it is plainly to be seen that here is an easy route for a canal. When Mr. Hawley struggled through the mud, there were few roads and bridges, and the country was mostly covered with dense woods. For his efforts he deserves the highest praise. The glory of the building of the Erie Canal belongs to Dc Witt Clinton, whose political strength and determined energy enabled him to complete it in spite of all opposition and difficulties. Nothing can rob him of the proud title of Father of the Erie Canal. The names of Wright and Geddes, the orig- inal engineers, and that of Hawley, the volunteer engineer, should not be al- lowed to pass into oblivion. None of these men were trained as engineers, and they had never built any canals, but their strong practical sense carried them through; they learned as they went along, and their work does them the greatest credit. VoL. XIX.14 The original Erie Canal was but a small ditch, forty feet wide and four feet deep, and only able to pass boats of seventy-six tons. Its original cost when opened in 1825 was a little over seven millions of dol- lars, or about one- third of the cost of the State Capitol at Albany. Its success was so great that it could not do the busi- ness that offered; and from 1846 to 1862 it was enlarged, or rather recon- structed, being wi- dened to seventy feet and deepen.ed to sev- en. Its locks were enlarged to pass boats of two hundred and fifty tons burden, and doubled, so that boats could pass in both directions with- out detention. No public work has ever produced such important results. Besides building up the State and City of New York, and making it what it was before the in- troduction of our railway system, the actual cost of the Erie Canal in money has been much more than repaid. The cost of the original Erie Canal was $7,143,789.86; of the enlarged ca- nal was $31,834,041.30. The State has expended since 1862 in lengthening locks, maintenance, repairs and other improvements $33,948,761.37. The es- timated cost of deepening the canal to nine feet is $9,000,000 (voted for by the people on November 5, 1895), thus mak- ing a total cost of $72,926,591.73. The total amount received for tolls on the Erie Canal from its opening to the close of 1882, when tolls ceased, was $120,- 684,587.35, showing a surplus in its favor of $47,757,995.62.* Meantime, however, our system of railways had been constructed. At first the amount of freight carried by them was small in comparison with that which * The above figures are from official sources, having been kiudly furnished by the comptroller of the State of New York in respouse to iuquiry for purposes of this article, aud not before published. De Witt Clinton. (From 1/to portrait in Co/dens Memorial on the Completion of t/ze Canal.) The Two Original Engineers of the Erie Canal. From S/earls Civil and Military Engineers of Ama sco. went by canaL While modern inven- tions have been constantly applied on the railways, the means of transport on the canal stood still for many years. In 1851 the State engineer of New York stated in his annual report that it would take six double track railways to do the business of the Erie Canal. At that time ten tons, or three hundred and thirty bushels of wheat was a standard car-load, and ten or twelve cars a train- load. Owing to the easy grades of the New York Central, one locomotive could draw twenty cars, carrying about six thousand bushels of grain. Directly alongside, one canal boat, drawn by two sorry mules, carried as large a load. The great invention of steel rails by Sir Henry Bessemer allowed the use of heavier and more powerful locomo- tives; and now you may see on the rail- way beside the canal, one engine draw- ing forty to fifty cars, and carrying for- ty to fifty thousand bushels as a train- load. Conditions have now been reversed; and it would require at least ten canals equipped with the old horse-boats to move the freight tonnage of the New 106 York Central, West Shore, and Erie railways, which in 189394 wa~ 45,442,- 000 tons as against 4,275,662 tons by canal. This larger amount of freight is carried by rail, notwithstanding the cost by all rail from Chicago to New York is often more than double that by lakes and canaL The railway cars move five times as fast as the canal boats, and work twelve months, against seven months of open navigation. This enables merchants to take a quick ad- vantage of the markets at all seasons. The same thing holds good all over the United States. Mr. T. J. Vivian, Statistician of the United States Census of 1890, states the total movement of freight by vessels, steamers, and barges, as Tons. Great Lakes 53,424,432 Mississippi and tributaries 29,405,046 Atlantic and Pacific Coasts 80,817,251 All canals 20,747,932 Total 185,394,661 Poors Manual reports for the same year a total movement of freight by rail of 620,000,000 tons. Benjamin Wright. James Geddes. WA TER-WA YS FROM THE OCEAN TO THE LAKES 107 keep the Erie Canal open at their own ex- pense as a regulator of freight rates, if it could not be done in any other way. We shall see however that there is no danger of the Erie Canal being closed; and that all it wants is the application of modern methods of transportation to bring it back to its old standard. After the completion of the enlarge- ment in 1862 single boats of two hun- dred and forty tons burden, drawn by horses or mules, were used. In 1877 a plan was adopted of coupling two boats together, called doubleheaders, which required no increase of men and but two more horses. This reduced the cost of transport by doubling the cargo. In 1874 steam - towing was intro- duced, being encouraged by the offer of a premium of $100,000 by the State, which was paid to the successful boat. A steam tow-boat now draws generally Cornelius Vanderbilt. three consorts, besides carrying some (To whose introduction of extra tracka on the New York cargo herself. This increases the cargo Central wan due the decline of freight ratea between nine nnnQred and tons, 1870 and 1875.) to over thirty row I/se stool engravIng on I/so Rnrlro a Stock Certzjtentes, by and has further reduced rates, so that ~ernz osbon oft/se Neoc York Central Hndson S ~oer Ran/road, the owners of the horse-boats find it difficult to make a living, and reserve Notwithstanding the less tonnage of enough money for depreciation and re- the canals they have been great regula- pairs. tors of rates. The cost of conveyance An experiment was lately tried which of a bushel of wheat (or of fionr reduced may give them relief that of dcc- to bushels) between Chicago and New tric towing. A cable suspended from York has fallen from 12~-~ cents by lake poles on the bank carried a trolley, sup- and canal in 1857 to six to seven cents plied with current from a second wire, in 1893; and by all rail from 38 ~6~~ cc in 1857 to 14 6 0 nts and controlled from the boat, which is 16 cents in 1893, and the end is not yet. _______________________ The amount saved _________________________ in transportation of grain alone through _ ________ ________________________ the State of New -, York by the Erie ~-~ ~~6 Canal during the last thirty years is at least two hun- dred millions of dollars. There is no high- K er authority on rail- ~ way transportation ~ than Mr. Albert -------.~~.---~ l Fink, and he is re- ported to have said Diagram of Traffic Curves. that the trunk lines (The sharp decline in railway rates (5) between 1870 and 1875 waa due to the increaaed economy resslting from the introdsction of the third and fosrth tracks on the New could well afford to York Central by Commodore Vanderbilt.) 2L~l~7rcl/7? 6/?OW//y....... 7~noza9e frse cevncd /85~% fo /894 2. in Wa//and 3. Mew York Trunh %di~ass a :4. F9/~/~-~/~ 6y/crefe& Cam-ti C/wkayo e~o iVY /864A~/& ~~ 5 -, a ~ n~V./i. lS6~, /151 li9~e~ 108 WATER-WAYS FROM THE OCEAN TO THE LAKES hitched to the trolley, and is drawn Considering the very low rate at through the canal, and into the locks, which freight is now carried on the It is hoped that this can be done lakes in vessels of fifteen to sixteen feet quicker, and at less cost than by ani- draft, it has been supposed that if this mals. If this electric current can be navigation could be extended to the taken from the dynamos of Niagara ocean, great economy would result. A Falls, that cataract, after having been large lake steamer is a very expensive so long an obstruction to navigation, machine and carries freight economi- will by human ingenuity be forced to cally on account of her considerable help it. speed when in motion, the full cargoes An experiment, so far successful, which she gets both ways, and from the has lately been tried, which promises short time she is delayed in the few very important results. Fleets of steel ports where she gets her full cargoes. barges, of a size that will go through These conditions would be reversed if the present Erie Canal, and made she went 350 miles through a canaL strong enough to be towed on the lake, She could not move fast. She would are running between Cleveland and be detained by the many locks, and in New York. There has been no diffi- order to get cargoes she would have culty in getting insurance upon them. to make more stops, and be detained The great trouble now is want of depth longer in port. of water, and when the Erie Canal It can be demonstrated by figures has been deepened to nine feet, and its that large vessels in a ship-canal, even few remaining short locks have been if free of tolls, cannot compete with doubled in length, the size and strength fleets of barges also running without of such barges can be increased and transshipment. Before this is shown, their decks can be made like those of it will be well to examine the general whale-back boats, so that it will be pos- questions of the best water-route from sible to get insurance over the whole the lakes to the ocean. length of the lakes from Buffalo to Chi- The first proposition is that New cago and Duluth. York is the only economical terminal The present cost of transportation of port. The experience of the Canadian a bushel of wheat from Chicago to New canals shows this. They were begun York is about four and three-quarter about the same time as the Erie Canal cents. This includes the cost of ele- and have been gradually enlarged until vating grain from steamers at Buffalo, they can pass vessels of four times the spouting it into canal boats, and trimming cargo. This amounts to over a cent a bush- el, or more than one - fifth of the whole cost of car- rying it 1,363 miles. To save this heavy tax upon com- merce, there has been a loud cry for ship-canals, which would enable steamers to go from the upper lakes to New York, without breaking bulk, and Chief Engineer, which made the Trip from Rome to Utica, do away with the The First American Canal-boat The October 22, 1819. cost of transship- (Built at Rome from a deoige by Canvass White, and named in honor of Benjamin Wright, the ment. chief engiheer of the Erie Canal.) WATER-WAYS FROM THE OCEAN TO THE LAKES 109 capacity that can go through the Erie. port, and New York is a better market The distance from Chicago to New than Montreal. York by the Erie Canal and the lakes The second proposition has been well is 1,363 miles, of which 350 miles is expressed by Mr. Cooley, the engineer artificial navigation. The distance from of the Chicago drainage canal that Chicago to Montreal is 1,273 miles, of the line of export must follow the line which but seventy is artificial naviga- of domestic transportation. That is tion. Owing to these advantages grain to say, that in order to carry grain at was carried from Chicago to Montreal least cost from the lakes to the ocean, in 1893, for an average rate per bushel it is necessary to follow a route that of 5~ cents, while the average rate from will give as large cargoes as possible. Chicago to New York by lakes and canal, Hence the route must pass through during the same year, was 6~ cents per Lake Erie, and by the rich and growing bushel, and a~ we have shown the all- cities of Detroit, Cleveland, and Buffalo, rail charge was 14~ cents. and those along the Erie CanaL Notwithstanding the higher cost of This rules out the Canadian routes, the New York route, the tonnage of the such as the Toronto and Georgian Bay, Erie Canal in 1893 was 4,275,662 tons, and the Ottawa canals, and also the and of the three New York trunk lines proposed conversion of the Champlain of railway over forty-five millions of Canal to a ship-canal. Whatever merit tons, while the tonnage of the Canadian they may have from an engineering Welland Canal was only 1,294,823 tons, standpoint is entirely overbalanced by of which but 663,156 tons went to Mon- the fact that they run through a dis- treal, while the rest crossed Lake On- trict which can furnish but very little tario and went to New York. freight in either direction. The reason why so much more freight We have said that fleets of barges, goes to and from New York rather than able to run on the lakes and the canal, by the cheaper route to and from Mon- without transshipment, can beat large treal, is because the great part is in- lake steamers on a ship-canal, and it can tended for domestic use and not for ex- be proved by figures. The yearly cx- A View of the Erie Canal at West Tiny. 110 WATER-WAYS FROM THE OCEAN TO THE LAKES penses of one of the largest class of lake steamers, including interest at tell per cent. on the cost of the ship, is about one hundred and twenty thou- sand dollars. Running at a speed of 13 miles an hour in the lakes, and at 7 miles an hour through a ship - canal in the State of New York, and al- lowing for detention at locks and 13 days in port, she could make her round trip between Chicago and New York and return in 26 days, or 8 trips per season. One - eighth of $120,000 is $15,000, and we will assume that half of it is earned by carrying grain East, and half from miscellaneous freight go- ing West. Her full capacity at 20 feet draft would be 7,000 tons, or 233,500 bushels of grain, and the rate would have to be 3~ cents per bushel to earn $7,500. The lake ports would have to be deepened to 21 feet, and the canal would have to be at least 25 feet deep to allow her to move 7 miles an hour. The cost of such a ship-canal would not be less than two hundred millions of dollars. If the Erie Canal were deepened to 9 feet, and its few remaining short locks doubled in length, a fleet of four steel barges, 180 feet long, i7~ feet wide, and loaded to 7~ feet draft, could carry 80,000 bushels of grain. They could move 6 miles an hour on the lakes and on the Hudson River, and 4 miles an hour on the canals. and adding the time of detention at locks and 13 days in port, they could make their round trip from Chicago to New York and back in 36 days, or 6 trips per season. The yearly expenses would be $24,000, also including inter- est on the cost of the fleet, or $4,000 per trip. To earn half of that, or $2,000, from her cargo of grain, her rate would be 2~ cents per bushel, or nearly three-fourths of a cent less than by ship-canal. The total cost of deepening the Erie and Oswego Canals to 9 feet, and the Champlain to 7, is estimated at $9,- 000,000. If these calculations are true and their correctness depends only upon whether insurance can be got upon barges that can run on canal and lakesthey lead to some very far-reach- ing results. First: It is not necessary to expend two hundred millions or more to build a ship-canal along the line of the Erie Canal. It would be wise to build a ship-canal around Niagara Falls on our own territory, to allow lake vessels to reach the Lake Ontario ports, from which freight could be transshipped by canal and rail. The cost of this has been estimated, from careful surveys of the United States Engineers, at from twenty-five to thirty millious, according to depth. Second: Chicago would gain every- thing she wants if her drainage canal was only ten or twelve feet deep. Barges could then go to New Orleans without spending great sums in trying to deepen the Mississippi beyond ten or twelve feet. They could go to New York, with only the small cost of deep- ening the Erie Canal. Third: It would be possible to build A Typical Lake Freight Steamer. A VIEW OF THE ERIE CANAL, NEAR WEST TROY, SHOWING THE MODERN STEEL BARGES. 112 WATER-WAYS FROM THE OCEAN TO THE LAKES a barge canal of these dimensions from Lake Erie to the Ohio, while a ship- canal is visionary. There are other places where similar canals could be built, such as along our Atlantic coast. It should be observed that all these fore committing ourselves to the Isth- mian or any other ship-canal scheme to look back and see what has been the past history of ship-canals. The estimated cost of the Suez Canal was $40,000,000. Its cost when opened for traffic was $92,000,000, and nearly forty millions more have been spent since in widening and deepening it. Not only was the cost of the engineer- ing works proper largely exceeded, but items not thought ofsuch as admin- istration, surveys, telegraphs, sanitary service, transport service, etc.amount A~L internal water-ways will do our railway system no harm. Anything that vastly increases commerce during seven or eight months of the year, must be ad- vantageous to railroads who can mo- nopolize it during the rest of the year. We have considered the question of domestic canals only, as the amount of exports, now not exceeding one-fifth of the whole amount transported, would not justify the cost of a ship-canal to give unbroken navigation from the lakes to the ocean. When the time comes that such a canal must be built, there is but one place where it can be built for any reasonable expenditure, and that is along the St. Lawrence River from Montreal to Lake Ontario, that lake being connected with Erie by a ship- canal around Niagara Falls. We shall then have to face the difficulties of its running through a foreign country as best we can. If the United States Government now had millions of surplus revenue, such as she once had, and which we hope she will have again at no late date, it would not be a great extravagance to build the canals we have described, and the canal at Nicaragua also. But in the present condition, it would be well be- Diagram Showing the Method of Towing by Electricity. Drawn/ram pliotograplis. ed to forty per cent. of the original es- timates, or $26,000,000. It pays so well that these mistakes have been for- gotten, and the Semitic shrewdness of Beaconsfield, in acquiring the Khedives shares for England, has been fully justi- fied. The insufficient estimates of the Siiez Canal did not warn the enthusiastic De Lesseps when he provided capital for his Panama Canal. His engineer- ing commission estimated its cost at $153,400,000, which he cut down to $128,000,000, at the meeting of the American Society of Civil Engineers in 1879, saying, in his airy way, that he was a diplomate and not an engineer. We all have heard of the melancholy result. After eight years of work, one hundred and seventy-eight millions of dollars had been spent, to raise which three hundred and fifty millions of capitalization and obligations had been incurred. The difficult part of the work, the great Culebra cutting, had only been scratchedand nothing done toward controlling the Chagres River while the money had nearly all been spent. The younger Dc Lesseps and others were fined and imprisoned, and the old man, bankrupt in fame and fortune, was spared the humiliation of WATEA~-WAYS FPOM THE OCEAN TO THE LAKES 113 further punishment only on account of his great age and past services. Englishmen are considered more practical than the French and less like- ly to be led away by sentiment, and Manchester men are not less shrewd than other Englishmen. They started to build a ship-canal to turn Manches- ter into a seaport. It was but twenty- seven miles long and had only four locks. The estimated cost, including the purchase of the existing Bridgewater Canal, was fifty million dollars, and the cost when opened for traffic was seventy- seven millions. This vast increase is stated to have been due chiefly to items which were unexpected and Un- provided for. The canal is not finished yet and the city of Manchester, which has provided the greater part of the capital, will have to provide the rest. With three such portentous warnings before the financial world, it is not strange that capital declines to invest in any more ship-canals, but calls upon Uncle Sam to put his hand in his pocket and build them for general ben- efit as a military necessity or any other reason that may seem to justify the expenditure. As to the Nicaragua Canal, it would certainly be gratifying to national pride to have Americans succeed where the French have made such a disas- trous failure. Without discussing the questions of commercial or military ne- cessity three things are worth consider- ing: First That if the United States builds this canal, they should own the territory through which it passes, by purchase outright from Nicaragua. Perhaps here is a use for some of the silver that is hoarded in our treasury. Second: That there should be no un- derestimating the cost. All the vari- ous contingent items, so foolishly over- looked in the instances quoted, should be liberally provided for. Lastly: The United States should make it a free canal, with no tolls ex- cept sufficient for maintenance, and open to all nations both in peace and in war. This should be her gift to the world. Looked at in this generous way, we need not consider the question of the number of vessels that would pass through it, or the tolls that they could pay. We do say that the amount of commerce that passes the Suez Canal, and would pass the Nicaragua Canal, is insignificant in proportion to the do- mestic commerce of the lakes. The amount of freight passing through the Detroit River last year is more than double that which would pass both Jsthmian canals, and it is in- creasing much faster than that would do. The wealth of the Orient appeals to the imagination; but the more prosaic products of our own landthe grain, the lumber, the ores, the coal, and the myriads of manufactured articles which float down the Great Lakes, and through the rich valleys of central New York, * far exceed in importance and in value The wealth of Ormus and of md, Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold. * The writer believes that the recent vote of the people of New York to deepen the canals is nearly as important a decision as the original vote to construct them. VOL XIX.15 ~\l ~\., ( 1 ~ /1~ By Andrew Lang [The author (if he can be so styled) awoke from a restless sleep, with the first stanza of the following piece in his mind. He has no memory of composing it, either awake or asleep. He has long known the perhaps Pythagorean fable of the beau-juice, but certainly never thought of applying it to an amorous correspondence The remaining verses are the contribution of his Conscious Self ELLE Ii CANNOT write, I may not write, I dare not write to thee, But look on the face of the moon by night, And my letters shalt thou see. For every letter that lovers write, By their lovers on the moon is seen, If they pen their thought on the paper white, With the magic juice of the bean! LUI Oh, I had written this many a year, And my letters you had read. Had you only told me the spell, my dear, Ere ever we twain were wed! But I have a lady, and you have a lord, And their eyes are of the green, And we dared not trust to the written word, Lest our long, long love be seen! ELLE Oh, every thought that your heart has thought, Since the world came us between, The birds of the air to my heart have brought, With no word heard or seen. Twas thus in a dream we spoke and said Jllyself and my love unseen, But I woke and sighed on my weary bed, For the spell of the juice of the bean! LOVES CRYPTOGRAM

Andrew Lang Lang, Andrew Love's Cryptogram 114-115

By Andrew Lang [The author (if he can be so styled) awoke from a restless sleep, with the first stanza of the following piece in his mind. He has no memory of composing it, either awake or asleep. He has long known the perhaps Pythagorean fable of the beau-juice, but certainly never thought of applying it to an amorous correspondence The remaining verses are the contribution of his Conscious Self ELLE Ii CANNOT write, I may not write, I dare not write to thee, But look on the face of the moon by night, And my letters shalt thou see. For every letter that lovers write, By their lovers on the moon is seen, If they pen their thought on the paper white, With the magic juice of the bean! LUI Oh, I had written this many a year, And my letters you had read. Had you only told me the spell, my dear, Ere ever we twain were wed! But I have a lady, and you have a lord, And their eyes are of the green, And we dared not trust to the written word, Lest our long, long love be seen! ELLE Oh, every thought that your heart has thought, Since the world came us between, The birds of the air to my heart have brought, With no word heard or seen. Twas thus in a dream we spoke and said Jllyself and my love unseen, But I woke and sighed on my weary bed, For the spell of the juice of the bean! LOVES CRYPTOGRAM SEPTEMBER i~, i894~ON THE N. P. R. By John Heard the thirty-one long days of August not a drop of rain had fallen. The vast pine- forest and the inns- keg swamps that sur- rounded them w e r e dry as tinder. The little rock - rimmed lakes had shrunk under the fierce heat, so that the wa- ter arteries that bound them together, now trickled feebly where a month since they rushed in glittering, titter- ing streams. Here and there a white, heavy cloud hung in strong relief from the blue Wedgwood sky; but not a drop of water fell to earth. The whole country was crackling in the dry, torrid heat that caused the air to quiver lazily through the long hours of the day, and to close in like a hot pall at night-time. Even the great bowiders of gneissoid granite seemed to crack and peel under the sting of the relentless sun. September brought no relief. Not a shower fell, not a drop of rain. But, instead, September brought the heavy, yellow haze and the pungent smell of distant forest fires; and to all the in- habitants of Notmans Junction it brought also a physical nervousness, akin to pain, that intensified the men- tal nervousness of the community. The brooks had ceased to babble, and the wells were drying up, but the frightened imaginations babbled on tin- conscious of their cruel work, and the anxious watchers gazed in vain into the well of truth, for they saw therein no reflection of present or future relief. In spite of the dun-colored curtain that hung across the sun the heat had not abated, and the mercury kept its level above three figures. The arrival of the vice-president of the road, in his special train, had caused a momentary excitement in camp, and certainly thrust an unusual amount of work on the operator who, on this well- remembered thirteenth of September, his arm half numb from incessant tick- ing, dozed contentedly before the of- fice table, yet withal, listening mechani- cally to the uninterrupted cricketing of his instrument. Suddenly he gave a start, sat up and jotted down on a regu- lation blank: Send help at once. We are sur- rounded by fire. Be on us four hours latest. Wind hard this way. Pass it along. PERDITAYILLE. Hopkins dared not leave the room, so he yelled for the chief, and flung a paper-weight against the door of the private office to startle him up more quickly. For a moment the old man stroked his beard, perplexed, and looked at the yellow strip of paper first through his glasses, then holding it a little farther away and bending his head, above them. Hopkins watched him, wondering, until he laid the paper down and said, with sudden energy:

John Heard Heard, John September 13, 1894 - On The N.P.R. 115-121

SEPTEMBER i~, i894~ON THE N. P. R. By John Heard the thirty-one long days of August not a drop of rain had fallen. The vast pine- forest and the inns- keg swamps that sur- rounded them w e r e dry as tinder. The little rock - rimmed lakes had shrunk under the fierce heat, so that the wa- ter arteries that bound them together, now trickled feebly where a month since they rushed in glittering, titter- ing streams. Here and there a white, heavy cloud hung in strong relief from the blue Wedgwood sky; but not a drop of water fell to earth. The whole country was crackling in the dry, torrid heat that caused the air to quiver lazily through the long hours of the day, and to close in like a hot pall at night-time. Even the great bowiders of gneissoid granite seemed to crack and peel under the sting of the relentless sun. September brought no relief. Not a shower fell, not a drop of rain. But, instead, September brought the heavy, yellow haze and the pungent smell of distant forest fires; and to all the in- habitants of Notmans Junction it brought also a physical nervousness, akin to pain, that intensified the men- tal nervousness of the community. The brooks had ceased to babble, and the wells were drying up, but the frightened imaginations babbled on tin- conscious of their cruel work, and the anxious watchers gazed in vain into the well of truth, for they saw therein no reflection of present or future relief. In spite of the dun-colored curtain that hung across the sun the heat had not abated, and the mercury kept its level above three figures. The arrival of the vice-president of the road, in his special train, had caused a momentary excitement in camp, and certainly thrust an unusual amount of work on the operator who, on this well- remembered thirteenth of September, his arm half numb from incessant tick- ing, dozed contentedly before the of- fice table, yet withal, listening mechani- cally to the uninterrupted cricketing of his instrument. Suddenly he gave a start, sat up and jotted down on a regu- lation blank: Send help at once. We are sur- rounded by fire. Be on us four hours latest. Wind hard this way. Pass it along. PERDITAYILLE. Hopkins dared not leave the room, so he yelled for the chief, and flung a paper-weight against the door of the private office to startle him up more quickly. For a moment the old man stroked his beard, perplexed, and looked at the yellow strip of paper first through his glasses, then holding it a little farther away and bending his head, above them. Hopkins watched him, wondering, until he laid the paper down and said, with sudden energy: 116 SEP TEMBEP i~, 1894ON THE N. P. R. Order the special! What! the vice-presidents? Yes, d it! The vice-presidents. Theres no other engine here that can do it. Call up his crew and send for Charley Hampton. You aint a-goin to give him the job? Why the mans drunk twenty- three hours out of twenty-four. Mebbe he is, and mebbe again he isnt, the chief answered, shortly. All the same hes the only man I know thats got the nerve to put it through, and, drunk or sober, hes a good driver. Now brace up, man, and hustle; this aint no time for talking. Stop! whats that? The instrument clicked out again. Send helphelpthe fire is swoop- ing down on us. In answer the station-master dictated rapidly: 0. K Special leaves right off. Can ma/ce it in two-thirty; stop wiring. For a few minutes the dismal little yard was galvanized into life; the train crew were at work shunting the special, pulling down the blinds, fastening the door, and filling bucket after bucket, which they stored in the rear car, for all the tanks were fulL A half dozen shop hands were wiping and oiling the engine, like grooms curry-combing a race-horse. The platform was crowded with lounging, lazy men, startled for a moment out of their habitual laziness and suddenly eager to help, forhow? who shall tell ?the news had spread through the village. Both the station- master and the operator could con- scientiously have sworn that they had notto the best of their knowledge spoken a single word that might sug- gest the destination of the train they were making up, and yet the whole male population of the village was gathered before the little brown building, talk- ing, smoking, chewing, spitting and speculating as to the result of the vent- ure; and bets were manyhingeing as in a horse - race, largely upon the jockeyor, in this case, on the driver. When Hampton reached the office the chief looked up at the fine, clean-cut face of the giant before him and said, sharply: Charley, are you drunk or sober? Half and half, sir, the man an- swered, smiling. What for? Well, Charley, its just this. Per- ditaville has wired for help; the whole country is a-fire, and I want you to take the special in. Its three thousand lives to save andand . . . perhaps yours to pay. Will you go? Its got to be right off. Youve got to get there; well attend to the rest. A sudden light came into the mans blue eyes as he straightened himself, conscious of his power~ and ennobled suddenly by the thought of having a thing to do. Im there, he said, shortly, and Ill take my boy Joe to fire. Give me five minutes, sir; time to get the boy, and kiss the old woman; and, he added, pausing in the doorway, wire the track clear, for I guess well have to rustle. And so fifteen minutes after the first call for help had flashed over the wire, the Special Belief pulled out; in the cab, Hampton and his boy Joe; in the rear car, the regular train gang; every shutter closed, every door protected. On the station-platform the operator and the old chief stood side by side, looking down the endless, converging lines of the track until the train disap- peared behind a curve far away. Both were wondering whether they should ever see that crew again; but neither spoke, and, silently, they strolled back into the quiet little office. The whole thing had been done so quickly that it hardly seemed real, and yet these two men, humble employees of a great cor- poration, had, without permission, as- sumed a great responsibility. More than a hundred thousand dollars worth of rolling stock and eight human lives besides their own positions to lose against three thousand lives to save. It was a fine wager and a noble one, and it is on record that when Charley Hampton climbed into his cab he called back in his cynical way to a friend on the platform who was entreating him not to go: Whoo! Johnny, its just a stand-off atween the Lord amighty and m~. Ef I win, Ive yanked a heap of white folk outen the fire. Ef I lose SEPTEMBER i~, 1894ON THE N. P. 1?. 117 wal, they gotten to go, toobut it wouldnt be fairnless for some reason whats byond my understanding, and any way it 11 stand for me in the long account. So Im going to make a break for it, and jest dont you worry! A few minutes later the Vice-presi- dent flung himself into the office, bawl- ing: Wheres my train? Wheres my engine? you! Ill ship ev ery man in this God-forsaken hole, if thats the way you attend to business! Whos the station - master? You? Well, what have you got to say for yourself? The old chief picked up the dispatch calling for help, and handed it to him. We had no other engine that could do the work, he answered, quietly; there was three thousand lives at stake, sir, and so I sent her out. The vice-president fairly choked with rage. So yousentherout! he yelled. Here, you there ! he add- ed, turning to the operator; Sit down and wire to to Where is she now ?about Coneys ranch, eh? Well, wire to the next station above Coneys to stop the special and fire her back. Come, my man, hurry! Whats the matter with you? Hopkins took off his hat, slowly, laid it on the table; and his voice quavered a little as he answered, after a pause, and shaking his head, I cant do it, sir The chief walked over, and clapped the young man on the shoulder. Shake, Johnny, he said, nodding ap- provingly, and with a pleased. smile. Then he turned to the vice-president, and went on: Its all right for me, Mr. Smith; for though I have got six, we can take care of ourselves; but this boy hasnt much laid by, and hes expecting a baby this very week. I guess you could fix it sos to keep him on. It was me did the whole business, and it would seem kind of fair to have me foot the bill alone. But the vice-president was beside himself with rage, and argument could not move him; without a word he mo- tioned the two men aside, and sat down before the table. He was a rough, self- made man who had risen from the ranks, and could handle the ticker against most operators on the line. For a moment he glanced over the time - table and made a cross with his thumb - nail against the station to which he meant to wire, but, lbcforQ he could begin his message, the instrument spelled out HELP, and was dumb. The only wire west was down, and the curious co- incidence struck the railroad king more forcibly than the ablest logical state- ment. He was a man whom success had rarely if ever betrayed ; utterly lacking in sentiment; shrewd, hard, unyielding, dogged in purpose, full of resource, ever undismayed, and an in- defatigable worker, he had rarely been thwarted, not often checked, never de- cisively balked in his designs for more than a short spell. And here, suddenly, unexpectedly, he found himself check- mated, in a dismal little lumber-camp in the wilderness of pines. It was a new sensation and, to do the man jus- tice, he grasped the situation and sub- mitted to it without resentment. What was less comprehensible to him was this factthat two of his men, his own men, had bearded him in one of his dens when they had nothing to gain and a great deal to lose, and had succeeded in their bold attempt! For two or three minutes he paced the room quick- ly, nervously clutching his fingers be- hind his back. It was the first time in his life of upward struggle and success that he experienced the benumbing sensation of absolute helplessness, and, vaguely there dawned upon him the possibility, nay the consciousness, of the existence of a power beyond the control of human energy. However, he was not a man to remain long thwart- ed. He had lost his battle, but there yet remained enough time to retrieve his defeat, and a new plan of action flashed through his brain, complete in all its details. For a half hour he dic- tated message upon message to Hop- kins, mostly addressed to the General Manager in Chicago. All traffic was suspended in the fire district; all pri- vate messages suppressed until further orders. Relief trains loaded with pro- visions and water were ordered out from various Western points. Look- outs, signals, sidingseverything was detailed with a promptness and preci 118 SEPTEMBER 13, 1894ON THE N. P. R. sion that fairly astonished the two men in the office and obliged them to ac- knowledge that the vice-president knew his road even better than they knew their section of it; so that, when he had dictated his last sentence personal ex- pense, G. H. Smith, V. P., they looked up at him with a feeling akin to awe. Well, boys, he said, tipping his tall white hat back. Lucky Smith aint the man to forget that he was checkmated by two little employees on his own road. If we pull them people out of the fire you are not the sort of lumber to rot in a jumping-off place like Notmans; youve taught me a les- son and I owe you something for it. As for you youngster, youve got more grit than you know; it takes grit to run against me, and you didnt flinch worth a cent. When that child of yours comes I want to stand godfather and that means thatwell, yon neednt worry about it. Now, he continued, turning to the station master, this is the way Ive figured it. My train will take all the women, children, and a lot beside, run down beyond the big wash at Comptons, unload, and make back for Perditaville with as many fiat cars and engines as they can manage. We have a lot there for the grading of the new branch. There wont be much time to spare, but we cant help that. If I had wired them to go in ahead of the special they would probably not have been ready and have blocked the road. I think it ought to work; for, once they are beyond the wash, theyll have plenty of time before them. But what have you got on hand for me? Forty-four drivers? Wellshell have to do; any coaches? Only an old smoker, sir. Pull them out then. Keep the track clearIll wire as I go. Now get a crew together while I hunt up my people. Slong! TI HAMPTON had started rather slowly. He was feeling his new toy, and he smiled with pleasure as he watched the hnge iron monster, docile as a piece of wax in his skilled hands. For forty miles the road was clear, and in the last car the other engineer, watch in hand, figured out the speed by the bumps of the rail jointstwenty thirtyfortyfiftyfifty-five. The trainmen had discovered some dice, and in spite of the swaying were play- ing for pennies in the half - lighted rear end of the car, or stumbling about ex- amining the gorgeous fittings of their vice-presidents travelling palace. The other four cars were empty and closed, save for the end doors. Over the new, unsettled roadbed the train swayed fearfully, but, beyond an occasional jump or jar, the travelling was not unusual for railroad hands, though, probably, much faster than the local iron had ever known. So the first hour passed without in- cident or excitement. Ahead a thick haze as heavy as a fog clung to the horizon; the acrid smell of the smoke of burning green wood, saturated with pyroligneous acid, began to grip the throat and, suddenly, they reached the brul~. Instinctively the boy Joe pulled a flask from his pocket and loosened the cork, but Hampton snatched it from him and flung it out. Water on this trip, boy, he said, curtly. The fires yonder and well be into it soon; keep cooL Gradually the desolate, blackened landscape began to smoke, and here and there a dull glow in the under- brush or a pennant of flame from the top of a hollow tree warned them that their real work was near at hand. Lit- tle eddies of spark - sprinkled smoke whirled about them at intervals and the sparks stunga short, sharp, hot sting. Hampton had been astonished and rather taken aback when his boy had pulled out his flask at the sight of the fire; for, though he himself was accounted a drunkardnot altogether wrongly he only drank when there was no real work to do, just as he al- ways lied when it was merely a ques- tion of killing time, yet was incapable of telling a falsehood where it rnighf mean anything more serious than a rough jokeno uncommon type in our West. As they approached the danger- belt he looked the boy over out of the corner of his eye and shook his head; SEPTEMBER 13, 1894ON THE N. P. 1?. 119 not that Joe showed any fear or bun- gled over his work, but he was more excited than he should have been, and this was not right, according to Hamp- tons views; for he held that the most unsteady nerves grow quiet when the fight begins and the real stuff is there. So without further explanation he yelled above the din of the rushing train, Fire up a bit hotter, Joe, and take the manhole off the tank. How much? The boy held up the stick and Hamp- ton nodded back. Itll do! There was a level stretch of several miles be- fore them and for a few minutes he felt at ease, but he knew that this was the last respite and, without hurry he prepared himself for the wrestle with the fire-fiend. There were no prayers, for it was more than forty years since he had kneeled down; but, as he wetted his jumper and tied the sleeves over his head he was conscious of a deeper feel- ing than he had known since his child- hood. No more fearless man had ever grappled with a deadly peril, and in that momentary deeper feeling there was nothing of dread, only a certain gather- ing up of himself for a supreme effort that might be his last. At this moment not one of the vices that stigmatized his ordinary life had the slightest hold upon him, nor could it have offered the most remote temptation. He called the boy and arranged a simple code of signals between them. Then he added, Joe, well be in it iu a few minutes, so you get back into the tank, and, when Im afire, souse me down. You aint got the sand to stand here, and its best that-a-way. When I shake my left hand jump out and fire for all youre worth . . . and keep your cap wet. In the rear car the engineer had counted up to sixty-five and shook his head as h& put his watch back. Here, boys, he cried out in his high-pitched nasal voice, quit your playing and hang on. Were getting to it now and that hell-fired cuss in the cab is driving. Theres no dead bones in him . yet. So the men gathered about their chief and braced themselves in their seats. The speed over the rough track had become appalling even for trained hands, and the car slammed and banged and rocked with a fierce uneasiness that silenced them. For they had struck the fire-strip and were running the death-race. Alone in the cab, his bright, clear, dilated eyes fixed on the shining track ahead Hamp- ton held his lever, proud for the first time in his life of having met a foe worth fighting. Around him right and left and before and behind the raging, tumultuous sea of fire seethed and writhed, flared up in gigantic tides of flame that surged npward and fell back again smothered in smoke amid a hurricane of sounds that no human pen can describe. It bellowed, and shrieked, and howled, and moaned, it whistled, and thundered, and crashed, and wailed; the glass panes were shat- tered and here and there a shutter crashed in; the day became night and that night again a lurid day, for the fiery hail rained down in continuous sheets and the huge, tattered banners of red and black leaped from hill to hill across the track across the ditches, and brooks, and rivers, in their mad onslaught, smothering the rushing train in a wild impotent spasm of anger. Then, for a moment, lulled into seeming indifference, the red sea parted and the black moving monster thing that repre- sented the salvation of so much human life sped on unharmed. But for a mo- ment. For with a roar the fire-fiend asserted himself once more. Great trunks fell across the carriage - tops crashing into the roofs and shattering the lamps and windows. At intervals, more and more frequent, the rails had spread, but the speed was so tremendous that the train dashed through like a solid bolt and the tree-trunks on the track were swept away like straws. Alone in the cab Hampton guided his gasping, snorting, galloping machine. From time to time the boy in the tender behind threw a bucket of water at him, and he shivered slightly as the cold struck down with a sizzle of extin- guished sparks. From time to time, as his father signalled to him, Joe sprang out and fired feverishly, furiously, for a half minute, then rushed back to his refuge in the tank, for the heat was 120 SEPTEMBER ~ 1894ON THE N. P. N. fearfuL Into the chaos of fire the en- gine vomited its stream of reddish colored smoke and steam, and the rum- bling of the rolling wheels vied with the scattering, low-toned thunder of the fire-flood. Even in the rear car the~ men had ceased to talk, for each felt a tightening string strung just above his eyebrows, and unconsciously glanced about him, slowly awaiting some unfore- seen emergency that might call for sud- den action. Through Snellings, through White Fish Lake, they smashed as no other train had ever run beforeand beyond White Fish lay the most dangerous ground. For a mile or two Hampton slowed up and the boy stoked and fired with a drunken energy. Instinctively he had understood that this was the pause before the last dash into eternity orimmortality. Behind them the cars were on fire here and there and the train crew were doing firemens duty as well as the swaying allowed them. Then, the ninety-foot trestle half a mile long and badly curved; Hampton looked out, and be]ow in the black gap between the roaring furnaces he saw the climbing bluish flames licking the long legs of timber. For a brief moment he half closed his eyes, beckoned to the boy to lie low, and, throwing off the jacket that was tied about his head, he pulled the lever back as far as it would go. In the rear car the engineer stood up and braced him self between the seats. Boys, he said, somewhat solemnly, were killing ninety miles an hour, and the chief was right; there wasnt another man on the road that had the nerve to do it. I couldnt. That fel- low in the cab is a daisy! Look out now! For a half minute every man held his breath. The rocking and swinging had become intolerable, and the hollow, more sonorous rumbling of the wheels told them that they were no longer on solid ground. Seven, eight minutes, the express pounded on and gradually slowed down to a fifty-mile gait. The men had nothing to say to each other, or rather they had much to say, but did not know how to say it. Every man there knew that his life had been played heads or tails, and that heads had turned up. Through the chinks of the shutters they could see the bright light outside; and then, suddenly, it went out. The race was run, the fight was won. Alone in the cab, Hampton guided his monster machine. But the strain had been too great and he needed help; rather than call for it he would have died as he stood; but half-consciously he turned, and the boy, understanding, sprung out from his refuge and, after flinging a few shovelfuls on to the mut- tering white-hot coals, he closed his arms around his father and held him. Blood was telling, and they should stand or fall together, but game to the end. A few miles more to go before God gave His decision, and then the low red-brown station buildings and the crowded platforms came into sight in the forest clearing. The whistle bel- lowed three times in rising inflections, the brakes rubbed and pounded the hot tires, and the fire express pulled up before the office. On the floor of the cab the boy lay unconscious, and the giant driver, rigid at his lever, stark, staring mad, was yelling: Glory! glory, hallelujah! For Charleys going home! But the next day through the broad United States many a mans heart beat high when he unfolded his paper and read how a brave man and a brave boy had taken that train through the for- est furnace and saved three thousand human lives. THE POINT OF VIEW all, to say nowadays that a contemporary civil- ized man is free from ha- tred, envy, malice, and un- charitableness is only a faint and negative sort of praise. Charity is not quite a common virtue yet, for we still sit up and carp at one another a good deal, especially when we have indigestion, though our censure of one anothers short- From envy, comings is commonly neither bitter hatred, and nor harsh. But hatred and malice malice. seem to have been Christianized out of the common run of us. We dont hate. It makes us uncomfortable. We op- pose one another often enough, but that arises out of a conflict of purposes, not from malice. It is rather competition and part of the strug- gle for our share of the loaves and fishes than a true hostility. I know of a rising and some- what pugnacious young lawyer, with a turn for politics, who has been heard to say some- what darkly that he has enemies. His ac- quain~ances laugh at him, so foreign it is to our common experience that anyone out of the story-books should want to harm another person merely for the sake of harming him. The enemies we recognize and fight are in ourselvessloth, vanity, thriftlessness, and all that crew of intimate opponents that strive to keep us hack and balk our efforts. Even jealousy is rarer than it used to be, and one has to look pretty sharply to find a case of it sufficiently pronounced to make a useful showing in a stage play. And as for envy how is it about that? We want the earth, but we dont want the earth that someone else possesses. We want another for ourselves. We are ambitious, no doubt, and perhaps ~reedy. We may want a good French cook, and due carriages and horses, and the luxu ries of life, because we take comfort with those pleasant superfluities; but I believe it rarely occurs to the normal American who has enough to eat and drink, and can keep dry and warm, to envy another who has more luxuries than himself. Differences in estate and manner of living contribute so much to make life interesting that the majority of us would far rather take our chances in an un- equal division of all that is worth having than have the distribution more nearly just. If one is hungry or cold or ill clad, and cannot find the necessaries of life for his children, his philosophy is apt to be upset, and envy, or something akin to it, may become some- thing like a virtue; but when one is fairly comfortable, to be envious is such a great piece of folly that it gets little encouragement to exist. Not long ago we had in New York a wedding on such a scale of magnificence that it excited very nearly as much popular interest and attention as the election which had happened to come on the day before. There was an astonishing display of wealth, and it seemed a proper enough occasion for envy to be rife and rampant, if envy is a prev- alent fault. Perhaps envy was excited by that remarkable display, but at least it found very limited expression. There was a pro- digious amount of tattle, some criticism, many jokes, some commiseration, and a lot of elbowing to see the show, but no overt ap- pearance of envy. For my part I own that the processes and evolutions of our highly prosperous families during the height of their prosperity form a very engaging spectacle. One sees in the world so many traces of pros- perity that has gone by, the ribs of stranded hulks sticking up out of the sands, palaces empty and falling into decay, people who

The Point Of View The Point Of View 121-125

THE POINT OF VIEW all, to say nowadays that a contemporary civil- ized man is free from ha- tred, envy, malice, and un- charitableness is only a faint and negative sort of praise. Charity is not quite a common virtue yet, for we still sit up and carp at one another a good deal, especially when we have indigestion, though our censure of one anothers short- From envy, comings is commonly neither bitter hatred, and nor harsh. But hatred and malice malice. seem to have been Christianized out of the common run of us. We dont hate. It makes us uncomfortable. We op- pose one another often enough, but that arises out of a conflict of purposes, not from malice. It is rather competition and part of the strug- gle for our share of the loaves and fishes than a true hostility. I know of a rising and some- what pugnacious young lawyer, with a turn for politics, who has been heard to say some- what darkly that he has enemies. His ac- quain~ances laugh at him, so foreign it is to our common experience that anyone out of the story-books should want to harm another person merely for the sake of harming him. The enemies we recognize and fight are in ourselvessloth, vanity, thriftlessness, and all that crew of intimate opponents that strive to keep us hack and balk our efforts. Even jealousy is rarer than it used to be, and one has to look pretty sharply to find a case of it sufficiently pronounced to make a useful showing in a stage play. And as for envy how is it about that? We want the earth, but we dont want the earth that someone else possesses. We want another for ourselves. We are ambitious, no doubt, and perhaps ~reedy. We may want a good French cook, and due carriages and horses, and the luxu ries of life, because we take comfort with those pleasant superfluities; but I believe it rarely occurs to the normal American who has enough to eat and drink, and can keep dry and warm, to envy another who has more luxuries than himself. Differences in estate and manner of living contribute so much to make life interesting that the majority of us would far rather take our chances in an un- equal division of all that is worth having than have the distribution more nearly just. If one is hungry or cold or ill clad, and cannot find the necessaries of life for his children, his philosophy is apt to be upset, and envy, or something akin to it, may become some- thing like a virtue; but when one is fairly comfortable, to be envious is such a great piece of folly that it gets little encouragement to exist. Not long ago we had in New York a wedding on such a scale of magnificence that it excited very nearly as much popular interest and attention as the election which had happened to come on the day before. There was an astonishing display of wealth, and it seemed a proper enough occasion for envy to be rife and rampant, if envy is a prev- alent fault. Perhaps envy was excited by that remarkable display, but at least it found very limited expression. There was a pro- digious amount of tattle, some criticism, many jokes, some commiseration, and a lot of elbowing to see the show, but no overt ap- pearance of envy. For my part I own that the processes and evolutions of our highly prosperous families during the height of their prosperity form a very engaging spectacle. One sees in the world so many traces of pros- perity that has gone by, the ribs of stranded hulks sticking up out of the sands, palaces empty and falling into decay, people who 122 once had money and their descendants, ality, and whether it was important or not, that it is highly agreeable, from time to time, to watch people about whom one has no ma- terial regrets, who have had money and have it still in great abundance, who are not work- ing their way through untimely extravagance to ruin and repentance, but are simply making a conscientious endeavor to spend a decent proportion of their incomes. There are so many grand fountains in the world through which the waters no longer play that there is refreshment to the spirit in watching those where the water is still turned on, and spurts up vigorously and plentifully from a suffi- cient reservoir that keeps ever running over at the top. Tlis pleasure in looking on at the abundantly rich, while they manipulate their various apparatus, may not be a particularly elevated or praiseworthy sort of enjoyment, but at least it costs nothing and it carries no sting with it; nor does it in the least interfere in ones simple, personal, mathematical grati- fication in adapting more limited means to desirable ends and making the ends meet. It is a great deal better than envy, for that costs one his peace of mind. It is a great deal more prevalent than envy, too, and it speaks well for the common-sense of the common people that this should be true. THERE are two kinds of literature, and especially two kinds of verse. There is the kind that one wants some one else to read and tell him whether it is good or not; and there is the kind that one is willing to read himself and make personal appraisement of its merit. To writing of this latter sort belonged almost all of the voluminous output of Eugene Field. Field Eugene Field. was persistently incorrigibly, if one may dare to say ita news- paper man. Perhaps no one appreciates so well the quality of his deliverances as the little army of exchange editors in news- paper offices whose duty it is to glance through piles of newspapers, scissors in hand, and clip out the paragraphs that seem good to read, and the verses of merit enough to bear transplanting. Day after day in his col- umn in the Chicago Record Field kept saying something, and saying it with humor and animation. It was usually something with a local bearing; a skit, or a jibe, or a little story, but it was all touched with his person- and whether it was wise or not, it was almost always readable. Fields personality was very pleasant. He had an imperfect equip- ment of culture (though of that he had far more than many more pretentious men) and a very imperfect outfit of conformity. That pleasant information which he is said to have given in reply to ~t question of Mrs. Humphry Ward, When they caught me I was living in a tree, might almost have been credible, so very different was he in his habits and his estimates of things from the conventional man of letters of his day. He was closely tied to a newspaper through most of his working years, but somehow he seemed to manage to keep his spirit out of bondage. He would think anything he chose about anything that happened to interest him, and what he thought he would write down and print. He never undertook, so far as appears, to write to the taste of anyone but himself, or to express any opinions but his own. He wrote voluminously and quickly, as news- paper men must, and with little or no chance for revision; he was a great joker, too, and made game of all sorts of people and things with unterrified levity; yet he wrote very little that he ever had serious occasion to re- pent of, and the reason was that he expressed kimself, and that the self he expressed was full of good-nature, good-temper, and sincer- ity and loving-kindness. That was the great charm about Eugene Field. He was a real person, a real Western American, with a great deal of fun in him, a great deal of talent, and a sincere liking for his fellow-creatures. They say in Cambridge that one of the chief catises of the characteristic called Harvard indifference is the fear of giving ones self away, or doing or saying something not quite up to the prevalent standard. That sentiment seems never to have curbed Fields energies in a perceptible degree. Often enough he took his work seriously, but him- self never. He had, to be sure, the essentials of self-respect, but while he lived up to them he didnt trip over them and didnt stand still for fear he should. In his newspaper work he was always making fun of someone or fighting somebodydenouncing the inad- equacy of the Verkess Street railways, pok- ing fun at the Prairie Avenue aristocracy but there was no venom in him at all. All his life he kept a childs heart, and envy, malice, THE POINT OP VIEW THE POINT OF VIEW 123 hatred, and uncharitableness seemed to have know, for instance, where Henry Kingsley is no part in his nature. He even loved Chi- cago, and it is very much to Chicagos credit that it undoubtedly loved him. The man was in many ways more remark- able than his work. Yet some of his work was very good. All his verse has the quality already spoken of of being eminently readable, and some of it is admirably good poetry, charming in spirit and fancy and finished in style. His paraphrases of Horace, good as they are, have probably too much of the prairie air in them to become classics, but some of his poetry about childrenas Little Boy Blue~ and Wynken Blynken and Nod must go into any book of the poetry of childhood which includes all that is best. No doubt Eugene Field spent a vast amount of time and energy and talent in writing what was not worth while, but that was part of his daily task and brought its necessary recompense. He was a remark- able man and did some remarkable things, and got a great deal out of life. It is a sat- isfaction to think that his reward was not all deferred until he had gone to his rest. Do young men read Henry Kingsley nowadays? Or men of any age, in fact? And if not, why does not some one of our esssayists use his opportunity to call renewed attention to three or four of the best books of their kind in the langmige? For if Austin Elliot and Ravenshoe and Geoffrey Hamlyn do not Henry Kingsley. belong, with Tom Brown at Ox- ford and a few more, in the first rank of the expressions of young manhood, let us have an overhauling of the standards, and see what we have done to improve them so that these books no longer appeal to us. The publication of a new and excellent edi- tion of Henry Kingsleys works not long ago led me to hope they were to have a large re- newal of popularity, and perhaps this may have followed; certainly I think no man ever made his first acquaintance with them, at any time of life between eighteen and thirty, without handing them on to at least one other. Looked at as novels for any time of life, and as literature pure and simple, they are by no means to be talked of with patronage even by end-of-the-century critics. I do not greatly surpassed in one respectthe extraor- dinary vividness with which he sketches in the background of his action, especially in cities. The streets in which some event at the very crises of his story is taking place, bustle all the while with by-play and ordi- nary human action as they do in reality about all our crisissee for example the scene in South Audley Street where old Lord Daven- try catechizes the boot-black while Charles Ravenshoes fate is trembling in the balance; or that inimitable passage where Robin the dog runs into Gunters the pastry-cooks, while Eleanor and Austin Elliot are within a half-dozen steps of their reunion. The in- terest and joy in life is so great in the story- teller, that he must supply all its full vigor of accompaniment to his main narrative; and he does it with a vivacity that is unceasing, and a realism that differs from the false arti- cle of that name in reproducing the impres- sion that is made on the observer, instead of the things which he thinks ought to produce that impressionbut which do not. The de- scription of Lord Charles Bartys last day might serve better as an illustration of this distinction than many far better-known pas- sages in literature. But it is, I repeat, as the books par excel- lence of the young mans life that these three especially make their strongest appeal. - hardly know where, outside of two or three great masters, the healthy normal side of that life is better done. If the love - story of a man in the twenties were the whole of it, this would not be truethat is better told by it- self in an indefinite number of places; but the whole set of interests and ambitions is another thing. And especially the note of a thorough-going, healthy young friendship is struck by Kingsley with the rarest kind of truthmore successfully than almost any- where outside of Thackeray. I have been reading some schemes of lect- ures on recent literature by certain of the younger instructors in a leading university, in which the lists of authors and books showed a determination to send men to the best work of their own time, with a healthy disregard of tradition and of academics; and it was, on the whole, refreshing to see with what judg- ment and in what spirit exctirsions had been made outside the ranks of the acknowledged masters. But I did not find the name of 124 THE POINT OF VIEW Henry Kingsley among these gatherings-in of men who, if not of the first order or even of the second, ought to be pointed out among the makers of the real thingthe men who have written books to be read. If I had such a course in hand I would devote an hour to him, with considerable certainty that I was doing a xvise thing and should earn the grati- tude of many readers to whom his books are hardly names. IT is one of the whims of Fate that I shall study, rather desultorily and superficially, but pretty constantly, current discussion of economic questions, and Fate has had its way with me in this matter now for quite the average life-time of a generation. Perhaps it is because the study is not very fascinating and has never tempted me to become a spe- cialist in it, that I am often struck with the amusing side of the discussionwith the odd way in which the traits of human nature, too An empty familiar really to be well known, menace. show themselves and influence what is meant and believed to be impartial reasoning. That is not a new thing in the more speculative branches of at- tempted thinking, but it is more obvious and more entertaining when it occurs in a science supposed to deal with the realities in the most practical fashion. Ever since the Japanese folded up their fans, laid aside their silken wrappers, and emerging from the lovely and puzzling screen that had so long hidden them from the view of modern Europe, waged a brief, fierce con- quering campaign as brilliant and conclusive as that which closed at Sadowa, writers in English, and German, and French have been discoursing with great gravity on \vhat they agree in terming the industrial menace involved in this sudden appearance of a for- midable competitor with the great trading nations. I shall not try even to indicate their many arguments, I merely wish to remark the note of natve alarm that runs through all their predictions. It is precisely the note of the village shop-keeper at the appearance of a rival; precisely, too, the note of the child who complains that another child has set up another pin-show~ in the next courtyard. And this chorus of anxiety is just as sharp and querulous in free-trade England as in pro- beings. tective France, or in Germany, which is half- way between the extremes. Everywhere there is the feeling that here are forty millions of alert, ingenious, laborious, and, above all, wonderfully frugal and abstemious human beings, who, having shown that they can manage the most complex and difficult pro- cesses of modern civilizationthose of war on land and seawith skill, and energy, and foresight, will now enter the vast field of com- merce and industry, and may easily check, if they do not vanquish, the armies of the West now operating there. It does not seem to occur to these quiver- ing philosophers that what has happened sud- denly and on a great scale in Japan has been going on more or less regularly ever since the Phc~nicians crept along the shores of the Mediterranean, and that the present stage of development of the inter-communication of human interests is no more the final one than the isles of Britain were really the Ul- tima Thule. If the capacity, constantly in- creasing since the race began, of men and peo- ples to produce things that could be sold had not been accompanied by a corresponding in- crease in the capacity to use and in the need of buying, the human family would have re- mained, browsing or carnivorous, on the level of other animals. The wide and infinitely varied trade of the world, with its marvellous machinery and organization, is, after all, but barter, and the myriad currents that course through its intricate channels must finally accomplish that rhythmic and complete ex- change of s~ie and purchase, that endosmose and exosmose on which the life of the organ- ism depends. And since for so many cen- turies the organism has not only lived but grown, what occasion is there now to sup- pose that the laws of its being and progress are to be suspended? On the other hand, I suppose that this gen- eral shudder of timidity at the sudden appear- ance of novel conditions is but the reflex action of the eager desire for gain, the immortal greed, of human beings which has been the most effective motive power in the develop- ment of the race. It is not on that account the less amusingit is, indeed, rather more so, for it does not contradict that optimism. which is almost an essential condition of real enjoyment of the frailties of our fellow- THE FIELD OF ART CL.4UDE MONETART FOR ARTS SAKE MISS BESSIE POTTER S FIG U- RINES HIGH BUILDiNGS VERMEER DE DELET ~UDE MONET was born in Havre, and most of his life has been passed in painting the river and valley of the Seine. He knows that country well, by long explorations since his early boyhood, on foot or in canoe at all seasons of the year and all hours of the day. And what a noble total of work he has given the world, characterized from the first by an independence of vision and uncom- promising honesty, accompanied by an un- quenchable enthusiasm and love for his mo- tiLts. A winter evening, the sun going down a red globe, gilding cakes of floating ice; fog lifting, disclosing a media~val village with church and towers, fairy-like, wonderful; fields with ripening grain, bordered by gray- green trees; hill-sides with their patchwork divisions, or with fruit - trees, blossom - cov- ered ; little towns, their walls and houses re- flected in the water, while a long line of deep- laden barges passes slowly by; a river-side inn frequented by yachtsmen, a gay mixture of boats, brilliant costumes and flags, the whole twinkling and dancing in the rippling water; islands gorgeous with autumn color- ingthese are a few glimpses in the long panorama evoked by the painters magic. In the View of Rouen, with what direct- ness and justness of vision has a ckef-dwuvre been created! Everything moves and vi- brates in the delicious summer air, the little boats rock gently at anchor, the tall poplars nod, and clouds sail across the luminous sky. One likes his work of this period for its youth and gayety; never has landscape painting, unhampered by non-essentials, spoken so di- rectly to the heart of the charm of nature and the joy of living. ART for Arts sake, of course. For what else? and why not? But do those who make this phrase their Shibbo- leth always reflect that its prohibitions cut two ways? If art is to be practised for its own sake alone, does it not exact from the artist that he shall use his highest and noblest pow- ers in that practice? If the art that points a moral and adorns a tale is in so far forth not true art, what of the art that exists for the purpose of sensationalism and yellow-book- ishness? Art is not to be moral and instruct- ive, agreedbut neither shall it be immoral or instructive in vice. Art deals only with beauty, and the higher the kind of beauty it shows us the better the art. The fleurs dii mat are not the loveliest blossoms. Art for arts sake, the work for the works sake, is the motto of every true artist, and he who follows it truly will do the noblest and purest work it is in him to do, and will shun the ugly and the degrading, not because to dwell upon them is a crime against morals, but because it is a crime against art. Art for arts sake means not merely that we are not to preach or to tell stories in our pictures, but that we are not to follow fads or catch at sen- sations, not to try for money or for notorie- ty; that we are to think not what is profitable or fashionable, but what is good. Practise it so, and, in the long run, even the Philistines will forgive us.

The Field Of Art The Field Of Art 125-129

THE FIELD OF ART CL.4UDE MONETART FOR ARTS SAKE MISS BESSIE POTTER S FIG U- RINES HIGH BUILDiNGS VERMEER DE DELET ~UDE MONET was born in Havre, and most of his life has been passed in painting the river and valley of the Seine. He knows that country well, by long explorations since his early boyhood, on foot or in canoe at all seasons of the year and all hours of the day. And what a noble total of work he has given the world, characterized from the first by an independence of vision and uncom- promising honesty, accompanied by an un- quenchable enthusiasm and love for his mo- tiLts. A winter evening, the sun going down a red globe, gilding cakes of floating ice; fog lifting, disclosing a media~val village with church and towers, fairy-like, wonderful; fields with ripening grain, bordered by gray- green trees; hill-sides with their patchwork divisions, or with fruit - trees, blossom - cov- ered ; little towns, their walls and houses re- flected in the water, while a long line of deep- laden barges passes slowly by; a river-side inn frequented by yachtsmen, a gay mixture of boats, brilliant costumes and flags, the whole twinkling and dancing in the rippling water; islands gorgeous with autumn color- ingthese are a few glimpses in the long panorama evoked by the painters magic. In the View of Rouen, with what direct- ness and justness of vision has a ckef-dwuvre been created! Everything moves and vi- brates in the delicious summer air, the little boats rock gently at anchor, the tall poplars nod, and clouds sail across the luminous sky. One likes his work of this period for its youth and gayety; never has landscape painting, unhampered by non-essentials, spoken so di- rectly to the heart of the charm of nature and the joy of living. ART for Arts sake, of course. For what else? and why not? But do those who make this phrase their Shibbo- leth always reflect that its prohibitions cut two ways? If art is to be practised for its own sake alone, does it not exact from the artist that he shall use his highest and noblest pow- ers in that practice? If the art that points a moral and adorns a tale is in so far forth not true art, what of the art that exists for the purpose of sensationalism and yellow-book- ishness? Art is not to be moral and instruct- ive, agreedbut neither shall it be immoral or instructive in vice. Art deals only with beauty, and the higher the kind of beauty it shows us the better the art. The fleurs dii mat are not the loveliest blossoms. Art for arts sake, the work for the works sake, is the motto of every true artist, and he who follows it truly will do the noblest and purest work it is in him to do, and will shun the ugly and the degrading, not because to dwell upon them is a crime against morals, but because it is a crime against art. Art for arts sake means not merely that we are not to preach or to tell stories in our pictures, but that we are not to follow fads or catch at sen- sations, not to try for money or for notorie- ty; that we are to think not what is profitable or fashionable, but what is good. Practise it so, and, in the long run, even the Philistines will forgive us. 126 THE FIELD OP APT AN entirely new light was thrown on In sculpture, ahstractly heautiful and Greek sculpture hy the discovery of rohhed of the support of color and hack- the Tanagra figurines. The new light ground as it is, the success of a realist is so was mellow as well. Along with the final rare, and failure is so dire, that even the at- conviction that the Greeks tempt is infrequent. The were devotees of highly col- tiny size of the figurines, ored statuary, it r o h b e d however, estahlishes such a Hellenic art of its last claim favorahle prejudice, a n d to frigid austerity, and cred- offers so much opportunity ited it rather with the inti- for a hewitching sketchi- mate appeal and the warmth ness of treatment, that it of humanity that were al- is surprising to note how ways the acme of its en- few sculptors have taken a deavor. hint from the delicious fan- Where reality is already cies of Tanagra fancies potent with charm, there art capahle of heing emhodied should douhly succeed. It into such entrancing shape would he strange indeed if in delicate statuettes of sculpture could find no in- young women of modish spiration in these modern gowns and manners. women and these modern So far as I know, the only costumes, which are so ef- A Girl, artist devoting a whole in fective in real life. But to dividuality to the figurine, is distil the essence, to reproduce the effect and Miss Bessie C. Potter, of Chicago. The very resemhle the actualitythis is the prohlem. rarity of her work challenges attention, and its The consequent truth is that, while a medi- happy treatment explains its genuine success. ocre talent can attain what passes for suc- At the last exhihit of the Sculpture Society, cess in a suhject of remote manners and her tiny and original works were far from environment, only a most exceptional refine- heing overwhelmed hy the colossal figures ment of insight can ferret out and suggest ahout them. A visit to Paris won from the the real charm of every-day life. The high- leading artists there much encouragement; est art, the finest romance, is always the suh- hut the influence of the galleries and studios limation of the real. could not dislodge her Americanism. The Rose. Portrait. THE FIELD OF ART 127 I would not imply that Miss Potter has consciously imitated the Tanagra figurines, but her work displays that nationalistic feel- ing and that almost worshipful delight in contemporary existence which is so rich a trait of the Greeks. The breezy freedom and frank patriotism of her native city and the West gen- erally leaven all her moods, and evidence an individuality and courage amazing in the work of one who is just past the lintel of the Twenties. It is interest- ing to note that all Miss Potters tuition has been gained in the Art Institute of Chicago, and under the well-known sculptor, -~~-----. - Mr. Lorado C. Taft. In the art output of women there is all too rare a display of real feminine charm. Miss Potters works, however, show no effort at concealing the sex of their author. They vaunt it rather in the womans keen under- standing of woman, her sure eye for effect, The above illustrations are froos j5hotograj5ks of figurines by Miss Bessie C. Potter. and all the feminine graces of pose and air. Her rugged bust of Professor Swing, and the fine sweeping technic and spirit of her por- trait of Hamlin Garland, disclose versatility without being typical. Her real self is to he found in the idyllic reverie of young womanhood, as in The Rose, The Chrysanthemum Girl, and many of the Por- traits; or, still more strongly, in the American sophistication and nervous vivacity of A Girl of the Period, Lingering, and, most impudently winning of all, An American Girl. Raffaelli called Miss Potter an impressionist in plaster, and her work thus far has been one of sketchily perpetuated moods; but her individuality, her instinct for the music of harmonious lines, her neat suggestiveness, her ability to imply largeness in the small, and, above all, her studious enthusiasm, are big with prophecy. qAL~4~L1LL.JffitM~~ 1~~J$~ K -~ One Mile of New York THE picturesque quality of the new high buildings has not failed to attract some attention. As they rise above the old sky - line of our streets, so they are seen from the rivers which bound New York and from the prairie and the lake at Chicago, like the toViers of a gigantic fortress. Steeped in sunshine when the streets below are in shadow, catching the colored light of sunset when the streets below know nothing of it, lost in fog or rain-cloud as to their highest partsthey are impressive when looked at from the town itself; but this is as nothing to their beauty when seen from a point a mile beyond the houses. There is, of course, no architectural merit in all this, it is as buttes or other startling natural formation that we may look upon them. Towers of medi~val fortresses were as nothing compared to the elevator buildings of to-day in size and bulk. The donjon of Coucy, which Viollet-le-Duc has made famous, did not rise quite one hundred and seventy feet from the court-yard nor two hundred from the bottom of the moat, and yet that is a giant among the fortresses of antiquity, ex- celling everything of its time, and so far as we know, everything of classical antiquity even more decidedly. The highest tower of the donjon of Pierrefonds is as high as the Coucy tower, if you include the conical roof. The new buildings are rising to heights of three hundred feet and over, and the reader hardly needs to be reminded how vast is the difference made by adding one hundred feet to an already lofty structure. The twelfth century cities of Italy were crowded with towers of defence, representing the private warfare of the time; San Gimigniano, in Tus- cany, retains thirteen of its ancient forest; but these towers of defence were seldom one hundred and fifty feet in height, and in bulk they were what we of the manufacturing age should call factory chimneys. In New York THE FIELD OF ART the as yet unfinished building of the American Surety Company, at Pine Street, is not more than eighty-five feet, square and is over three hun- dred feet in height, and this is there- fore a real tower, con- taining ten times the hulk of even a very large tower of the Middle Ages or of the time of Roman wars. But these huge mod- ern buildings are light and slender, with thin walls and innumerable The Coucy Tower. windows. Far from be- ing massive, they are faultily slight, and built like packing-boxes with holes in them. True; and therefore it is not as architectural structures that we con- sider them here, but as media for nature to work upon. Those who love Gothic archi iT has often been said that the greatest artists are not the best teachers, and this is as true of the influence exercised by their work as of their personal instruction. The great personal forces in art, the Michel- Angelos and the Rembrandts, are one-sided and unbalanced, as full of faults as of virtues, and the faults are imitable while the virtues are not. They are dangerous models; it is the smaller men who are quietly perfect. Send your pupils to Terbtmrg or Chardin, not to Tintoretto or Delacroix. But if I were to select one master from all the masters of painting, whom a student might safely con- template forever, sure to learn all good and no evil from himif I were asked, not who is the greatest of painters, but who is the most exemplaryI think I should name Ver- meer de Delft. One of his few pictures is in the Metropolitan Museum, and it is not one of his best, yet for the student it is a pearl tecture and know how to love it, are not very fohd of the western towers of Cologne, modern, cold, formal, with as fe\v ideas in proportion to their bulk as so elab- orate a structure can contain ; but when the autumn rains come down over the Rhine, and the huge spires are half lost in a cloud from which aslow driz zle is descending on the slippery stones of The American Surety the square, and when Building. LLLA~ The Donjon of perHaps tHe tuunoem On Pierrefonda. the bells ~mes out of the clouds to help in the magic, it appears that there is something in architecture besides architectural merit, and that the man may deserve well of his kind who merely piles his building high. without price. Go and look at it and see what painting can be: sound and sober, without trickery or brilliancy, acctmrate in drawing, quiet in color, nugatory in subjecta model of Dutch simplicity and naturalness, butbut filled with an exquisite refinement which is eternally art. Go and look at it, and learn that fashion is but for a day, and truth and beauty are forever. IT is regrettable that a poster, particularly referred to in our issue of last October, should, through erroneous information, have been credited to American art. The poster for The New Woman is but an American reprint of an English original de- signed by Mr. Albert Morrow and executed by Messrs. David Allen & Sons, of Belfast, for Mr. Comyns Carr, of the Comedy Thea- tre, London. 128 A Half-mile of San Gimigniano. F ABOUT THE WORLD OW that the flying-machine has for the time folded its wings, save in the work- shops of industrious Dar- ius Greens, the public at- tention is engaged with innovations in the art of travelling somewhat nearer the earth. The most marvellous of these, to he sure, come to perfection only on reportorial pads, where brilliant and generous imaginative powers are not hampered by ignoble facts. Setting aside such more brilliant and journalistic prospect- uses as the running of all the railroads, and Gains in the goodness knows what other ma ~ chinery into the bargain, by elec- speed travel. tricity developed from the har- nessed Niagara, one notes the magnificent run of a record-breaking train from Chicago to Buffalo, five hundred and twelve miles, at a speed of something more than sixty-five miles per hour, stops excluded. The chief significance of this feat, aside from the mere punishment of a recordalways certain to find a responsive thrill in the citixens of this republicis the proof that the second lap of. the New York-Chicago thousand-mile race over the Lake Shore route is quite as fast as the first half, east of Buffalo, and by way of the New York Central tracks. This newest long-distance record brings us one step nearer the not distant day when New Yorkers shall be able to see the same sun rise over Long Island and set over Chicago. Indeed, one of the gentlemen who left Chicago at 3.30 A.M., on this very trip just mentioned, spent the evening of the same day in a New York theatre. A well-planned attack is seriously discussed, too, on the time between two even more im- portant terminiNew York and London. VOL. XIX.16 For the moment it would seem that the great transatlantic steamships are breathing after victories, hopeless of a further decisive in- crease of speed. But the fertile and enthusi- astic brain of Mr. Austin Corbin, the railroad genius of Long Island, has approached from a different direction the task of bringing the Old World and the New nearer to each other. With Mobtauk Point, at the extreme end of Long Island, the western terminus of the North Atlantic post-road, and with Milford Haven substituted for Southampton, Liver- pool, and Queenstown, Mr. Corbin maintains that no less than fifteen hours will be saved in the transportation of mails and passengers between New York and London. Not only will the ocean liners have a much clearer course in the approaches to these proposed termini; the greater speed obtainable on the Long Island railroad, and its more direct route, will also save precious time. After the - considerable gains made by such shifts as the Q ueenstown mail service, there is no reason apparent to a layman that this larger im- provement should not be made. If it is, the indefatigable transatlantic lines will find but comparatively few obstacles to a final reduc- tion of the passage to the coveted five-day point. One of the arguments addressed to the patriotism and the purses of the Yankees in furtherance of this plan is the decisive su- periority it would give the new American port over any of the threatened Canadian termini. One of the large steamship com- panies has already ordered two monster pas- senger vessels to be built in Germany, which will equal or exceed in power anything that floats to-day, and which would be exceeding- ly ready to avail themselves of the new route, provided its advantages are as real as Mr. Corbin thinks.

About The World About The World 129-134

F ABOUT THE WORLD OW that the flying-machine has for the time folded its wings, save in the work- shops of industrious Dar- ius Greens, the public at- tention is engaged with innovations in the art of travelling somewhat nearer the earth. The most marvellous of these, to he sure, come to perfection only on reportorial pads, where brilliant and generous imaginative powers are not hampered by ignoble facts. Setting aside such more brilliant and journalistic prospect- uses as the running of all the railroads, and Gains in the goodness knows what other ma ~ chinery into the bargain, by elec- speed travel. tricity developed from the har- nessed Niagara, one notes the magnificent run of a record-breaking train from Chicago to Buffalo, five hundred and twelve miles, at a speed of something more than sixty-five miles per hour, stops excluded. The chief significance of this feat, aside from the mere punishment of a recordalways certain to find a responsive thrill in the citixens of this republicis the proof that the second lap of. the New York-Chicago thousand-mile race over the Lake Shore route is quite as fast as the first half, east of Buffalo, and by way of the New York Central tracks. This newest long-distance record brings us one step nearer the not distant day when New Yorkers shall be able to see the same sun rise over Long Island and set over Chicago. Indeed, one of the gentlemen who left Chicago at 3.30 A.M., on this very trip just mentioned, spent the evening of the same day in a New York theatre. A well-planned attack is seriously discussed, too, on the time between two even more im- portant terminiNew York and London. VOL. XIX.16 For the moment it would seem that the great transatlantic steamships are breathing after victories, hopeless of a further decisive in- crease of speed. But the fertile and enthusi- astic brain of Mr. Austin Corbin, the railroad genius of Long Island, has approached from a different direction the task of bringing the Old World and the New nearer to each other. With Mobtauk Point, at the extreme end of Long Island, the western terminus of the North Atlantic post-road, and with Milford Haven substituted for Southampton, Liver- pool, and Queenstown, Mr. Corbin maintains that no less than fifteen hours will be saved in the transportation of mails and passengers between New York and London. Not only will the ocean liners have a much clearer course in the approaches to these proposed termini; the greater speed obtainable on the Long Island railroad, and its more direct route, will also save precious time. After the - considerable gains made by such shifts as the Q ueenstown mail service, there is no reason apparent to a layman that this larger im- provement should not be made. If it is, the indefatigable transatlantic lines will find but comparatively few obstacles to a final reduc- tion of the passage to the coveted five-day point. One of the arguments addressed to the patriotism and the purses of the Yankees in furtherance of this plan is the decisive su- periority it would give the new American port over any of the threatened Canadian termini. One of the large steamship com- panies has already ordered two monster pas- senger vessels to be built in Germany, which will equal or exceed in power anything that floats to-day, and which would be exceeding- ly ready to avail themselves of the new route, provided its advantages are as real as Mr. Corbin thinks. 130 ABOUT THE WORLD So much for the highways from New York to Chicago and to London. Between New York and Washington, D. C., another crowd- ed line of feverish passenger travel, the fast express trains of two magnificent railroad systems now run in about five hours time. A corporation has been projected in the Na- tional capital for the construction of a mail and passenger road to the metropolis which shall shoot over the two hundred and forty miles in two hours! Congress is consider- U U ~ ing a bill to grant this company a charter and right of way, on condition that this almost in- credible speed of one hundred and twenty miles per hour shall be maintained, and the pro- moters offer to demonstrate on a test line between Washington and Chesapeake Bay their abil- ity to meet such an extraordi- nary requirement. The track is to be ele- vated above the earth on a single line of upright beams. The trains are to weigh one- fourth as much as an ordinary express train, and are to be driven by electricity, each car carrying its own motor machinery. The most distinctive mechanical feature of the en- terprise is the so-called bicycle arrange- ment by which a single line of wheels runs on a single rail. The train is to be kept upright by an auxiliary rail on either side, which will not, however, come into play ex-- cept in rounding curves. The fathers of the enterprise point to its safetysince no grade crossings will be possibleand the economy of land appropriation. They propose to carry passengers, mail, and express parcels, leaving the freight traffic to the surface lines which limp along at a paltry thirty to fifty miles per hour. If the engineers are right who have proved on paper the practicability of this twentieth century tramway, the intelli- gent New Yorker should find himself in a position to run over to Washington for some important senatorial disctission, and return to lunch; while the musicallyinclined in Wash- ington and Baltimore need only dine a trifle earlier than usual to manage an evening at the Metropolitan Opera House, and a return the same night to their virtuous couches at home. IT had been thought that one principle evolved from the gradual perfection of such racing machines as the Herre- shoff sloops might be applied in some modi- fied degree to the construction of steamers. Those queer, spoon-shaped bows of Whajwillhe Defender and her immediate prede- new ships be? cessors are designed to slip over the water, instead of cutting through it. Even a layman perceives at once that this operates to lessen the friction and increase the speed. People closely interested in the improvement of the great ocean steamships, are of the opin- ion that, so far as the hull can influence the question of speed, some such modification of the bow is the only change likely to avail in the nip-and-tuck struggle for more knots per hour. But it is also easy to see that the flat- tish bow leads toward an increased draft by concentrating the keel action, and as a mat- ter of fact we do not find in the most recent products of the shipyards any appreciable move in the direction of Gloriana bows. The Forban, the new French torpedo boat, which drives through the water at the rail- road speed of 30.2 knots or nearly 35 miles, depends on tremendous engine power, rather than on any departure in her lines, to hold her place as the swiftest vessel in the world. The two ocean steamships, St. Paul and St. Louis, first vessels of their class to be built in American shipyards, do not show that the Cramps had any lessons to learn from the wonderful blind yacht-builder of Narragansett Bay. These two fine steamers from the Dela- ware, whose creditable maiden performances we have recently been watching with such in- terest, are distinguished from the English-built ocean greyhounds in the greater beam; affording a solidity which to the nervous and patriotic American lessens the rack of the titanic engines. Hints of this superiority, as well as other unusual provisions for creature comfort which the American vessels boast, are thrown out to us in advance of the anx- ious inquiries we might make concerning the records they have not broken. The building at home of such large ships and of the war vessels ordered by the United States Government, is attended by an eco 9 ABOUT THE WORLD 131 nomic fact of considerable importance: it is true of nearly all manufacturing industries, but most especially ship-building, that suc- cessful management depends on constant em- ployment of plant and force at their full ca- pacity. An army of workmen, and highly specialized appliances, are necessary to build a battle-ship Minneapolis or a cruiser New York. When those vast jobs are off the stocks it is necessary to give the expert me- chanics and costly machinery something to do, for Govern- m e n t contracts are not on tap; so it turns out that in the intervals between the oc- casional lucrative contracts ships m ii s t be built whether anyone wants them or not; and in Eng- land, for instance, trading steamers do not fetch in the market what is actually spent in h e i r construc- tion. Hence, too, 2 ~ of cricket, when the Pennsylvania batsmen made that glorious closing rally against the bowlers of the Cambridge-Oxford eleven. And yet it is fortunate that these various contests were exciting enough to be ends in themselves; for so far as giving any data for useful generalizations concerning the tenden- cies of physical development or boat-building on the two sides of the Atlantic, respectively, they were singularly inconclusive. The aver- age well-grown Briton with out-of-door pro- clivities, is equip- ped with a hand- some straight -~ ~ C L n, America, . . 1851 2, Magic, . . . 3, Puritan,... 1885 5, ~ . . 3895 e~24~w a, cambria, . i888 Livonra,. 1871 Genrata 1884 d valkyre it 1893 e vaik~re III 895 A Diagram showing the Evolution of the Modern Yacht Hull. there comes about the scramble of the ship- builders of America, England, Germany, and France for the contracts which Japan is now awarding for a dozen or more modern war vessels. The unfortunate Oriental officials are fairly besieged by the specious represen- tatives of the art of ship-btiilding in two con- tinents; according to the latest reports, Count Ito is hesitating between the monster battle- ships of England and the swifter, lighter type of American cruisers. MR. HARRY WARRINGTONS vic- tory over my Lord March in the broad jump, some four generations ago, was not more decisive than the all- around drubbing which the visiting English team received at the hands and English and American legsof the New York athletes; athletes. and the late unpleasantness which was to have been the Interna- tional Yacht Race sufficiently proved, to Americans at least, the superiority of the Yankee boat. Stranger than all, England lowered her colors even in the sacred game back, and a pair of square, solid shoulders, t h a t would of them- selves be sufficient hint of his nation- ality in the streets of New York; yet at the shot and hammer the trans-atlantic put- ters and throwers were as babes in the hands of Gray and Hickok. Then one wotild have argued that the slender, nervous, and wiry race of Americans should produce run- ners of greater speed and endurance than the more solid men of the Old Country; while, as a matter of fact, the running events, outside of sprinting, were generally conceded to the English, the teams being nearly equal, and at the longer distances they were practi- cally invincible. Indeed, if anything is deter- mined by the Anglo-American contests, it is that Englishmen can run a quarter mile, a half mile, a mile, or anything over that, in less time than we can. The jumping honors seem as likely to remain on this side of the Atlantic as if Warrington and his friend Mr. George Washington were still with us. THE South is to be heartily congrat- ulated on her Exposition in all save its official title; which has committed the less offence, however, because its amorphous dimensions make paraphrasing inevitable in every-day use. The contemplative cjtizen of the United States who has visited this latest world-spectacle, or conceived of it from the 132 ABOUT THE WORLD profuse descriptions in the papers, is less im- pressed by the magnitude of the undertaking The Atlanta though this is second only to Exhibition. Chicagos effortthan by the fact that it is a town in the heart of the South that has planned and carried out such an arduous and tremendous enterprise. Where did Atlanta, with her paltry 65,ooo population, in the midst of languorous Geor- gia crackerdom, get the energy, money, and daring to achieve thus quietly and completely what mammoth Chicago, whose delight is in hustling, found such a strenuous task? And has the New South already produced a New Woman, clamorous for reform and the lecture platform, that we read of Boards of Women Managers, and their divers activities, five hun- dred miles south of Mason and Dixons Line? Exactly what, too, is the spirit of such a dis- play of negro progress, in a Cotton States Ex- position midway between the birthplace of the Mississippi Test and the State now medi- tating the adoption of that successful means of maintaining white supremacy at the polls? Atlanta is the least Southern of all South- ern cities, geography to the contrary not- withstanding. Her journalists, politicians, and business men are closely en ra~~or/ with the journalists, politicians, and business men of the North and West. The rhythm of her life is that of New York City rather than of Richmond. The generation of men upon whom fell the mantle of Henry Grady, are instinct with nervous energy and dashing enterprise. They are constantly rushing off, full of business, to Washington, to New York, or to Chicago, bent on button-holing Congressmen, or raising the voice of author- ity in nominating conventions. They think the South is a good place to live in, but are entirely willing that it should be further improved by the co-operation of their Northern and Western brethren, for whose ears they have irresistible statistics concern- ing resources, mileage, cotton products, the best harbors in the world, and paradisiacal climates. Whether these bustling ;nores are consistent with the peculiar grace which we have learned to associate with Southern life, is beside the mark; they account for the Cotton States and International Exposition. And as for the Womans Building, and ~ll that therein isthey have not been at all the work of rathe females, with aggressive convictions about their rights. In fact, it has been the wives and mothers and sisters of the best people who have enthusiasti- cally borne the toil of begging money, drum- ming up the sisters who had done things worthy of being exhibited, and providing the varied programmes of their departments. Besides this assurance that the Southern woman is very useful as well as highly orna- mental, visitors to Atlanta are considerably im- pressed by the sincerity and good sense which mark the Negros share of the Exposition. When one has been periodically harrowed by newspaper reports from the Gulf regions of murders en masse, prompted by the victims possession or lack of pigment, it is comfort- ing to see, for instance, the work that Booker T. Washington is doing at Tuskegee, aided and abetted by Southern whites. No speech was ever before made by an American negro which won the admiration and concurrence of so many white people of different sectional views, as did Mr. Washingtons at the open- ing of the ExpositiQn in the fall. This auspicious beginning gave the greatest effectiveness possible to the Atlanta exhibi- tion of what the Southern colored people are doing to raise the standards of useful citixenship, and especially to the samples of work at Tuskegee, which is based on the the- ory that it is better to teach the average ne- gro boy to be a good shoemaker than to be a rascally politician or a farcical preacher. The Atlanta Exposition. From a photograph by Arnold. DRAWN BY DANIEL VIERGE THE BULL FIGHT (See Sevillana, page i52.) I ~N~.iXAVLU ~Y ~LORIAN I

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Scribner's magazine. / Volume 19, Issue 2 Commentator Scribner's commentator Charles Scribner's Sons New York February, 1896 0019 2
Clifford Howard Howard, Clifford The Hermit And The Pilgrim 135-136

SCRIBNERS MAGAZINE VOL. XIX FEBRUARY 1896 No. 2 THE HERMIT AND THE PILGRIM By Clifford Howard ITHIN, the holy hermit knelt and prayed. W With arms upraised above his bended form, He called aloud amid the beating storm, Invoking, for the homeless, Heavens aid. 0 God, he cried, if in this bitter night There be but one who seeks a sheltring rest Een as Thou givest to the birds a nest, Lead Thou, 0 Lord, his faltring steps aright. Without, a lonely pilgrim, faint and sore, Drawn thither by the lauras flickring light A star amid the tempest-ridden night, Stood knocking at the hermits welcome door. 0 man of God, take pity crc I die And grant to me the refuge of thy care! But to the anchorite, absorbed in prayer, There came no sound of knock nor pleadin~ cry. When darkness with its stormful wrath had sped, His duty done, the weary hermit slept; While he for whom that night hed prayed and wept Lay at the door, unrecognized and dead. Copyright, 1896, by Charles Scribners Sons. All rights reserved. IF any one were to ask where he should go for a month to enjoy a change of climate, it would not be well to suggest Colorado, be- cause there is no certainty that and in one or two other nearby States, during his stay he would have lying on the great plateau of the Rocky good weather. But for a visit of Mountains, than in any other part of twelve months, or even six, it would be this country, or, indeed, in any part of hard to name a better place. Taking any other convenient country. The the year through, he would enjoy more climate is only fairly equable, but this fine, clear days of sunshine in Colorado, disadvantage is offset by other condi

Lewis Morris Iddings Iddings, Lewis Morris Life In The Altitudes - The Colorado Health Plateau 136-152

IF any one were to ask where he should go for a month to enjoy a change of climate, it would not be well to suggest Colorado, be- cause there is no certainty that and in one or two other nearby States, during his stay he would have lying on the great plateau of the Rocky good weather. But for a visit of Mountains, than in any other part of twelve months, or even six, it would be this country, or, indeed, in any part of hard to name a better place. Taking any other convenient country. The the year through, he would enjoy more climate is only fairly equable, but this fine, clear days of sunshine in Colorado, disadvantage is offset by other condi LIFE IN THE ALTITUDES 137 tions. The summers one can count often violent, and have grip enough to upon. They begin about the first of pick up gravel from the roads and dash June, while yet it is pretty cool. By it in ones face with disagreeable force. that time the native cotton-wood tree It blew so hard one night that it blew has put on its coarse but effective foli- the cover off my bed ; * and in the spring, age, and flowers have begun to appear from the last of March until the middle conspicuously in the fields. As the of May, one seldom can describe the month wears on the weather becomes as weather as agreeable. It is often pretty fine as possiblehot in the sun in the bad then, so far as my personal experi- middle of the day, but always cool in ence goes; but there are places in the the shade, and at night. Farther in the south where it is warm and agree- mountains, of course, it is cool all the able, and April, or the last of March, is time, for the convenient mountain places the best time to travel toward them, or are at a greater altitude than resorts on it will be when towns in New Mexico the plateau. Toward the middle of July, cater to invalids, and are provided and during August, in Colorado at least, with more comfortable hotels and bet- one expects a thunder-shower at noon ter markets. Although there may be daily, and is rarely disappointed. Both snow-storms in winter, the snow does. the thunder and the lightning are em- not melt away. It evaporates; often phatic. Autumn weather and a great overnight. I have frequently seen the part of the winter are as perfect and sat- edge of the snowdrift resting on a bit of isfactory as the best golden days of Ge- dusty road, and while the snow was dis- tober in the East; fires night and morn- appearing fast, it was leaving no muddy ing, and open doors at mid-day. It gets place. There is rarely any sleighing. very cold at night, occasionally, in Jan- This description of climate is not nary and February. Some years ago such as one generally considers best it was cloudy for seventeen consecutive adapted to delicate people. Its vaga- days in January at Colorado Springs, ries are trying to the temper even of the and the discomfort was great; but such most amiable and robu t visitor. But periods are exceptional. My inform- ant was a clergyman. Wind-storms are * Came down the chimney. Pikes Peak and a Bit of Colorado Springs. 138 LIFE IN THE ALTITUDES compensation is found in the dryness of the air, its purity and invigorat- ing quality, in the long hours of sunshine, and in the alti- tude at which one lives in most places at least a mile above sea-leveL The sufferer from delicate or actually dis- eased lungs or throat has no riced to fear cold weather; what he re- quires, accord- ing to most medical au- thorities now, is dryness, and an altitude which makes. the healthy lung do work enough for two, in a place where he is able to lead an out-of- door life, and is never enervat- ed with heat or depressed with humidity. There is, there- fore, in my judgment, based upon considerable personal expe- rience and much talk with invalid trav- ellers from all parts of the world, no better place on earth for the sufferer from pulmonary trouble than the east- ern plateau of the Rocky Mountains. It is all good, but parts of it are better than others, and with these let me deal particularly. The part of the plateau best adapted to the pursuit of health with pleasure is bounded on the north by the line between Wyoming and Colo- rado. This may be a little arbitrary, but that appears to be regarded by most physicians as the northern limit. Far be it from me to insinuate any- thing against the perfection of the cli- mate of Cheyenne. Still the transfer of the army head-quarters from Cheyenne to Denver has been explained as due to the superiority of the climate of Denver over that of Cheyenne, both in summer and wintei~ To the east the boundary would perhaps be a line running par- allel with the mountains and within sight of them. Southward the region stretches, limitless, to Mexico; and to the west to about the middle of the The Casino at Colorado Springs. LIFE IN THE ALTITUDES 139 range, taking in Glenwood Springs, which is a twelve hours journey west of Denver. Sunshine, dryness, and just enough altitude, but not too much; are the standard by which to measure the healthfulness of different places. Such are the actual limits, perhaps, of the health plateau, but practically at the present time they are narrower. An invalid needs not only good climate, but the best of food and many comforts. Roughing it for sick people has been much over-estimated. Like the hard- ening of children, it kills off many who with care might survive. Sick people, there- fore, must confine themselves most of the time in places where there are good hotels or boarding - houses, or comfortable houses to rent. This means chiefly in those towns of Colorado and New Mexico where there is a certain degree of civiliza- tion. Such are Denver, Colorado Springs, Manitou Springs, Pueblo, Caflon City, and Glenwood Springs in Colorado; Las Vegas and Santa F6 in New Mexico; and, still farther south, El Paso and San Antonio in Texas. There~ are other towns on the plateau, well situ- ated, to be sure, but they must develop farther in the di- rection of comfort in life before they will be really ac- ceptable as health- resorts. Of those which I have men- tioned Colorado Springs easily leads as answering most requirements. Next comes Denver, which some people prefer to the Springs. Maniton Springs and Glen- wood Springs follow after. Las Vegas has nothing to recommend it but a good hotel, belonging to the Atchison Rail- way people. The town of Santa F6 is an admirable place for climate, and when it gets a good hotel I do not see how it can help becoming celebrated as a ref- uge for the invalids of Denver and the Springs, especially during March, April, 4 The Casino at Night. 140 LIFE IN THE ALTITUDES and May. What I shall have to say at hand, a condition which greatly cx- hereafter will therefore relate princi- asperates an artistic amateur photogra- pally to Denver and Colorado Springs. pher. The mountains lie to the west, What they are now many other towns so that the rosy tints which soften the soon may be when their authorities edges are visible only in the early and their business people realize that morning when the suns rays touch the catering to invalids pays. loftiest peaks before his full splendor appears in the east; and they can- The general landscape of the Rocky not be enjoyed, therefore, by ~sick or Mountains plateau in Colorado is devoid well, as they would be if the great of many points of beauty familiar and range lay to the east, and were painted dear to most of us in the East. It lacks by the rays of the setting sun. This verdure, and the impression of the plains makes a difference in the landscape is brown. The bar- ren mountains and t h e tremendous and curious ledges of rock which crop out frequently are ragged and of vio- lent outlines. They possess the beauty of desola- tion and of soli- tude, which must be admired in lieu of more gentle loveliness. ID eli - cate haze and soft- ening tints are lacking, and owing to the clear atmo- sphere there is lit- tle or no perspec- tive, and few fine cloud effects. Dis- ta t peaks seem as near as those close The Colorado Springs Country Club. I -7 7 The Casino from the Lake. LIFE IN THE which will be especially appreciated by any one familiar with the beauties of sunset light on the coast range as seen from Santa Barbara in southern California. Snow lingers long on the mountains in patches, but one sees no really snow-clad peaks. The lack of effective green in the landscape I have men- tioned; but many persons, doubtless, would find compensation in the gor- geousness of the fields in midsummer, spattered, like some French paintings, with masses of yellow blossoms, and crimson, white, and blue in vivid tones. It is said that, according as the rains come early or late, so will the species of flowers for the season vary. In the deep crevices of the mountain-sides, in the caiThns, the beauty is of a kind more familiar to Eastern eyes. For part of the year, at least, a clear stream runs down the centre, and furnishes moist- ure enough to keep alive upon the banks many beautiful bushes, flowers, and trees. The rocky sides and over- hanging cliffs are softened by pine-trees in bunches. There is also, generally, in caiions lying in districts called set- tled, a rough road winding along by the side of the stream, the means of ap- proach to the level country beyond and above, the so-called mountain - parks and in caflons near to the towns, as, for instance, near to Colorado Springs, an effort is made to keep these roads in good repair for carriages. Occasionally~ toll is taken. Generally speaking, the roads in the Rocky Mountain region are good by nature. One of the most beau- tiful spots I know of in Colorado is the caflon called Glen Eyrie. It has been improved into the appearance of an Eng- hsh country place, with lawns, a porters lodge, and roads which bring up finally at the house of the owner. The caflon is open to visitors in carriages at all times save on Sunday, as the proprietor and his family live much abroad. I never heard the most captious exile criticise the beauties of Glen Eyrie, or of North Cafion. Caiions of more pub- lic resort near Colorado Springs and Maniton Springs are North and South Cheyenne CaiThns, Ute Pass and Bear Creek Cailon. For beauty, some points in North Caiion would be hard to match anywhere in the world. An additional charm about these mountain-crevices is The Golf Links at the Country Club. 142 LIFE IN THE ALTITUDES that they are much shut in, and there- fore not penetrated by the wind which may be blowing on the plain. lExten- sive views are obtained by climbing different peaks, and a wagon-road and a cog~railway ascend Pike s Peak from Maniton. But one cannot dine on views, nor sup on landscape, nor live on air only, no matter how fine these things may be. Comfortable houses, good food, and something to occupy their minds are necessary if sick people are to have the environment which is to cure them. Such conveniences are not so thickly scattered over Colorado as over New York State, but Colorado does pretty well in this respect. Existence at Denver or at Colorado Springs may be very agreeable. The latter place, in which the proportion of nice people to the population is large, is no pioneer town. It is a charmin0 big village, like the well laid out suburb of some large Eastern city. It has fine wide streets, with irrigating ditches on each side ; sometimes with trees and grass-plots down the centre thereof, and shaded walks on the side. Many of the houses are surrounded by green lawns which are well irrigated arid carefully clipped. Some of them are the admirable work of a young Eastern architect who has been obliged to live there for his health. All the dwellings have an air of comfort. Here and there in many streets are vacant lots, with ragged wire-fences, or no fences, showing a fine crop of weeds. These are disfigurements, of course but the eye soon ignores them and sees only the more attractive features. Pub- lic schools and churches aboundmore, indeed, than the town needs or can well support. And there is a college, small, but growing, where the delicate boy and girl may be as well educated as in the East, by the graduates of Eastern and English schools. I might enlarge a great deal upon the college. Its president is a grad- uate of Amherst, a cultivated student of fine character and attainments, to which is added the tact of a man of the world. He has to do the work of about four men, but he finds time in some way to cultivate the social side of life, to the great advantage of the town and of the institution over which he presides. Men like himself generally fill the other places in the faculty, and they contrib- ute much to the excellence of tone in the place. In all the college work due regard is paid to the probability that many of the students are delicate creat- ures, and care is taken not to press them with too much study. The insti Looking North on Cascade Avenue Colorado Springs. LIFE IN THE ALTITUDES 143 tution is hampered by lack of money, but it has a small endowment, and the management is too wise to pester people about its poverty; and in some way the president seems to be gathering in be- quests and gifts to an encouraging amount. In July and August a summer school is carried on at the expense of the residents, and lectures by well-known men in the sciences, in languages, and philosophy are well attended by people from all over the State, including a good many teachers. As the town grows the college seems likely to play a more and more important part in behalf of every- thing that is good. It has a large tract of ground for a campus, and its build- ingsalready four or five substantial structureswill increase as needed. I can hardly imagine a better place to put a child of delicate health, where he could learn and at the same time grow strong. Doubtless, in time the advantage of the Springs in this respect will be better appreciated. The residents are East- ern people of considerable wealth, in spending which they strive to please themselves at least, and their scheme of life is intended to take in such means of enjoyment as they have been accus- tomed to at home. It is Eastern life in a Western environment. They there- fore have built a country club-house called the Cheyenne Mountain Country Club, at Broadmoor, three miles from town, so as to have some place to drive to. It is an unpretentious but attractive house, with large grounds (there seems always to be more ground stretching away in every direction in Colorado than elsewhere), in which are set up all the appliances of country club sports. There is pigeon-shooting on many after- noons, and polo when the team does not play nearer town. There are meets under club direction, to chase the coy- ote, or a live fox, or sometimes an anise- seed bag only. Races and some native horseback sports are held at certain times in the season, and luncheons and dinner-parties are popular. The Count- ess of gave a ball there one winter which was a bit of charming entertain- ment that one would hardly expect to find in the Rocky Mountains. Alniost everyone drives out, but the club is easy of access by a line of electric railway which runs past the entrance, half a mile farther on, to Broadmoor Casino, an at- tractive place of public resort in sum- mer, where, for several seasons, a Hun- garian band played twice a day, and where for some months an excellent table-dh6te dinner was served. The Casino is large, fine, and appro- priately furnished and finished. Its grounds are well cared for, and it is a pretty spot, liberally patronized, when one considers the small population upon which it has to depend. Financially it has not been successfulor was not up to a recent date, though it ought to be. It was built as a private enterprise, and went down when the hard times of 1893 struck the State. Of late the towns- people have kept the Casino open by private subscription. There are one or two comfortable dwelling-houses in the grounds, and it was originally intend- ed to be a kind of villa-suburb to the Springs. It is to be hoped that so agree- able a scheme as the Casino enterprise has shown itself to be, will not be al- lowed to perish through neglect. At Broadmoor, too, is a celebrated dairy, one of the towns expensive sources of sup- ply for milk, cream, and butter. The pats of butter are stamped with a coronet, and by right, too. Another dairy well worth a visit is visible from this point, but as far away to the north as Austin Bluffs; it is the Springs Garden Ranch. The background of Broadmoor is Black Cheyenne Mountain, by far the finest peak visible, notwithstanding its prox- imity to Pikes Peak, which is tall and bald, but otherwise not remarkable. It should be sai& of all these mountains that, as they rise from an elevated plateau it- self six or seven thousand feet high, their effect is that of mountains projecting from five to eight thousand .~ feet above the surrounding country. Black Cheyenne is heavily wooded, and its outlines are beautifuL Helen Hunt Jackson (H. H.), the poet- ess, used to spend her Sundays at a spot on its slope which she called My Gar- den, and when she died she was buried on one of the northern spurs, close by which now runs a road to Cripple Creek. The grave became, however, a kind of 144 LIFE IN THE ALTITUDES picnicking place, and her husband, knowing that this would have been repugnant to her, wisely had her re- mains removed to the cemetery. As one stands at the club-house and gazes south, his eye always sweeps over the graceful eastern slope of Black Cheyenne, which is part of a ranch of many thousand acres, owned by a daughter of one of the late justices of the United States Suprenie Court, who lives there part of each year to the great satisfaction of friends who have the entr6e of her hospitable ranch- house. I have often wondered why the Club did not preserve all this great stretch of fine country along Black Chey- enne, and stock it with game to hunt at their exclusive pleasure. Probably some ar- rangement to this effect could be easily made with the ranch owners. In town there is an excel- lent club, called El Paso, to which most of the nice men belong, and where some so- cial festivity occurs in the course of the winter. It has an accepta- ble restaurant, where supper-parties af- ter the theatre were often given, at least during the winters of my stay. For some reason smoking-concerts were not deemed successfuL These clubs in town and out of town exist not prima- rily as advertisements or means of drawing strangers to the place. They help the town in that way; but the first object of the managers is to supply the needs of the regular, permanent population. The sunflower parade in midsummer is a most entertaining spec- tacle. The general round of life in the Springs is agreeable. The large leisure class, gathered from so many parts of the world, makes it a practice to laugh and be gay, to ride or drive in the morning, to arrange luncheons and dinner-par- ties, picnics, teas, bicycle or plain, and receptions for the afternoon; and now and then dances in the evening, although dancing in the altitudes is breathless work, and often unwise. Driving and riding are the best things one can do for health, and from time to time all kinds of equipages appear in the streetspha& tons, four - in - hands, buckboards, vie- torias, tandem-carts, and trotting-wag- ons. The finer types of carriages are, of course, not numerous; but when one considers, there is cause for wonder that they should be seen at all in a town half- way up to the top of Pikes Peak. While saddle-horses are in reasonable supply, they are not cheap, and there is great room for improvement in their quality. The people who are conspicuous in this kind of life are not more difficult to approach than such people elsewhere. Letters of introduction natu- rally open doors; and a diplo- /~ matic and circumspect course of life often accomplishes the I same end for the visitor who can contribute to the general fund of entertainment. Children do immensely well, because they can have just as much out-of-door life as they need. The offspring of consumptive parents so far at leastthrive as they never seem to thrive in the East. The chances of their de- veloping lung trouble later in life are small apparently, so long as they live in such an environment as Colorado offers. The questions which heredity raises in these cases cannot now be re- garded as settled definitely, because the children of consumptives, born in the Springs, have not yet, in enough in- stances to prove anything, reached the time of life when the disease should manifest itself; but the physicians are watching them with much interest, and expect to see them live long and beget children without the terror of people LIFE IN THE ALTITUDES 145 who dwell elsewhere, and know that consumption runs in the family. The presence of sick people is not particularly de- pressing. They soon get browned by the sun, and are in a minor- ity anyway, there being generally only one sick member in each family. Some months ago there appeared in Eastern newspapers statements, p0551- bly not intended to injure the Springs, in effect that there were so many con- sumptives in the place that the lives of oth- ers were endangered by probable conta- gion. As a matter of fact, carefully gathered statistics prove that the annual mortality from phthisis (originating in the Springs) is ~J~%T per 1,000. The statistics extend over a pe- riod longer than fifteen years, and are based on an estimated average popula- tion of five thousand each year. Apparent- ly the Colorado cli- mate modifies the dan- ger of contagion. The markets are superior to those in The Flower Carnival at Colorado Springs, August 22, 1895. 146 LIFE IN THE ALTITUDES most places out- ~ side the larger Eastein cities game, good poul- try, meat, eggs, butter, milk and cream, and some fruit; but I draw the line at fish at that altitude, and at that distance from the sea. Shops filled with acceptable stuffs, certainly with all staples of high class, are numer- ous enough. Dressmakers, milliners, and tai- lors may not be equal to those in the East; but in some way it does not seem to mat- ter. The men and women are always smartly dressed ; at least I have heard women say so, and add that Denver could turn out a very decent tailor- made gown. It is obvious that a country of so much sunshine might be a fine spot for the hot- house flower industry, and the conserva- tories not only do a thriving business, supplying the demand from Denver, Pueblo, and even Salt Lake, but find profit in selling choice blossoms at re- tail. In few towns, if any, are finer flowers seen at dinners and teas than in Colorado Springs. The American beau- ties in mid-winter are as choice as any I have admired elsewhere, and less ex- pensive for a wonder than in many cities. The place is not without perils, espe- cially for young men who go there adrift from family moorings, and with plenty of money. Even those who have little too often seem tempted to spend too much. It is possible to be a trifle fast in Colorado, and the ante is sometimes more than five cents; so that the idle young man with slight lung trouble frequently dies, when, if he had be- haved himself and had taken care of his health he might have lived to old age. The Springs is a temperance town, with- out a self-confessed liquor-saloon. It is easy to get a drink, however, by the exercise of a little diplomacy, though one rarely sees an intoxicated person in the streets. Practically it is a place of high license. Public sentiment is elevated and correct, and I was never before in a small town in America where wine was so universally offered at din- ner. No open attempt to evade the liquor law seems to be successful. The tale is told that an unprincipled person once tried to do this. He provided a vacant room, wherein the thirsty man proclaimed his choice in a loud tone, and presently saw a panel in the wall Seventeenth Street, DenverLooking North. LIFE IN THE ALTITUDES 147 open, disclosing his drink, standing there as if prepared by no human hand. This device only answered for awhile, the law-breaker finally coming to grief through not sufficiently guarding the rear. All property is sold under re- striction against the manufacture or sale of intoxicating drinks. The public buildings are numerous; indeed niore money than is necessary is spent on them, apparently to please the Populist party, who allow few public improve- ments unless there is especial advan- tage therein for their followers. Even the new jail had to be of fine brick and stone, and I dont know but that the fittings were of bronze, to answer the requirements of the alderman who declared that the old jail was no fit place for any lady who might be taken up intoxicated in the street. The scope of this article precludes even a reference to the various public institutions of the town and State which are full of signifi- cance to the intelligent visitor. Colorado Springs is not a cheap place. The Antlers is an acceptable hotel, constantly improving, but expen- sive. There are other hotels and com- fortable boarding - houses. The mar- kets as already said, are dear, but good. House-rents strike a new-coiner as ap palling$250 to $350 a month is pretty steep, even for a well-furnished, commo- dious house, anywhere outside a large city; and when it comes to paying that sum for one which stands on the Rocky Mountains, six thou sand feet or more above the sea, and over two thou- sand miles from New York, it seems still more excessive; but people pay these rents calmly after a little preliminary grumbling; and last winter, despite the hard times, desirable furnished dwel- lings were hard to find. Some small places are rented for about $50 a month. It is becoming more common to take a house. Servants are expensive and haughty, but fairly competenttwenty- five dollars for a waitress, the same for a chamber-maid, and more for a good cook. But one must take out his own coachman; the native talent draws the line at livery. The housewife who dared to communicate with her cook, when she wanted a change of sweet for dinner, by postal-card only, may easily have lived in the Springs. It is well to be gentle with all the servants, and at all times, for if sonic of the influential ones should become offended, the of- fending employer might find herself the victim of a boycott. The value of the invalid population to A View Toward the Capitol along Sherman Avenue Denver. 148 LIFE IN THE ALTITUDES The Gold Mining Country near Cripple Creek. the town is pretty generally under- stood by the authorities. Some fool- ish tajk is occasionally heard in the Board of Alder- men about snobs and North-End people; but when it comes to an is- sue not much is neglected which tends to make life agreeable for the leisure class. Therein the busi- ness people of the town show thefr good sense. A prominent bank- er estimates that the invalid com munity, apart from those who are en- gaged in trade, spends over half a mill- ion a year. This expenditure helped to keep Colorado Springs from greatly feel- ing the hard times which oppressed the country in 189394. Not a bank failed; the business remained in excellent shape ; rents did not come down mate- rially, and the town went through the pan- ic years without much danger. On the western slope of Pikes Peak, about twenty miles away in a direct line, lies Cripple Creek, now the leading gold. mining camp of Colorado. It is not to be men- tioned as a health-resort, as it is 9,500 feet high, and much exposed; nor should the inva The Pooi at Glenwood Springs. LIFE IN THE ALTITUDES 149 lid even visit it without his physicians consent. But it is an interesting place for a robust man. Its mines, which for so long were looked upon as not likely to amount to much, really do amount to a good deal, as any one who cares for sta- tistics may learn by consulting a mining broker. Lying as it does, within the limits of El Paso County, it has thrown much business into Colorado Springs, the county-seat. Some people near and far have made money out of these mines. One, a carpenter, who used to work in the Springs for $3 a day, now owns the whole Independence Mine, and draws from $40,000 to $100,000 from it each month. During the first four months of 1895 his income from various mining properties was $600,- 000. As an offset to this mans luck, it should be said that many persons, visi- tors in Colorado as well as permanent residents, have invested much money in mines which they could not well af- ford to lose. More have lost than have gained any, so that travellers about to start for Colorado should firmly resolve not to join that band of suckers for whose coming the exploiters of mines daily pray. This will require great reso- lution, for the fever of mining specula- tion runs high, and in Colorado Springs a lively and seductive business is done in the Mining Exchange; larger, it is said, than in Denver, where people are warier. So high does the excitement rise sometimes, that women have been known to raffle their diamond rings, horses, and buckboards to get money to buy shares.1 regret to say that I never knew a woman to sell mining stock when she had a profit. She in- variably decided, after consulting other female friends who also dabbled in stocks, that at such a price she could not afford to sell; and t)zi en waited until the stock was selling ower than when she bought. Menti should be made of the right of w en to vote in this State. Generally speaking they avail themselves of the privilege, drive their husbands to the primaries, and alto- gether have won praise for the way they exercise the function. The overthrow of the Populist government in 1894 was said to be due in large measure to womens votes. They appear well at VOL. XIX.18 the polls; do not fight or swear or be- come intoxicated. A very pleasant drive from Colorado Springs, on the boulevard across the high land, past ColoradoCity (the place where the first legislature of the Terri- tory met) brings one to Manitou Springs, a town in a cafion. This is one of the best-advertised places, especially in rail- way leaflets, in the State, and deserves nearly all that is said in its favor. It did not suit my taste so well as Colorado Springs, though from many points of view it is prettier. I object to it prin- cipally because its houses are built one above another on the mountain-side, and because its hours of sunshine are fewer than in more exposed towns; yet I am bound to say that many peo- ple prefer it to any other place. It lends itself well to the work of the artist and amateur photographer, and fur- nishes an excellent point of view to ob- serve how a railroad train can climb a mountain. There are iron springs and soda springs. The water from the latter, impregnated with its own gas, deserves such free advertising as it can get from my assertion that it is infinitely superior as a table-water to most of the fluids sold for that purpose. The price, however, is ridiculously high. Manitou Springs abounds in boarding-houses and hotels, generally of an acceptable character. In the so-called club-house, which is con- spicuous and attractive, roulette and other forms of gambling flourish. The whole business ought to be banished to Colorado City. The toleration of gam- bling in Maniton Springs and elsewhere in the State is a survival of the days when the Territory was first settled. I think no town in the State is so free from the evil as Colorado Springs. The much- written - about Garden of the Gods, a curious outcropping of rock, is gen- erally inspected on the way to Manitou, and is well worth visiting. It is in- teresting but not beautiful. There are other alleged attractions in the shape of springs and caves which no traveller need fear that he will be allowed to miss. On through the IJte Pass runs a good road leading far into the moun- tains. If one of its branches is followed it brings the visitor to Maniton Park, past the attractive log camp of the Met- 150 LIFE IN THE ALTITUDES calf family, to the little Manitou Park Hotel. This is at an altitude of 7,500 feet, and is always cool. The hotel, in my time there, was exceedingly comfort- able and well kept. The Park, like all the so-called mountain parks, is a broad dale not heavily wooded. It is not ex- tensive, but exceedingly pretty. Nat- urally there is nothing to do, and many people do not care for the Park; but it is noted as being the resort of smart people from the Colorado Springs and Denver. Denver, which lies seventy-five miles north of Colorado Springs, is a city of more than one hundred thousand peo- ple now, and is destined to be much larger within a few years. It was never on a healthier basis than at present, be -~Th cause the recent hard times sifted out all the weak enterprises. It was heavily struck by the panic of 1893, and in two days in July twelve banks shut their doors. Those that re-opened later, and survive to this day, are no worse off for a loss of competition. There is no need to enlarge upon the causes of Denvers prosperity. It is a great railroad cen- tre, and is the capital and chief city of a State of wonderful resources. Colo- rado will presently be to the country west of the Mississippi what Pennsyl vania is to the country east of the Al- leghanies. It is not always easy to get a start in some occupation in Denver unless one has a little capital ; yet it is, perhaps, not harder than elsewhere, if one has perseverance, energy, and is not too particular. While Denver is a much larger place than the Springs, it does not furnish so numerous a leisure class of men, and an idler, therefore, sometimes finds less company than he wishes for. But with a little painstak- ing one can kill time comfortably. A better appointed club than the princi- pal one in the town, the Denver Club, would be difficult to find. The restau- rant is excellent, the building is attrac- tive, and except for the early hour of the day at which bibitory courtesies begin, the visitor finds little to criticise. The intercourse of the members is not marked by that excessive ease of man- ner slanderously called Western, because the membership is really cosmopolitan. There is a good deal of amuse- ment in the way of theatres and music. Pade- rewski filled the house to over- flowing both af- ternoon and evening. It will illustrate the in- telligent charac- ter of the audi- ence when I tell you that in re- A Typical Colorado Springs Cottage. sponse to appre- ciative applause Paderewski played his minuet, then so familiar and much liked. After two or three bars were heard the listeners broke into applause again, showing that only the first few notes were needed to inti- mate to them what was coming. Much social courtesy is exchanged among the residents who occupy the fine houses on Capitol Hill, which is the smart part of town. Dinner-giving and the after- noon-tea habit prevail, and dinner at 7.30 seems to strike no one as late. What for lack of a less offensive phrase one must call the best society is not numerically so large as in Colorado Springs, but its quality would not offend LIFE IN THE ALTITUDES 151 even those people from the East who are often dreadfully afraid that some one will be too civil to them. Den- ver hospitality is graceful and frank, but not sloppy. Household life is luxurious, refined, and not often showy without and mean within; there are few houses in which the drawing-room is hung with rose - colored silk, and only one servant is kept. Rents are less, but one cannot so often hire a really good house as in Colorado Springs. Nor is it, generally speaking, so expensive a place to live in. There is a seamy side to life in Denver, which may be found in numerous gambling-houses and their attendant evils, which seem to be inherent in min- ing towns and mining head - quarters, such as Denver is. Violence not due to miners, but to ordinary ruffians, broke out in July, 1893, when an Italian was taken from the jail and hanged to a lamp-post in the principal street. Hold- ups, as highway robberies are called, do occur at night occasionally in good parts of the town both in Denver and the Springs; but I remember of reading not long ago about the robbery of a woman at the point of a revolver in a New York stage. Pistols are certainly not worn in ones belt or stuck in the side of ones boot; but I suspect many men go armeda fact which, being taken for granted, keeps the rufflanly element quiet. The moral tone of the business community is as high as in the East; and this remark applies to the whole State of Colorado. The reason why Denver and Colorado Springs are such acceptable places to live in is easily explained. They are so new, and so recently settled by Eastern peo- ple of affluence that Eastern standards of life and manners still prevail. Inter- course with Eastern cities is constant, because the people of Denver are well- to-do and travel a great deal. Ones nerves require an occasional descent to sea-leveL Moreover, a stream of people of wealth, culture, and refinement, con- tinuously flows to them because both these places are health-resorts. What the result would be if such additions by immigration ceased, and if the gener ations now growing up should hoist standards of their own, can readily be imagined. Now that an altitude is considered necessary to the most successful treat- ment of pulmonary trouble, American sufferers are sure to have altitude resorts in SwitzerlandSt. Moritz and Davos especiallysuggested to them. It can- not be denied that both Davos and St. Moritz are excellent places, and that many remarkable cures are effected there ; but differences exist which, in my judgment, are vastly in favor of Colo- rado. During several months in winter and summer, both Davos and St. Moritz are as good as Colorado Springs, and less windy; but the last-named place always has more hours of sunshine. When the snow melts in the Switzerland resorts they are not good, and the invalids have to hasten away, whether or not they have been doing well. The Alpine valley is then deserted. The Rocky Mountains plateau, on the contrary, offers an all- the-year-round place for invalids. The English appreciate Colorado better than Americans. A distinguished Lon- don physician once informed me that in his opinion there was no resort in the world better than the Springs; but if one tired of it and needed a change he might go to St. Moritz for awhile. I have indeed suggested a change in the late spring to the south; but experi- ence, some physicians say, shows that at Colorado Springs, for instance, the sick people do well without a change even at that season; and if they decide upon it, it is less of an undertaking than the descent from the mountains of Swit- zerland. They simply shift their situa- tion to the south, where they find the same general conditions. St. Moritz and other Alpine resorts are limited in area; but the great plateau west of the Mississippi is practically unlimited. If one State is too narrow, if Colorado Springs, Denver, Manitou or Pueblo, or Cafion City, or Glenwood Springs is not agreeable, surely at some point in that great stretch of country one might find it endurable to exist. Moreover, it is better to live anywhere than to die in the place of your choice. SENTIMENTAL TOMMY THE STORY OF HIS BOYHOOD BY J. M. BARRIE A u/hoe of Tue Li/tie Minister, A Window in Tizeums, etc. CHAPTER VII COMIC OVERTURE TO A TRAGEDY (JEAN MYLES bides in London was the next remarkable news brought by Tommy from Thrums Street. And that aint all, Magerful Tam is her man; and that aint all, she has a laddie called Tommy ; and that aint all, Petey and the rest has never seen her in London, but she writes letters to Thrums folks and they writes to Petey and tells him what she said. That aint all neither, they canna find out what street she bides in, but its on the bonny side of London, and its grand, and she wears silk clothes, and her Tommy has velvet trousers, and they have a servant as calk him sir. Oh, I would just like to kick him! They often looks for her in the grand streets, but theyre angry at her getting on so well, and Martha Scrymgeour said it were enough to make good women like her stop going reglar to the kirk. Martha said that! exclaimed his mother, highly pleased. Heard you onythiug of a woman called Esther Auld? Her man does the orra work at the Tappit Hen public in Thrums. Hes head man at the Tappit Hen public now, answered Tommy; and she wishes she could find out where Jean Myles bides, so as she could write and tell her that she is grand too, and has six hair-bottomed chairs. Shell never get the satisfaction, said his mother, triumphantly. Tell me mair about her. She has a laddie called Francie, and he has yellow curls, and she nearly greets because she canna tell Jean Myles that he goes to a school for the children of gentlemen only. She is so mad when gayly. she gets a letter from Jean Myles that she takes to her bed. Yea, yea! said Mrs. Sandys, cheer- ily. But they think Jean Myles has been brought low at last, continued Tommy, because she hasna wrote for a long time to Thrums, and Esther Auld said that if she knowed for certain as Jean Myles had been brought low, she would put a threepenny bit in the kirk plate. Im glad youve telled me that, lad- die, said Mrs. Sandys, and next day, un- known to her children, she wrote an- other letter. She kne~v she ran a risk of discovery, yet it was probable that Tom- my would only hear her referred to in Thrums Street by her maiden name, which he had never heard from her, and as for her husband he had been Mager- ful Tam to everyone. The risk was great, but the pleasure IJnsuspicious Tommy soon had news of another letter from Jean Myles, which had sent Esther Auld to bed again. Instead of being brought low, he announced, Jean Myles is grander than ever. Her Tommy has a governess. That would be a doush of water in Esthers face ? his mother said, smiling. She wrote to Martha Scrymgeour, said Tommy, that it aint no pleasure to her now to boast as her laddie is at a school for gentlemens children only. But what made her maddest was a bit in Jean Mvless letter about chairs. Jean Myles has give all her hair - bottomed chairs to a poor woman and buyed a new kind, because hair-bottomed ones aint fashionable now. So Esther Auld cant not bear the sight of her chairs now, though she were windy of them till the letter went to Thrtims. Poor Esther I said Mrs. Sandys,

J. M. Barrie Barrie, J. M. Sentimental Tommy - The Story Of His Boyhood 152-169

SENTIMENTAL TOMMY THE STORY OF HIS BOYHOOD BY J. M. BARRIE A u/hoe of Tue Li/tie Minister, A Window in Tizeums, etc. CHAPTER VII COMIC OVERTURE TO A TRAGEDY (JEAN MYLES bides in London was the next remarkable news brought by Tommy from Thrums Street. And that aint all, Magerful Tam is her man; and that aint all, she has a laddie called Tommy ; and that aint all, Petey and the rest has never seen her in London, but she writes letters to Thrums folks and they writes to Petey and tells him what she said. That aint all neither, they canna find out what street she bides in, but its on the bonny side of London, and its grand, and she wears silk clothes, and her Tommy has velvet trousers, and they have a servant as calk him sir. Oh, I would just like to kick him! They often looks for her in the grand streets, but theyre angry at her getting on so well, and Martha Scrymgeour said it were enough to make good women like her stop going reglar to the kirk. Martha said that! exclaimed his mother, highly pleased. Heard you onythiug of a woman called Esther Auld? Her man does the orra work at the Tappit Hen public in Thrums. Hes head man at the Tappit Hen public now, answered Tommy; and she wishes she could find out where Jean Myles bides, so as she could write and tell her that she is grand too, and has six hair-bottomed chairs. Shell never get the satisfaction, said his mother, triumphantly. Tell me mair about her. She has a laddie called Francie, and he has yellow curls, and she nearly greets because she canna tell Jean Myles that he goes to a school for the children of gentlemen only. She is so mad when gayly. she gets a letter from Jean Myles that she takes to her bed. Yea, yea! said Mrs. Sandys, cheer- ily. But they think Jean Myles has been brought low at last, continued Tommy, because she hasna wrote for a long time to Thrums, and Esther Auld said that if she knowed for certain as Jean Myles had been brought low, she would put a threepenny bit in the kirk plate. Im glad youve telled me that, lad- die, said Mrs. Sandys, and next day, un- known to her children, she wrote an- other letter. She kne~v she ran a risk of discovery, yet it was probable that Tom- my would only hear her referred to in Thrums Street by her maiden name, which he had never heard from her, and as for her husband he had been Mager- ful Tam to everyone. The risk was great, but the pleasure IJnsuspicious Tommy soon had news of another letter from Jean Myles, which had sent Esther Auld to bed again. Instead of being brought low, he announced, Jean Myles is grander than ever. Her Tommy has a governess. That would be a doush of water in Esthers face ? his mother said, smiling. She wrote to Martha Scrymgeour, said Tommy, that it aint no pleasure to her now to boast as her laddie is at a school for gentlemens children only. But what made her maddest was a bit in Jean Mvless letter about chairs. Jean Myles has give all her hair - bottomed chairs to a poor woman and buyed a new kind, because hair-bottomed ones aint fashionable now. So Esther Auld cant not bear the sight of her chairs now, though she were windy of them till the letter went to Thrtims. Poor Esther I said Mrs. Sandys, SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 153 Oh, and I forgot this, mother. Jean Myless reason for not telling whaur she bides in London is that shes so grand that she thinks if auld Pete~y and the rest knowed whaur the place was they would visit her and boast as they was her friends. Auld Petey stamped wi rage when he heard that, and Martha Scrymgeour said, Oh, the pridef a lim- mer! Ay, Martha, muttered Mrs. Sandys, you and Jean Myles is evens now. But the passage that had made them all wince the most was one giving Jeans reasons for making no calls in Thrums Street. You can break it to Martha Scrymgeours father and mither, the letter said, and to Petey Whamonds sisters and the rest as has friends in London, that I have seen no Thrums faces here, the low part where they bide not being for the like of me to file my feet in. Forby that I could not let my son mix with their bairns for fear they should teach him the vulgar Thrums words and clarty his blue-velvet suit. Im thinking you have to dress your laddie in cordu- roy, Esther, but you see that would not do for mine. So no more at present, and we all join in compliments, and my lit- tle velvets says he wishes I would send some of his toys to your little corduroys. And so maybe I will, Esther, if youll tell Aaron Latta how rich and happy I am, and if youre feared to say it to his face, tell it to the roaring farmer of Double Dykes, and hell pass it on. Did you ever hear of such a wom- an? Tommy said, indignantly, when he had repeated as much of this insult to Thrums as he could remember. But it was information his mother wanted. What said they to that bit? she asked. At first, it appears, they limited their comments to Losh, losh, keeps a, it cows, my certie, ay, ay, sal, tal, dagont, the meaning of which is obvious. But by and by they recovered their breath, and then Baker Lumsden said, wonder- ingly: Wha that was at her marriage could have thought it would turn out so weel? It was an eerie marriage that, Petey! Ay, man, you may say so, old Petey answered. I was there ; I was ane VOL. XIX. 19 them as gaed in ahint Aaron Latta, and Im no likely to forget it. I wasna there, said the Baker, but I was standing at the door, and I saw the hearse drive ~ What did they mean, mother? Tommy asked, but she shuddered and replied, evasively, Did Martha Scrym- geour say onything? ~She said such a lot, he had to con- fess, that I dinna mind none on it. But I mind what her father in Thrums wrote to her; he wrote to her that if she saw a carriage go by, she was to keep her eyes on the ground, for likely as not Jean Myles would be in it, and she thought as they was all dirt beneath her feet. But Kirsty Rosswho is she? Shes Marthas mother. What about her? She wrote at the end of the letter that Martha was to hang on ahint the carriage and find out where Jean Myles bides. Laddie, that was like Kirsty! Heard you what the roaring farmer o Double Dykes said? No, Tommy had not heard him men- tioned. And indeed the roaring farmer of Double Dykes had said nothing. He was already lying very quiet on the south side of the cemetery. Tommys mothers next question cost her a painful effort. Did you hear, she asked, ~ whether they telled Aaron Latta about the letter? Yes, they telled him, Tommy re- plied, and he said a queer thing; he said, Jean Myles is dead, I was at her coffining. Thats what he aye says when they tell him theres another letter. I wonder what he means, mother? I wonder! she echoed, faintly. The only pleasure left her was to raise the envy of those who had hooted her from Thrums, but she paid a price for it. Many a stab she had got from the un- witting Tommy as he repeated the gos- sip of his new friends, and she only won their envy at the cost of their increased ill-will. They thought she was lording it iu London, and so they were merciless; had they known how poor she was and how ill, they would have forgotten every- thing save that she was a Thrum my like themselves, and there were few but would have shared their all with her. But she did not believe this, and there- 154 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY fore you may pity her, for the hour was drawing near, and she knew it, when she must appeal to someone for her childrens sake, not for her own. No, not for her own. When Tommy was wandering the pretty parts of Lon- don with James Gloag and other boys from Thrums Street in search of Jean Myles, whom they were to know by her carriage ~nd her silk dress and her son in blue velvet, his mother was in bed with bronchitis in the wretched room we know of, or creeping to her work, coughing all the way. A linen rag, for the phlegm she brought up after ex- hausting fits of coughing, was seldom out of her hands now, and she hung strings across the room, on which a score of them might be drying at a time. So many of these rags did she need that a new one was a valuable thing to her; she tore up pieces of linen, even of wearing apparel, and still she had not a sufficiency of rags. There came a time when to get a few of these was more vital to her than anything else in the world; they were all she asked for now, but she asked too much. A face distorted with spasms of cough- ing, one hand pressing a flat chest while the other hunted ever for ragsthat was to be Elspeths only memory of her mother, and through it the smell of cloths steaming on a string. Some of the fits of coughing were very near being this womans last, but she wrestled with her trouble, seeming at times to stifle it, and then for weeks she managed to go to her work, which was still hers, because Shovels old girl did it for her when the bronchitis would not be defied. Shovels old slattern gave this service unasked and without payment; if she was thanked it was ungraciously, but she continued to do all she could when there was need; she smelled of gin, but she continued to do all she could. The wardrobe had been put upon its back on the floor and so converted into a bed for Tommy and Elspeth, who were sometimes wakened in the night by a loud noise, which alarmed them until they learned that it was only the man in the next room knocking angrily on the wall because their mothers cough kept him from sleeping. Tommy knew what death was now, and Elspeth knew its name, and both were vaguely aware that it was looking for their mother; but if she could only hold out till Hogmanay, Tommy said,. they would fleg it out of the house. Hogmanay is the mighty winter festi- val of Thrums, and when it came round these two were to give their mother a present that would make her strong. It was not to be a porous - plaster. Tommy knew now of something better than that. And I knows too! Elspeth gur- gled, and I has threepence aready, I has. Whisht! replied Tommy, in an ag- ony of dread, she hears you, and shell guess. We aint speaking of nothing to gie to you at Hogmanay, he said to his mother with great cunning. Then he winked at Elspeth and said, with his hand over his mouth, I hinna two- pence! and Elspeth, about to cry in fright, Have you spended it? saw the joke and crowed instead, Nor yet has I threepence! They smirked together, until Tommy saw a change come over Elspeths face, which made him run her outside the door. You was a going to pray! he said, severely. Cos it was a lie, Tommy. I does have threepence. Well, you aint a going to get pray- ing about it. She wQuld hear yer. I would do it low, Tommy. She would see yer. Oh, Tommy, let me. God is angry with me. Tommy looked down the stair, and no one was in sight. Ill let yer pray here, he whispered, and you can say I have twopence. But be quick, and do it standing. Perhaps Mrs. Sandys had been think- ing that when Hogmanay came her chil- dren might have no mother to bring presents to, for on their return to the room her eyes followed them wofully, and a shudder of apprehension shook her torn frame. Tommy gave Elspeth a look that meant Im sure theres something queer about her. There was also something queer about himself, which at this time had the SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 155 strangest gallop. It began one day, with a series of morning calls from Shovel, who suddenly popped his head over the top of the door (he was stand- ing on the handle), roared Roast- beef! in the manner of a railway por- ter announcing the name of a station, and then at once withdrew. He returned presently to say that vain must be all attempts to wheedle his se- cret from him, and yet again to ask irritably why Tommy was not coming out to hear all about it. Then did Tommy desert Elspeth, and on the stair Shovel showed him a yellow card with this printed on it: S. R. J. C.-Supper Ticket ; and written beneath, in a ladys hand: Admit Joseph Salt. The letters, Shovel explained, meant Society for the sontethink of Juvenile Crimi- nals, and the toffs what ran it got hold of you when you came out of quod. Then if you was willing to repent they wrote down your name and the place what you lived at in a book, and one of them came to see yer and give yer a ticket for the blow-out night. This was blow-out night, and that were Shovels ticket. He had bought it from Hump Salt for fourpence. What you get at the blow-out was roast-beef, plum-duff, and an orange ; but when Hump saw the fourpence he could not wait. A favor was asked of Tommy. Shovel bad been told by Hump that it was the custom of the toffs to sit beside you and question you about your crimes, and lacking the imagination that made Tom- my such an ornament to the house, the chances were that he would flounder in his answers and be ejected. Hump had pointed this out to him after pocketing the fourpence. Would Tommy, there- fore, make up things for him to say; reward, the orange. This was a proud moment for Tommy, as Shovels knowledge of crime was much more extensive than his own, though they had both studied it in the pictures of a lively newspaper subscribed to by Shovel, senior. He became patronizing at once and rejected the orange as in- sufficient. Then suppose, after he got into the hall, Shovel dropped his ticket out at the window; Tommy could pick it up, and then it would admit him also. Tommy liked this, but foresaw a dan- ger: the ticket might be taken from Shovel at the door, just as they took them from you at that singing thing in the church he had attended with young Petey. So help Shovels davy, there was no fear of this. They were superior toffs, what trusted to your honor. Would Shovel swear to this? He would. But would he swear dagont? He swore dagont; and then Tommy had him. As he was so sure of it, he could not object to Tommys being the one who dropped the ticket out at the window? Shovel did object for a time, but after a wrangle he gave up the ticket, intend- ing to take it from Tommy when primed with the.necessary tale. So they parted until evening, and Tommy returned to Elspeth, secretive but elated. For the rest of the day he was prepossessed, now waggling his head smugly over some dark, unutterable desigii and again looking a little scared. In growing alarm she watched his face, and at last she slipped upon her knees, but he had her up at once and said, reproachfully: It were me as teached yer to pray, and now yer prays for me! Thats fine treatment! Nevertheless, after his mothers return, just before he stole out to join Shovel, he took Elspeth aside and whispered to her, nervously: You can pray for me if you like, for, oh, Elspeth, Im thinking as Ill need it sore! And sore he needed it before the night was out. CHAPTER VIII THE BOY WITH Two MOTIIER5 LOVE my dear father and my ~ dear mother and all the dear little kids at ome. You are a kind laidy or gentleman. I love yer. I will never do it again, so help me bob. Amen. This was what Shovel muttered to himself again and again as the two boys made their way through the lamp-lit streets, and Tommy asked him what it meant. 156 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY My old gal learned me that; shes deep, Shovel said, wiping the words off his mouth with his sleeve. But you got no kids at ome! re- monstrated Tommy. (Ameliar was now in service.) Shovel turned on him with the fury of a mother protecting her young. Dont you try for to knock none on it out, he cried, and again fell a-mumbling. Said Tommy, scornfully: If you says it all out at one bang youll be done at the start. Shovel sighed. And you should blubber when yer says it, added Tommy, who could laugh or cry merely because other people were laughing or crying, or even for less rea- son, and so natural]y that he found it more difficult to stop than to begin. Shovel was the taller by half a head, and irresistible with his fists, but to- night Tommy was master. You jest stick to me, Shovel, he said, airily. Keep a grip on my hand, same as if yer was Elspeth. But what was we copped for, Tom- my? entreated humble Shovel. Tommy asked him if he knew what a butler was, and Shovel remembered, confusedly, that there had been a por- trait of a butler in his fathers news- sheet. Well, then, said Tommy, inspired by this same source, theres a room a butler has, and it is a pantry, so you and me we crawled through the winder and we opened the door to the gang. You and me was copped. They catched you below the table and me stabbing the butler. It wa~ me what stabbed the butler, Shovel interposed, jealously. How could you do it, Shovel? With a knife, I tell yer! Why, you didnt have no knife, said Tommy, impatiently. This crushed Shovel, but he growled sulkily: Well, I bit him in the leg. Not you, said selfish Tommy, You forgets about repenting, and if I let yer bite him, you would brag about it. Its safer without, ShoveL Perhaps it was. How long did I get in quod, then, Tommy? Fourteen days. So did you? Shovel said, with quick anxiety. I got a month,. replied Tommy, firmly. Shovel roared a word that would never have admitted him to the halL Then, Im as game as you, and gamer, he whined. But Im better at repenting. I tell yer, Ill cry when Im repenting~ Tom- mys face lit up, and Shovel could not help saying, with a curious look at it: Youyou aint like any other cove I knows, to which Tommy replied, also in an awestruck voice: Im so queer, Shovel, that when I thinks bout myself ImIm sometimes near feared. What makes your face for to shine like that? Is it thinking about the blow-out? No, it was hardly that, but Tommy could not tell what it was. He and the saying about art for arts sake were in the streets that night, looking for each other. The splendor of the brightly lighted hall, which was situated in one of the meanest streets of perhaps the most densely populated quarter in London, broke upon the two boys suddenly and hit each in his vital part, tapping an in- vitation on Tommys brain-pan and tak- ing Shovel coquettishly in the stomach. Now was the moment when Shovel meant to strip Tommy of the tic1~et, but the spectacle in front dazed him, and he stopped to tell a vegetable barrow how he loved his dear father and his dear moth- er, and all the dear kids at home. Theu Tommy darted forward and was imme- diately lost in the crowd surging round the steps of the hail. Several gentlemen in evening dress stood framed in the lighted doorway, shouting: Have your tickets in your hands and give them up as you pass in. They were fine fellows, helping in a splendid work, and their society did much good, though it was not so well organized as others that have followed in its steps ; but Shovel, you may believe, was in no mood to attend to them. He had but one thought: that the traitor Tommy was doubtless at that moment boring his way toward them, under- ground, as it were, and holding his SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 157 ticket in his hand. Shovel dived into the rabble and was flung back upside down. Falling with his arms round a full-grown man, he immediately ran up him as if he had been a lamp-post, and was aloft just sufficiently long to see Tommy give up the ticket and saunter into the hall. The crowd tried at intervals to rush the door. It was mainly composed of ragged boys, but here and there were men, women, and girls, who came into view for a moment under the lights as the mob heaved and went round and round like a boiling potful. Two po- licemen joined the ticket-collectors, and though it was a good-humored gather- ing, the air was thick with such cries as these: I lorst my ticket, aint I telling yer? Gar on, guvnor, lemme in! Oh, crumpets, look at Jimmy! Jim- my never done nothink, your honor; hes a himposter. Im the boy what kicked the peeler. Hie, you toff with the choker, aint I to step up? Tell yer, Im a genooine criminal, I am. If yer dont lemme in Ill have the lawr on you. Let a poor cove in as his father drownded hisself for his country. What air yer torking about? Warnt I in larst year, and the cuss as runs the show, he says to me, Allers welcome, he says. None on your sarse, bobby. I demands to see the cuss what runs Jest keeping on me ont cos I aint done nothin. Ho, this is a encourage- ment to honesty, I dont think. Mighty in tongue and knee and el- bow was an unknown knight, ever con- spicuous; it might be but by a leg wav- ing for one brief moment in the air. He did not want to go in, would not go in though they went on their blooming knees to him; he was after a viper of the name of Tommy. Half an hour had not tired him, and he was leading an- other assault, when a magnificent lady, such as you see in wax-works, appeared in the vestibule and made some remark to a policeman, who then shouted: If so there be hany lad here called Shovel, he can step forrard. A dozen lads stepped forward at once, but a flail drove them right and left, and the unknown knight had mounted the parapet amid a shower of execrations. If you are the real Shovel, the lady said to him, you can tell me how this proceeds, I love my dear father and my dear mother Go on. Shovel obeyed, tremblingly. And all the dear little kids at ome. You are a kind lady or gentleman. I love yer. I will never do it again, thank you, so help me bob. Amen. Charming! chirped the lady, and down pleasant - smelling aisles she led him, pausing to drop an observation about Tommy to a clergyman: So glad I came; I have discovered the most de- lightful little monster. The clergyman looked after her half in sadness, half sarcastically; he was thinking that he had discovered a monster also. At present the body of the hail was empty, but its sides were lively with gorging boys, among whom ladies moved, carrying platefuls of good things. Most of them were sweet wom- en, fighting bravely for these boys, and not at all like Shovels patroness, who had come for a sensation. Tommy, fall- ing into her hands, she got it. Tommy, who had a corner to himself, was lolling in it like a little king, and he not only ordered roast-beef for the awe-struck Shovel, but sent the lady back for salt. Then he whispered, exultantly: Quick, Shovel, feel my pocket (it bulged with two oranges), now the inside pocket (plumduff), now my waistcoat pocket (three- pence); look in my mouth (choco- lates). When Shovel found speech he began, excitedly: I love my dear father and my dear Gach! said Tommy, interrupting him contemptuously. Repenting aint no go, Shovel. Look at them other coves; none of them has got no money, nor full pockets, and I tell you, its cos they has repented. Gar on Its true, I tells you. That lady as is my one, shes called her ladyship, and she dont care a cuss for boys as has re- pented, which of course was a libel, her ladyship being celebrated wherever par- agraphs penetrate for having knitted a pair of stockings for the deserving poor. 158 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY When I saw that, Tommy continued, brazenly, I bragged stead of repenting, and the wuss I says I am, she jest says, You little monster, and gives me an- other orange. Then Im done for, Shovel moaned, for I rolled off that bout loving my dear father and my dear mother, blast em, soon as I seen her. He need not let that depress him. Tommy had told her he would say it, but that it was all 11am. Shovel thought the ideal arrangement would be for him to eat and leave the torking to Tommy. Tommy nodded. Im full, at any rate, he said, strug- gling with his waistcoat. Oh, Shovel, I am full ! Her ladyship returned, and the boys held by their contract, but of the dark character Tommy seems to have been let not these pages bear the record. Do you wonder that her ladyship believed him? On this point we must fight for our Tommy. You would have believed him. Even Shovel, who knew, between the bites, that it was all whoppers, lis- tened as to his father reading aloud. This was because another boy present half believed it for the moment also. When he described the eerie darkness of the butlers pantry, he shivered invol- untarily, and he shut his eyes onceugh! that was because he saw the blood spouting out of the butler. He was turning up his trousers to show the mark of the butlers boot on his leg when the lady was called away, and then Shovel shook him, saying: Darn yer, doesnt yer know as its all your eye? which brought Tommy to his senses with a jerk. Sures death, Shovel, he whispered, in awe, I was thinking I done it, every bit! Had her ladyship come back she would have found him a different boy. He remembered now that Elspeth, for whom he had filled his pockets, was praying for him; he could see her on her knees, saying, Oh, God, Ise praying for Tommy, and remorse took hold of him and shook him on his seat. He broke into one hysterical laugh and then im- mediately began to sob. This was the moment when Shovel should have got him quietly out of the halL Members of the society discussing him afterward with bated breath said that never till they died could they for- get her ladyships face while he did it. But did you notice the boys own face? It was positively angelic. Angelic, in- deed; the little horror was intoxicated. No, there was a doctor present, and according to him it was the meal that had gone to the boys head; he looked half starved. As for the clergyman, he only said: We shall lose her subscrip- tion; I am glad of it. Yes, Tommy was intoxicated, but with a beverage not recognized by the faculty. What happened was this: Supper be- ing finished, the time had come for what Shovel called the jawing, and the boys were now mustered in the body of the halL The limited audience had gone to the gallery, and unluckily all eyes ex- cept Shovels were turned to the plat- form. Shovel was apprehensive about Tommy, who was not exactly sobbing now ; but strange, uncontrollable sounds not unlike the winding up of a clock pro- ceeded from his throat; his face had flushed; there was a purposeful look in his usually unreadable eye; his fingers were fidgeting on the board in front of him, and he seemed to keep his seat with difficulty. The personage who was to address the boys sat on the plat- form with clergymen, members of com- mittee, and some ladies, one of them Tommys patroness. Her ladyship saw Tommy and smiled to him, but obtained no response. She had taken a front seat, a choice that she must have regret- ted presently. The chairman rose and in a reassur- ing manner announced that the Rev. Mr. would open the proceedings with prayer. The Rev. Mr. rose to pray in a loud voice for the waifs in the body of the hall. At the same moment rose Tommy, and began to pray in a squeaky voice for the people on the platform. He had many Biblical phrases, most- ly picked up in Thrums Street, and what he said was distinctly heard in the still- ness, the clergyman being suddenly be- reft of speech. Oh, he cried, look down on them ones there, for, oh, they are unworthy of Thy mercy, and, oh, the worst sinner is her ladyship, her sitting SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 159 there so brazen in the black frock with yel- low stripes, and the worse I said I were the better pleased were she. Oh, make her think shame for tempting of a poor boy, forgetting suffer little children, oh, why cumbereth she the ground, oh He was in full swing before anyone could act. Shovel having failed to hold him in his seat, had done what was per- haps the next best thing, got beneath it himself. The arm of the petrified clergy- man was still extended, as if blessing his brothers remarks; the chairman seemed to be trying to fling his right hand at the culprit; but her ladyship, after the first stab, never moved a muscle. Thus for nearly half a minute, when the officials woke up, and squeezing past many knees, seized Tommy by the neck and ran him out of the building. All down the aisle he prayed hysterically, and for some time afterward to Shovel, who had been cast forth along with him. Do you think it was for my own self as I done it? I jest done it to get the oranges and plum-duff to you, I did, and the threepence too. Eh? Speak, you little besom. I tell you as I did repent in the hall. I was greeting, and I never knowedl put up that prayer till Shovel told me on it. We was sitting in the street by that time. This was true. On leaving the hail Tommy had dropped to the cold ground and squatted there till he came to, when he remembered nothing of what had led to his expulsion. Like a stream that has run into a pond and only finds itself again when it gets out, he was but a con- tinuation of the boy who when last con- scious of himself was in the corner cry- ing remorsefully over his misdeed; and in this humility he would have returned to Elspeth had no one told him of his prayer. Shovel, however, was at hand, not only to tell him all about it, but to At an hour of that night when their applaud, and home strutted Tommy mother was asleep, and it is to be hoped chuckling. they were the only two children awake I am sleeping, he next said to Els- in London, Tommy Bat up softly in the peth, so you may as well come to your wardrobe to discover whether Bispeth bed. was still praying for him. He knew that He imitated the breathing of a sleeper, she was on the floor in a nightgown some but it was the only sound to be heard twelve sizes too large for her, but the in London, and he desisted fearfully. room was as silent and black as the Come away, Elspeth, he said, coaxing- world he had just left by taking his fin- ly, for he was very fond of her and could gers from his ears and the blankets off not sleep while she was cold and miser- his face. able. I see you, he said, mendaciously, and in a guarded voice, so as not to waken his mother, from whom he had kept his escapade. This had not the desired ef- fect of drawing a reply from Elspeth, and he tried bluster. You needna think as Ill repent, you brat, so there! What? I wish I hadna told you about it! Indeed, he had endeavored not to do so, but pride in his achievement had eventually conquered prudence. Reddy would have laughed, she would, and said as I was a wonder. Beddy was the kind I like. What? You ate up the oranges quick, and the plum-duff too, so you should pray for yoursel as well as for me. Its easy to say as you didna know how I got them till after you eated th~m, but you should have found out. What? Still getting no response he pulled his body inch by inch out of the bedclothes, and holding his breath, found the floor with his feet stealthily, as if to cheat the wardrobe into thinking that he was still in it. But his reason was to dis- cover whether Elspeth had fallen asleep on her knees without her learning that he cared to know. Almost noiselessly he worked himself along the floor, but when he stopped to bring his face nearer hers, there was such a creak- ing of his joints that if Elspeth did not hear it sheshe must be dead! His knees played whack on the floor. Elspeth only gasped once, but he heard, and remained beside her for a minute, so that she might hug him if such was her desire; and she put out her hand in the darkness so that his should not have far to travel alone if it chanced to be on 160 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY the way to her. Thus they sat on their knees, each aghast at the hard-hearted- ness of the other. Tommy put the blankets over the kneeling figure, and presently an- nounced from the wardrobe that if he died of cold before repenting the blame of keeping him out of heaven would be Elspeths. But the last word was muf- fled, for the blankets were tucked about him as he spoke, and two motherly little arms gave him the embrace they wanted to withhold. Foiled again, he kicked off the bedclothes and said: I tell yer I wants to die! This terrified both of them, and he added, quickly: Oh, God, if I was sure I were to die to-night I would repent at once. It is the commonest prayer in all languages, but down on her knees slipped Elspeth again, and Tommy, who felt that it had done him good, said, indignantly: Sure- ly that is religion. What? He lay on his face until he was fright- ened by a noise louder than thunder in the daytimethe scraping of his eye- lashes on the pillow. Then he sat up in the wardrobe and fired his three last shots. Elspeth Sandys, Im done with yer forever, I am. Ill take care on yer, but Ill never kiss yer no more. When yer boasts as Im your broth- er Ill say you aint. Ill tell my mother about Reddy the ~morn, and syne shell put you to the door smart. When you are a grown woman, Ill buy a house to yer, but youll have jest to bide in it by your lonely self, and Ill come once a year to speir how you are, but I wont come in, I wontIll jest cry up the stair. The effect of this was even greater than he had expected, for now two were in tears instead of one, and Tommys grief was the more heartrending, he was so much better at everything than Elspeth. He jumped out of the ward- robe and ran to her, calling her name, and he put his arms round her cold body, and the dear mite, forgetting how cruelly he had used her, cried, Oh, tighter, Tommy, tighter; you didnt not mean it, did yer? Oh, you is terrible fond on me, aint yer? And you wont not tell my mother bout Reddy, will yer, and you is no done wi me for- ever, is yer? and you wont not put me in a house by myself, will yer? Oh, Tommy, is that the tightest you can do? And Tommy made it tighter, vowing, I never meant it; I was a bad un to say it. If ]Ileddy were to come back wanting for to squeeze you, out I would send her packing quick, I would. I tell yer what, Ill kiss you with folk looking on, I will, and no be ashamed to do it, and if Shovel is one of them what sees me, and he puts his finger to his nose, Ill blood the mouth of him, I will, dag- ont! Then he prayed for forgiveness, and he could always pray more beautifully than Elspeth. Even she was satisfied with the way he did it, and so, alack, was he. But you forgot to tell, she said, fondly, when once more they were in the wardrobe together you forgot to tell as you filled your pockets wif things to me. I didnt forget, Tommy replied, modestly. I missed it out on pur- pose, I did, cos I was sure God knows on it without my telling Him, and I thought He would be pleased if I didnt let on as I knowed it was good of me. Oh, Tommy, cried Elspeth, wor- shipping him, I couldnt have doned that, I couldnt! She was barely~ six, and easily taken in, but she would save him from himself if she could. CHAPTER IX AULD LANG SYNE HAT to do with her ladyships threepence? Tommy finally / decided to drop it into the charity-box that had once contained his penny. They held it over the slit together, Elspeth almost in tears because it was such a large sum to give away, but Tommy looking angelic, he was so proud of himself; and when he said Three ! they let go. There followed days of excitement centred round their money-box. Shovel introduced Tommy to a boy what said as after a bit you forget how much SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 161 money was in your box, and then when you opened it, oh, Lor! there is more than you thought, so he and Elspeth gave this plan a weeks trial, affecting not to know how much they had gath- ered, but when they unlocked it, the sum was only the eightpence they had known it to be all the time; so then Tommy told the liar to come on, and they fought while the horrified Elspeth prayed, and Tommy licked him, a result due to one of the famous Thrums left-handers then on exhibition in that street for the first time, as taught the victor by Petey Whamond the younger, late of Tilly- loss. The money did come in, once in spate (twopence from Bob in twenty- four hours), but usually so slowly that they saw it resting on the way, and then, when they listened intently, they could hear the thud of Hogmanay. The last halfpenny was a special aggrava- tion, strolling about, just out of reach, with all the swagger of sixpence, but at last Elspeth had it, and after that, the sooner Hogmanay came the better. They concealed their excitement under too many wrappings, but their mother suspected nothing. XVhen she was dress- ing on the morning of Hogmanay, her stockings happened to be at the other side of the room, and they were such a long way off that she rested on the way to them. At the meagre breakfast she said what a heavy teapot that was, and Tommy thought this funny, but the salt had gone from the joke when he remembered it afterwards. And when she was ready to go off to her work she hesitated at the door, looking at her bed and from it to her children as if in two minds, and then went quietly downstairs, her pocket full of the rags that were to help her through the day. The distance seems greater than ever to-day, poor woman, and you stop longer at the corners, where rude men jeer at you. Scarcely, can you push open the door of the dancing-school or lift the pail; the fire has gone out, you must again go on your knees before it, and again the smoke makes you cough. Gaunt slattern, fighting to bring up the phlegm, was it really you for whom another woman gave her life, and thought it a rich reward to get dress- ing you once in your long clothes, when she called you her beautiful, and smiled, and smiling, died? Well, well; but take courage, Jean Myles. The long road still lies straight up hill, but your climb- ing is near an end. Shrink from the rude men no more, they are soon to for- get you, so soon! It is a heavy door, but soon you will have pushed it open for the last time. The girls will babble still, but not to you, not of you. Cheer up, the work is nearly done: the hunt for rags is almost ended. Her beautiful! Come, beautiful, strength for a few more days, and then you can leave the key of the leaden door behind you, and on your way home you may kiss your hand joy- ously to the weary streets, for you are going to die. Tommy and Elspeth had been to the foot of the stair many times to look for her before their mother came back that evening, yet when she re-entered her home, behold, they were sitting calmly on the fender as if this were a day like yesterday or to-morrow, as if Tommy had not been on a business visit to Thrums Street, as if the hump on the bed did not mean that a glorious some- thing was hidden under the coverlet. True, ELspeth would look at Tommy im- ploringly every few minutes, meaning that she could not keep it in much lon- ger, and then Tommy would mutter the one word Bells to remind her that it was against the rules to begin before the Thrums eight-oclock bell rang. They also wiled away the time of waiting by inviting each other to conferences at the window where these whispers passed. She aint got a notion, Tommy. Dinna look so often at the bed. If I could jest get one more peep at it! No, no; but you can put your hand on the top of it as you go by. The artfulness of Tommy lured his un- suspecting mother into telling how they would be holding Hogmanay in Thrums to-night, how cartloads of kebbock cheeses had been rolling into the town all the livelong day ( Do you hear them, Elspeth? ), and in dark closes the children were already gathering, with smeared faces and in eccentric dress, to sally forth as guisers at the clap of 162 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY eight, when the ringing of a bell lets Hogmanay loose. (You see, Elspeth?) Inside the houses men and women were preparing (though not by fasting, which would have been such a good way that it is surprising no one ever thought of it) for a series of visits, at every one of which they would be offered a dram and kebbock and bannock, and in the grander houses bridies, which are a sublime kind of pie. Tommy had the audacity to ask what bridies were like. And he could not dress up and be a guiser, could he, mother, for the guisers sang a song, and he did not know the words? What a pity they could not get bridies to buy in London, and learn the song and sing it. But of course they could not! ( Els- peth, if you tumble off the fender again, shell guess.) Such is a sample of Tommy, but Els- peth was sly also, if, in a smaller way, and it was she who said: There aint nothin in the bed, is there, Tommy! This duplicity made her uneasy, and she added, behind her teeth, Maybe there is, and then, 0 God, I knows as there is. But as the great moment drew near there were no more questions; two chil- dren were staring at the clock and listen- ing intently for the peal of a bell nearly five hundred miles away. The clock struck. Whisht! Its time, Elspeth! Theyve begun! Come on!, A few minutes afterward Mrs. San- dys was roused by a knock at the door, followed by the entrance of two mysterious figures. The female wore a boys jacket turned outside in, the male~ a womans bonnet and a shawl, and to make his disguise the more impenetra- ble he carried a poker in his right hand. They stopped in the middle of the floor and began to recite, rather tremulously, Get up good wife, and binna sweir, And deal your bread to them thats here, For the time will come when youll be dead, And then youll need neither ale nor bread. Mrs. Sandys had started, and then turned piteously from them; but when they were done she tried to smile, and said, with forced gayety, that she saw they were guisers, and it was a fine night, and would they take a chair. The male stranger did so at once, but the female said, rather anxiously: You are sure as you dont know who we is? Their hostess shook her head, and then he of the poker offered her three guesses, a daring thing to do, but all went well, for her first guess was Shovel and his old girl; second guess, Before and After; third guess, Napoleon Buonaparte and the Auld Licht minister. At each guess the smaller of the intruders clapped her hands gleefully, but when, with the third, she was unmuzzled, she putted with her head at Mrs. Sandys and hugged her, It aint none on them; its screaming, jest me, mother, its Elspeth! and even while their astounded hostess was ask- ing could it be true, the male conspir- ator dropped his poker noisily (to draw attention to himself) and stood revealed as Thomas Sandys! Wasnt it just like Thrums, wasnt it just the very, very same? Ah, it was wonderful, their mother said, but alas, there was one thing wanting: she had no Hogmanay to give the guisers. Had she not? What a pity, Elspeth! What a pity, Tommy! What might that be in the bed, Elspeth? It couldnt not be their Elogmanay, could it, Tommy? If Tommy was his mother he would look and see. If Elspeth was her mother she would look and see. Her curiosity thus cunningly aroused, Mrs. Sandys raised the coverlet of the bed andthere were three bridies, an oatmeal cake, and a hunk of kebbock. And they comed from Thrums ! cried Elspeth, while Tommy cried, Petey and the others got a lot sent from Thrums, and I bought the bridies from them, and they gave me the bannock and the kebbock for nuthin! Their mother did not utter the cry of rapture which Tommy expected so confidently that he could have done it for her; instead, she pulled her two children toward her, and the great moment was like to be a tear- ful rather than an ecstatic one, for Els- peth had begun to whimper, and even Tommybut by a supreme effort he shouldered reality to the door. Is this my Hogmanay, guidwife? he asked in the nick of time, and the situa- tion thus being saved, the luscious feast was partaken of, the guisers listening ~olemnly as each bite want down. They SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 163 also took care to address their hostess as guidwife or mistress, affecting not to have met her lately, and inquir- ing genially after the health of herself and family. How many have you? was Tommys masterpiece, and she an- swered in the proper spirit, but all the time she was hiding great part of her bridie beneath her apron, Hogmanay having come too late for her. Everything was to be done exactly as they were doing it in Thrums Street, and so presently Tommy made a speech; it was the speech of old Petey, who had rehearsed it several times before him. Heres a toast, said Tommy, standing up and waving his arms, heres a toast that well drink in silence, one that maun have sad thoughts at the back ot to some of us, but one, my friends, that keeps the hearts of Thrums folk green and ties us all thegither, like as it were wi twine. Its to all them, wherever they may be the night, wha have sat as lads and lasses at the Cuttle Well. To one of the listeners it was such an unexpected ending that a faint cry broke from her, which startled the children, and they sat in silence looking at her. She bad turned her face from them, but her arm was extended as if entreating Tommy to stop. That was the end, he said, at length, in a tone of expostulation; its auld Peteys speech. Are you sure, his mother asked wistfully, that Petey was to say all them as have sat at the Cuttle Well? He made nae exception, did he? Tommy did not know what excep- tion was, but he assured her that he had repeated the speech, word for word. For the remainder of the even- ing she sat apart by the fire, while her children gambled for crack-nuts, young Petey having made a teetotum for Tommy and taught him what the letters on it meant. Their mirth rang faintly in her ear, and they scarcely heard her fits of coughing; she was as much engrossed in her own thoughts as they in theirs, but hers were sad and theirs were jocundHogmanay, like all festivals, being but a bank from which we can only draw what we put in. So an hour or more passed, after which Tom- my whispered to Elspeth: Nows the time; they~re at it now, and each took a hand of their mother, and she woke from her reverie to find that they had pulled her from her chair and were jump- ing up and down, shouting, excitedly, For Auld Lang Syne, my dear, for Anid Lang Syne, Auld Lang Syne, my dear, Auld Lang Syne. She tried to sing the words with her children, tried to dance round with them, tried to smile, but It was Tommy who dropped her hand first. Mother, he cried, your face is wet, youre greeting sair, and you said you had forgot the way. I mind it now, man, I mind it now, she said, standing helplessly in the mid- dle of the room. Elspeth nestled against her, crying, My mother was thinking about Thrums, wasnt she, Tommy? I was thinking about the part ot Im most awid to be in, the poor wom- an said, sinking back into her chair. Its the Den, Tommy told Els- peth. Its the Square. Elspeth told Tommy. No, its Monypenny. No, its the Commonty. But it was none of these places. Its the cemetery, the woman said, its the hamely, quiet cemetery on the hillside. Oh, theres mony a bonny place in my nain bonny toon, but theres nain so hamely like as the cemetery. She sat shaking in the chair, and they thought she was to say no more, but presently she rose excitedly, and with a vehemence that made them shrink from her she cried: I winna lie in London! tell Aaron Latta that; I winna lie in London! For a few more days she trudged to her work, and after that she~seldom left her bed. She had no longer strength to coax up the phlegm, and a doctor brought in by Shovels mother warned her that her days were near an end. Then she wrote her last letter to Thrums, Tommy and Elspeth standing by to pick up the pen when it fell from her feeble hand, and in the intervals she told them that she was Jean Myles. And if I die and Aaron hasna come, she said, you maun just gang to auld Petey and tell him wha you are. 164 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY But how can you be Jean Myles? asked astounded Tommy. You aint a grand lady and His mother looked at Elspeth. No afore her, she besought him ; but before he set off to post the letter she said Come canny into my bed the night, when Elspeths sleeping, and sync Ill tell you all there is to tell about Jean Myles. Tell me now, if the letter is to Aaron Latta? Jts for him, she said, but its no to him. Im feared he might burn it without opening it if he saw my write on the cover, so Ive wrote it to a friend of his wha will read it to him. And whats inside, mother? the boy begged, inquisitively. It must be queer things if theyll bring Aaron Latta all the way from Thrums. Theres but little in it, man, she said, pressing her hand hard upon her chest. Its no muckle mair than Auld Lang Syne, my dear, for Auld Lang Syne. CHAPTER X the story and put a waur face on it than I deserve. She had spoken calmly, but her next words were passionate. They thought I was fond o him, she cried; oh, they were blind, blind! Frae the first I could never thole the sight o him. Maybe thats no true, ~he had to add. I aye kent he was a black, but yet I couldna put him oot o my head; he took sudden grips o me like an evil thought. I aye ran frae him, and yet I sair doubt that I gaed looking for him too. Was it Aaron Latta? Tommy asked. No, it was your father. The first I ever saw of him was at Cullew, fower lang miles frae Thrums. There was a ball after the market, and Esther Auld and me gaed tillt. We gaed in a cart, and I was wearing a blue print, wi a white bonnet, and blue ribbons that tied aneath the chin. I had a shawl abune, no to file them. There wasna a mair innocent lassie in Thrums, man, no, nor a happier ane ; for Aaron Latta Aaron came half the way wi us, and he was hauding my hand aneath the shawL He hadna speired me at that time, but I just kent. It was an auld custom to choose a THAT night the excited boy was queen of beauty at the ball, but that wakened by a tap-tap, as of some- night the men couldna gree wha should one knocking for admittance, and be judge, and in the tail end they stealing to his mothers side, he gaed out thegither to look for ane, de- cried, Aaron Latta has come; hearken termined to mak judge o the first man to him chapping at the door! they met, though they should hae to It was only the man through the tear him aff a horse and bring him in by wall, but Mrs. Sandys took Tommy into force. You wouldna believe to look at bed with her, and while Elspeth slept, me now, man, that I could hae haen ony told him the story of her life. She thait o being made queen, but I was coughed feebly now, but the panting of fell bonny, and I was as keen as the the dying is a sound - that no walls can rest. How simple we were, all pretend- cage, and the man continued to remon- ing to ane another that we didna want strate at intervals. Tommy never re- to be chosen! Esther Auld said she called his mothers story without seem- would hod ahint the tent till a queen ing, through the darkness in which it was picked, and at the very time she was told, to hear Elspeths peaceful said it, she was in a palsy, through no breathing and the angry tap-tap on the being able to decide whether she looked walL better in her shell necklace or wanting Im sweer to tell it to you, she be- it. She put it on in the end, and syne gan, but tell I mann, for though its when we heard the tramp o the men, just a warning to you and Elspeth no to her mind misgae her, and she cried: be like them that brought you into the For the love o mercy, keep them oot world, its all I have to leave you. Ay, till I get it aff again! So we were a and theres another reason: you may lauching when they came in. soon be among folk wha ken but half Laddie, it was your father and Els THE FAVORITE OF THE LADIES SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 165 peths that they brought wi them, and he was a stranger to us, though we kent something about him afore the night was oot. He was finely put on, wi a gold chain, and a free wy of looking at women, and if you mind o him ava, you ken that he was fair and buirdly, wi a full face, and aye a laugh ahint it. I tell ye, man, that when our ecu met, and I saw that triumphing laugh ahint his face, I took a fear of him, as jf I had guessed the end. For years and years after that night I dreamed it ower again, and aye I heard mysel crying to God to keep that man awa frae me. But I doubt I put up no sic prayer at the time; his masterful look fleid me, and yet it drew me against my will, and I was trembling wi pride as weel as fear when he made me queen. We danced thegither and fought the- gither a through the ball, and my will was no match for his, and the warst ot was I had a kind o secret pleasure in being mastered. Man, he kissed me. Lads had kissed me afore that night, but never since first I gaed wi Aaron Latta to the Cuttle Well. Aaron hadna done it, but I was never to let none do it again except him. So when your father did it I struck him, but ahint the redness that came ower his face, I saw his triumphing laugh, and he whispered that he liked me for the blow. He said, I prefer the sweer anes, and the more you struggle, my beauty, the better pleased Ill be. Almost hi~ hinmost words to me was, Ive been hearing of your Aaron, and that pleases me too! I fired up at that and telled him what I thought of him, but he said, If you canna abide me, what made you dance wi me so often? and, oh, laddie, thats a question that has sung in my head since sync. Ive telled you that we found out wha he was, and deed he made no secret ot. Up to the time he was twal year auld he had been a kent face in that part, for his mither was a Cullewwoman called Mag Sandys, ay, and a single woman. She was a hard ane too, for when he was twal he flung oot o the house saying he would neer come back, and she said he shouldna run awa wi thac new boots on, so she took the boots aff him and let him go. He was a grown man afore mair was heard o him, and sync stories came saying he was at Redlintie playing queer games wi his father. His father was gauger there, thats exciseman, a Mr. Cray, wha got his wife out o Thrums, and even when he was courting her (so they say) had the heart to be ower chief wi this other woman. Wed, Magerful Tam, as he was called through being so masterful, cast up at Redlintie frac none kent whaur, gey desperate for siller, but wi a black coat on his back, and lie saidthat all he wanted was to be owned as the gaugers son. Mr. Cray said there was no proof that he was his son, and sync the queer sport began. Your father had noticed he was like Mr. Cray, except in the beard, and so he had his beard clippit the same, and he got haud o some weel-kent claethes o the gaugers that had been presented to a poor body, and he learned up a the gaugers tricks of speech and walking, especially a droll wy he had o taking snuff and sync flinging back his head. They were as like as buckies after that, and soon there was a toon about it, for one day ladies would find that they had been bowing to the son thinking he was the father, and the next they cut the father dead, mistaking him for the son; and a report spread to the head office o the excise that the gauger of Redlintie spent his evenings at a public house, singing The Deils awa wi the Excise- man. Tam drank nows and nans, and it gae Mr. Cray a turn to see him come rolling yont the street, just as if it was hiinsel in a looking-glass. He was a se- date-living man now, but chiefly because his wife kept him in good control, and this sight brought back auld times so vive to him, that he a kind of mistook which ane he was, and took to drop- ping, forgetful-like, into public-houses again. It was high time Tam should be got oot o the plac6, and they did man- age to bribe him into leaving, though no easily, for it had been fine sport to him, and to make a sensation was what he valued abune all things. We heard that he gaed back to Redlintie a curran years after, but both the gauger and his wife were dead, and I ken that he didna troub- le the twa daughtors. They were Miss Ailie and Miss Kitty, and as they werena 1G6 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY left as weel aff as was expected they came to Thrums, which had been their mothers town, and started a school for the gentry there. I dinna doubt but what its the school that Esther Aulds laddie is at. So after being lang lost sight o he turned up at Cullew, wi what looked to simple folk a fortune in his pouches, and half a dozen ontrue stories about how he made it. He had come to make a show o himsel afore his mither, and I dare say to gie her some gold, for he was aye ready to gie wheu he had, Ill say that for him ; but she had flitted to some unkent place, and so he bade on some weeks at the Cullew public. He cared- na whether the folk praised or blamed him so lang as they wondered at him, and queer stories about his doings was aye on the road to Thrums. One was that he gave wild suppers to whaever would come; another that he gaed to the kirk just for the glory of flinging a sov- ereign into the plate wi a clatter; an- other that when he lay sleeping on twa chairs, gold and silver dribbled oot o his trouser pouches to the floor. There was an ugly story too, aboot a lassie, that led to his leaving the place and coming to Thrums, after he had near killed the Cullew smith in a fight. The first I heard o his being in Thrums was when Aaron Latta walked into my grannys house and said there was a strange man at the Tappit Hen public standing drink to ony that would tak, and boasting that he had but to waggle his finger to make me gie Aaron up. I gaed wi Aaron and looked in at the window, but I kent wha it was afore I looked. If Aaron had just gone in and struck him! All decent women, laddie, has a horror of being fought about. Im no sure but what thats just the differ- ence atween guid anes and ill anes, but this man had a power ower me; and if Aaron had just struck him! Instead o meddling he turned white, and I could- na help contrasting them, and thinking howmasterful your father looked. Fine I kent he was a brute, andyet I couldna help admiring him for looking so mager- fun He bade on at the Tappit Hen, fling- ing his siller aboot in the way that made him a king at Cullew, but no molest. ing Miss Ailie and Miss Kitty, which all. but me thought was what he had come to Thrums to do. Aaron and me was cried for the first time the Sabbath af- ter he came, and the next Sabbath for the second time, but afore that he was aye getting in my road and speaking to me, but I ran frae him and hod frae him when I could, and he said the reason I did that was because I kent his will was stronger than mine. He was aye saying things that made me think he saw down to the bottom o my soul; what I didna understand was that in mastering other women he had been learning to master me. Ay, but though I thought ower muckle aboot him, never did I speak him fair. I looed Aaron wi all my heart, and your fathor kent it; and that, I doubt, was what made him so keen, for, oh, but he was vain! And now weve come to the night Im so sweer to speak aboot. She was a good happy lassie that gaed into the Den that moonlight night wi Aarons arm round her, but it was another wom- an that came oot. We thought we had the Den to oursels, and as we sat on the Shoaging Stane at the Cuttle Well, Aaron wrote wi a stick on the ground Jean Latta, and prigged wi me to look at it, but I spread my hands ower my face, and he didna ken that I was keeking at it through my fingers all the time. We was so taen up with our- sels that we saw nobody corning, and all at once there was your father by the side o us! Youve written the wrong name, Aaron, he said, jeering and pointing with his foot at the letters; it should be Jean Sandys. Aaron said not a word, but I had a presentiment of ill, and I cried, Dinna let him change the name, Aaron! Your father had been to change it himsel, but at that he had a new thait, and he said, No, ~ll no do it; your brave Aaron shafl do it for me. Laddie, it doesna do for a man to be a coward afore a woman thats fond o him. A woman will thole a mans being onything except like hersel. When I was sure Aaron was a coward I stood still as death, waiting to ken whas I was to be. Aaron did it. He was loath, but your father crushed him to the ground, SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 167 and said do it he should, and warned him too that if he did it he would lose me, bantering him and cowing him and ,advising him no to shame me, all in a breath. He kent so weel, you see, what was in my mind, and aye there was that triumphing laugh ahint his face. If Aaron had fought and been beaten, even if he.had just lain there and let the man strike away, if he had done onything ex- cept what he was bidden, he would have won, for it would have broken your fa- thers power ower me. But to write the word! It was like dishonoring me to save his am skin, and your father took good care he should ken it. Youve heard me crying to Aaron in my sleep, but it wasna for him I cried, it was for his fireside. All the love I had for him, and it was muckle, was skailed forever that night at the Cuttle Well. Without a look ahint me awa I gaed wi my master, and I had no more will to resist himand oh, man, man, when I came to mysel next morning I wished I had never been born! The men folk saw that Aaron had shamed them, and they werena quite so set agin me as the women, wha had guessed the truth, though they couldna be sure ot. Sair I pitied mysel, and sair I grat, but only when none was looking. The mair they miscalled me the higher I held my head, and I hung on your fathers arm as if I adored him, and I boasted about his office and his clerk in London till they believed what I didna believe a word o myself. But though I put sic a brave face ont, I was near demented in case he shouldna marry me, and he kent that and jokit me aboot it. Dinna think I was fond o him; I hated him now. And dinna think his masterfulness had ony mair power ower me; his power was broken forever when I woke up that weary morning. But that was ower late, and to wait on by mysel in Thrums for what might happen, and me a single womanI daredna! So I flattered at him, and flattered at him, till I got the fool side o him, and he married me. My granny let the marriage take place in her hoose, and he sent in so muckle meat and drink that some folk was willing to come. One came that wasna wanted. In the middle o the marriage Aaron Latta, wha had refused to speak to onybody since that night, walked in wearing his blacks, wi crape on them, as if it was a funeral, and all he said was that he had come to see Jean Myles coffined. He gaed awa qui- etly as soon as we was married, but the crowd outside had fathomed his mean- ing, and abune the ministers words I could hear them crying, Ay, its mair like a burial than a marriage! My heart was near breaking wi woe, but oh, I was awid they shouldna ken it, and the bravest thing I ever did was to sit through the supper that night, mak- ing muckle o your father, looking fond- like at him, laughing at his coarse jokes, and secretly hating him down to my very marrow a the time. The crowd got word o the on-goings, and they took a cruel revenge. A carriage had been ordered for nine oclock to take us to Tilliedrum, whaur we would get the train to London, and when we heard it, as we thought, drive up to the door, out we gaed, me on your fathers arm laughing, but wi my teeth set. But Aarons words had put an idea into their heads, though he didna intend it, and they had got out the hearse. It was the hearse they had brought to the door instead of a carriage. We got awa in a carriage in the tailend, and the stanes hitting it was all the good luck flung after me. 1t had just one horse, and I mind how I cried to Esther Auld, wha had been the first to throw, that when I came back it would be in a carriage and pair. Aye I had pride! In the carriage your father telled me as a joke that he had got away without paying the sup- per, and that aboot all the money he had now, forby what was to pay our tickets to London, was the half-sover- eign on his watch-chain. But I was determined to hae Thrums think I had married grand, and as I had three pound six on me, the savings o all my days, I gae two pound ot to Malcolm Crabb, the driver, unbeknown to your father, but pretending it was frae him, and telled him to pay for the supper and the carriage wit. He said it was far ower muckle, but I just laughed, and said wealthy gentlemen like Mr. Sandys conldna he bothered to take back change, so Malcolm could keep what was ower. 168 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY Malcolm was the man Esther Auld had just married, and I counted on this maddening her and on Malcolms spread- ing the story through the toon. Laddie, Ive kent since syne what it is to be without bite or sup, but Ive never grudged that siller. The poor woman had halted many times in her tale, and she was glad to make an end. Youve furgotten what a life he led me in London, she said, and it could do you no good to hear it, though it might be a lesson to thae las- sies at the dancing-school wha think so much o masterful men. It was by betting at horse-races that your father made a living, and whiles he was large o siller, but that didna last, and I question whether he would hae stuck to me if I hadna got wark. Weel, hes gone, and the Thrums folkll soon ken the truth aboot Jean Myles now. She paused, and then cried, with ex- traordinary vehemence: Oh, man, how I wish I could keep it frae them for ever and ever! But presently she was calm again and she said: What Ive been telling you, you can understand little o the now, but some ot will come back to you when youre a grown man, and if youre magerful and have some lassie in your grip, may be for the memory of her that bore you, youll let the poor thing awa. And she asked him to add this to his nightly prayer: 0 God, keep me from being a magerful man! and to teach this other prayer to Elspeth, 0 God, whatever is to be my fate, may I never be one of them that bow the knee to magerful men, an~ if I was born like that and canna help it, 0 take me up to heaven afore rm filt. The wardrobe was invisible in the darkness, but they coyld still hear Els- peths breathing as she slept, and instead of answering at once, the exhausted woman listened long to it, as if she would fain carry away with her to the other world the memory of that sweet sound. If you gang to Thrums, she said at last, you may hear my story frae some that winna spare me in the telling; but should Elspeth be wi you at sic times, dinna answer back; just slip quietly away wi her. Shes so young that shell soon forget all ab@ut her life in London and all about me, and thatll be best for her. I would like her lassie- hood to be bright and free frae cares, as if there had never been sic a woman as me. But laddie, oh, my laddie, dinna you forget me; you and me had him to thole thegither, dinna you forget me! Watch ower your little sister by . day and hap her by night, and when the time comes that a man wants herif he be magerful, tell her my story at once. But gin she loves one that is her am true love, dinna rub off the bloom, lad- die, with a word about me. Let her and him gang to the Cuttle Well, as Aaron and me gaed, kenning no guile and thinking none, and with their arms round one anothers waists. But when her wedding-day comes round Her words broke in a sob and she cried: I see them, I see them standing up thegither afore the minister! Oh! you lad, you lad thats to be married to my Elspeth, turn your face and let me see that youre no a magerful man! But the lad did not turn his face, and when she spoke next it was to Tommy. In the bottom o my kist theres a little silver teapot. Its no real silver, but its fell bonny. I bought it for Elspeth twa or three months back when I saw I couldna last the winter. I bought it to her for a marriage present. Shes no t6 see it till her wedding-day comes round. Syne youre to gie it to her, man, and say its with her mothers love. Tell her all about me, for it canna harm her then. Tell her of the fool lies I sent to Thrums, but dinna forget what a bonny place I thought it all the time, no~ how I stood on many a driech night at the corner of that street, looking so waeful at the lighted windows, and hungering for the wring of a Thra~is hand or the sound of the Thrums word, and all the time the shrewd blasts ci4ti~g through my thin trails of claithe~ Tell her, man, how you and me sp~~this n and howl fought to keep m~ last down so as no to waken her. ~ ?hat what- ever I have been, I was a~ A o my bairns, and slaved for them fil~Aropped. Shell have lang forgotten what I was like, and its just as wed, but yet Look at me, Tommy, look lang, lang, so as youll be able to call up my face as it SEVILLANA 169 was on the far-back night when I telled you my mournful story. Na, you canna see in the dark, but haud my hand, haud it tight, so that, when you tell Elspeth, youll mind how hot it was, and the skin loose on it; and put your hand on my cheeks, man, and feel how wet they are wi sorrowful tears, and lay it on my breast, so that you can tell her how I was shrunk awa. And if she greets for her mother a whiley, let her greet. The sobbing boy hugged his mother. Do you think Im an auld woman? she said to him. Youre gey auld, are you no? he answered. Voi.. XIX. 20 Ay, she said, Im gey auld; Im nine and twenty. I was seventeen on the day when Aaron Latta gaed half- road in the cart wi me to Cullew, haud my hand aneath my shawl. He hadna spiered me, but I just kent. Tommy remained in his mothers bed for the rest of the night, and so many things were buzzing in his brain that not for an hour did he think it time to repeat his new prayer. At last he said, reverently: 0 God, keep me from be- ing a magerful man! Then he opened his eyes to let God see that his prayer was ended, and added to himself: But I think I would fell like it. (To be continued.) SEVILLANA By Mabel Thayer illustrated by Vierge T HRONED in mid - heaven a summer sun lay hot and bur- densome on the motley roofs of Seville, riddling them with in- candescent light. On the horizon, like sails becalmed in a tropical sea, careened squadrons of cloud- lets, whitish and delicate, empha- sizing the implacable brilliancy of the azure. Between whitewashed walls the verdure of the patios drooped life- lessly around the little fountains whose waters quiver e d upward, slender and silvery, to fall back into their stone basins, droning a cease- less songmournful paraphrase of those scorching hours. As through a veil there trembled indistinctly the flowers, the leaves and fruits of orange and lemon trees, powdered with a stinging dust that rose from the streets where the trample of feet and the pungent smells from improvised frying - booths pro- claimed a feast-dayone of those days odorous and sonorous, breath- ing full the Bacchanalian spirit of pagan times that now and again bursts the bands with which cen- turies of Christianity have swathed the Spaniard. F.W ri 1 / I: $(

Mabel Thayer Thayer, Mabel Sevillana 169-175

SEVILLANA 169 was on the far-back night when I telled you my mournful story. Na, you canna see in the dark, but haud my hand, haud it tight, so that, when you tell Elspeth, youll mind how hot it was, and the skin loose on it; and put your hand on my cheeks, man, and feel how wet they are wi sorrowful tears, and lay it on my breast, so that you can tell her how I was shrunk awa. And if she greets for her mother a whiley, let her greet. The sobbing boy hugged his mother. Do you think Im an auld woman? she said to him. Youre gey auld, are you no? he answered. Voi.. XIX. 20 Ay, she said, Im gey auld; Im nine and twenty. I was seventeen on the day when Aaron Latta gaed half- road in the cart wi me to Cullew, haud my hand aneath my shawl. He hadna spiered me, but I just kent. Tommy remained in his mothers bed for the rest of the night, and so many things were buzzing in his brain that not for an hour did he think it time to repeat his new prayer. At last he said, reverently: 0 God, keep me from be- ing a magerful man! Then he opened his eyes to let God see that his prayer was ended, and added to himself: But I think I would fell like it. (To be continued.) SEVILLANA By Mabel Thayer illustrated by Vierge T HRONED in mid - heaven a summer sun lay hot and bur- densome on the motley roofs of Seville, riddling them with in- candescent light. On the horizon, like sails becalmed in a tropical sea, careened squadrons of cloud- lets, whitish and delicate, empha- sizing the implacable brilliancy of the azure. Between whitewashed walls the verdure of the patios drooped life- lessly around the little fountains whose waters quiver e d upward, slender and silvery, to fall back into their stone basins, droning a cease- less songmournful paraphrase of those scorching hours. As through a veil there trembled indistinctly the flowers, the leaves and fruits of orange and lemon trees, powdered with a stinging dust that rose from the streets where the trample of feet and the pungent smells from improvised frying - booths pro- claimed a feast-dayone of those days odorous and sonorous, breath- ing full the Bacchanalian spirit of pagan times that now and again bursts the bands with which cen- turies of Christianity have swathed the Spaniard. F.W ri 1 / I: $( 170 SEVILLANA Since morning Sevillians and country people had strolled along the streets, al- ways in one direction. One might have thought their goal was some church whose patron saint was honored on that day, but at high noon there are no spec- tacular services to excite the senses, none of the organ music with tumult- uous choir, none of the impassioned sermons so dear to the devout hearts of the Sevillians; the sacred edifices are left to beggars dozing in corners, while the streets have the empty look of Afri- can villages simmering under an equa- torial sun. Yet the crowd increased as the hours grew, all classes elbowing each other good-naturedly, unmindful of the sti- fling air, the fiery baptism of heat from above, and the sharp cobble-stones be- neath, which made of those winding lanes a veritable martyrs way. They sauntered, gossiping along, giving the delighted attention of children to any small incident of the moment, and when some youth, lifting his sombrero from his head, would whirl it in the air, shouting, at the top of his voice, a name, Gallito! they answered with quick- ened movements and guttural Ole, Ole ! That name and the echoing Ole! coming more frequently, seemed to wake the passionate element in these indolent natures of the South. Meas- ured gestures, decorous stolidity gave place to vehement motion; the blood ran quickly, flushing the cheeks of the men and unveiling the fire in womens eyes. On the wide boulevard above the bridge that joins the city with its sub- urb, Triana, a human river flowed riot- ously by the side of the silent Guadal- quiver. There all were Trianans, for none others would have risked being caught in such companyCigar-makers, muleteers, gitanos, smugglers, surged in boisterous rout. Past the white walls against which stood out, like pig- ments on a painters palette, the party- colored gowns of the women, whose only head-gear was the mantilla, which ~t once so charmingly betrays and conceals an Andalusian face. In the midst of that tumult a band of men and girls, shoulders locked, were pushing forward, their rapid chatter broken by shouts and scuffling. A tall, swarthy fellow coming suddenly from behind seized on one of the band, and drew her to one side. Surprised and angered the girl struggled fiercely, swinging her lean arms till her captor caught and held them down. Unmind- ful of the incident her companions had already closed their ranks and wer& gone. You must not go so fast, dearie~ the man drawled, in a jeering tone;. tl)eres time enough for seeing Galhito. What a pity hell never know how far and fast youve run for a sight of hint His words and an instants tightening of his grasp made the girl, who had kept her face turned away, look up and catch his eye. Freeing a hand with a swift wrench, she struck it across his cheek. Caramba! Pepe, take that for your jealous fooling. What a dolt you are, anyway, fit only to lie in the sun and sleep your wits away, if so be it you have any. Are you just out of bed? Did you think Id sit in the house all day to wait for your pleasure? When you have to do with me remember the late are losers. She laughed, shaking the big gold hoops in her ears, to see the frown that drew the mans heavy brows together. A market-woman passing by took up the badgering: Hi! there, Pepe, she called over her shoulder, stir your long legs, we are bound to the bull-fight and you re just in time to help Pepita get along faster to her hero. Pepe stood still in sudden confusion at this jeering, and the girl, leaving him; linked her arm in that of the market- woman. What sport to have Gallito back, she said. They say hes returned aa rich as a prince. Eh, Carmen! its a fine thing to be first toreador of Spain, with pockets full of Mexican dollars and sombreros full of presents. Come, my poor Pepe, when will you get up cour- age to face a bull, a real Asturias, not. the yearlings you prate. about? Making a parting grimace at her lover she darted off, and with prods of her sharp elbows and retorts from a~ tongue as sharp, fought her way through the thickening crowd. And when it beat against the closed doors of the bull-ring she had wedged herself to its front, that she might head the stampede up the passage-ways as the gates swung open. Scrambling, pushing, cursing, the swarm of figures issued from the out- lets to scatter far and wide over the as- cending tiers, subsiding by slow degrees and murmurously, in a flutter of fans and petticoats, like the bubbling froth of a spent wave. Pepe, following fast the glint of gold earrings, was at the heels of his nimble tormentor as she pounced upon and de- fended a seat on one of the benches in that popular portion of the plaza open to the glare of the sun. He sat down silent beside her, watching as she patted the kerchief about her neck into deco- rous folds and settled her bodice pulled askew in the scuffle. Pepe? But, arent we in luck to be here to-day! Pepe was silent. Were going to have a great show, the girl continued with complacent emphasis. Father saw the arrival of the bulls, and he says four of them are murder- ous. Ill wager Gallito will make them dance. Perhaps so, perhaps not, one cant tell what bulls are like till they face the music, answered Pepe, argumentatively. True! you couldnt; but any one with sense could by watching them when they are driven in. One sees how little you know about the thing from the way you talk. Boy, you speak wis- est when you keep silent. No one can tell, Pepe recommenced; but finding Pepita paid him no further attention he continued his speech with shrugs of the shoulders. The girl, aware only of the place and the moment, moved restlessly on her seat, the dark red of excitement burn- ing on her high cheek-bones. Her eyes, jet in mother-of-pearl, roved over the arena among the thousand fans that fluttered like frightened birds about tc~ 171 172 SEVILLANA take their flight, and above whose gau- an air of chevaliers of past days the bull- dy wings the eyes of the women shot fighters advanced in superb order to glances, brusque, keen, resembling noth- salute the President, dispersing after ing so much as the twinkling reflections this ceremony like the atoms of a kalci- cast by wavelets dancing in the sun. doscope. Some retired, while those re- The girl tapped her companions arm maining disposed themselves here and and pointed at the tier of boxes set apart there and waited, immobile and indif f or the aristocracy. ferent, their brave costumes, laced with Look there, above the Presidents gold, reflecting a thousand points of box, at the blond sefio~a with the head light. The President, rising, threw a of yellow hair. Do you see? heavy key to a mounted alguacil, who The man nodded. Well! what of galloped with it to the bull-pen. The her? he said. music ceased. By common impulse the Only that though she is a lover of audience craned forward as the low, the sport she has not been to the bull-fights since Gallito went to Mexico. But now he is back again, .seguida, so is she. She would not miss this first day for all the rings on her fingers. Pepe mine, can you get that through your noddle? She is only one of a dozen. Just so, the women are all love-mad about him. I love him myself. De veras! isnt it a pity that Gallito will never know how far and fast I have run to see him. And tilting her head to one side she surveyed her com- rade out of the corner of her eye. Yes, you amuse yourself fine- ly as it happens, but you would sing another song if it had been you he married in the Sierras in- stead of that Mercedes, his fel- low-goatherd. Come, now, what if I left you alone in the moun- tains and turned bull-fighter with a love in every house? What if? his companion struck wooden gate moved up. There was a her arms akimbo, her eyes twinkling rush of hoofs, a waving of handkerchiefs with savage humor why, this, and and the roar of many voices proclaimed she drew her thumb across her throat. El toro ! That you would, he answered, stir- The dusky bull of Asturias stood fac- ring involuntarily as though the knife- ing the clamor, a red line rimming his blade had tickled him, and throwing eyes, his spongy nostrils dilated in fierce away his cigarette he bit his teeth in astonishment. A moment he paused, an obstinate silence. his forehoofs planted, swaying his head Suddenly the girl sat upright and from side to side, at the next, venting a alert. low bellow, he charged forward, and a The first notes of the royal march blinded horse in his path reared in sounded strident and vibrating on the agony falling heavily back on its rider. pulseless air, and at that blare of trum- Chubs, with waving cloaks, hurried to pets the gates of the arena swung back the rescue, but the bull, sharply turning, before the brilliant procession of the scattered them to the barriers like mos- cuadrilla. With exaggerated dignity and quitoes before a wind. SEVILLANA 173 A With frightful rapidity two other horses were gored to death, and beneath one lay a picador, wounded and uncon- scions. The banderiflos, teasing the bull with their beribboned arrows watched his movements now with anx- ious eyes; there was an air about him, a wiliness that meant he was of the true breed and would fight to kilL The amphitheatre was in tumult! Bravo toro! shrieked the populace, jumping on the benches. Bravo to- ro! laughed a blond-haired woman from the shadow of her loge. The tu- mult hushed to whispers as a solitary figure entered the ring and came for- ward. Gallito ! the name was roared from fourteen thousand throats, feet beat a frantic tattoo, hats were thrown in the air. The toreador bowed, stand- ing quietly, as his eyes first seeking the woman whose fair head had drooped aside in shadow ran over the benches where gaudy kerchiefs fluttered in the uplifted hands of young girls. The bull, irritated by the continuous din, tossed his head in defiance. On seeing suddenly the toreador before him, he lowered his blood-stained front. Gallito, with sword under his capa, awaited the onward rush, and when it came slipped aside like a summer light- ning flash from a dun cloud booming thunder. Again and again the man twisted and turned just beyond the tips of the plunging horns, flirting his capa across his pursuers eyes, and once tap- ping him insultingly on the sweating hide. Wearied with resultless fury the bull stopped often to pant and blow the foam from his nostrils, while the tense muscles of his chest relaxed, and his eyes grew dull. Presently he stumbled to his knees. A torturing prick on the flank roused him to a last fury, and then the toreador, bounding back, stood alert and steeled for the final effort. With a bellow that was half a groan the brute gathered himself and came forg- ing heavily forward against the poised sword. The blade darted into his neck but failed to check the fury of the onset. It had struck a boneit snappedin the sideward jerk the mans foot slipped and in a flash he was caught and flung in air. VOL. XIX.21 A gurgle of horror strangled in the mouths of the people as Gallito struck the ground and lay inert. But in a mo- ment he moved, raised himself on his elbows and instinctively struggled to his feet. The bull had wheeled and was charging down on him again. There came a cry of warning from the crowd. With a swift look over his shoulder the man turned and tried to make for the barrier. Out of her loge leaned a woman, her features sharpened with terror, her lips drawn back from her teeth. Supporting herself with rigid arms she stared down- ward at the flying figure. The light swirled before her eyes, ~but through the blur she saw Gallito reach the barrier staggering, draw himself up and fall in a heap on the other side. THE toreador lies dying in his hoteL In the square without knots of peo- ple watch the windows, and passers-by stop to ask the news. The warm air vi- brates with a low mutter of lamentation and grumbling, sharpening at times into hoarse imprecations against the devil of a bull that has brought this calamity. Servants of grave demeanor come out to pin bulletins on the door, which some fellow able to decipher reads aloud to those nearest, and as ripples widen when a stone is dropped in water, so the word is repeated from mouth to mouth across the square and throughout the city. Impassioned comments follow each bulletin. What is that? Holy Virgin! is he worse? Oh! hell come out all right yet. Gallito is tough. He has only himself to thank for it. He lost his nerve, anyone could see that. Be quiet, cant you? and let people hear. Worse, worse! No hope for him. What will become now of our sport? Theres only one Gallito. They think hell die then? ques- tions the black-eyed girl of yesterday. So the doctors say, answers Pepe, who has just caught the last news. The girl gazes moodily at the piece of foolscap on the door. Go along, Pepe, tell me what it says on the paper, and Pepe, obedient, 174 SEVILLANA movesforward. In his wake there hur- ries a woman with the bewildered look of one strange to the place. Her clumsy clothes, her feet encased in rope sandals bespeak a peasant from the mountains. From the folds of her dusty shawl is- sues the whine of a baby. She lays hold of Pepes sleeve as he turns away after reading. He is not deadGallito? she cries, so shrilly that all around turn their heads. Be quiet! What are you screaming about? says Pepe, staring at her. But I must see him, the woman mutters, trying, with nervous fingers, to open the door. See him? You? You beggar! Do you want to pester a dying man? Be off! Moved by the same feeling and with angry looks the people about draw close to the woman, when the rapid ap- proach of a carriage scatters them. A footman springs to the ground, while the high-stepping horses lie back on their haunches at the jerk of the reins. Then the hotel door opens and a livened ser- vant, half stumbling over the peasant, hurries to answer a beckoning hand at the carriage window. Bat the peasant catches his arm. In a broken voice, imperative with her anguish, she cries: Let me see the sefior Gallito, my Gallito! The valet turns an indignant glance on the dirty hand grasping his sleeve. Let go! But I am his wife, senor. His wife! What of that? Pushing her away he runs down the steps, smoothing his vexed countenance into respectful deference as he whispers the last news of the sick room to the blond patrician who does not deign to conceal her pallid face behind the cur- tains of her carriage window. The peasant hesitates before she turns slowly away, hugging tightly the infant that clutches her bosom, as much to feel its caress as to bestow her own passion- ate ones. . Going she knows not where, and with uncertain steps, she crosses the square. The people eye her with a feelinghalf- curiosity, half - admiration that she with all her ragged misery yet belongs to the toreadorand exhales in her pass- ing something of that dying hero Poor creature ! and then but she is his wife, and it is his child on her arm! A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY IN THE UNITED STATES BY E. BENJAMIN ANDREWS THE NEO-REPUBLICAN ASCENDANCY THE CAMPAIGN OF 88 HARRISONS CAREER DEMOCRATIC DEFEAT THE SACKYILLE-WEST INCIDENT CZAR REED APPROACHING the presidential Campaign of 1888 the Democrats found their programme ready made. Clevelands administration, si- lencing his enemies within the party, made him the inevitable nominee, while his bold advocacy of reform in our fiscal policy determined the line on which the campaign must be won or lost. To humor the West and to show that it was a Democratic, not a Mugwump ticket, Allen G. Thurman, of Ohio, was named for Vice-President. The Republicans path was less clear. That they must lift the banner of high protection was certain; but who should be the bear- er of it was in doubt till after the Con- vention sat. At the last moment Mr. Blame refused to run. The opening ballot revealed Sherman in the lead, Gresham next. The second and third ballots brought Alger to Greshams side. On the fourth, Benjamin Harri- son, of Indiana, loomed, into prominence, falling only eighteen votes short of Sherman. Mr. Harrison was the grand- son of President William Henry Har- rison, therefore great-grandson of Gov- ernor Benjamin Harrison, of Virginia, the ardent Revolutionary patriot, signer of the Declaration of Independence. Thoroughly educated and already a successful lawyer, Mr. Harrison was, in 1860, made Reporter of Decisions to the THE BILLION DOLLAR CONGRE55 THE MCKINLEY BILL INDIAN GHOST DANCES DOWNFALL OF THE LOTTERY LYNCHING OF ITALIANS Indiana Supreme Court. When the war came on, obeying the spirit that in his grandfather had won at Tippecanoe and the Thames, he volunteered and was ap- pointed colonel. Gallant services un- der Sherman at Resaca and Peach Tree Creek made him a brevet brigadier. Owing to his character, his lineage, his fine war record, his power as a speaker, and his popularity in a pivotal State, he was a prominent figure in politics not only in Indiana but, more and more, nationally. Defeated for the Indiana governorship in 1876, by a small mar- gin, he was afterward elected 1J~ited States Senator, serving from 1881 to 1887. In 1880 Indiana presented him to the Republican National Convention as her favorite son, and from this time, particularly in the West, he was thought of as a presidential possibility. Eclipsed by Blame in 1884, he came forward again in 1888, this time to win. He was nominated on the eighth ballot, and the name of Levi P. Morton, of New York, was at once placed beneath his on the ticket. In the campaign which succeeded, personalities had no place. Harrisons ability was much underrated in the East, for which reason, it was thought, the managers kept him mainly near home. But his reputation was above reproach; while, fortunately for the

E. Benjamin Andrews Andrews, E. Benjamin A History Of The Last Quarter-Century In The United States. X. The Neo-Republican Ascendency 175-199

A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY IN THE UNITED STATES BY E. BENJAMIN ANDREWS THE NEO-REPUBLICAN ASCENDANCY THE CAMPAIGN OF 88 HARRISONS CAREER DEMOCRATIC DEFEAT THE SACKYILLE-WEST INCIDENT CZAR REED APPROACHING the presidential Campaign of 1888 the Democrats found their programme ready made. Clevelands administration, si- lencing his enemies within the party, made him the inevitable nominee, while his bold advocacy of reform in our fiscal policy determined the line on which the campaign must be won or lost. To humor the West and to show that it was a Democratic, not a Mugwump ticket, Allen G. Thurman, of Ohio, was named for Vice-President. The Republicans path was less clear. That they must lift the banner of high protection was certain; but who should be the bear- er of it was in doubt till after the Con- vention sat. At the last moment Mr. Blame refused to run. The opening ballot revealed Sherman in the lead, Gresham next. The second and third ballots brought Alger to Greshams side. On the fourth, Benjamin Harri- son, of Indiana, loomed, into prominence, falling only eighteen votes short of Sherman. Mr. Harrison was the grand- son of President William Henry Har- rison, therefore great-grandson of Gov- ernor Benjamin Harrison, of Virginia, the ardent Revolutionary patriot, signer of the Declaration of Independence. Thoroughly educated and already a successful lawyer, Mr. Harrison was, in 1860, made Reporter of Decisions to the THE BILLION DOLLAR CONGRE55 THE MCKINLEY BILL INDIAN GHOST DANCES DOWNFALL OF THE LOTTERY LYNCHING OF ITALIANS Indiana Supreme Court. When the war came on, obeying the spirit that in his grandfather had won at Tippecanoe and the Thames, he volunteered and was ap- pointed colonel. Gallant services un- der Sherman at Resaca and Peach Tree Creek made him a brevet brigadier. Owing to his character, his lineage, his fine war record, his power as a speaker, and his popularity in a pivotal State, he was a prominent figure in politics not only in Indiana but, more and more, nationally. Defeated for the Indiana governorship in 1876, by a small mar- gin, he was afterward elected 1J~ited States Senator, serving from 1881 to 1887. In 1880 Indiana presented him to the Republican National Convention as her favorite son, and from this time, particularly in the West, he was thought of as a presidential possibility. Eclipsed by Blame in 1884, he came forward again in 1888, this time to win. He was nominated on the eighth ballot, and the name of Levi P. Morton, of New York, was at once placed beneath his on the ticket. In the campaign which succeeded, personalities had no place. Harrisons ability was much underrated in the East, for which reason, it was thought, the managers kept him mainly near home. But his reputation was above reproach; while, fortunately for the 176 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-cENTURY party, no Republicans cared to revive the mean charges against Cleveland so assiduously circulated four years be- fore. Instead of defamation both sides resorted to a cleanlier and more useful device, the political club, whose evolu- tion was a feature of this campaign. By August, 1887, 6,500 Republican clubs were reported, claiming a mem- bership of a million voters. Before the election Indiana had 1,100 Republican Clubs, New York 1,400. The Demo- crats, less successful than their oppo- nents, yet organized about three thou- sand clubs, which were combined in a National Association, to correspond to the Republican League of the United States. Numerous reform and tariff reform clubs, different from the clubs just mentioned, worked for Democrat- ic success. This, for most of the cam- paign, seemed assured, and the reverse outcome surprised many in both parties. The causes of it, however, were not far to seek. The Federal patronage, as always, benumbed the activities of the Admin- istration and whetted the Opposition. The office-holder army, of course, toiled and contributed for the Democracys success ; but operating as counter- weights to office-holders were an equal or greater number of soured office- seekers, each with his little following, who had been turned down by the Administration. The Opposition, on the other hand, commanded a force of earnest and harmonious workers, some impelled by patriotism, more, perhaps, by hopes of recognition in case their cause won. Thus the crav- ing of both sides for political swag~~ worked against the Democratic Party. Though the tone of the campaign gave little hope of improvement should Harrison be elected, a large number of civil - service reformers indignantly deserted Cleveland owing to his prac- tical renunciation of their faith. The public at large resented the loss which the service had suffered through changes in office-holders. Democratic blunders thrust the sectional issue needlessly to the fore. The Rebel flag incident, Mr. Clevelands fishing trip on Deco- ration Day, the choice of Mr. Mills, a Southerner, to lead the tariff fight in Congress, and the prominence of South- erners among the Democratic cam- paign orators at the North, were themes of countless diatribes. THE sAcKvILLE-wEsT INCIDENT A CLEVER Republican ruse, to exhibit Mr. Cleveland as un-American, was played by means of the following fake letter to the British Minister at Washington, D. C., dated Ramona, Cal., September 4, 1888: Sin: The gravity of the political situation here, and the duties of those voters who are of English birth, but still consider England the motherland, constitutes the apology I hereby offer for intruding for information. Mr. Clevelands message to Congress on the fishery question justly excites our alarm and compels us to seek further knowl- edge before finally casting our votes for him as we intended to do. Many Eng- lish citizens have for years refrained from being naturalized, as they thought no good would accrue from the act, but Mr. Clevelands administration has been so favorable and friendly toward Eng- land, so kind in not enforcing the re- taliatory act passed by Congress, so sound on the free-trade question and so hostile to the dynamite schools of Ireland, that by the hundredsyes, by the thousandsthey have become nat- uralized for the express purpose of help- ing to elect him over again, the one above all of American politicians they considered their own and their coun- trys best friend. I am one of these unfortunates with a right to vote for President in November. I am unable to understand for whom I shall cast my ballot, when but one month ago I was sure that Mr. Cleveland was the man. If Cleveland was pursuing a new policy toward Canada, temporarily only and for the sake of obtaining popularity and continuation of hia office four years more, but intends to cease his policy when his re-election in November is se- cured, and again favor Englands inter- est, then I should have no further doubt, but go forward and vote for him. I know of no one better able to direct me, sir, and I most respectfully ask A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 177 your advice in the matter. I will further add that the two men, Mr. Cleveland and Mr. Harrison, are very evenly matched, and a few votes might elect either one. Mr. Harrison is a high-tariff man, a believer on the Amer- ican side of all questions, and undoubt- edly an enemy to British interests gen- erally. This State is equally divided between the parties, and a mere hand- ful of our naturalized countrymen can turn it either way. When it is remem- bered that a small State (Colorado) de- feated Mr. Tilden in 1876, and elected Benjamin Harriaon. VOL. XIX.22 Hayes, the Republican, the importance of California is at once apparent to all. As you are the fountain-head of knowledge on the question, and know whether Mr. Clevelands policy is tem- porary only, and whether he will, as soon as he secures another term of four years in the Presidency, suspend it for one of friendship and free trade, I ap- ply to you privately and confidential- ly for information which shall in turn be treated as entirely secret. Such in- formation would put me at rest myself, and if favorable to Mr. Cleveland enable me on my own responsibility to assure many of my countrymen that they would do England a service by voting for Cleveland and against the Republican system of tariff. As I before observed, we know not what to do, but look for more light on a mysterious subject, which the sooner it comes will better serve true Englishmen in casting their votes. Yours, very respectfully, CHARLES F. MuRcHIsoN. The Minister replied: SIR: I am in receipt of your letter of the 4th inst. and beg to say that I fully appreciate the difficulty in which you find yourself in casting your vote. You are probably aware that any po- litical party which openly favored tho mother country at the present moment would lose popularity, and that th~ party in power is fully aware of the fact. The party, however, is, I believe, still desirous of maintaining friendly rela Levi P. Morton. Thomas B. Reed. William McKinley. 178 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY tions with Great Britain, dealing with the question and still desirous of set- involved in his message. thug all questions with I enclose an article from Canada which have been, the New York Times of unfortunately, reopened August 22d, and remain since the retraction of the yours faithfully, treaty by the iRepublican L. S. SACKVJLLE-WEST. majority in the Senate and by the Presidents message T h i s correspondence to which you allude. All was published on October allowances must, there- 24th, and instantly took fore, be made for the po- effect. Sir Sackville-West litical situation as regards was famous. His photo- the Presidential election graphs were in demand, thus created. It is, how- and a dime museum man- ever, impossible to predict ager offered him $2,000 a the course which Presi- week to hold two levees dent Cleveland may pur- daily in his palatial mu- sue in the matter of retal- scum. The President at iation should he be elected ; but there is first inclined to ignore the incident, every reason to believe that, while up- holding the position he has taken, he will manifest a spirit of conciliation in The Equentrian Statue of Robert E. Lee on the Allen Plot, Went End, Richmond, Va. Unveiled May 29, 1890. An- tonin Mercif, Sculptor. Showa Lee aa he appeared at the Battle of Gettyaburg. fThe pedeutal a forty feet high, and the atatue twenty. The picture ahowa the pedeatal cut on both alden.) The Statue of Thoman J. Jacknon at Lexington, Va. Un- veiled July 21, 1891, the Thirtieth Anniversary of the Firat Battle of Manannan, where he gained hin nobriquet of Stonewall. E. 5. Valentine, Sculptor. (The face in from a death-meek by Volk, and the pedeatal covera the vault whore are the bodien of Jackuon and hin two daughtera.) Henry W. Grady. From a ~5IootogruNu try Motes. A HISTORY OF THE LAST ~2UARTER-CENTURY 179 ation of the courtesy which o n e friendly government should extend to another. But this was one of the in- stances in President Cleve- lands career in which the cunning of the politician outweighed the judgment of the statesman, and he caused the recall of Minis- ter Sackville for reasons and in a manner that will always stand in history as an instance of contemptible personal weakness. T h e other side played a dema- gogic trick to capture the Irish vote; the President of the United States tried to outwit them by a piece of trickery of even larger dimensions, and, as in this instance he deserved, failed of his purpose. THE TARIFF 155UE but changed when a member of the Cabinet received from the Democrat- ic National Committee the following: Does the President know that the Irish vote is slipping out of our hands because of diplomatic shilly - shally - ing? See Lamont at once. Some- thing ought to be done to-day. Some- thing was done. On October 30th the Minister was notified that he was a per- sona non grata. His recall was asked for but refused, whereupon his pass- ports were delivered to him. The Eng~ lish Government resented this, and re- fused to fill the vacancy during the remaining months of Clevelands ad- ministration. An influential newspaper, friendly to the President, has said: If President Cleveland had resisted the clamor he could not have suffered any more complete defeat than that which he was called upon to endure, while he would have had the consciousness of having acted in a manly, upright, and courageous manner, with full appreci THE election, after all, turned mainly upon the tariff issue. Smarting un- der his defeat in 1884, Mr. Blame had written: I was not sustained in the canvass by many who had personally a far greater stake than I. They are likely to have leis- ure for reflection and for a cool cal- culation of the small sums they were asked in vain to contribute. This prophecy came true. In 1888 the Re- publicans screamed that protection was on trial for its life. Many Democrats held the same view of the contest, inveighing against protection as pure robbery. Others, to be sure, taking cue from Mr. Clevelands 1887 tariff message, urged simply a reduction in protective rates; but they usually did this with arguments which would have served equally well in a plea for out and out free trade. The Mills Bill was to a great extent constrw~ted on the tariff-for-revenue theory, dutying at snug rates good revenue articles that needed no protection, and at low rates many which, it was alleged, could not be produced in the United States with- out protection. Henry George, who The Statue of Henry VVerd Beecher in the City Hell Perk, Brooklyn N. Y. John Q. A. Ward, Sculptor. Unveiled June 25, 1891. A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY wished every custom-house in the land levelled, took the stump for Cleveland. Republican orators and organs pictured British free trade as the sure conse- quence of a victory for Cleveland. British goods would flood us ; our manufacturers, the Home Market gone, would be driven to a competitionin which they must failwith the pauper- made products of Europe; farming would be our sole great industry; wages would vastly fall or cease alto- gether. Whether solid argument, or sophistry, which a longer campaign of education would have dispelled, these considerations had powerful effect. Startled at prospects so terrible, peo- ple voted to uphold the American System. The worst tug of war oc- curred in New York State. I am a Democrat, said Governor Hill on every occasion; yet he arid his friends dis- liked the Administration, and were widely believed to connive at the trad- ing of Democratic votes for Harrison in return for Republican votes for HilL THE FOUNDING OF A 180 Boomers in Camp just Outside the Line, April 21 1889, Waiting for the Opening of the Oklahoma Lands Next Day. A General View of the Town of Guthrie on April 24, 1889, the Second Day After the Opening. A HIS TOI~Y OF THE LAST QJJARTEN-cENTUPY 181 Harrison and Hill flags waved over liquor-saloons in nearly every city and large town of the State. Many a Demo- cratic meeting was addressed by one speaker who extolled the President but would not say a word for the Governor; then by another who eloquently lauded the Governor but ignored the Presi- dent. To all this it is unfortunately neces- sary to add that the 1888 election was among the most corrupt in our history. The campaign is estimated to have cost the two parties $6,000,000. Assess- ments on office-holders were largely re- lied upon to replenish the Democrats campaign treasury, though goodly sub- sidies came in from other sources. But with soap, recurring to Presi- dent Arthurs figure, the Republicans were better supplied than their rivals. The manufacturers of the country re- garded their interests and even their honor as assailed, and contributed gen- erously as often as the Republican hat went round. Special store of the needful was laid out in Indiana, where no resource which could assist the Re- publican victory was left untried. The National Republican Committee, wrote the party managers in that State, Divide the floaters into blocks of five and put a trusted man with necessary funds in charge of these five, and make WESTERN CITYGUTHRIE, OKLAHOMA. A View along Oklahoma Avenue, Guthrie on May 10, 1889. Oklahoma Avenue, aa it Appeared on May 10, 1893, during Governor Noblea Visit. 182 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY II him responsible that none get away, and of ten thousand in Indiana and New that all vote our ticket. William W. York, both of which went for Harrison, Dudley, Treasurer of the Committee, would have re-elected Cleveland. As it was alleged to have written this. Af- was, his popular vote, of 5,540,329, ex- ter election a complaint was brought ceeded Harrisons, of 5,439,853, by 100,- against him for bribery, but the grand 476. The iRepublicans held the Senate jury found no indictment. The man- and won a face majority of ten in the date to the State workers was obeyed. House, somewhat increased by unseat- In one place, on the night before ing and seating subsequently. In New election, more than a hundred of the York, because, apparently, of the trad- floaters had been collected in various ing referred to, Hill was re-elected Gov- buildings, with sentries to guard them ernor. against surprise by the A NEW ERA IN POLITIC5 foe. Wagon-loads of them were taken into IN 1890 and 1891 an the surrounding coun- old cycle appears dis- try, ready to be rushed tinctly merging into a to the polls at sunrise new. Memorials rising before they could fall on every hand shocked into the hands of the one with the sense that enemy. In this partic- familiar figures and re- ular market the price cent issues were already of votes had risen since of the past. These two 1880 from $2 to abont years saw monnments $15. Experts referred raised to Horace Gree- the advance not to dim- ley, Robert E. Lee, inution in the supply Henry Ward Beecher, of purchasable voters, Stonewall Jackson, but rather to increase Garfield, and Grant. in the demand for them A Disbeliever in the Messiah. The year of Grants occasioned by the un- From a photograph try H. F. Dooston. death was also that of portance of Indianas Hendrickss, to whom vote. At the election more than eleven a statue was speedily erected in mdi- million ballots were cast, yet so closely anapolis. The next year Logan, Ar- balanced were the parties that a change thur, and Hancock departed. General Sioux Indians shout to Take Part in a Idhost Uance. (During the Messiah Craze.) From a fhotografth zn tiso possesotoos of H. F. Donskso. A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 183 Sheridan died in 1888. In 1891 Gen- eral Sherman and Admiral Porter fell within a day of each other. Gen- eral Johnston, who had been a pall- bearer at the funeral of each, rejoined them in a little over a month. All these heroes of the war followed Grant to the tomb in 1885, and had now followed him beyond it. A monument just Settlers Pasaing Through Chamberlain, S. 0., on their Way to the Lands Acquired by the Treaty with the Sioux. reared at Atlanta was a reminder of Henry W. Gradys recent death, in which the morning star of the New South faded from our sky. The fraternal strife ending in 1865 began to seem a far memory. The locality of Lees monu- ment at IRiclimond, amid streets and avenues, was farm-land at the time Lee and his army were protecting the city. The Crook Commission Holding a Conference with the Sioux Indiana at Lower Brule Agen- cy, S. B., July 3, 1889. (The negotiationa led to the opening for aettlera of nine million acrea of the Sioux reaereation on February 10, 1890) 184 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY The unveiling, May 29, 1890, was indeed no little of a Confederate occasion. Fitzhugh Lee, Joseph E. Johnston, Jubal Early, Longstreet, and Gordon were all in attendance and warmly re- ceived. The Lost Cause was mentioned, but little was said or done to indicate that any regretted its loss. The Con- federate flag was displayed, but not in derogation of the Stars and Stripes. Gradys death was lamented nowhere more sincerely than at the North. His clever speeches at the New England So- cietys New York dinner, in 1886, and at the Merchants Club dinner in Boston, shortly before his death, December 23, 1889, had brought him fame. THREE REPUBLICAN MEAs- IJEE5 MR. BLAINE was the most eminent of the older statesmen surviving, and President Harrison could not do otherwise than make him Secretary of State; but even he was now hardly so conspicu- ous as the younger lead- ers, McKinley, Lodge, and Reed. This became notice- able when the elecion of Harrison and a Republican House yielded the Re- publicans power to initiate their poli- cy. This policy was mainly embodied in three measures, the Federal Elections Bill, the Dependent Pensions Bill, and the McKinley Tariff Bill. Only the last two became laws, and bat one of these now survives. To enact any of those bills required certain parliamentary innovations, which were triumphantly carried through by the Speaker of the House in the Fifty- first Congress, Hon. Thomas B. Reed, of Maine. One of them was this Speak- ers practice of declining to entertain dilatory motions; another, more impor- tant, his order to the clerk to register, as Present and not voting, those whom lie saw endeavoring by stubborn silence to break a quorum. The Constitution providea that a majority of either House shall be a quorum for the transaction of busi- ness. Although the Ser- geant-at-Arms is empow- ered to compel the pres- ence of members, y e t, hitherto, unless a majority of the House answered to their names, no majority was recorded as pres- ent, and legislation could be blocked. As the tra- ditional safeguard of mi- norities and as compressed air - brake on majority ac- tion, silence was indeed golden. Un- der the Reed theory, since adopted, that the House may, through the Speaker, determine the presence of a quorum in its own way, the Speakers or the Robert E. Pattison. From a ftlso/ograpls by Gubekuns/ Roger Q. Mills. Allen G. Thurman. President Belmeceds, of Chili. A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 185 Frono a ftlso/egraflo by Rae. Clerks eye was substi- tuted for the voice of any recalcitrant mem- ber in demonstrating the members presence. The most strenuous op- position m e t the at- tempt to enforce this new rule. On the Yeas - and - Nays or at any roll - call some Democrats would dodge out of sight, oth- ers start to rush from the Chamber, to be con- fronted by closed doors. Once Mr. Kilgore, of Texas, kicked down a door to make good his escape. Till resistance proved vain, the minor- ity would at each test rave round the Cham- ber like so many caged tigers, furious but pow- erless to claw the ty- rant from his throne. Yet, having calculated the scope of his au- thority, Mr. Reed cool- ly continued to count and declare quo- rums whenever such were pres- ent. The Dem- ocratic majority of 1893 some- what qualified the newly discov- ered prerogative of the Speaker, giving it, when possible, to tell- ers from both parties. Now and then they employed it as a piece of Demo- cratic artillery to fire at Mr. Reed himself; but he each time re- ceived the shot with smiles. The cause which the Reed tyranny was A View After the Johnstown Flood. Looking Across the Great Drift to the Penn- syleania R. R. Sridge. Msin Street Johnstown After the Flood. Wreckage piled op thirty or forty feet high. 186 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY in 1890 meant to upport, made it doub- nated a course of legislation. Our well- ly odious to Democrats. For years ne- meant pension system had its evil side. groes in parts of the South had been The original intention of it was easi- practically disfranchised. To restore ly perverted. In 1820 our less than them the suffrage, the Republicans pro- 10,000,000 people were alarmed that posed Federal supervision of Federal pensions to revolutionary soldiers ag- elections, supported, in last resort, by gregated $2,700,000. The revolution- Federal arms. A Force Bill being ary claimant never dies, became the introduced into Congress, sectional bit- proverb. Investigation revealed that terness re - awoke. The South grew one-third of the admitted claims were alarmed and angry. One State refused fraudulent. This was the result of a to be represented at the Chicago Fair, Dependent Pensions Act, for the relief a United States Marshal of all indigent Revolu- was murdered in Florida, tionary veterans who had and a Grand Army Post served nine months. His- was mobbed at Whites- tory repeats itself. ville, Ky., on Memorial The numerous pension- Day. Against the threat- able cases originated by cued legislation Northern the Civil.War raised up a phlegm co - operated with powerful class of pension Southern heat. Many who attorneys, able to control, were not Democrats, to a great extent, public viewed the situation at the opinion and legislation. South as the Republican Their agency was at the just retribution for enfran- root of the demand which chising ignorance and in- induced Congress in 1880 competence, and preferred to endow each pensioner white domination there to with a back pension, equal a return of carpet - bag to what his pension would times. Others dreaded the David C. Heneesoy, the New Orleans have been had he applied measure as sure to perpet- Chief of Police, on the date of receiving uate the Solid Soutb. The his injury. Unsuccessful House passed the bill, but in the Senate in the Forty-fourth Congress the bill it encountered obdurate opposition. was in 1880 sent with all speed to Forced over to the second session, President Hayes, who gave it his ap- where its passage depended on some proval in spite of the vastly increased form of cidlure, it was finally lost expenditure which the act must entail. through a coalition of free silver Re- Outgo for pensions under the old law publican Senators with those from the had reached its maxininin in 1871. It South, standing out against so radical was then $34,443,894.88. In 1878 this a change in the Senate rules, item of our national expenditure was only $27,137,019.08. The next two THE BILLION DOLLAR CONGRE55 years doubled the amount. In 1883 it exceeded $66,000,000; in 1889 it was THE Republican majority in the Fif- $87,624,000. But the act of 1890 was ty-First Congress found the overflow- the most sweeping yet, pensioning all ing Treasury at once embarrassing and Unionists who had served in the war tempting. Their policy touching it, ninety days, provided they were inca- involving vast expenditures, won for pacitated for manual labor, and the this Congress the title of the Billion widows, children, and dependent par- Dollar Congress. The most promi- ents of sucb. At the beginning of the nent and permanent among its huge fiscal year 189192, the Commissioner appropriations was entailed by the Dc- of Pensions informed the chiefs of di- pendent Pensions Act, passed June 27, vision in his office that he wished one 1890, which was substantially the same thousand pensions a day issued for as the one vetoed by President Cleve- each working day of the year; 311,567 land three years before. In it culmi- pension certificates were issued that A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 187 AN EPISODE OF THE LYNCHING OF THE ITALIANS IN NEW ORLEANS. The Citizens Breaking Down the Door of the Paiish Prison with the Beaw hrought there the Night Before for that Perpose. From Shoirogra5lss and descrzj5ziens. 1)raeeo by JJ/ A. Leogbs. 188 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY year. Rejected claimants by no means abandoned hope, but assaulted the breast-works again and again, many at last succeeding on some sort of new evidence. Stirred up by attorneys, old pensioners could not rest content, but put in pleas for increase. Thus impelled the pension figure shot up to $106,493,890, in 1890; $118,548,960, in 1891; and to $158,155,342, in 1893. The maximum seemed thus to have been reached, for the pension outgo for the fiscal year en4ing with June, 1894, was but $140,772,164. THE MCKINLEY BILL UNDER Clevelands leadership the Democrats would have reduced the rev- enue by lowerin_ tariff iwiports. The Republicans proposed to reach the same end by a method precisely the reverse, pushing up each ta~riff rate toward or to the prohibitive point. This was the policy embodied in the McKinley Bill, which became law Oc- tober 1, 1890. Sugar, a lucrative rev- enue article, was lnade free, and a bounty given to sugar producers in this country, together with a discrlml nating duty of one-tenth of a cent per pound on sugar imported hither from countries which paid a bounty upon sugar exportation. The reciprocity feature of this bill proved its most pop- ular grace, though it was flouted in the House, and not enacted in the form in which its best - known advocate, Mr. Blame, conceived it. Reciprocity trea- ties were concluded with several coun- tries, considerably extending our trade. Those with Germany, France, Belgium, and Italy resulted in relieving Ameri- can pork from the embargo placed up- on it in those lands. These successes did not wholly reconcile Mr. Blame to the bilL By his hostility to the Mc- Kinley phase of protection and by his opposition to the idea of a Force Bill, the Secretary of State stood for the time in opposition to the younger Republi- can leaders, though he probably had with him a majority of his party. OPENING or OKLAHOMA THE growth of population still con- tinued to force back the barriers of the Malietoa Laupepa. Tamasese. The Two Rival Claimants for Power in Samoa. Franz ~7aefogra~Izs so the ~ossesstvn of L utenani 0. R. King. A HISTORY OP THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 189 Indian reservations. Pressure was now hardest against that part of Indian Territory known as Oklahoma. This consisted of a large tract which shortly after the Civil War the Seminole In- dians sold to the Government with the understanding that no white men but only colonies of Indians and freed men should settle there. Nevertheless, the great cattle kings had inclosed large tracts of the territory. This imposi- tion, helped by the eviction of small prospectors, raised up the species known as Oklahoma bQomers or raiders, who incessantly clamored that this land be opened for settlement. Western nomads called movers rallied to every filibustering enterprise into the reservations. One David L. Payn was the first and most famous of the Ok- lahoma raiders. He and his allies made repeated forays into the forbidden re- gion, but were each time driven oft at the tails of their carts. Kansas real estate men found business dull and added their voices to the cry that Okla- homa must be opened; but they sought their end by legislation rather than by raids. It at length became obvious that the conditions on which the lands had been bought could not be complied with, and in 188889 Congress gladly appropri- ated $4,000,000, to obtain a fee simple. The sluice-gates were opened one after another by proclamation. The first one was appointed to give way on April 22, 1889. The incidental advertising which preceded the event spread excitement from Denver to New York. The Gen- eral Land-Office and the Post-Office Department made hasty preparations f or the rush, which involved five times as many people as could obtain foot- hold. In spite of utmost efforts on the part of the military the woods and val- leys of Oklahoma were full of soon- ers before the opening day. But the vast majority lined up on the borders awaiting the bugle-call at noon of April 22d. When it sounded there was a sudden cloud of dust and a wild scurry of hoofs, wheels, and feet, spreading out frontward like a fan. It is said that one man on foot, carrying his kit, ran six miles in sixty minutes to reach his choice claim, where he fell down cx- VOL. XIX.23 hausted. Those in, or rushing in at the opening, were followed later by heavily loaded trains from a distance. All went armed, and bloodshed was prevented only with difficulty. Liquor - selling within the territory had to be totally prohibited. At noon on the eventful day Guthrie was only a town site; at nightfall it was a city of 10,000 and had taken steps toward forming a municipal government. Oklahoma City grew less rapidly, but perhaps more solidly. By June business blocks and residences had risen there, the wonder of all resi- dents. On so short notice the Prom- ised Land had gotten ready for the pil- grims no milk or honeynot even wat- er, though a yellow brackish fluid by that name was peddled on the streets. Sandwiches were hawked for twenty- five cents each, and in the restaurants a plate of pork and beans sold for seventy- five cents. In a day or two the vast majority of the rushers left in disgust at the dust, heat, and hardships, many of them being on the point of starving. Yet by December the territory was es- timated to hold 60,000 people, who boasted eleven schools, nine churches, three daily and five weekly newspapers. Guthrie had 8,000 and Oklahoma City 5,000 souls, both towns being governed by voluntary acquiescence in the ordi- nances. Under acts of Congress proc- lamations from time to time opened other tracts, when in each case similar scenes were enacted. The Sioux reser- vation in South Dakota was unlocked on February 10, 1890. From the towns of Chamberlain and Pierre troops of boomers galloped and ran to locate claims. Carts and wagons loaded with building materials were hurried for- ward. In one case a house on wheels was dragged across a river on the ice. INDIAN GHOST DANCES IN this settlement of their old hunt- ing-grounds Indians saw a new impo- sition by the whites. Their lands had been seized piece by piece, and their attempts to get justice or revenge had only added to their misery. Many sav- ages passed the winter of 1890 on the verge of starvation because of the Gov- ernments failure to provide rations. 190 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-cENTURY In South Dakota twelve hundred were in this condition. In such extremity many tribes ordinarily hostile to each other together gave up to the so-called Messiah craze, a belief that the Great Spirit or his Representative would soon appear with a high hand and an outstretched arm to deliver the Red men from their White oppressors. Six thousand braves in North Dakota, and as many in the Indian Territory were infected. General Miles thought that this conviction, spreading so steadily and far, indicated a more comprehen- sive plot than anything inspired by Tecumseh or even Pontiac. Sioux, Cheyennes, Arapahoes, Osage, Missouri, and Seminole Indians took part in the ghost dances, which were an invariable part of the cult. Several accounts of the delusion may all be authentic. They seem versions of Christs second com- ing brought to the Indians by mission- aries, which fanatics or charlatans had distorted and mixed with vulgar spir- itualism. Certain of the prophets had it that the Mighty Spirit promised to put all the Indians behind him and all the whites in front, then bury the whites with their tallest works deep underground, while the prairie would thunder with the tramp of buffalo and the gallop of wild horses. To others the Messiah appeared and said, I will teach you a dance, and I want you to dance it. They obeyed, uttering weird chants and cries of The buffaloes are coming! Here and there an Indian was above the superstition. Red Cloud prophesied: If it (the new gospel) is true it will spread all over the world; if not it will melt like snow under the hot sun. Little Wound said they would dance till spring, but stop if the Messiah did not then appear. Sitting Bull, the whites inveterate enemy, the old schemer who had stayed behind and made medicine during the Custer fight, now had a characteristic interview with the Indian Messiah, who wished to know what he would like. He replied that he would take a little buffalo meat, as he had not had any for a long time. In response, as he reported, a herd of buffaloes appeared, when, shooting one, he cooked and ate its hump. Elated by the confidence of the Superior Pow- er Sitting Bull grew troublesome. In December the Indian police arrested him with others~ and in attempting to escape he was killed. THE JOHNSTOWN FLOOD5 ON May 31, 1889, western Pennsyl- vania was visited by one of the most awful catastrophes ever chronicled. A flood from a burst reservoir annihilated the city of Johnstown with its numer- ous suburbs, destroying some 8,000 lives and $10,000,000 worth of proper- ty. The reservoir was two and a half miles in length, one and a half broad at places, one hundred feet deep in places, and situated two hundred and seventy - five feet above the level of Johnstown. Heavy rains had fallen and the dam was known to be weak; yet the people below, who were repeat- edly warned during the day, took no alarm. When, starting just before the break, about 3 ~ Engineer Park galloped down the valley shouting to all to run for their lives, it was too late. Hard behind him came thunder- ing along at a speed of two and a half miles a minute, a mountain of water fifty feet high, thirty feet wide at first, and widening to half a mile, bearing upon its angry crest, whole or in frag- ments, houses, factories, bridges, and at length villages, and growing wilder, higher, swifter, deadlier, and more pow- erful as it moved. Trees, brush, furni- ture, bowlders, pig and railway iron, corpses, machinery, miles and miles of barbed wire, and an indescribable mass of miscellaneous wreckage, all inextric- ably mixed, also freighted the torrent. Immense mills were knocked from their foundations, and whirled down stream like childrens block-work. Pig iron by the hundred tons was borne away, the bars subsequently strewn for miles down the valley. Engines weighing twenty tons were tossed up and on as if the law of gravity had been repealed. One locomotive was carried a mile. At Johnstown, where the shape of the val- ley generated an enormous whirlpool, the roar of the waters and the grinding together of the wreckage rent the air like lost spirits groaning in chorus. Hundreds who had clambered to the A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 191 roofs of houses floated about on that boiling sea all the afternoon and night, shot hither and thither by the crazy flood. Most who met death were, we may hope, instantly drowned, but many clung to fragments, falling into th~ waters only when their strength gave way; their limbs were broken, or their brains dashed out. A telegraph oper- ator at Sanghollow saw one hundred and nineteen bodies, living or dead, float by in an hour. Early next morn- ing many corpses had reached Pitts- burg, seventy - eight miles distant. A little boy was rescued who, with hi~ par- ents, a brother, and two sisters, had sailed down from Johnstown in a small house. This went to pieces in going over the bridge, and all were drowned but he. A raft formed from part of a floor held a young man and two women, prob- ably his wife and mother. As they neared Bolivar bridge a rope was low- ered to rescue them, and the man was observed to be instructing the women how to catch and hold it. Himself suc- ceeded in clutching it, but they failed, whereupon he purposely let go and re- gained the raft as it lurched under the bridge. Later it struck a tree, into which with preternatural skill and strength he helped his protegees to climb; but a great wreck soon struck the tree, instantly overwhelming the trio in the seething tide. Fate reached the acme of its malignity next day, June 1st, after the flood had begun to subside. Then the immense boom of d~bris gath- ered at the railway bridge just below Johnstownan eighth of a mile wide and long, from thirty to fifty feet deep, and rammed so solid that dynamite was at last required to rend ittook fire. The flames raged for twelve hours. No effort was spared to recover the liv- ing imprisoned in the pile. Fifty or more were taken out, but it is feared that no fewer than five hundred per- ished. Relief work began at once, com- mendably systematic and thorough, and on a scale commensurate with the disas- ter. Philadelphia contributed half a million dollars to the relief fund; New - York the same. Nearly every city in the Union aided. President Harrison was chairman of a meeting in Washing- ton where $30,000 was pledged. 5ev- eral sums were telegraphed from abroad, among them one of $1,000 from Baron- ess Burdett-Coutts. The total of con- tributions reached $3,000,000. Train- loads of supplies rolled in. The Red Cross Society, with physicians, nurses, tents, disinfectants, medicines, food, and clothing, was promptly on the ground. Rigid sanitary provisions were enforced, made specially necessary by the length of time inevitably elapsing before all the dead could be interred. Ere the gloom proceeding from this event was lifted, during the same month of June, the public was horrified afresh by an awful fire in Seattle, Wash., destroying $20,000,000 of property, and demolish- ing almost the entire business part of the city. Happily, few lives were lost. DOWNFALL OF THE LOUI5IANA LOTTERY IN 1890 the Federal power helped re- lieve the South from a worse blight than the enactment of the Force Bill would have been. The Louisiana Lottery Company was incorporated in 1868, as a monopoly to last twenty-five years. In 1879 the charter was repealed, but this action was rendered invalid by a judicial decision. A Constitutional Convention which soon followed rein- stated the charter, providing that after its expiration all lotteries should be prohibited in the State. By 1890 the lottery had assumed towering propor- tions. It was estimated to receive one- third of the whole mail matter coming to New Orleans, and it cashed postal notes and money orders to the amount of $30,000 a day. The press was won to its service and new papers started in its interest. As the year 1893, the term of its charter, drew near, the monster bestirred itself to secure a new lease of life, but it now felt the strength of the Federal arm. In September, 1890, an anti-lottery bill passed Congress, by which, being satisfied that any person or company was conducting a lottery, the Postmaster-General might cause to be returned all registered letters ad- dressed to such person or company, and payment to be refused on postal money orders drawn in favor of such. As the express companies, however, still toler- ated its patronage, the business of the 192 A HISTOPY OF THE LAST ~2UAPTER-CENTURY lottery was safe so long as its native State, Louisiana, continned it in exist- ence. Its fight for life therefore was on Louisiana soil. In return for an amend- ment to the State Constitution enfran- chising the lottery for twenty-five years, the impoverished State was offered $1,250,000 per year, $350,000 of this sum to maintain the levees, $350,000 for charitable purposes, $50,000 for Con- federate pensions, $100,000 for drain- age in New Orleans, and $250,000 for the general fund of the State. In con- nection with this proposal, it was in- geniously suggested that only seven per cent. of the lotterys revenue came from Louisiana itself. A bill introduced in the Legislature to give effect to this bargain passed by a two - thirds majority in each house, but was promptly vetoed by Governor Nicholls. Liberal bribes to legislators were supposed to have supplemented the $1,250,000 per year offered the State; yet in attempting to override this veto, voicing as it truly did the sentiment of thousands, the lottery company feared opposition in the Sen- ate. After pushing the bill once more through the House, its promoters changed front and sent it directly to the Secretary of State for promulga- tion, on the ground that a proposal for a constitutional amendment, though in form a bill, did not reqnire the govern- ors signature. The Secretary of State refused to take this view, but it was sustained by the Supreme Court, three to two. Let a majority of the people now vote aye on the proposed amend- ment, and the lottery was saved. Or, if the Democratic nomination, ordinarily equivalent to an election, fell to lottery candidates, the amendment could again be put upon its passage. The pro~~ Democrats carried New Orleans, but most of the country parishes were swept by a fusion of anti Democrats and Farmers Alliance men. The num- ber of contesting delegations, however, placed the result in doubt. Two rival Democratic conventions met at Baton Rouge, each claiming a majority of the delegates elected. The convention of the antis~~ nominated Murphy J. Fos- ter for Governor; that of the pros cx- Governor MeEnery, whose vote as Su preme Judge had been one of the three to sustain the lotterys contention. The pro convention having been pre- sided over by the chairman of the State committee, thus giving that faction a show of special legitimacy, the pro leaders now made the party-whip sing. Politicians, little different from carpet- baggers, shouted for harmony, denoun- cing the antis as a third party work- ing to disrupt the Democracy and re- store Republican rule. The election, which occurred in April, 1892, nega- tived the lottery amendment and made Foster Governor. The fight for a con- stitutional amendm~nt was given up. Not only so, but Foster, while Governor, was permitted to sign an act prohibit- ing the sale of lottery tickets and lot- tery drawings or schemes in the State of Louisiana after December 31, 1893. In January, 1894, the lottery company betook itself to exile on the island of Cuanaja, in the Bay of Honduras, a seat which the Honduras Government had granted it, together with a monopoly of the lottery business for fifty years. THE MAFIA IN NEW ORLEANS LOUIsIANA was cursed with another bane. Long schooled to appeal from bad law to what seemed righteous dis- order, in the spring of 1891 the State was confronted with an occasion for such appeal that would have sorely tempted the most orderly population in the world. Certain Italians, accused of shooting some of their countrymen, had been convicted by false swearing. A second trial being secured, the New Orleans Chief of Police, David C. Hen- nessy, busied himself with tracing the record of their accusers, who were Si- cilians. He was surprised to find evi- dence that the Mafia, an oath-bound secret society indigenous to Sicily, had thriving branches in New Orleans, New York, St. Louis, and San Francisco. This dreaded organization was wont to demand of its victims sums of money, $500, $1,000, or $2,000 each, the man- date in every case naming some se- cluded spot for the deposit. Few dared refuse. ~ngros~ed in his search, the Chief of A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 193 Police had no idea that he was watched. He probably knew nothing of a certain Italian neighbor of his, Monasterio by name, lately arrived from abroad, oc- cupying a shanty fifty yards from his house. It was nearly time for the trap to be sprung and full exposure made, when, late one evening, Hennessy drew neai his home. A boy ran in front of him and gave a peculiar whistle. Next moment the chief was a dying man. Bullets tore three cruel rents in his chest and abdomen, his right knee and his left hand were shot through, and his face, arms, and neck were shocking- ly mutilated. Though he languished till the next morning, the only expla- nation that passed his lips was the whispered word, Dagoes. Within ten minutes of the shooting the immi- grant was seized in his shanty. Others were arrested later, but only eleven were held and only nine finally pre- sented. The trial proved that Hen- nessys assassins hid in Monasterios hut, and that an Italian boy was posted to notify them of Hennessys approach. The deadly weapons were found, six shot-guns, five with barrels sawed off, and stocks hinged so that they could be doubled up and carried under the clothing. Verdict was rendered on Friday, March 13, 1891. The judge, usually imperturbable, was observed, when the paper was handed him, to look at it for a moment in stupefaction. No wonder. Six of the culprits were acquitted; in the case of three the jury disagreed not one was convicted. Bribery, said some. Others whispered Intimi- dation. All agreed that such a fiasco was an outrage. Awaiting trial upon a second indictment and joyfully reck- oning upon a similar result next time, the accused were again locked in their cells. At the moment the doors closed behind them a vigilance, committee of well-known citizens were writing and sending to the various newspaper of- fices the following notice Mass lileeting. All good citizens are invited to at- tend a mass meeting on Saturday, March 14th, at ten oclock A.1VE., at Clay statue, to take steps to remedy the failure of justice in the Hennessy case. Come prepared for action. The assembly at the statue blocked the street-cars and climbed on top of them. Neighboring balconies were peopled With store of ladies, whose bright eyes raind influence. The District Attorneys words voiced the unanimous view: When the law is powerless the rights delegated by the people are relegated back to the people, and they are justified in doing what the law has failed to do. He charged that the jury was corrupted and asked if the people were ready to follow him. The response was favorable, loud, and unan- imous. The prison occupied a whole square, its main iron gates frowning upon Orleans Street. From within the deputy sheriff observed a crowd, larger and larger each moment, drift- ing toward the building. This, with the mass meeting at the Clay statue, warned him what to expect. The Italian pris- oners, too, had heard of the meeting, and trembled. Carpenters barricading the side entrance were jeered. The small boys in the crowd set up a shout: Who killa de chief? Who killa de chief? Then followed the Mafia whistle, but what a new meaning it bore to its authors now! More por- tentous than the chattering of those gamins was the hush long maintained by the multitude. At last this gave way to rolling volleys of applause, growing louder and louder as there was heard the steady. cadence of Hen- nessys avengers marching hither from the meeting at the statue. A neigh- boring wood-pile furnished battering rams, and the work of demolishing the front gates was soon finished, a burly negro aiding with a huge stone. The vigilance committee admitted to the prison not more than sixty men, posting sentries at all exits to shoot down escaping prisoners. The Italians had been set free within the prison, to escape, if they could, by hiding. The boy who had warned them of the chiefs approach on the night of the murder was found beating at the cell doors and begging to be let in. He was spared. Three poor wretches stood in 194 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY line behind a pillar as the lynchers ap- proached. Peeping from his shelter, one was shot through the head; the second stumbled over the corpse and was at once riddled; the third seized an Indian club, and in desperation beat at a door where he hoped for egress, just as a crowd from the other direc- tion broke in. A shot in the forehead failed to fell or dishearten him. Think- ing to parry a charge aimed at his shoulder, he lost his hand. The next moment a rifle was pressed to his breast and fired. He sank, and the crowd passed on over him. In the womens yard six more, huddled in an attitude of supplication, were de- spatched, one body receiving forty-two bullets. Two others were hanged out- side the prison. One of these had gone insane, and was kicked to the lamp-post, muttering to himself. At the first attempt to string him up, the rope broke ; the second time he clutched it and drew himself hand over hand to the cross-piece, but was beaten back to the ground; the third time he repeated the attempt with the same result. When he was successfully hanged, deafening cheers went up. The wretchs clothing was stripped from him and torn in pieces, to be distributed as souvenirs. The crowd was now satisfied with the work done, and walked quietly back to the Clay statue, whence they dispersed. This incident opened grave inter- national complications, which Mr. Blame handled with skill. Three of the mur- dered men had been subjects of King Humbert. Our treaty with Italy, rati- fied in the early seventies, provided that the citizens of each of the high contracting parties should receive in the States and Territories of the other the most constant protection and se- curity for their persons and proper- ty, and enjoy in this respect the same rights and privileges as were, or should be, granted to the natives. The Ital- ian Consul at New Orleans stated that while some of the victims were bad men, many of the charges against these were without foundation; that the violence was foreseen, and could have been prevented; that he had in vain requested military protection for the prisoners; and that at the massacre he and his secretary had been assaulted and mobbed. On the very day when the prisoners were killed, Italy sent her protest to Mr. Blame, who expressed his horror at the deed. He at the same time urged Governor Nicholls to see the guilty brought to justice. The Italian Premier, Marquis di iRudini, insisted on indemnity for the murdered mens families, and on the instant punish- ment of the assassins. Mr. Blame did not regard indemnity as a right which the Italian Government could maintain, though intimating that the United States would not refuse it in this case. Demand for the summary punishment of the offenders he declared unreason- able, since the utmost that could be done at once was to institute judicial proceedings, and this function, he ex- plained, could not be assumed by the United States, but belonged exclusively to the State of Louisiana. The for- eign resident, said he, must be con- tent in such cases to share the same re- dress that is offered by the law to the citizen, and has no just cause of com- plaint or right to ask the interposition of his country, if the courts are equally open to him for the redress of his in- juries. The Italian public thought this equivocation, a mean truckling to the American prejudice against Italian im- migrants. Baron Fava, the Italian minister at Washington, could not see why Italian subjects in America should not receive the same protection accord- ed to Americans in Italy. In vain did Mr. Blame set forth that by our Fed- eral system foreign residents, however shielded by treaty, cannot, any more than citizens, claim protection from the national authority direct. Baron Fava was ordered, failing to obtain assurance of indemnity and of immediate and im- partial judicial proceedings, to affirm the inutiity of his presence near a gov- ernment that had no power to guarantee such justice as in Italy is administered equally in favor of citizens of all nation- alities. Such judicial proceedings as could be had against the lynchers broke down completely. The minister with- drew, but his government was finally A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 195 persuaded to accept $25,000 to be dis- tributed among the families of the murdered men. THR SAMOAN HURRICANE WITH Germany as well as with Italy our relations were strained during these years. In 1878 the United States ob- tained by treaty the Samoan harbor of Pago Pago, the finest in Polynesia, for a coaling station. The English and Germans had iu the islands commercial interests far more important than ours. In 1879 the Germau and British consuls signed a convention to secure good local government in the town and neighborhood of Apia. The American consul co-operated in this endeavor, but was not a party to the convention. In 1884 German influence secured from King Malietoa Laupepa control of the islands, and a little later the German flag was raised over them. Persuaded by the Samoans, the United States consul assumed a protectorate in oppo- sition, but his action was promptly dis- avowed at home. Our Secretary of State suggesting that a conference of German, British, and United States commis- sioners devise a plan for the election by the natives of a ruler who should be sustained by all three. After several bootless sittings at Washington the conference adjourned, with the express understanding that the status quo, Ma- lietoa still king, should be maintained pending further deliberations. Not- withstanding this, and in spite of British and American protest, Bismarck made unreasonable demands upon Malietoa, which, not being complied with in a few hours, were followed by his sum- mary dethronement and the elevation of the German creature, Tamasese. Early in the spring of 1889, seven war-ships occupied the harbor of Upolu, near Apia, a body of water barred from the open ocean by a circular coral reef, with a gap in the front centre for the entrance and exit of ships. Three of the vessels were American, the Trenton, flagship, Rear-Admiral Kimberley com- manding, the Yandalia, and the Nipsic. As many were German, the Adler, the Eber, and the Olga. One, the Calliope, was British, Captain Kane in command. On March 15th falling barometer in- dicated the approach of a storm, yet none of the war-ships made for the clear sea. By daylight of the 16th the typhoon was on, the wind blowing inshore with fearful velocity, rolling mountainous billows into the harbor. The vessels dragged their anchors and several collisions occurred. One vessel lost her smoke-stack, another her bow- sprit, but these were comparatively small injuries. Early in the morning the Eber crashed against the coral and sank. The Nipsic struck sand instead of coral, and lay stranded, but in safety. The Adler was also dragged to the reef, and the next wave would have been her ruin too ; but just as she scaled the water-mountain the seamen slipped her moorings, so that she was lifted up and thrown on the reef like a school-boys cap upon a shelf. No longer think- ing of Germans as foes, the Samoans nobly helped to rescue the survivors, be- ing foremost in that good work all day. There remained the Trenton, in the harbor mouth, and the Calliope farther in, threatened now on one side by the Olga, now on the other by the Yandalia, and in the rear continually by the reef. The harbor was death, the high seas salva\ion, and Captain Kane determined upon a desperate effort to get out. Her furnace walls red-hot and her boilers strained nearly to bursting, the Cal- liope matched her engines against the awful tornado. For a time she stood stationary, then crawled or rather sidled to the gap in the outside reef, close by the Trenton, which was pitching at an- chor with fires drowned and wheel and rudder gone. As the Englishman at last came to the wind outside a rousing cheer went up from the American flag- ship, returned with a will by the Brit- ish tars. The Yandalia, trying to beach herself beside the Nipsic, missed her aim, struck the reef and slowly settled to her tops, which were crowded with men. Then the Trenton parted her cables and drifted, helpless as an ice- berg, into collision with the Olga. The two ships struck once or twice, when the German craft slipped her moorings and escaped, having the Nipsics good fortune to light upon sand instead of hard reef. Impelled by the wind and 196 A HISTOPY OF THE LAST QUARTEP-CENTURY by some mysterious current, the Tren- ton now bore slowly but surely upon the populous tops of the Yandalia, res- cuing in her approach the clinging sea- men by throwing them lines. Soon she struck and stopped. By next morning she had settled to the gun-deck, but those of her men and the Vandalias who survived successfully reached shore. Admiral Kimberley gathered the shipwrecked Americans about him, and, parading the band of the Trenton, had it strike up Hail Columbia. The Calliope returned on the 19th to find all the other war-ships ruined. Cap- tam Kane hastened to acknowledge the parting cheer sent after him as he put to sea. Our Admiral replied: My dear Captain: Your kind note received. You went out splendidly and we all felt from our hearts for you, and our cheers came with sincerity and admir- ation for the able manner in which you handled your ship. We could not have been gladder if it had been one of our ships, for in a time like that I can say truly, with old Admiral Josiah Tatnall, that blood is thicker than water. * Thoughts of war were banished by the havoc Nature had wrought. The conference, renewed in Berlin, ended by a practical back-down on Bismarcks part. Tamasese was deposed, the exiled Malietoa restored. The three powers agreed that after his death the natives should elect a successor. This triangu- lar authority did not work well. It was an annoyance to the Powers and a grievous exasperation to the natives, who regarded the weak Malietoa as merely the scalawag creature of white carpet-baggers. One rebellion, headed by Mataafa, was cut off, and the leaders deported to an island in the Marshall group. Then the younger Tamasese rose, gathering the disaffected Samoans about him. The war-vessels of the Powers were compelled to co-operate in suppressing this rebellion, which after all continued to smoulder. THE CHILIAN TROUBLE WHEN Mr. Blame was for the second time made Secretary of State, a Chilian * The description of the storm is abridged Loin H. L. Stevensons. paper spoke of him as that foreign minister who made us so much trouble. Aided by his own unfortunate choice of a minister thither, Chili became a cause of trouble to Mr. Blame. The country was in the throes of a civil war between the presidential party ad- herents of President Balmacedaand the congressional party. Mr. Egan eagerly espoused Balmacedas cause, alienating the congressional party and a majority of the people. The misun- derstanding was aggravated by the Itata incident. On May 6, 1891, the Itata, a Chilian cruiser in the service of the Congressionalists, was, at the re- quest of the Chilian minister, seized at San Diego by the United States marshal, on the ground that she was about to carry a cargo of arms to the Revolutionists. The next day she put to sea, defying the marshals injunction. Two days after the cruiser Charleston set out in pursuit, but reached Callao without having seen her quarry. On June 4th the offender surrendered to the United States squadron at Iquique. Congressionalists in Chili were angry at us for meddling with the Itata ; the presidents party for not making our intervention effective. Excitement ran so high in Chili that it was unsafe for American sailors to go ashore. On Oc- tober 17th some sailors from the Bal- timore were attacked in Yalparaiso, two being killed and eighteen hurt. To Secretary Blames demand for an explanation, the Chilian Fdreign Office replied on October 28th. Later was furnished a satisfactory indemnity. REACTION AGAIN5T THE REPUBLICANS IN the congressional campaign of 1890 issue upon the neo-Republican policy was squarely joined. The Republicans had iuterpreted Harrisons victory as a popular mandate, given carte blanche, and had legislated as if never to be called to account. The 1890 election, a land- slide unprecedented in our political history, revealed their error. The House of Representatives was now overwhelm- ingly Democratic, having two hundred and thirty-six Democratic members to eighty - eight Republicans and eight Populists or Farmers Alliance men. A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 197 Pennsylvania once more elected Pattison Governor, by a majority of more than ten thousand over all competitors, and also gave the Democrats three new~seats in Congress. In this State the turn of the tide was partly due to the Republican dislike of Sen- ator Quay. Early in 1890 Mr. H. C. Lea, of Philadelphia, had made charges, reiterated in lead- ing journals with wealth of detail, to the effect that Quay had been guilty of peculation as State Treasurer. Honorable Robert P. Kennedy, a Republican member from Ohio, speaking in the House of Repre- Admiral Kimberley. sentatives, From j5Aobogra~1s by H. IV. Fey, impeached Quay on the same ground. Kennedys indictment was expunged from the record, which Widened rather than nar- rowed its influence. But the political change was in nowise locaL The Pacific slope aside, huge Democratic gains oc- curred everywhere. The de I ne otern or tIre U, ~u. show- ing the Bent Propeller we Less ot Rudder, Rudder-post and Heel. he The ,.~... A View Across the Harbor, showing the Natives Going Out to the Wrecked Vessels. SCENES IN THE HARBOR OF APIA AFTER THE GREAT SAMOAN HURRICANE. Frees ~Iso/ogrrs~1uo in I/se .l5osoesoboe of Commander F. F. CAadoesck, U. S. N. VOL. XIX.24 198 A HISTORY OP THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY feated referred their fall to off-year apathy, but that was not its sole or its main cause. The Billion Dollars gone, the Force Bill, and to a less extent the McKinley tariff, had aroused popular resentment. The new law so disliked at home was naturally odious abroad. France, Germany, and Austria talked of reprisals. So did Great Britain. By the tirades against him there McKinley was for a time better known in Europe than any other American. Yet so long as the sun shone Europe diligently made hay. Just as the advanced rates were about to go into effect, ocean grey- hounds came racing hither to bring in, under the old duties, all the goods they could. The Etrurias speed, saving a few seconds, was said to have won the owners of her cargo no less than $1,- 000,000 in this way. Yast as was its preponderance of Democrats, the new House could of course carry no low tariff measure against Harrison and the Senate~ but it passed a number of pop- gun bills for free raw materials, as if to make coming events cast their shadows before. Our account of the Democratic victory in 1892 must be reserved for the next chapter. Harrison was then de- feated and the Senate won for the Democracy. Reasoning from the fate of Federalism, a promi- nent Republican sena- tor interpreted his par- tys repeated overwhelm- ing defeat as heralding its extinction. However natural, the fear was un- founded. The Fifty- second Congress proved unwieldy and discord- ant, soon being no less unpopular than the Fif- ty - first. If that was profligate, this was more so, its expenditures reaching $1,028,000,000. So the new generation of voters had in store for 1894 a third tidal wave, a veritable trilcumia, as IEschylus would have said, bearing the Repub- licans once more into power in Con- gress. Meantime thoughts of poli tics were banished, as all eyes were turned toward Chicago, where the ma- tured era since the war was about to be fittingly celebrated by a splendid efflorescence of its prosperity and prog- ress. THE SEATTLE FIRE. The Beginning of the Fire Looking South on Front Street, and a View Showing the Ruins Looking South from Commercial Street. DESIGN IN BOOKBINDING By S. T. Prideaux WITH TWELVE REPRODUCTIONS OF BINDINGS DESIGNED AND EXECUTED BY THE AUTHOR IN the following remarks on the ap- plication of ornament to bindings, it is not desired to lay down any ar- bitrary rules. If, after the lapse of so many centuries, canons of art are still to seek, if the lesson of the Greeks in sculpture, of the Florentines in paint- ing, of the Renaissance in decoration has still left the world without a formu- lated theory of a~sthetics which obtains the complete concensus of opinion of civilized nations, how much less like- ly is it that the principles of decora- tion as applied to the humbler arts can have become sufficiently crystallized for universal acceptance. As a matter of fact confusion of tongues on the sub- ject of applied ornament is far greater now, when art is more conscious and less instinctive, than in the days when the craftsman wrought out of the ful- ness of his inspiration. It has been ever so in the history of the arts, the period of free creation has never been one of theory, and when art and handicraft were practically indis- tinguishable, the artist would have been sorely puzzled to give a reason for the faith that was in him. Only when the instinctive moment has given way to the self-conscious at- titude has the need arisen for canons of taste and for analysis of the pre- vious products of spontaneity. Un- happily the converse is also true. When the mind is exercised upon the vital questions of artwhat may be its ut- terances, what modes of expression are legitimate, and the like, it is a sign sure and unfailing that the fullest and free- est activity, the most spontaneous in- spiration is for the time in abeyance. If this is unavoidable, and indeed it seems to form part of a natural se- quence, and if the attitude of self-con- scious seeking belongs to our own age, as I think must be admitted, can we not at least take heart of grace and turn to some account this very minute sifting and weighing of past achievements? If we can no longerat least for the momentcreate, in the most real sense of the word, can we not discover why, in the matter of applied ornament for instance, we should do certain things, and why we must assuredly not do cer- tain other things? Yet on looking round at the minor arts one is tempted to despair, for the only principle one can find of universal acceptance is that there is nothing that may not be done. The extravagant, the eccentric, the bizarre everywhere pre- vails. Mrs. Meywell has devoted one of her slight but finely handled essays on The IRhythm of Life to what she calls the obsession of man by the flower. Is one not reminded of it by ones chintzes and cretonnes, ones wall- papers, carpets, and curtains? In the shape of the flower mans own paltriness revisits himhis triviality, his sloth, his cheapness, his wholesale habitualness, his slatternly ostentation. What the tyranny has really grown to can be gauged nowhere so well as in country lodgings, where the most ordinary things of design and decoration have sifted down and gathered together, so that foolish ornament gains accumu- lative force and achieves a conspicuous commonness. Steni, petal, and leaf the fluent forms that a man has not by heart, but certainly by roteare woven, printed, cast, a~d stamped wherever restlessness and insimplicity have feared to leave plain spaces. If we turn to our furniture is it not mostly covered with ornamentsave the markso that the quality of its material is hidden, which perhaps as it happens may not be wholly without in- tent. Be that as it may, it is at least a subject for reflection that even the oak that has descended to us, in its plain simplicity, from our forefathers,

S. T. Prideaux Prideaux, S. T. Design In Bookbinding 199-206

DESIGN IN BOOKBINDING By S. T. Prideaux WITH TWELVE REPRODUCTIONS OF BINDINGS DESIGNED AND EXECUTED BY THE AUTHOR IN the following remarks on the ap- plication of ornament to bindings, it is not desired to lay down any ar- bitrary rules. If, after the lapse of so many centuries, canons of art are still to seek, if the lesson of the Greeks in sculpture, of the Florentines in paint- ing, of the Renaissance in decoration has still left the world without a formu- lated theory of a~sthetics which obtains the complete concensus of opinion of civilized nations, how much less like- ly is it that the principles of decora- tion as applied to the humbler arts can have become sufficiently crystallized for universal acceptance. As a matter of fact confusion of tongues on the sub- ject of applied ornament is far greater now, when art is more conscious and less instinctive, than in the days when the craftsman wrought out of the ful- ness of his inspiration. It has been ever so in the history of the arts, the period of free creation has never been one of theory, and when art and handicraft were practically indis- tinguishable, the artist would have been sorely puzzled to give a reason for the faith that was in him. Only when the instinctive moment has given way to the self-conscious at- titude has the need arisen for canons of taste and for analysis of the pre- vious products of spontaneity. Un- happily the converse is also true. When the mind is exercised upon the vital questions of artwhat may be its ut- terances, what modes of expression are legitimate, and the like, it is a sign sure and unfailing that the fullest and free- est activity, the most spontaneous in- spiration is for the time in abeyance. If this is unavoidable, and indeed it seems to form part of a natural se- quence, and if the attitude of self-con- scious seeking belongs to our own age, as I think must be admitted, can we not at least take heart of grace and turn to some account this very minute sifting and weighing of past achievements? If we can no longerat least for the momentcreate, in the most real sense of the word, can we not discover why, in the matter of applied ornament for instance, we should do certain things, and why we must assuredly not do cer- tain other things? Yet on looking round at the minor arts one is tempted to despair, for the only principle one can find of universal acceptance is that there is nothing that may not be done. The extravagant, the eccentric, the bizarre everywhere pre- vails. Mrs. Meywell has devoted one of her slight but finely handled essays on The IRhythm of Life to what she calls the obsession of man by the flower. Is one not reminded of it by ones chintzes and cretonnes, ones wall- papers, carpets, and curtains? In the shape of the flower mans own paltriness revisits himhis triviality, his sloth, his cheapness, his wholesale habitualness, his slatternly ostentation. What the tyranny has really grown to can be gauged nowhere so well as in country lodgings, where the most ordinary things of design and decoration have sifted down and gathered together, so that foolish ornament gains accumu- lative force and achieves a conspicuous commonness. Steni, petal, and leaf the fluent forms that a man has not by heart, but certainly by roteare woven, printed, cast, a~d stamped wherever restlessness and insimplicity have feared to leave plain spaces. If we turn to our furniture is it not mostly covered with ornamentsave the markso that the quality of its material is hidden, which perhaps as it happens may not be wholly without in- tent. Be that as it may, it is at least a subject for reflection that even the oak that has descended to us, in its plain simplicity, from our forefathers, Mauve Zilereccoinclzes, 7~ x 5. must perforce be carved upon with all pay for reticence. Unconsciously this manner of puerile patterns, before it writer hit upon a great principle, almost can prove salable. the greatest in decorative matters, An early critic of Mr. Cobden San- which, if it only obtained as it should dersons bindings, somewhat indignant do, would save us from much of the vul- at the high prices he obtained, thus de- gar meanness that prevails in every-day scribes his work with caustic irony: minor art. How many of us would not His soul is as much in what he leaves gladly pay for reticence if so be we could out as in what he puts inyou seem to find it! But, alas! the public is of the same mind as the critic. In proportion to the price must be the quantity of ornament, and so it comes about that the eye is fatigned by its presence in season and out of season, and competi- tors in the market of production vie with each other as to the amount that can be offered for the money. Is it wholly impossible to educate public taste in this one matter? Every year now brings its exhibition of arts and crafts in different parts of the world, and almost every month its practical hand-books, its treatises on the theory and practice of design, or on the prin- ciples and analysis of ornament. Is it not possible to teach that the due sub- ordination of decorafion is every bit as important as a feeling for beauty of form, or a grasp of the limitations im- posed by the character of the material and the tools that work it. The de- Blue Moroccoinches, 7~ ) 5~. 200 Riruscan Red ZJiIoroccoinc/zes. 7 X 4. Red Moroccoinches, 6~ x 4~. Riroscan Red Moroccoinches, 6~ x 4+. signer who does not know where and when to stay his hand fails jnst as mnch as the man who has no sense of proportion, no instinct for grace of curve, or pnrity of line; fails even more perhaps than the man who treats metal like wood, or stone like iron. To learn the lesson of appropriate book decoration we mnst take a look at some of the early work. And by ap- propriate we do not mean in any way allnsive. The size and relative dimen- sions of length and breadth (not neces- sarily the written or printed content), should give the key to the design on the outside of a book, thongh the sub- ject-matter may often suggest the mo- tive for a pattern. Some of the very early stamped work done in England toward the end of the twelfth century is as significant for our purpose as any that came later, in the days when bind- ing has been justly celebrated as reach- ing its zenith as an art. The books bound for Bishop Pudsey and still preserved in the cathedral li- brary at Durham are decorated most frequently with dies of a varied kind representing men on horseback, fabu- lous animals, and formal designs. The scheme of ornament on the side is gen- erally a parallelogram formed by lines of these designs, but in some examples there is interlaced chain-work of East- ern character which also frames the sides in lines that run parallel with the boards. The NetheHandish bindings ot the middle of the fourteenth century show us another kind of decoration, strong and simple and eminently adjusted to the natural lines of the book. This is the panel stamp, sometimes occupying most of the cover, sometimes used only IVinuve IVeoroccoinches, 6~ x 5. 201 Blue 11~/oroccolocAev 6 u Red Morocco. as a central ornament, sometimes again bordered by a motto or text in the decorative letters of the time, which not infreqnently included the name of the binder. These panels were either com- posed of spiral foliage containing birds and beasts, or they were pictorial and represented scenes like the adoration of the Magi and the Annunciation. But the most attractive pictorial panel stanips are to be found on the French bindings of the period. Most of these represent scriptural scenes, but some few are par1ar~ t, like the well - known one of the Ronen binder Jehan Moulin, in which the device of a miller and his sacks has a pnnning allusion to the name. In all this early stamped work we get these two main schemes of decoration, the border, and the centre paneL The character of the designs, too, was bold and broad until degeneration set in tow- ard the end of the sixteenth century. At its best period there was snbordina- tion of detail to breadth of effect; the main lines of the ornamentation, too, were always distinct, so that there was both balance and contrast, which in the matter of snrface decoration may almost be said to correspond to light and shade in the field of pictorial art. The next period dnring which the in- stinct for appropriateness in design seems most marked is that of the early Italian and French bindings, when gold tooling had become established. At that time the feeling for symmetry prevailed over all else, and no doubt in the specially geometrical character of many of the designs it was often carried to excess. Notwithstanding this, how- ever, there is no time at which there was such largeness of conception, such har 202 Blue Moroccoluckes, 6~ x 5~. ~Woe Moroccoinches, 6~ x 41. Brown Moroccoinches, 6 x 4. mony of line, and above all such dignity of resalt. Nor was there any lack ot vari- ety of treatment. Indeed one is struck by the wealth of resource shown by the designers of the time, considering that the framework was so largely geometri- cal. Sometimes intricate and elaborate, at others simple and severe, the inter- lacings are rarely repeated. The spaces are treated with admirable reticence; it is but seldom they are filled in with any detail, though occasionally in parts they are studded with gold dots. This, it may be noted, is one of the lessons we may learn from a study of the bindings of this particular time the value to the design of those blank spaces between the lines of gold that of themselves decorate so simply yet so richly the covers of those early printed books. There is a tine sense of proportion in the severity of many of the patterns, while grace is attained in the character of the lines and curves instead of by triv- iality of detail, which is so often the mod- ern method of achieving the same end. At this point one may perhaps be pardoned for making a slight digres- sion on the subject of the fashion that has prevailed so long at home and abroad of reproducing tIme designs of early French bindings. There is one special attraction in the old work that lies quite apart from its beauty and instinct of design. That attraction is the spontaneous handling, the freedom of treatment that char- acterizes all the bindings in the golden age of the art before the last part of the sixteenth century. We may find, no doubt, some explanation of this in the want of technical dexterity which has since been acquired, in the fact that the standard of finish had not Fnwn .YZorocco. 203 204 DESIGN IN BOOKBINDING taken the undue position which it has since occupied, but the real reason is probably that the executor like the de- signer was also an artist, and in his hands the result never attained to me- chanical precision, but was always in- stinct with movement and life. In the transfer of the design to the cover the spirit of the designer was in a measure transferred. The present-day imita- tions of Groliers, Eves, and Le Gaseous are lifeless copies. They are indeed executed with far more technical skill than the originals, often with far more accuracy of line and curve, but the spirit of the artist is absent, and the re- sult is a triumph of formal skill, not an achievement of artistic feeling. It was during the reign of Henri II. that bindings reached their highest perfection. At no subsequent period have they been so bold and fine in de- sign and so unfettered by any tradi- tion. To begin with, the decorative conception in itself was in the grand manner, and when the graceful scroll- work and interlacings were diversified by fleurons and other small tools, these in no way interfered in detail with the effect as a whole. How consummate a period this was, not only in binding but in all the decorative arts maybe judged from the fact that it has been the main source of inspiration for all subsequent ages. It is indeed on account of these things of great price in the past that we have so much that is trivial in the present. For to the excellence of that past is due the machine-made repro- duction of its detail, a detail that, re- moved from its setting, is often mere futility the multiplicity that is the disgrace of decoration. If art is to be art, it must have some organic quality, and that quality is one that can never be multiplied, and least of all by the perfection of mechanical processes. Let us take a look at some of the other styles in binding that have a well-deserved reputation. And first that of the Eves, a family of binders who worked between 1578 and 1631. The geometrically shaped compart- ments still remain often linked to- gether by interlaced circles. The centres of these compartuients are filled with small fleurons instead of the well-articulated moresque ornaments of Groliers time, and they are surround- ed by scrolls and spirals and branches of laurels and palm. It is an extreme- ly elaborate style, carried out with much felicity, and resulting in great richness of effect. No other has had so much admiration bestowed upon it. The compartments in its composition are very numerous, the branch-work, which is the most original feature, is entirely light and graceful and unsparingly in- terwoven, while the entire field of the cover is filled with delicate detaiL But we miss the architectural qualities of the earlier periodthe unification of parts that give the sense of wholly just proporhon, the fine spaces of untouched leather that show the complete control of the designers fancy. In the Eve bindings, it is true, we see great imagi- native qualities and much resource, but the artists fancy is too unchecked, and there is a restlessness in the result that does not make for satisfaction. If it is the perfection of richness in book- decoration and it would be hard to deny this description of the style claimed for itit is not in our opinion the perfection of appropriateness, es- pecially when seen on volumes of large size. The next well-known stylethat of Le Gasconis substantially a further development of the Eve school, though very different in character. Just as the Eves achieved originality not in~ the framework of their designs, but by the happy accident of their branch decora- tion, so Le Gascon acquired a new manner through that novel change in his scroll-work, which is always asso- ciated with his name. Ever since the time of Grolier, when individual orna- ments were rather large and like in character to those used IBy Aldus at his press, the tools had been getting ever finer and finer, until in the hands of the unknown binder called Le Gascon they reached the extreme of delicacy. He took the geometrical framework of the Eves as the basis of his designs, but had all his ornaments cut with a dot- ted face instead of solid line. In his early work he used a substantial frame- work of continuous line, but later on he abandoned it and made up his de DESIGN IN BOOKBINDING 205 signs of the pointill~ ornament alone, which resulted in a tracery of the most minute character. In that early work he is seen at his best, for as he nearly always used morocco of a brilliant red, the contrast between the bands bor-. dered~by solid line and the spaces with- in filled with a mass of sparkling ara- besque results in an effect of color not often equalled and certainly never sur- passed. In a certain sense a Le Gascon bind- ing of the simpler period fulfils the conditions of proportion and balance better than one of the Eve school. For in the first place, though the de- tail is equally lavish, yet being all of fine pointilli scroll-work, there is not the want of repose about the whole which results from that admixture of diverse ornament which characterizes the Eve style in its latest manifesta- tions. And in the second place the strongly marked bands of color above described emphasize the lay-out of the design and so preserve its architectural qualities unimpaired. The firmness of drawing in the ground-plan is not tam- pered with by the intrusion of detail. There is little more that is instructive from our point of view in the history of binding. The Vandyke borders of Perome, inspired by the lace-work of the time, have no qualities of design. Indeed some of the English and Scotch bindings of the last quarter of the seventeenth century and beginning of the eighteenth show more instinct for appropriate decoration than any later work in the French schooL Henceforth multiplicity of detail and repetition of parts seem to do duty for design, and the simplicity and dignity of the early masters are forgotten in a profuse and meaningless ornamentation. In conclusion I must add a few words of explanation, if not apology, concern- ing the illustrations that accompany the text. They are not offered as adequate expressions of the best in de- sign, nor is it to be assumed that they are in any way put forward as models for imitation. Imitation, though it may be the sincerest form of flattery, is at the root of all that is most impotent in matters of art or handicraft. They are given solely as an attempt, not al- ways successful, to illustrate the few principles that have been set forth in the course of this paper, which seem to underlie the best work of every period. If they have a meaning it is only as the expression of personal con- viction after prolonged study of fine models as well as some practical ac- quaintance with the craft. The de- signs are extremely simple, mainly be- cause the taste of the binder happens to be always against elaboration of or- nament, and especially in the matter of bindings. But that is not the only reason. There are others who, as born designers, can excel in its more lavish use, and who, likewise more technically efficient, are not restricted in the use of tools. If, then, these examples have any interest it is indirectly through their limitations. They show what can be done with a few tools by a designer who is made not born under the guid- ing principles of appropriateness of line, simplicity of effect, and reticence in the matter of display. Voi~. XIX.25 A LONG CHASE By Owen Hall IT was cold! Good Heavens, how cold it was that afternoon! There was I, cased in the warmest furs I could find. My head, my ears, my body, almost my very nose wrapped, swathed, buried in furs. II was in fact a mere mummy of a man as I sat in that rap- idly moving sleighand yet I was cold! I think it was the very coldest day I had yet feltand at the moment it seemed to me I had felt a good many; but after all it had a right to be cold for was it not Christmas - eve? And was I not in the great Northwest? It was growing dusk, and as no moon would be visible for more than two hours to come, I was anxious to get home. Had it not been for this I should probably have moralized. Had I done so my reflections might not have been complimentary to myself. To begin with, I should have remembered that I ought to have been at home an hour before, had I not gone out of my way like a fool to escort a pretty girl home, who had already two admirers in her train, each of whom she great- ly (and naturally) preferred to myself. Had time permitted I might even have reflected that it was doubtful whether I wasnt a fool to be there at all. That I, Jack Saville, captain in the Bengal Horse Artillery, on a years leave of ab- sence, after ten years of roasting in Hindostan, should be spending Christ- mas in the northwest of Canada, was of itself a sufficiently questionable ex- ercise of common sensethat I should be doing so, in flat contradiction of the advice of my medical adviser, and even in disregard of my sister and brother- in-laws obvious anxiety as to how I should stand it, argued, it must be ad- mitted, a certain, or perhaps an uncer- tain, amount of good, solid old English obstinacy of disposition which would hardly bear calm discussion. Well, well! After all, obstinacy has its uses like everything else in this puzzling state of existence, where some- how everything you dont expect to do so, has a provoking way of turning out for the best. But I am forgetting. I was remarking, if I remember rightly, that it was too cold for moralizing on that very cold Christmas-eve, and al- though it is by no means cold here, where I am writing in my quarters at Allahabad, that is no reason for giving anyone the benefit of morahizings that never came offI dont say this would not, mind, if I had been left to myself, for I suspect I was just beginning to reflect on things in general, having de- cided that it was useless to strain my eyes in the vain attempt to make out the road in the gathering duskwhen my horseor rather my brother-in-laws only remaining sleigh-horse I had previously knocked up the other one gave a sudden lurch and plunged wIldly into an unexpected si~owdrift. At the same moment the sleigh struck sharply against a tree-stump which stood about a foot out of the snow and shot me suddenly and forcibly out, quite near enough for comfort to my plunging horse. This was pleasant, but the emer- gency effectually cured me of the desire to moralize for the moment. Fortu- nately I was professionally accustomed to horses, and the creatures are much alike whether it be an Australian Waler in an Indian mudhole, or an American trotter in the bed of a snowed- up stream in Canada. In spite of my bear-like vestments, therefore, I man- aged after a time to quiet the horse and luckily to get him out of the drift; but here my luck ended. It was already nearly dark, but not so dark as to con- ceal the fact that the horse was lame of his off-fore leg, or that one of the run- ners of the sleigh had snapped when it struck that confounded stump! I stood aghast at the double dis- covery, which was serious enough in all conscience. The present inconvenience of a miles march through the snow, leading a lame horse, was decidedly the least part of it, though even that was worth considering. But the fact

Owen Hall Hall, Owen A Long Chase 206-215

A LONG CHASE By Owen Hall IT was cold! Good Heavens, how cold it was that afternoon! There was I, cased in the warmest furs I could find. My head, my ears, my body, almost my very nose wrapped, swathed, buried in furs. II was in fact a mere mummy of a man as I sat in that rap- idly moving sleighand yet I was cold! I think it was the very coldest day I had yet feltand at the moment it seemed to me I had felt a good many; but after all it had a right to be cold for was it not Christmas - eve? And was I not in the great Northwest? It was growing dusk, and as no moon would be visible for more than two hours to come, I was anxious to get home. Had it not been for this I should probably have moralized. Had I done so my reflections might not have been complimentary to myself. To begin with, I should have remembered that I ought to have been at home an hour before, had I not gone out of my way like a fool to escort a pretty girl home, who had already two admirers in her train, each of whom she great- ly (and naturally) preferred to myself. Had time permitted I might even have reflected that it was doubtful whether I wasnt a fool to be there at all. That I, Jack Saville, captain in the Bengal Horse Artillery, on a years leave of ab- sence, after ten years of roasting in Hindostan, should be spending Christ- mas in the northwest of Canada, was of itself a sufficiently questionable ex- ercise of common sensethat I should be doing so, in flat contradiction of the advice of my medical adviser, and even in disregard of my sister and brother- in-laws obvious anxiety as to how I should stand it, argued, it must be ad- mitted, a certain, or perhaps an uncer- tain, amount of good, solid old English obstinacy of disposition which would hardly bear calm discussion. Well, well! After all, obstinacy has its uses like everything else in this puzzling state of existence, where some- how everything you dont expect to do so, has a provoking way of turning out for the best. But I am forgetting. I was remarking, if I remember rightly, that it was too cold for moralizing on that very cold Christmas-eve, and al- though it is by no means cold here, where I am writing in my quarters at Allahabad, that is no reason for giving anyone the benefit of morahizings that never came offI dont say this would not, mind, if I had been left to myself, for I suspect I was just beginning to reflect on things in general, having de- cided that it was useless to strain my eyes in the vain attempt to make out the road in the gathering duskwhen my horseor rather my brother-in-laws only remaining sleigh-horse I had previously knocked up the other one gave a sudden lurch and plunged wIldly into an unexpected si~owdrift. At the same moment the sleigh struck sharply against a tree-stump which stood about a foot out of the snow and shot me suddenly and forcibly out, quite near enough for comfort to my plunging horse. This was pleasant, but the emer- gency effectually cured me of the desire to moralize for the moment. Fortu- nately I was professionally accustomed to horses, and the creatures are much alike whether it be an Australian Waler in an Indian mudhole, or an American trotter in the bed of a snowed- up stream in Canada. In spite of my bear-like vestments, therefore, I man- aged after a time to quiet the horse and luckily to get him out of the drift; but here my luck ended. It was already nearly dark, but not so dark as to con- ceal the fact that the horse was lame of his off-fore leg, or that one of the run- ners of the sleigh had snapped when it struck that confounded stump! I stood aghast at the double dis- covery, which was serious enough in all conscience. The present inconvenience of a miles march through the snow, leading a lame horse, was decidedly the least part of it, though even that was worth considering. But the fact A LONG CHASE 207 was that I was to have been home in good time, because the sleigh might be needed to fetch the doctor, who lived some twelve miles off and who was under orders to hold himself in readi- ness in case of an anticipated family- emergency at our house. My broth- er-in-law, the best of good fellows, was, I knew, in a state of nervous anxiety from hour to hour, and might very likely be cursing my delay at that very moment. There was no help for it, however, and the only thing was to make the best of a bad job. So, gath- ering myself together, and making a long rein to lead Kentucky with, I waddled off, making the best of my way in the direction in which I knew our house lay. It was pretty hard walk- ing, and the exercise soon restored the circulation of my blood. Kentucky, poor beast, limped gallantly along after me over the hard frozen snow. Why on earth we should have dropped on the only soft spot for miles round, passes my comprehensionbut then, if you come to reason them out, most things do. I wasnt in the best of humors with myself, and Im afraid I took to using strong language on the subject of sleighs and horses in my self-communings, as I felt the moment of my explanation with my brother-in- law drawing nearer. No doubt his an~iety was all nonsensethese young husbands are always so absurdly anx- ious, as if nobody everbut there; and I pulled myself together and laufrhed grimly as I saw the injustice of taking this original way of getting rid of my own unacknowledged uneasiness. Any- how, I thought, this is rather slow, and only makes bad worse, for Boband very likely, for that matter, Maggie toowill be worrying themselves into a fever at my non-appearance. Come on, Kentucky! I exclaimed, for the horse was momentarily growing more lame. Oh, confound it, why dont people ride bicycles instead of skating about the country in these sleighs! The suggestion seemed so good to me, an enthusiastic bicycle rider, that I mentally ran over the many advantages, in such a climate and over such smooth and hard roads, which a good steel horse would have over the correspond- ing article in flesh and blood, and the comparison served to amuse me, till on coming out of the clump of timber I found myself within a hundred yards of the stable. A halloo brought Mike speedily to the spot, and to him I con- signed Kentucky. The honest fellows evident dismay when he saw him lame and heard of the disaster to the sleigh, brought matters home to me with un- pleasant force. Sure and whatll the masther be doing, at all, at all? Its himself has been ~down twice since dusk telling me to be sure and kape them ready! Nothing wrong, is there, Mike? I asked, anxiously. Sure and its myself that doesnt know that same, but the masther; hes like a hen on a hot iron thim two hours. I hurried off to the house as fast as my ungainly wrapping would allow. Thank God, youve come, Jack! was Bobs greeting to me as I hastily closed the inner door of the house be- hind me. We were growing con- foundedly anxious about you. And be- sides here he lowered his voice, and looked deeply important besides, Mike will have to start in an hour, I feel sure Here was a nice state of things! Making every allowance for his anxiety and all that sort of thing, it was only too likely it would turn out so. I have noticed things generally do if its par- ticularly awkward. There was nothing for it but to tell him about it at once. And I could have torn my hair out to see the way he took it, poor fellow. He wouldnt say a word, or even look a look that might hurt my feelings, but I could see he was just despairing. Look here, Bob! I said, laying my hand on his shoulder. Very likely it wont be wanted to-night, old man, but if it is, dont you fret, Ill fetch him fast enough ! Fetch him, Jack! Why, its fifteen miles to Standish, and weve not a horse fit to travel nor a sleigh to harness him to if we had him. What a fool I was not to provide for it before. Oh, bother horses and sleighs, Bob, I rejoined cheerfully. Well manage better than that. Ill go on my bicycle! 208 A LONG CHASE On your bicycle ! he replied. Yes, it might be possible, I suppose, over the hard snow, but nonsense, Jack, what am I thinking of? Why, Maggie would never forgive me if I let you go. Fifteen miles over the snow, and you just from India! Dont tell her, Bob! The things safe enough. You dont know what a bicycle can do when its in hands that are used to it. Fifteen miles! Ill do that as fast as a sleigh could do it, and as for the snowwell, I dare say I wont be cold after the first half-mile. Bob considered for a minute, anxious- ly. Well, he said, I wont mention your idea to Maggie, poor girlI know shed be frantic, and indeed nothing but necessity would make me think of it myself. Ill send Mike up to John- sons to borrow a horse and sleigh. Please God, hell be back in time enough to save the risk. I wasnt really anxious for such a ride on such a night, so I said All right! Bob, Ill take a look at the machine in case its wanted, in the meantime. Both Mike and I had dinner while Bob wrote his note asking for the loan and explaining the circumstances, and then Mike started off to Johnsons, a distance of some four miles, and I found something to employ me in oiling and cleaning the bicycle. To tell the truth, it had been rather neglected from the time when I found out how little it was suited for the autumn and early winter roads of Manitoba. It was, however, one of the best to be bought in London, and I had only used it enough to get it fairly into working order. Now I found it only jn want of a rub, as the dry air of the house had preserved it from any tendency to rust. The time dragged slowly onnow and then Bob came out, looking hag- gard and anxious, stayed a few mo- ments, and disappeared again. In the meantime, I had gone leisurely over the bicycle, admired its workmanship, and put it into the best possible condition of efficiency. Still Mike didnt come backI could see that Bob was getting very uneasy, although he wouldnt ad- mit that there was any cause for it, and his evident anxiety affected me. I I went to the window and looked out. The moon was rising far away in the eastern sky, the blue vault was growing gray, and the limpid stars were losing their sparkling brightness. Al- ready there was a visible change in the aspect of the country. I could dimly see now where the forest en- croached still on the open landno longer as a merely darker shadow, but with the varying outline of trees. It would soon be light enough to see a track. I thought of Bobs anxious ex- pressionI thought of my only sisters sweet faceBah! what was a ride of fifteen miles over a track as hard a~ rock? I turned from the window and proceeded to dress myself for the jour- ney. What should I wear? Mocas- sins? Nothing could be better for the purpose. Furs? Well, if it were only as a measure of precaution I must put some on, but as I might not be able to bear their weight I put on a foraging jacket of thick cloth that buttoned up close to the throat, and over that the great fur coat with its hood to come over the head. There were fur-lined overalls for the legs, but I felt that these would render bicycle riding im- possible. I was just putting on my fur cap when the door opened and Bobs pale face showed itself again. What are you doing, Jack? he asked, in a half-whisper. Doing? Im getting ready fo~ a start. Its about time I was off, for the moons up and I see no signs of Mike. Nonsense, Jack, its really not so urgent as all that yet. Isnt it? Take a look at your face in that mirror, old man! Do you think Ive got no eyes? No, no, BobIm off! I could see a light come into his eyes that wasnt there before. I could see his face flush with the sense of a new relief. Still he held out. Maggie would never forgive me, Jack, if she knew, he said. Then dont let her know! Ill be safely back again within three hours, and I can see by your face that I should have been gone an hour ago. There, old fellow, its no use talking. Im going! By the by, wheres that heavy revolver you had yesterday? A LONG CHASE 209 In the cupboard, but what do you want it for? Oh, nothing, only I may as well have something, and its a good weapon! Oh, well, take it by all means, if you will go. Its already loaded; and, Jack, mind you hurry Jackson ~ It was the true feeling of the man that spoke then, there was a sort of gasping anxiety in the tone, and my heart smote me that I had delayed so long. Poor Maggie! But I would make up for it. My eyes rested on the bright machine. All right, Bob! I said; rely on me, youll see what a bicycle can do at a pinch. In another minute I had pushed the machine quietly from the room, in another minute the door had closed be- hind me and I stood on the hard snow, under the now brightening sky. I gave a long look around me to accus- tom my eyes to the new light, and to make sure that I knew exactly the course I had to follow. I knew the way well, fortunately, for I had travelled it perhaps a dozen times in the last five weeks. Dr. Jackson was a special friend of Bobs, and of late had been over pretty often, and I had generally gone home with him. It was lucky, for I knew the road as well by moonlight as by daylight, and that, let me tell you, goes for something when you have to travel, and to travel fast at night. There was no sign of Mike. I fastened the flaps of my fur cap under my chin; I felt that the revolver was safely at my belt; I gave the sort of over all glance which your would-be professional bicy- clist always favors his machine with be- fore startingand in another moment I was in the saddle, and with a crisp crackle over the frozen snow I had started. As I have said, I knew the road welL It lay over the plain for about four miles between fences, when fences could be seenover fields and fences where they were generally bur- ied under the snow, as they were now. Then there came a longish rising ground, when you entered the forest, which lasted till you crossed the ridge and got perhaps a couple of miles down the other slope. Then it was open level ground till you crossed the bridge, and in another mile you were at Standish. After all it wasnt much of a ride. I had done three times the distance in India under a hot sun, and four times as much in England, and thought nothing of it. The point was to do it quickly. That look on Bobs face came back to me and I put on a spurt to get rid of it. Confound that girl! What did the wretched little flirt want to wheedle me into seeing her home for, when she had these other fellows? Ah, why indeed? unless because she saw that Jack Sa- ville was just the sort of a fool to be wheedled! Rapid bicycle riding isnt good for meditation, however, and beyond a se- ries of vague regrets and gusts of self- abuse, I cant say that I was personally much the gainer, or that the philoso- phy of human action was much ad- vanced by my reflections. I bowled along swiftly. The road was smooth and hard; the night was still and cold; and now, in the light of the risen moon,. the general direction I had to follow was clear enough. I intended to break the record, as the slang phrase goes no very difficult matter, I reflected, so far as a Canadian winter record on the bicycle was concerned. To do so, how- ever, required judgment. It was no use trying to rush the pace for fifteen miles on a road like that. I knew that I had the long rise into the forest be- fore me and I must reserve my strength for that. I went steadily on I had crossed the level at last, and I knew I had done well. The light was bright enough to see the time, but I decided to wait till I entered the forest. Nothing was to be gained by unbutton- ing my furs now to get at the watch. I could feel that the rise was commen- cing. It was no longer quite so easy to keep the bicycle up to speed. There was more effort in the pressure on the pedals, a little more sensation in the muscles of the legs as I did so. I looked round. Yes, I had already made a rise of a good many feet. Far be- hind and apparently below me, I could make out the light in the window I had left, framed in a sort of rainbow haze. And within? Ah, there, I could see it in imagination, was Bobs face pale and drawn with anxiety once more before 210 A LONG CHASE me. I turned my face to the hill again. I pushed on! I was making good work of it, I knew. Here in the open, in- deed, there was little to gauge my speed by. The same white expanse of snow, the same gentle upward slope, an occasional tree left standing in some distant clearing, gaunt and dismal in its ice-bound loneliness; but I was nearing the forest. Already ahead of me, farther up the long hill, I could make out the shadow of the trees. I was steering steadily for the point where I knew the road entered the forest. It was just where a long tongue ran down the hill, left somehow where the clearings had encroached from either side. At last! Yes, there were the few giant stragglers, the outposts of the solemn pine forest their dark tops towering up gray and ice-bound like solid wedges into the sky; their droop- ing branches snow-laden and still point- ing earthward in melancholy repose. I glanced at and recognized them, and as I raced past them, insensibly quicken- ing my pace now that I had some land- marks to check my speed by, I unfas- tened my fur coat and drew my watch from the pocket of my foraging jacket. It was half-past seven. I put the watch back again. Half-past seven! I had made good timenow to keep it up! IJufastening the coat had been a relief I let it remain as it was and pushed on. In three minutes more I had en- tered the forest. To right and to left the black pine-trees closed me in. The long hanging branches bending with their weight of snow leant over the road and cast their heavy shadows on my path. Under the branches I could see, or fancy I saw, long black vistas stretch- ing away for miles under the solemn shadows of the forest; but at any rate the roadway was light. There the white untrodden snow gleamed silvery in the moonlight. The shadows, indeed, lay still and solemn, like ebony inlaid upon a silver shield-as dark by contrast, and as sharply cut. The slope was regular, but not steep enough greatly to reduce my speed. As I went I glanced from side to side for I was conscious of the oppres- sive solitude of the forest; but my pace was not retarded for a moment. Once I put my hand to my belt and touched the handle of Bobs revolver, then I smiled as I thought of Bobs question. What did I want it for? What, indeed? Revolvers carry no defence against the terrors of solitude. But was there nothing else? Nothing more tangibleagainst which even a revolver might have charms? Yes, now I thought of it, there was. One of the sleighing party had been talking of wolves. The winter, it seemed, had been an early one, and it certainly had been severe. The wolves, he had said, had been showing in packs not twenty miles to the north. It is strange how much can be remem- bered by a single motion of the mind a brain-wave, I think some of these great scientific people who know everything well enough to give everything a name, call it. Anyhow, I could have wished that particular brain-wave had left me alone. I glanced from side to side once more, but now the forest had a new significance. The snow-laden branches no longer concealed a solitude, but abysses peopled with forms. Bah! I would look aheadI would refuse to be the slave of imagination! I fixed my eyes on the long thread of silver that stretched upward toward the distant ridge and I pushed forward at my best speed. There is no stillness like that of a frozen forest! Probably the feeling is an effect of the imagination, after all, but for practical purposes it is a fact. We look for motion when we see trees. There is an association of swaying tops and moving boughs of twittering leaves, or at least a rustling and a motion that speak of life. It is the ces- sation of this that affects the imagina- tion, I think. To see a tree that might be of iron in its inflexible rigidity, with boughs that look as if carved from the solid rock, so stiff and unyielding they look in their stern reposethis is enongh to make silence seem more deadly stilL It is the sleep of a sus- pended animation, doubly deep because unnaturaL I didnt think of this, but I certainly felt it. It was my first ex- perience of a frozen forest alone; and now the circumstances heightened the effect. I listened involuntarily for a A LONG CHASE 211 sound ~ my ears seemed to strain them- selves to hear; my senses seemed strung to a supernatural acuteness of percep-. tion. There was not a sound but the low crisp crunch of the snow under the wheels of my machine, and even that seemed hushed and distant. Yet what was that? Was it fancy, or did I hear something shrill, piercing, yet faint, in the far distance on my right hand? Surely there was something if it was only the wail of a distant gust of wind moaning through the frozen pines! I bent over the bicycle and concen- trated my energies upon facing the long ascent. There it was again! The same long, low, searching sound, wild, yet uncertaincoming too from the same quarter; but that, of course, was noth- ing. If it was wind, of course, it was coming from the north. I glanced up- ward at the tree - tops a swaying branch would have been an indescrib- able relief at the moment. But no stone columns could not have been more immovable. The Pyramids could not have looked more fatally still. I was nearing the summit of the long ascent at last. Thank God for that! Once on level ground again and I shottld feel less handicapped; once there and I should know that the downward slope was near. I bent to my work with all my energy, I forced the machine over the ground as I had never done before. I could see as I neared the top of the slope that there was what looked like an opening in the forest, for the light seemed clearer and less obscured by the over- hanging trees. For a moment I was puzzled. Then I remembered that there was an openinga sort of glade that stretched away into the forest on the right, where someone had begun and then abandoned a clearing. I had scarcely called it to mind when I reached it. I had grown accustomed to the gloom of my over-shadowed road, yet the new light and absence of shadow was for a moment a relief; as the clear- ing opened on my right my eyes turned involuntarily toward it, and it was with a strange shudder that I saw it stretch away, its grizzly whiteness contrasting with the deep black shadows of the forest that seemed to hem it in so jeal ous]~y on every side. I shuddered, and, as I did so, there came again the sound! Louder, shriller, more keen and piercing than before! Now it had a new char- acterit was distinctly hungry. Why does one attach a eharacter to sounds? As well ask why did early man begin to formulate languageI could not tell you howI could not explain whybut now for the first time I recognized the sound as the cry of hunger. My in- stinct then was right. It was no wail of the northern windno swaying of the frozen forest. It was the cry of a living thing. It was natures savage complaint against the pangs of hunger! The sound was not a distant one with a long swelling wail it rose through the dim recesses of the dark forest with a long, savage cadence it died away among the arcades of the frozen pines. But it was not far off. It came from beyond the clearing. My eyes sought once more the grizzly vista of the glade, and as I looked my sense of sight seemed to grow more keen and piercing. I marked the long stretch of grayish- white in the middlethe long black shadows that lay across it from the east~ em forest; I could even see where, here and there, a ghostly-looking stump stood pillar-like, clothed in a robe of snow; but beyond this I could at first see nothing. Thank God for that, at least! So far the sound was a sound onlyso far it was possible that the cry of hunger had nothing to do with me! ii looked away once moreI bent to my task again with redoubled energy. The bicycle flew over the smooth track as I think no champion rider had ever made one fly befo]e. I had nearly passed the openingalready the road before me was contracting to its narrow widthalready the heavy shadows of the trees lay heavily across the path, imme- diately in front of me, as I rushed along another moment and I should have surmounted the danger of being seen. If I were being hunted I must then be hunted by scent only, and not by sight. It was not to be! Involuntarily I looked back for the last time. The long, cold glade lay gray and desolate as before, with its livid lights and its ghastly shadows, but just where it met the forest once more there was something 212 A LONG CHASE something that movedsometbing dark that stood out against the white ground something in motion that contrasted with the motionless trees beyondwolves! I had known it be- fore when the sound had grown to a cry, and the cry had told of hunger! I had known it then, but it came home to me now. No sense that we have is thrown away. If they are not all needed to express an idea, they all go to inten- sify an effect. For a moment that sight seemed to paralyze mefor a moment my brain refused to think; my limbs had lost the power to feel! For a momentyet for a moment only! Then sensation returned with a rush~ Life was at stake, and the stake was worth playing for! Like a flash there came before me Bobs face as I had seen it last! Like a flash came his words, as if spoken at the moment into my very ear. Jack, mind you hurry Jackson up! I shook myself together. I was my own master again. Please God, Bob should not be disappointed after all! With that thought in my mind I leant forward over the bicycle with that hope in my mind I entered on the forest track once more. We go through life and never know our powers. Talk of recordsno man can make a record for money; no man can make one for fame, that cannot be broken by a far inferior man when his life is at stake. I had known myself for one of the best, if not quite the best, bi- cycle rider in Indiaand where nearly every military man is a rider, as he is in India, that is saying a good deal but I had never till that hour known what speed it was possible to attain. The road was level nowlevel and hard There was scarcely a perceivable friction on the silent wheels as they spun round with giddy speed. The dark trees rose, rank beyond rank, grim sentinels on either side of my path, casting their dim shadows across the way, and like the figures in some strange, ghostly diorama they passed me in long ranks, flitting by in the half light like unsubstantial things. On and on we flew. There was not a breath of wind to stir the lightest snow-flake on the tenderest spray, yet my hair was thrown back from my brow, where great drops of perspiration now gathered and began to trickle down my face. On, and on! without a thought but that of pressing forward, without a hope but that of reaching the descent of the slope, and the edge of the forest. And as I went I knew that I was fol- lowed. From the dim arcades on my right came from time to time a short gasping howl, cut short in the moment of utterance by the exertions of the chase. They had seen me, and now they were in full cry. It was a race for bare life. I leant forward, and threw every energy I possessed into the one effort to press on. The trees flitted past me like ghosts. The long hanging boughs nearly brushed my face as I swept past. The cold air blew in my face and car- ried even the heavy fur of my coat be- hind me as I rushed through the night. And yet my pursuers did not lose ground. On the contrary, they were gaining. Not quickly, not with a rush; but slowly, foot by foot, with a certainty that was deadly; with a monotony that was ghastly beyond expression. Now I could hear them! There was a short, fierce panting; a short, dull scuffle of feet over the hard snow; a rustle and a motion among the frozen trees that told of bodies rQbbing against the trunks in their headlong career. They were com- ing! Terrible as the temptation was to look aside, I did not dare to take my eyes off the narrow white line before me. On and on, faster and faster, so it seemed to niy senses, the turning wheel swept past the great black trees in the course, and yet not fasternot so fast as the panting sounds grew closer and more painfully distinct to my earsas the dull scuffling noise of many feet approached me nearer and more near. I clenched my teeth with fierce determination. I kept my eyes fixed on the line of light that stretched on and on in front, as if it would never end! As I sit here in my quarters I seem to hear that ghastly sound now. In my dreams I hear that gasping sob of savage eagerness. Close. closer yet, behind and at my side. Only a sound, for as yet I could see nothing; but a sound that seemed to express more A LONG CHASE 213 thau sight; a sound that roused a thousand images, each more appalling and ghastly than the other. It had seemed hours, though it must have been only minutes, since I passed the clearing. The strain was telling on me now. There was a wild buzzing in my head, there was a weary feeling growing in my limbs, there was a despairing sense of the uselessness of effort grow- ing stronger in my mind. Did my ef- forts slacken in response to the feel- ing? I cannot say. It may be so, for who can draw the line between feeling and action? Yet if it were so I was unaware of it. At any rate it was now that for the first time I saw something of my savage pursuers. There was a shadow on my rightonly a shadow, but no longer the shadow of a tree or a branch. It was a heada long sharp muzzlethe mouth open, the lower jaw hanging, the ears erect! It crept on. Little by little it gained on me- an inchonly an inch at a time, but always an inch more! This shadow became a horror to me. I longed to exchange its shadowy terrors for something substantial; I felt as if any- thing would be better than this creep- ing spectre. I knew that by turning only a little way I could see my shadowy enemy, but I didnt dare to take my eyes off the track. Horrible as it was, I waited. Inch by inch it crept on. The neck was added to the ears; the shoulders with a bristle of mane-like hair and galloping forelegs. Then lit- tle by little the bodyand all the time the sobbing breath of the following pack assailed my ears, and the soft scratching of their feet over the frozen snow! At last! The long straight road made a curve to the right. Not a sharp curve, but enough to bring me to closer quarters with my untiring pursuer. In a moment as I pressed upon the handles and followed the sweep of the road he was upon me. In a moment the shadow had given place to the substancewith a long panting, snarling growl a huge wolf was by my side. He was old, for I could see that his hair was gray as it showed in the moonlight. His huge mouth was wide open, showing a row of formidable fangs, and his long red tongue hung from his slavering jaws. Two eyes that glowed like red coals gleamed from beneath the thickly matted hair that hung over his face. There was a look of exhaustion about him that for the moment increased the horror of his appearance. Involun- tarily I swerved as he sprung, and his great jaws came together with a snap not an inch from my knee. His leap had cost him something in speed, and he fell back quite half a yard before lie recovered. The sight of him had done me good. The horror of his look was a change from the gathering horror of. his pursuing shadow, anjul the change aroused me. My hand went instinc- tively to the handle of Bobs revolver. The familiar touch seemed to reassure me. I drew it from my belt. I weighed it in my hand so as to grow accustomed to it. I dared not turn in my seat, and yet I must get a shot at the grizzled leader of the pack. Insensibly I slack- ened my pace for a second or two; in- sensibly the huge head crept up once more to my hind wheel, to my foot, a little in front of my foot! Once more he was gathering himself together for a spring. Once more his blood-shot, hungry eyes were turning toward me as he kept up his long leaping gallop. It was the moment. Quick as thought I fired. The ball struck himstruck him, I think, on the shoulder, for with one fierce snarl, that seemed to express pain, disappointment, and terror all in one, he rolled over in a heap almost against the rushing wheel of my bi- cycle. There was a pause in the chase. For a few seconds my pursuers had ceased the pursuit. I glanced back over my shoulder and could see that they had stopped where their leader had fallen. I could see this, but be- yond this all I could see was a confu- sion of tossing heads and wildly sting gling bodies glistening in the moon- light at the spot where I had just passed. I shuddered. I could fancy I saw the end of my shadowy pursuer, and I felt for a moment a sensation that was almost pity for my savage as- sailant. It was not a time for sentiment. Once more I turned to the track. Once 214 A LONG CHASE more I concentrated every energy to increase the distance between myself and my relentless pursners. The wel- come respite was but a short one. Perhaps I was no longer able to keep up my highest rate of speed; possibly the wolves had for the moment been rendered yet more keen by the taste of bloodat any rate, it seemed to me but a minute or two before I again could hear the panting of the wolves behind me and the scuffling sound of their feet on the snow. I could feel that they were creeping up to me once more. Again I could fancy I saw the first glimmering shadow of a pursuer stealing over, the snowy track behind inc. By a desperate effort I collected my energies and pushed on. My head swam dizzily with my exertions; my brain reeled with the long and fierce excitement; my limbs grew numb and heavy under the desperate strain. I was growing hopeless at last. My limbs iii oved almost mechanically, while my eyes glanced nervously from side to side, expecting each moment to see the first appearance of the head of the dreaded enemy. To my surprise nothing appeared. The panting of the wolves seemed even to have grown less distinct to my ear, and when I listened I could no longer make out the strange sound of their hurrying footsteps. What could it mean? With a flash of sudden comprehension the explanation broke on my mindI had reached the downward slope! I raised my head and looked before me. Yes, I was go- ing down hill at last. I could see the forest road stretching far down the descent in the white moonlight. I could see, or fancy I saw, the river and the bridge in the open country beyond. I could even make out in the distance the twinkling lights that marked the township of Standish on the other side. Thank God! I was on the down- ward slope. Thank God! there was at last a prospect of escape. The descent made itself quickly felt. Exhausted as I had been, I couldnt have kept it up much longer, and I mnst have been overtaken. Now there was very little exertion requiredbut for the fear of growing stifi indeed, no exertion was needed at all. IDown the long smooth slope we rushed at a pace that was momentarily increasing. The trees with their long black shadows seemed to fly past us in our headlong course. The distant lights seemed to brighten and grow nearer ~ioment by moment. The wolves had been left be- hind. I ventured a glance over my shoulder and could see them some dis- tance awaya black stain on the white- ness of the snowdistanced, but not yet discouraged. With a rush I cleared at last the long avenue of trees, and felt with a gasp as if the last dark shadow from the pines had been a load lifted from my heart. Onward we swept! On, over the moonlit snow toward the rushing river. And behind usstanch, unyielding, terrible, came the sobbing pack. I was nearing the river, which in its headlong course from the hills still defied the hand of winter to chain it in bands of ice. Already I could hear its roar, as it hurled itself beneath the bridge; I could see the moonbeams flash on the giant icicles that overhung its torrent. I looked behind me once more. The wolves were following still, but they too were growing exhausted. They were scattered over perhaps a hundred yards, and the nearest was at least a hundred and fifty yards behind me. I glanced at the ascent beyond the bridge; I glanced at the laboring pursuers behind meI could do it still! I dashed at the bridgelong, narrow, laden with frozen snow half- way to the parapet, bearded on either hand with wreaths of snow and brist- ling icicles that overhung the abyss and the rushing river below. I was across and now the ascent began. I bent over the bicycle; I forced my weary limbs to exert themselves once more. For fully a hundred yards the ascent was steep, and the exertion was terrible. Slower and slower I seemed to go with each moment. The perspi- ration poured from my face, my legs and ankles burned as if steeped in liquid fire. I clenched my teeth and gripped the handles as if for bare life, and at each slow turn of the wheels I seemed to myself to hear the panting of the wolves behind me. At last I did it! At the top of the THE ASCENT OF MOUNT ARARAT 215 slope I turned and looked behind me. The moonlight shone white on the gray leader as he bounded on to the bridge; two others followed him closely, the rest were scattered behind them on the road. Not one had as yet abandoned the chasenot one had yet given up hopes of the prey. I drew Bobs revol- ver from my belt once more, Ii rested the barrel for a moment on the handle of the machine. As the leader neared my end of the bridge I turned and fired. Luck was on my side at last I hit him. With a sharp howl he sprang into the air and fell half across the parapet, then he turned over and I could see his body glance whitely as he plunged into the river below. I did not wait for more. As he fell I had seen that his companions halted. I turned to the road still before me. Once more I made an effort to hurry on. Would they follow me still? I could not tellbut at least I knew that I was near to safety now. The road was almost level, and before me, at no great distance the lights of Standish gleamed brightly through the frosty air. Exhausted as I was, I found that I could make an effort still. I could hear nothing of the wolves, but yet for aught I knew they might be following stilL Imagination supplied the place of my dulled sen ses, and I could fancy I heard their panting behind meI could even imagine the sharp scuffling of their feet on the snow. Suddenly a broad stream of light fell across the road. There was a sound of voices which sounded strangely far away; there were the figures of men, though they looked like the men we see in dreams. My bicycle swept on, but I could no longer control it. Everything swam before my eyes, my limbs re- fused to move any longerI felt that I was fallingfallingand I was caught in Dr. Jacksons strong arms. You, Saville! he exclaimed You, man! Were you mad, or what possessed you to attempt a ride like this? You, Doctor!~ I gasped breath- lessly. Youre wanted at our house at once. I came to fetch you. The devil, you did! said the Doctor. THE ASCENT OF MOUNT ARARAT By H. F. B. Lynch PREFATORY NOTE HE ascent of Ararat, completed on F September 19, 1893, formed an A incident in a journey, extending for a period of seven months, which I undertook in 189394 for the purpose of acquiring a better knowledge of the country comprised in a general manner by the limits of the Armenian plateau. I was accompanied during the earlier part of this journey by my cousin, Ma- ]or H. B. Lynch, of the Dorsetshire Regiment; he was unfortunately ob- liged to leave me and rejoin his regi- ment almost immediately after the accomplishment of the ascent. In of- fering some account of our experiences upon the mountain it is perhaps only fair to myself to observe that the narra tive, whatever other shortcomings of more essential nature it may possess, has undoubtedly suffered as a presenta- tion and description of great natural objects, which it is no small part of the duty of a writer on such a subject to endeavor adequately to portray, owing to the necessary limits which the space at my disposal has imposed upon its length. Although it is impossible to make up for this deficiency in the course of a brief note, yet I would ask the reader, before actually starting from Aralykh, to equip himself with the following elementary facts and con- siderations in connection with the coun- try which surrounds Ararat and with the mountain itself. Ararat rises from the table-land of Armenia between the Black and Cas- pian Seas in the country comprised within a triangle between the lakes of

H. F. B. Lynch Lynch, H. F. B. Mount Ararat 215-235

THE ASCENT OF MOUNT ARARAT 215 slope I turned and looked behind me. The moonlight shone white on the gray leader as he bounded on to the bridge; two others followed him closely, the rest were scattered behind them on the road. Not one had as yet abandoned the chasenot one had yet given up hopes of the prey. I drew Bobs revol- ver from my belt once more, Ii rested the barrel for a moment on the handle of the machine. As the leader neared my end of the bridge I turned and fired. Luck was on my side at last I hit him. With a sharp howl he sprang into the air and fell half across the parapet, then he turned over and I could see his body glance whitely as he plunged into the river below. I did not wait for more. As he fell I had seen that his companions halted. I turned to the road still before me. Once more I made an effort to hurry on. Would they follow me still? I could not tellbut at least I knew that I was near to safety now. The road was almost level, and before me, at no great distance the lights of Standish gleamed brightly through the frosty air. Exhausted as I was, I found that I could make an effort still. I could hear nothing of the wolves, but yet for aught I knew they might be following stilL Imagination supplied the place of my dulled sen ses, and I could fancy I heard their panting behind meI could even imagine the sharp scuffling of their feet on the snow. Suddenly a broad stream of light fell across the road. There was a sound of voices which sounded strangely far away; there were the figures of men, though they looked like the men we see in dreams. My bicycle swept on, but I could no longer control it. Everything swam before my eyes, my limbs re- fused to move any longerI felt that I was fallingfallingand I was caught in Dr. Jacksons strong arms. You, Saville! he exclaimed You, man! Were you mad, or what possessed you to attempt a ride like this? You, Doctor!~ I gasped breath- lessly. Youre wanted at our house at once. I came to fetch you. The devil, you did! said the Doctor. THE ASCENT OF MOUNT ARARAT By H. F. B. Lynch PREFATORY NOTE HE ascent of Ararat, completed on F September 19, 1893, formed an A incident in a journey, extending for a period of seven months, which I undertook in 189394 for the purpose of acquiring a better knowledge of the country comprised in a general manner by the limits of the Armenian plateau. I was accompanied during the earlier part of this journey by my cousin, Ma- ]or H. B. Lynch, of the Dorsetshire Regiment; he was unfortunately ob- liged to leave me and rejoin his regi- ment almost immediately after the accomplishment of the ascent. In of- fering some account of our experiences upon the mountain it is perhaps only fair to myself to observe that the narra tive, whatever other shortcomings of more essential nature it may possess, has undoubtedly suffered as a presenta- tion and description of great natural objects, which it is no small part of the duty of a writer on such a subject to endeavor adequately to portray, owing to the necessary limits which the space at my disposal has imposed upon its length. Although it is impossible to make up for this deficiency in the course of a brief note, yet I would ask the reader, before actually starting from Aralykh, to equip himself with the following elementary facts and con- siderations in connection with the coun- try which surrounds Ararat and with the mountain itself. Ararat rises from the table-land of Armenia between the Black and Cas- pian Seas in the country comprised within a triangle between the lakes of 216 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT ARARAT Sevanga, Urumia, and Van. At the eastern extremity of the long and nar- row range which is known in the coun- try under the general name of Aghri Dagh, and which it is convenient to call the Ararat systema range which starting from the neighborhood of the forty-second degree of longitude bi- sects the plateau from west to east there has been reared by volcanic agency a vast mountain fabric sur- rounded by plain land on all sides, but the western, and on that side joined to this Ararat system by a pass of about seven thousand feet. The Ararat sys- tem and the fabric of Ararat compose the southerly wall of the vast plain of the Araxes, a plain which in the neigh- borhood of the mountain has an eleva- tion of about two thousand seven hun- dred feet. This valley of the Araxes is in many respects remarkable in the first place it sinks far below the level of the great table-land of Armenia to which it belongs, a plateau the higher regions of which are situated at an ele- vation of about seven thousand feet; secondly, it is a valley of vast extent, offering immense prospects over a tree- less volcanic country, and bounded at great intervals of space by mountains of the most imposing dimensions and ap- pearance ; lastly, it constitutes an open highway from the countries about and beyond the Caspian to the shores of the Euxine and Mediterranean Seas. The northern border of this valley, like the southern, is composed of a single mountain and a mountain system: the line which is begun on the west by the colossal mountain mass of Magt~z is continued toward the east by the chains on the south of Lake Sevanga. This correspondence in the disposition of the mountains on either border is va- ried by a striking diversity in the forms: the Ararat system which faces Alag~z is distinguished by jagged peaks, dark valleys and abrupt sides; the Sevanga ranges, on the other hand, which you overlook from the slopes of Ararat, present an outline which is fretted by the shapes of cones and craters and are flanked by convex buttresses of sand. Both Mag~z and Ararat have been raised by volcanic agency; but while the giant on the north has all the clumsiness of a Cyclops, his brother on the south would seem to personify the union of symmetry with size and grace with strength. I must refrain from pursuing this train of thought farther, content if the hints which it may have opened reveal the great scale upon which nature has worked. A few meas- urements may lend reality to this some- what misty conception and serve to fix our ideas. The pile of Alag6z, rising on the left bank of the Araxes, attains an elevation of 13,436 feet: the length of the mass may be placed at about thirty-five miles, its breadth is about twenty-five. The distance across the valley from the middle slopes of Ararat to the summit of Alag6z is no less than fifty-four miles, and from the same point to the first spurs of the Sevanga ranges about twenty miles. Such are the immediate neighbors of Ararat and such is the extent of open country spread like a kingdom at his feet. The fabric of Ararat, composed of two mountains supported by a com- mon base, gathers on the right bank of the river immediately from the floor of the plain. The plain has at this point an elevation of about two thousand seven hundred feet. The pass which joins this fabric to the Ararat system, to the range which it continues, is sit- uated at the back of the fabric, behind the long northwestern slope: the fabric itself stands out boldly and alone in ad- vance of the satellite chain. The axis, or direction of the length, of the whole fabric is from northwest to southeast, and it is the whole length of the moun- tain which you see from the valley of the Araxes. It may be helpful to ana- lyze in the briefest manner the outline which there faces you. Far away on your right in the western distance a continuous slope rises from a low cape or rocky promontory, which emerges from the even surface of the plain like a coast seen from the sea. The length of this slope has been given by Parrot at no less than twenty miles, and its gra- dient, even where it rises more percepti- bly toward the great dome, is only about eighteen degrees. This northwestern slope reaches the region of perpetual snow at a height of about thirteen thou- sand five hundred feet, and culminates THE ASCENT OF MOUNT ARARAT 217 in the summit of Great Ararat, which immediately faces you, and which has an elevation of 17,916 feet. Although it yields in height to the peaks of the Cau- casus in the north and to Demavend (19,400 feet) in the east, nearly five hun- dred miles away, yet, as Bryce in his ad- mirable book has observed, there can be but few other places in the world where mountain so lofty rises from a plain so a low. The summit of Great Ararat has the form of a dome and is covered with perpetual snow; this dome crowns an oval figure, the length of which is from northwest to southeast, and it is there- fore the long side of this dome which you see from the valley of the Araxes. On the southeast, as you follow the out- line farther, the slope falls at a more rapid gradient of from thirty to thirty- five degrees and ends in the saddle be- tween the two mountains at a height of nearly nine thousand feet. From that point it is the shape of the Little Ararat which continues the outline toward the east ; it rises in the shape of a graceful pyramid to the height of 12,840 feet, and its summit is distant from that of Great Ararat a space of nearly seven miles. The southeastern slope of the lesser Ararat corresponds to the northwestern slope of the greater mountain and de- scends to the floor of the rivei3 valley in a long and regular train. The unity of the whole fabric, the intimate corre- spondence of the parts between them- selves, in a word the architectural qual- ities of this natural work at once impress the eye and continue to provide an inex- haustible fund of study, however long may be the period of your stay. Although the mountain is due to volcanic agency, yet the fires have not been seen during the historical period. A glance at the photographs will show that the surface presents all the char- acteristics of a very ancient volcano. On the northeastern side, in full view of the Araxes valley, the very heart of Ararat has been exposed by the great earthquake of 1840 following former landslips; a broad cleft extends from base to summit and is known as the chasm of Arguri. The fame of having been the first to scale Ararat belongs to the Russian traveller Parrot, who made the ascent in 1829. Since that time the number of successful ascents has been, so far as I have been able to determine, fourteen, including our own. Of this total of fifteen the credit of eight belongs to Russia, while five fall to England, one to Germany, and one to the United States of America. H.F.B.L. Kurd Porters. 218 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT ARARAT THE sun had already risen as I let myself down through the open case- ment of the window and dropped in- to the garden among the dry brush- wood encumbering its sandy floor. Not a soul was stirring, and not a sound disturbed the composure of an Eastern morning, the great world fulfilling its task in silence and all nature sedate and serene. A narrow strip of planta- tion runs at the back of Aralykh, on the south, sustained by ducts from the Kara Su or Blackwater, a stream which leads a portion of the waters of the Ar- axes into the cotton-fields and marshes which border the right bank. Within this fringe of slim poplars and just on its southern verge there is a little mound and an open summer-houseas pleasant a place as it is possible to im- agine, but which, perhaps, only differs from other summer-houses in the re- markable situation which it occupies and in the wonderful view which it commands. It is placed on the ex- treme foot of Ararat, ext~ctly on the line where all inclination ceases and the floor of the plain begins. It immedi- ately faces the summit of the larger mountain bearing about southwest. Before you the long outline of the Ma- rat fabric fills the southern horizon: the gentle undulations of the north- western slope as it gathers from its lengthy train, the bold bastions of the snow-fields rising to the rounded dome; and, farther east, beyond the saddle where the two mountains commingle, the needle form of the Lesser Ararat free at this season from snow. Yet al- though Aralykh lies at the flank of Ara- rat, confronting the side which mounts most directly from the plain to the roof of snow, the distance from a perpen- dicular line drawn through the summit is over sixteen miles. Throughout that space the fabric is always rising toward the snow-bank fourteen thousand feet above our heads, with a symmetry and, so to speak, with a rhythm of structure which holds the eye in spell. First there is a belt of loose sand, about two miles in depth, beginning on the mar- gin of marsh and irrigation and seen from this garden, which directly aligns it, like the sea-bed from a grove on the shore. On the ground of yellow thus presented rests a light tissue of green, consisting of the sparse bushes of the ever-fresh camelthorn, a plant which strikes down into beds of moisture deep-seated beneath the surface of the soil. Although it is possible, crossing this sand-zone, to detect the growing slope, yet this feature is scarcely per- ceptible from Aralykh whence its smooth, unbroken surface and cool re- lief of green suggest the appearance of an embroidered carpet spread at the threshold of an Eastern temple for the services of prayer. Beyond this band or belt of sandy ground, composed no doubt of a pulverized detritus which the piety of Parrot was quick to recog- nize as a leaving of the flood, the broad and massive base of Ararat sensibly gathers and inclines, seared by the sinuous furrows of dry watercourses, and stretching uninterrupted by any step or obstacle, hill or terrace or bank, to the veil of thin mist, which hangs at this hour along the higher seams. Not a patch of verdure, not a streak of brighter color breaks the long monot- ony of ochre in the burnt grass and the bleached stones. All the subtle sensa- tions with which the living earth sur- rounds uswide as are the tracts of barren desert within the limits of the plain itselfseem to stop arrested at the fringe of this plantation as on a magicians line. When the vapors ob- scuring the middle slopes of the mnoun- tam dissolve and disappear you see the shadowed jaws of the great chasm: the whole side of the mountain burst asun- der from the cornice of the snow-roof to the base, the base itself depressed and hollow throughout its width of about ten miles. No cloud has yet climbed to the snows of the summit shining in the brilliant blue. It was the morning of the 17th of September, a period of the year when the heat has moderated; when the early air, even in the plain of the Araxes, has acquired a suggestion of crispness and the sun still overpowers the first symp- toms of winter chills.* The tedious ar- rangements of Eastern travel occupied the forenoon, and it had been arranged * At Aralykh the thermometer ranged between 60 and TO F. between the hours of 6 AM, and 9 AM, 00 the sev- eral mornings. At mA-day it rose to about 50. THE ASCENT OF MOUNT ARARAT 219 that we should dine with our host the lieutenant before making the final start. Six little hacks impressed in the dis- trict and sadly wanting in flesh were loaded with our effects; our party was mounted on cossack horses which by the extreme courtesy of the Russian authorities had been placed at our dis- posal for a week. We took leave of our new friend under a strong sentiment of gratitude and esteem: but a new and pleasurable surprise was awaiting us as we passed down the neat square. All the cossacks at that time quartered in Aralykhthe greater number were ab- sent on the slopes of the mountain serving the usual patrolshad been drawn up in marching order awaiting the arrival of their colonel, who had contrived to keep the secret by expres- sing his willingness to accompany us a few versts of the way. My cousin and I were riding with the colonel, and the purpose of these elaborate arrange- ments was explained to us with a sly smile: the troop with their colonel were to escort us on our first days journey and to bivouac at Sardar-Bu- lakh. The order was given to march in half-column: it was perhaps the first time that an English officer had ridden at the head of these famous troops. We crossed the last runnel on the southern edge of the plantation and entered the silent waste. For awhile we slowly rode through the camelthorn, the deep sand sinking beneath our horses feet. It was nearly one oclock and the expanse around us streamed in the full glare of noon. A spell seems to rest upon the landscape of the mountain sealing all the springs of life. Only among the evergreen shrubs about us a scattered group of camels cropped the spinous foliage, lit- tle lizards darted, a flock of sand-grouse took wing. Our course lay slautwise across the base of Ararat, toward the hill of Takjaltu, a table-topped mass overgrown with yellow herbage which rises in advance of the saddle between the mountains, and lies just below you as you overlook the landscape from the valley of Sardar - Bulakh. Gullies of chalk and ground strewn with stones succeed the even surface of the belt of sand, and in turn give way to the coy- ering of burnt grass which clothes the deep slope of the great sweeping base and encircles the fabric with a contin- uous stretch of ochre extending up the higher seams. Mile after mile we rode at easy paces over the parched turf and the cracking soiL When we had ac- complished a space of about ten miles and attained a height of nearly six thou- sand feet the land broke about us into miniature ravines, deep gullies strewn with stones and bowlders, searing the slope about the line of limit where the base may be said to determine and the higher seams begin. Winding down the sides of these rocky hollows one might turn in the saddle at a bend of the track and observe the long line of horsemen defiling into the ravine. I noticed that by far the greater number among themif, indeed, one might not say allwere men in the opening years of manhood; lithe, well - knit figures and fair complexions set round with fair hair. At a nearer view the feat- ure which most impressed me was the smallness of their eyes. They wear the long-skirted coat of Circassia, a thin and worn icharici; the faded pink on the cloth of their shoulder-straps re- lieves the dull drab. Their little caps of Circassian pattern fit closely round their heads. Their horses are clumsy, long-backed creatures, wanting in all the characteristics of quality; and as each man maintains his own animal few among them are shod. Yet I am as- sured that the breed is workmanlike and enduring, and I have known it to yield most satisfactory progeny when crossed with English racing blood. As we rounded the heap of grass-grown soil, which is known as Takjaltu, we were joined by a second detachment of cossacks coming from Arguri. To- gether we climbed up the troughs of the ridges which sweep fanwise down the mountain side and emerged on the floor of the upland valley which leads between the greater and the lesser Ararat, and crosses the back of the Ararat fabric in a direction from south- west to northeast. We were here at an elevation of 7,500 feet above the ~ea, or nearly five thousand feet above the plain. Both the stony troughs and ridges up which we had just marched 220 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT ARARAT as well as the comparatively level ground, upon which we now stood, are covered with a scorched but abundant vegetation which has served the Kurds during earlier summer as pasture for their flocks and still shelters numerous coveys of plump partridges, in which this part of the mountain abounds. At the mouth of this valley, on the gently sloping platform which its even surface presents, we marked out the spaces of our bivouac, the pickets for the horses, and the fires. Our men were acquainted with every cranny; we had halted near the site of their summer encampment from which they had only recently descended to their winter quarters in the plain. As we dismounted we were met by a graceful figure clad in a Circassian coat of brown material let in across the breast with pink silk, a young man of most engaging appearance and manners, pre- sented to us as the chief of the Kurds of Ararat who own allegiance to the Tsar. In the high refinement of his features, in the bronzed complexion, and soft brown eyes the Kurd made a striking contrast to the cossacks, a con- trast by no means to the advantage of the Cis-Caucasian race. The young chief is also worthy to be remembered in respect of the remarkable name which he bears. His Kurdish title of Shamden Agha has been developed and embroidered into the sonorous appella- tion of Hassan Bey Shamshadinoff, un- der which he is officially known. From the edge of the platform upon which we were standing the ground falls away with some abruptness down to the base below, and lends to the valley its characteristic appearance of an elevated stage and natural viewing- place, overtowered by the summit re- gions of the dome and the pyramid, and commanding all the landscape of the plain. On the southwest, as it rises toward the pass between the two moun- tainsa pass of 8,800 feet leading into Turkish and into Persian territory, to Bayazed or Makuthe extent of even ground which composes this platform cannot much exceed a quarter of a mile. It is choked by the rocky cause- ways which, sweeping down the side of Great Ararat, tumble headlong to the bottom of the fork, and, taking the iu- clination of the ever-widening valley, descend on the northwestern skirt of the platform in long oblique curves of branching troughs and ridges fa]ling fanwise over the base. The width of the platform at the mouth of the valley may be about three-quarters of a mile. It is here that the Kurds of the sur- rounding region gather as the shades of night approach to water their flocks at the lonely pool which is known as the Sardars well. On the summit of the lesser Ararat there is a little lake formed of melted snows; the water permeates the mountain and feeds the Sardars pool. Close by, at the foot of the lesser mountain, is the famous cov- ert of birch, low bushes, the only stretch of wood upon the fabric which is entirely devoid of trees. The wood was soon crackling upon our fires and the water hissing in the pots; but the wretched pack horses upon which our tents had been loaded were lagging several hours behind. We ourselves had reached camp at six oclock ; it was after nine before our baggage ar- rived. As we stretched upon the slope the keen air of the summit region swept the valley and chilled us to the skin; the temperature sank to below freezing and we had nothing but the things ~in which we stood.* Our friends, the cossack officers, were lav- ish of assistance ; they wrapped us in the hairy coats of the Caucasus, placed vodlci and partridges before us, and ranged us around their hospitable cir- cle beside the leaping flames. But the mind was absent from the picturesque bivouac, and the eye which ranged the deepening shadows was still dazzled by the evening lights. Mind and sense alike were saturated with the beauty and the brilliance of the landscape which, as you rise tow- ard the edge of the platform aftei- rounding the mass of Takjaltu, opens to an ever-increasing perspective with ever-growing clearness of essential feat- ures and mystery gathering upon all lesser forms. The sun revolving south of the zenith lights the mountains on the north of the plain and fills all * The temperature at 6.30 P.M. was 50 F., but it sank rapidly in the cold wind. 221 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT ARARAT the valley from the slopes of Ararat with the full flood of its raystier after tier of crinkled hummock ranges aligning the opposite margin of the valley at a distance of over twenty miles ; their summits fretted with shapes of cones and craters, their faces buttressed in sand, bare and devoid of all vegetation yet richly clothed in lights and hues of fairyland, ochre~ flushed with delicate madder, amethyst- shaded opaline, while the sparse plan- tations about the river and the laby- rinth of the plain insensibly transfigure as you rise above them into an im- palpable web of gray. In the lap of the landscape lies the river, a thin looping thread, flashes of white among Mount Ararat from the Roof of the Hotel Londren at Erwan Thirty-five Miles Distant. Mount Ararat an Seen from the Village of Aralyish (Aralyirt in the foreground). Tahen at a height of 1,756 feet above sea-level and about seventeen miles from the mountain VOL. XIX.26 222 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT AI?ARAT the shadows, in the lights a bright mineral green. Here and there on its banks you descry a naked mound conjuring a vision of forgotten civiliza- tions and the buried hives of man. It is a vast prospect over the world ;-yet vaster far is the expanse you feel about you beyond the limits of sight. It is nothing but a segment of that expanse, a brief vista from north to east be- tween two mountain sides. On the north the slopes of Great Ararat hide the presence of Alagi~z, while behind the needle form of Little Ararat all the barren chains and lonely valleys of Persia are outspread. The evening grows and the suns retnrning arc bends behind the dome of snow. The light falls between the two mountains and connects the Little Ararat in a com- mon harmony with the richening tints of the plain. There it stands on the further margin of the platform, the clean sharp outline of a pyramid, clothed in hues of a tender yellow seamed with violet veins. At its feet, where its train sweeps the flow of the river valley in long and regular folds far away in the east, toward the mists of the Caspian the sandy ground breaks into a troubled surface like angry waves set solid under a spell, and from range to range stretch a chain of low white hummocks like islands across a sea. Just there in the dis- tance, beneath the Little Ararat, you see a patch of shining white: so vivid that it presents the appearance of a glacier set in the burnt waste. It is prob- ably caused by some chemical efflores- cence resting on the dry bed of a lake. All the landscape reveals the frenzy of volcanic forces fixed forever in an imperishable mould; the imagination plays with the forms of distant castles and fortresses of sand. Alone the slopes about you wear the solid colors and hold you to the real world, the massive slopes of Great Ararat raised high above the world. The wreath of cloud which veils the summit till the last breath of warm air dies, has floated away in the calm heaven before the western lights have paled. Behind the lofty piles of rocky causeways conceal- ing the higher seams, rises the imme- diate roof of Ararat foreshortened in the sky, the short side or gable of the dome, a faultless cone of snow. When we drew aside the curtain of our tent next morning full daylight was streaming over the open upland valley and the vigorous air had already lost its edge.* The sun had risen high above the Sevanga ranges and swept the plain below us of the lingering vapors which at muorning cling, like Temperature iQ.i5 AM., T2~ F. Panorama of Mount Atarat, THE ASCENT OP MOUNT ARARAT 223 shining wool, to the floor of the river- valley, or float in rosy feathers against the dawn. The long-backed Cossack horses had been groomed and watered and picketed in line; the men were sit- ting slnQking in little groups or were strolling about the camp in pairs. A few Kurds, who had come down with milk and provisions, stood listlessly looking on, the beak - nose projecting from the bony cheeks, the brown chest opening from the many-colored tatters draped about the shoulders and waist. The space of level ground between the two mountains cannot much exceed three-quarters of a mile. On the east the graceful seams of Little Ararat rise immediately from the slope upon our right, gathering just beyond the cover of low birchwood and converging in the form of a pyramid toward a sum- mit which has been broken across the point. The platform of this valley is a base for Little Ararat, the rib on the flank of the greater mountain from which the smaller proceeds. So sharp are the lines of the Little Ararat, so clean the upward slope, that the sum- mit, when seen from this pass or sad- dle, seems to rise as high in the heaven above as the dome of Great Ararat itself. The burnt grass struggles to- ward the little birch cover, but scarce- ly touches the higher seams. The mountain-side is broken into a loose rubble; deep gullies sear it in perpen- dicular furrows which contribute to the impression of height. The prevail- ing color of the stones is a bleached yellow verging upon a delicate pink; but these paler strata are divided by veins of bluish andesite pointing up- ward like spear-heads from the base. Very different on the side of Great Ararat are the shapes which meet the eye. We are facing the southeastern slope of the mountain, the slope which follows the direction of its axis, the short side or gable of the dome. In the descending train of the giant vol- cano this valley is but an incidental or lesser feature ; yet it marks and in a sense determines an important altera- tion in the disposition of the surface forms. It is here that the streams of molten matter descending the moun- tain-side have been arrested and de- flected from their original direction to fall over the massive base. The dam or obstacle which has produced this deviation is the sharp harmonious fig- ure of the lesser Ararat emerging from the sea of piled-up bowlders and cleav- ing the chaos of troughs and ridges like the lofty prow of a ship. The course of these streams of lava is sig- nalized by these causeways of agglom- erate rocks you may follow from a as Viewed from Aralykh. 224 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT API4RAT K streams. On t h i s side of Ararat they have been turned in an oblique direction from the southeast toward the north- east, and they skirt the western margin of the little valley, curving outward to the river and the plain. It is just be- neath t h e first of these walls of loose bowiders that o u r two little tents are pitched; beyond it you see another and yet another, still higher and above them the dome of snow. The distance from this valley of the point of vantage upon the mountain summit of Great Ararat, if we measure the numerous branches into which they upon the survey of the Russian Govern- have divided to several parent or larger inent along a horizontal line, is rather The Gteat Chasm of Argon. Co~ossaI Blocks of Conglomerate Hurled Out of the Chasm of Arguri. 225 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT ARARAT over five miles. The confused sea of bowiders, of which I have just described the nature, extends, according to my own measurements, to a height of about twelve thousand feet. Above that zone, encampment toward the roof of snow and crossing the grain of successive walls and depressions emerge upon some higher ridge, the numerous rami- fications of the lava system may be fol- lowed to their source and are seen to issue from larger causeways which rise in bold re- lief from the snows of the summit region and open fanwise down the higher slopes. In shape these causeways may be said to resemble the sharp side of a wedge: the mas- sive base from which the bank rises narrows to a pointed spine. As the eye pur- sues the circle of the summit where it vanishes toward the north, these ribs of rock which radiate down the moun- tain diminish in volume and re- lief. Their sharp edges commence to cut the snowy canopy about three thousand feet below the dome. It is rath- er on the south- so arduous to traverse, lies the summit eastern side of Ararat, the side which region of the mountain robed in per- faces the Little Ararat and follows the petual snow. From whatever point direction of the axis of the fabricthe you regard that summit on this south- line npon which the forces have acted eastern side the appearance of its by which the whole fabric has been height falls short of reality in a most rearedthat a formation so character- substantial degree. Not only does the istic of the surface of the summit re- curve of the upward slope lend itself to gion attains its highest development in a most deceitful foreshortening when a phenomenon which at once arrests you follow it from below, but indeed the eve. At a height of about fourteen the highest point or crown of the dome thousand feet a causeway of truly is invisible from this the gable side. gigantic proportions breaks abruptly If you strike a direct course from the from the snow. The head of the ridge Lesser Ararat as it Appeared just before Reaching Sardar-B5[akh. 226 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT AI?ARAT is bold and lofty, and towers high above which accentuates the descending curve. the snow-slope with steep and rocky The zone of ti oughs and ridges which sides. The ridge itself is in form a wedge you are now crossing has its origin in or triangle cut deep down into the side this parent ridge ; you see it sweeping of the mountain and marked along the outward away from Little Aiarat and spine by a canal - shaped depression dividing into branches and systems of The Dome of Areret es Seee ebove Serder-Bulekh et e Height of ebout 9000 Feet. THE ASCENT OF MOUNT AkARAT 227 branches as it reaches the lower slopes. Whether its want of connection with the roof of Ararat or the inherent char- acteristics of its uppermost end are suf- ficient evidence to jnstify the supposi- tion of Abich that this ridge at its head marks a separate eruptive centre on the flank of Ararat, I am not competent ade- quately to discuss. I can only observe that another explanation does not ap- pear difficult to find: it may be possi- ble that the ridge where it narrows to the summit has been fractured and swept away. This peak, or sharp end of the causeway, to whatever causes its origin may be ascribed, is a distin- guishing feature on the slope of Ararat, seen far and wide like a tooth or hump or shoulder on this the southeastern side. Although the most direct way to the summit region leads immediately across the zone of bowlders from the camp by the Sardars pool, yet it is not that which most travellers have followed or which the natives of the district rec- ommend. This line of approach, which I followed for some distance a few days after our ascent, is open to the objec- tion that it is no doubt more difficult to scale the slope of snoxv upon this side. The tract of uncovered rocks which breaks the snow-fields, offering ladders to the roof of the dome, is situ- ated farther to the southeast of the mountain above the neck of the valley of the pool. Whether it would not be more easy to reach these ladders by skirting slautwise from the higher slopes is a question which is not in it- self unreasonable, and which only act- ual experience will decide. It was in this manner, I believe, that the English traveller Brycenow the well - known writer upon the American Common- wealth and a statesman of great au- thority and weightmade an ascent which as a feat is, I think, the most re- markable of any of the recorded climbs. Starting from the pool at one oclock in the morning, he reached the summit alone at about two in the afternoon, ac7 complishing, within a space of about six hours, the last five thousand feet and returning to the point from which he started before sunrise on the following day. We ourselves were advised to fol- low up the valley, keeping the cause- ways upon our right, and only then, when we should have reached a point about southeast of the summit, to strike across the belt of rock. At twenty minutes before two on the 18th of September, our little party left camp in marching order, all in the pride of health and spirits, and eager for the attack. Thin wreaths of cloud The Summit, viewed from a Height of 1 3000 Feet. dull rumbling sound.* It is fed by the water from the snow - fields, and there is said to be a spring which con- 228 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT ARAPAT wrapped the snows of the summit, the jealous spell which baffles the bold lover even when he already grasps his prLr~e. We had taken leave of the Cossack officers and their band of light-hearted men: our friends were returning to Arguri and Aralykh, the one body to hunt the Thirds of the frontier, the other to languish in dull inactivity until their turn shall come round again. Four Cos- sacks were deputed to re- main and guard our camp: we ourselves had decided to dispense with any es- cort, and to trust to our Kurdish allies. Of these ten sturdy fellows accom- panied us as porters to car- ry our effects, their rifles slung over their many-col- ored tatters beside the bur- den allotted to each. With my cousin and myself were the young Swiss, Rudolph Taugwalder, a worthy ex- ample of his race and pro- fession the large limbs, the rosy cheeks, the open mien without guile and young Ernest Wesson, fresh from the Polytechnic in London, whom I had brought to develop my pho- tographs, and who rendered inc valuable assistance in my photographic work. My Armenian dragoman f o 1- lowed as best he was able, until the camp at the snow w a s reached; his plump little figure was not well adapted to toil over the giant rocks. tributes to support it at a height of Of our number was also an Armenian nearly eleven thousand feet. ~ After from Arguri, who had tendered his ser- half an hours walk over the stony sur- vices as guide; he was able to indicate face of the platform, and the ragged a place for our nights encampment, herbage burnt yellow by the sun, we but he did not venture upon the slope entered the narrows of the mountain of snow. saddle, and followed the dry bed of A little stream trickles down the val- this rivulet at the foot of rocky spurs. icy, but sinks exhausted at this season The tufts of sappy grass, which were before reaching the Sardars well. In the early summer it is of the volume of * Madame B. Chantre in Tour du monde for 1892, p. a torrent which winds past the encamp- I Markoff: Ascension du Grand Ararat, in Bulletin de Ia Soc. Royale Beige de G6ographie, Brussels, 1888, ment like a serpent of silver uttering a p. 579. The Party en route. THE ASCENT OF MOUNT ARARAT 229 sparsely studded on the margin of the watercourse, gave place, as we advanced, to a continuous carpet of soft and ver- dant turf; here and there the eye rested on the deep green of the juniper, or the graceful fretwork of a wild - rose - tree quivered in the draught. The warm rays flashed in the thin atmosphere and tempered the searching breeze. The spurs on our right descend from the shoulder, and from the causeway of which it forms the head, and are seen to diverge into two systems as they enter the narrow pass. The one group pushes forward to the Little Ararat, and is lost in confused detail; the other, and perhaps the larger, system bends boldly along the side of the valley, sweeping outwards toward the base. At three oclock we reached a large pool of clouded water collected on a table surface of burnt grass; close by is an extensive bed of nettles and a cir- cle of loose stones. This spot is no doubt the site of a Kurdish encamp- ment, and appeared to have been only recently abandoned by the shepherds and their flocks. The farther we pro- gressed, the more the prospect opened over the slopes of Ararat; we were ap- proaching the level of the lofty ridges which skirt the valley side. Passing, as we now were, between the two Ararats, we remarked that the greater seemed no hi0her than the lesser, so complete- ly is the eye deceived. In the hollows of the gully there were little pools of water, but the stream itself was dry. By half past three we had left the gentle watercourse and were winding inwards up the slope of Great Ararat, to cross the black and barren region, the girdle of sharp crags and slippery bowlders drawn deep about the upper seams of the mountain like a succession of chevaux - de -frise. We thought it must have been on some other side of Ararat that the animals descended from the Ark. For a space of more than three hours we labored on over a chaos of rocks through a labyrinth of ridges and troughs, picking a path and as often retracing it, or scrambling up the polished sides of the larger blocks which arrest the most crafty approach. The Kurds, although sorely taxed by their burdens, were at an advantage VOL. XIX. 27 compared to ourselves; they could slip like cats from ledge to ledge in their laced slippers of hide. In one place we passed a gigantic heap of bowlders towering several hundred feet above our heads. The rock is throughout of the same character and color: an an- desitic lava of a dark slaty hue. A lit- tle later we threaded up a ravine or gully, and after keeping for awhile to the bottom of the depression, climbed slowly along the back of the ridge. I noticed that the grain or direction of the formation lay toward east-south- east. From the head of this ravine we turned into a second, by a natural gap or pass; loose rocks were piled along the sides of the hollow which bristled With fantastic shapes. Here a seated group of camels seemed to munch in silence on the line of fading sky, or the knotty forms of lifeless willows stretched a menace of uplifted arms. In the sheltered laps of this higher re- gion, as we approached our journeys end, the snow still lay in ragged patches increasing in volume and depth. The surface cleared, the view opened; we emerged from the troubled sea of stone. Beyond a lake of snow and a stretch of rubble, rose the ghostly sheet of the summit region holding the last glimmer of day. It was seven oclock and we had no sooner halted, than the biting frost numbed our limbs.* The ground about us was not uneven, but an end- less crop of pebbles filled the plainer spaces hetween little capes of embedded rock. At length, upon the margin of the snow-lake, we found a tiny tongue of turf-grown soil, just sufficient em- placement to hold the flying tent, which he had brought for the purpose of this lofty bivouac near the line of continuous snow. We were five to share the modest area which the slop- ing canvas inclosed, yet the tempera- ture in the tent sank below freezing be- fore the night was done. Down the slope beside us, the snow-water trickled beneath a thin covering of ice. The sheepskin coats which we had brought from Aralykh protected us from chill, bat the hardy Kurds slept in their * Temperature at 5 r.~. 15~ F., and next morning at 5.45 AM. 28 F. 230 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT ARARAT seamy tatters upon the naked rocks around. One among them sought pro- tection as the cold became intenser, and we wrapped him in a warm cape. It was the first time I had passed the night at so great an elevation12,194 feet above the seaand it is possible that the unwonted rarity of the atmos- phere contributed to keep us awake. But whether it arose from the condi- tions which surrounded us, or from ~ nervous state of physical excitement in- spired by our enterprise, not one among us, excepting the dragoman, succeeded in courting sleep. That plump little person had struggled on bravely to this, his farthest goal, and his heavy breathing fell upon the silence of the calm, transparent night. The site of our camp below the snow- line marks a new stage or structural division in the fabric of Ararat. Of these divisions, which differ from one another not only in the characteristics presented by each among them, but also in the gradient of slope, it is natural to distinguish three. We are dealing in particular with that section of the moun- tain which lies between Aralykh and the summit, and with the features of the southeastern side. First there is the massive base of the mountain, about ten miles in depth, extending from the floor of the river-valley to a height of about six thousand feet. At that point the higher seams commence to gather and the belt of rock begins. The arduous tracts which we had just traversed, where large, loose blocks of hard black lava are piled up like a beach, compose the upper portion of this middle region and may be said to touch the lower margin of the continuous fields of snow. But the line of contact between the ex- tremities of the one and the other stage is by no means so clear and so definite a feature as our metaphor might lead us to expect, and partakes of the nature of a transitional system, a neutral zone on the mountain side, where the rocky layers of the middle slopes have not yet shelved away nor the immediate seams of the summit region settled to their long climb. In this sense the stone fields about our encampment with their patches of last years snow are invested with the attributes of a natural thresh- old at the foot of the great dome. The stage which is highest in the structure of Ararat, the stage which holds the dome, has its origin in this threshold or neutral. district at an altitude which varies between twelve thousand and thirteen thousand feet. Very different in character and in ap- pearance from the region we left behind was the slope which faced our encamp- ment robed in perpetual snow. We had pursued the ramifications of the lava system to the side of their parent stems, and in place of blind troughs and pros- peetless ledges a noble singleness of feat- ure broke upon the extricated view. We commanded the whole summit struct- ure of Ararat on the short or gable side, and the shape which rose from the open ground about us was that of a massive cone. The regular seams which mounted to the summit stretched continuous to the crown of snow, and inclined at an angle which diverged very little from an average of thirty degrees. The gra- dients from which these higher seams gathered, the slopes about our camp, cannot have exceeded half that inclina- tion or an angle of fifteen degrees. Such was the outline, so harmonious and sim- ple, which a first glance revealed. A more intimate study of the summit re- gion aa it expanded to a closer view dis- closed characteristics which were not ex- actly similar to those with which we had already become familiar in the neigh- borhood of Sardar-Bulakh. It was there the northeastern hemisphere of the mountainif the term may be applied to the oval figure which the summit re- gion presenteddisplayed to the pros- pect upon the segment between east and southeast. Our present position lay more to the southward between the two hemispheres; we were placed near the axis of the figure, and the roof, as seen from our encampment, bore nearly due northwest. The gigantic causeway which there descended on our left hand from the distant snows, now rose on our right like a rocky headland confront- ing a gleaming sea of ice. But when the eye pursued the summit circle van- ishing toward the west, we missed the sister forms of lesser causeways radi- ating down the mountain side. It is true that the greater proximity of our THE ASCENT OF MOUNT ARARAT 231 standpoint to the foot of these highest slopes curtailed the segment of the circle which we were able to command. This circumstance was not in itself sufficient to explain the change in the physiog- nomy of the summit region as we saw it on this side. In place of those bold black ribs or ridges spread fanwise down the incline, furrowing the snows with their sharp edges and lined along the troughs of their contiguous bases with broad streaks of sheltered nev~, it seemed as if the fabric had fallen asun- der, the surface slipped awayall the flank of the mountain depressed and hol- low from our camp to the roof of the dome. The canopy of snow which en- circled the summit, a broad, inviolate bank unbroken by any rift or rock pro- jection for a depth of some two thou- sand feet, broke sharply off on the verge of this depression and left the shallow cavity bare. From the base of the giant causeway just above us to the gently pursing outline of the roof you followed the edge of the great snow-field border- ing a rough and crumbling region which offered scanty foothold to the snow, where the hollow slope bristled with pointed bowlders, and the bold crags pierced the ruin around them in up- standing combs or saw-shaped ridges holding slautwise to the mountain side. On the west side of this broad and un- covered depression, near the western ex- tremity of the cone, a long strip of snow descended from the summit, caught by some trough or sheltering fissure in the rough face of the cliff. Beyond it, just upon the sky-line, the bare rocks reap- peared ~and climbed the slope like a nat- ural ladder to a point where the roof of the dome was lowest and appeared to offer the readiest access to the still in~- visible crown. In the attenuated atmosphere sur- rounding the summit every foot that was gained told; an approach which promised to ease the gradient at the time when it pressed most seemed to offer advantages which some future traveller, recognizing the application of this description, may be encouraged to essay. We ourselves were influenced in the choice of a principle upon which to base our attack by the confident coun- sels of the Armenian, which the local knowledge of the Kurds confirmed. We were advised to keep to the eastern margin of the depression by the edge of the great snow-field. You see the brown rocks still baffling the snow- drifts near the point where the deceit- ful slope appears to end, where, on the verge of the roof, it just dips a little, then stands up like a low white wall on the luminous ground of blue. The troubled sea of bowlders which flowed toward the Little Ararat, from which we had just emerged, still hemmed us in from any prospect over the tracts which lay below. The flush of dawn broke between the two mountains from a narrow vista of sky. The even sur- face of the snow - slope loomed white and cold above our heads, while the night still lingered on the dark stone about us, shadowing the little laps of ice. Before six oclock we were afoot and ready: it wanted a few minutes to the hour as we set out from our camp. To the Swiss was intrusted the post of leader; behind him followed, in vary- ing order, my cousin and Wesson and myself. Slowly we passed from the shore of the snow-lake to the gather- ing of the higher seams, harboring our strength fo~r the steeper gradients as we made across the beach of bowlders, stepping firmly from block to block. The broad white sheet of the summit circle descended to the snow-lakes of the lower region in a tongue or gulf of deep nev6. You may follow on the mar- gin of the great depression the western edge of this gleaming surface unbrok- en down the side of the cone. On the east the black wall of the giant cause- way aligned the shining slope, invading the field of perpetual winter to a height of over fourteen thousand feet. The width of the snow-field between these limits varied as it descended ; on a level with the shoulder or head of the cause- way it appeared to span an interval of nearly two hundred yards. The depth of the bed must be considerable, and while the surface holds the tread in places, it as often gives and lets you through. No rock projection or gap or fissure broke the slope of the white fairway, but the winds had raised the crust about the centre into a ribbon of tiny waves. Our plan was to cross the 232 THE ASCENT OP MOUNT APARAT stony region about us, slanting a little east, and then when she should have reached the edge of the snow-field to mount by the rocks on its immediate margin, adhering as closely as might be possible to the side of the snow. It was in the execution of this planso simple in its conception that the trained instinct of the Swiss availed. Of those who have attempted the ascent of Araratand their number is not largeso many have failed to reach the summit that upon a mountain which makes few if any demands upon the re- sources of the climbers craft, their dis- comfiture must be attributed to other reasons: to the peculiar nature of the ground traversed no less than to the inordinate duration of the effort, to the wearisome recurrence of the same kind of obstacles and to the rarity of the air. Now the disposition of the rocks upon the surface of the depression was by no means the same as that which we had studied in connection with the seams which lay below. The path no longer struggled across a troubled sea of ridges or strayed within the blind re- cesses of a succession of gigantic waves of stone. On the other hand the gra- dients were as a rule steeper, and the clearings covered with a loose rubble which slipped from under the feet. The bowlders were piled one upon an - other in heaps as they happened to fall, and the sequence of forms was through- out arbitrary and subject to no fixed law. In one place it was a tower of this loose masonry which blocked all further approach, in another a solid barrier of sharp crags laced together which it was necessary to circumvent. When the limbs had been stiffened and the pa- tience exhausted by the long and de- vious escalade, the tax upon the lungs was at its highest and the strain upon the heart most severe. Many of the diffi- culties which travellers have encoun- tered upon this stage of the climb may be avoided or met at a greater advan- tage by adhering to the edge of the snow. But the fulfilment of this purpose is by no means so easy as the case might at first sight appear. You are always wind- ing inward to avoid the heaps of bowl- ders, or emerging on the backs of gigan- tic blocks of lava toward the margin of the shining slope. In the choice of the most direct path, where many offered, the Swiss was never at fault; he made his way up the cone without a moments hesitation, like a hound threading a close cover and seldom if ever foiled. At twenty minutes to seven, when the summit of lesser Ararat was about on a level with the eye, we paused for awhile and turned toward the prospect now opening to a wider range. The day was clear and promised warmth; above us the snowy dome of Ararat shone in a cloudless sky. The l~ndscape on either side of the beautiful pyramid lay out- spread at our feet, from northeast, the hidden shores of Lake Sevanga, to where the invisible seas of Van and Urumia diffused a soft veil of opaline vapor over the long succession of lonely ranges in the southeast and south. The wild borderland of Persia and Turkey for the first time expanded to view. The scene, however much it belied the concep- tion at a first and hasty glance, bore the faniiliar imprint of the characteris- tics peculiar to the great table-land. The mountains revealed their essential nature and disclosed the familiar forms, the surface of the plateau was broken in- to long furrows which tended to hum- mock shapes. So lofty was the stage, so aloof this mighty fabric from all sur- rounding forms, the world lay dim and featureless about it like the setting of a dream. In the foreground were the val- leys on the south of Little Ararat cir- cling round, to the Araxes floor, and on the northeast, beside the thread of the looping river, a little lake dropped like a turquoise on the sand, where the mountain swept the plain. In the space of another hour we had reached an elevation about equal to that of the head of the causeway on the op- posite side of the snow, a point which I think I am justified in fixing at over fourteen thousand feet. We were now no longer treading on the shore of an inlet; along the vague horizon of the summit circle was the limit of the broad white sea. But on our left hand the snowless region of rock and rub- ble still accompanied our course and a group of red crags stood high above us where the upward slope appeared to end. Yet another two hours of continuous THE ASCENT OF MOUNT ARAPAT 233 climbing, and at about half-past nine the loose bowlders about us opened and we approached the foot of those crags. The end seemed near but the slope was deceitful, and when once we had reached the head of the formation the long white way resumed. The blue vault about us streamed with sunlight; the snow melted in the crannies, a ge- nial spirit lightened our toil. And now, without any sign or warn- ing, the mysterious spell which held the mountain began to throw a web about us. craftily from below. The spirits of the air came sailing through the azure with shining gossamer wings, while the heavier vapors gathered around from dense banks serried upon the slope be- neath us a thousand feet lower down. The rocks still climbed the increasing gradient, but the snow was closing in. At eleven we halted to copy an inscrip- tion which had been neatly written in Russian characters on the face of a bowlder stone. It recorded that on the tI~iird day of the eighth month of 1893, the expedition led by the Russian trav- eller, Postukhoff, passed the night in this place. At the foot of the stone lay several objects a bottle filled with fluid, an empty tin of biscuits, a tin containing specimens of rock. At half-past eleven I took the angle of the snow-slope, at this point thirty- five degrees. About this time the Swiss thought it prudent to link us all to- gether with his rope. The surface of the rocks was still uncovered, but their bases were imbedded in deep snow. It was now, after six hours arduous climbing, that the strain of the effort told. The lungs were working at the extreme limit of their capacity, and the pressure upon the h~art was severe. At noon I called a halt, and released young Wesson from his place in the file of four. His pluck was still strong, but his look and gait alarmed me and I persuaded him to desist. We left him to rest in a sheltered place and there await our return. From this time on we all three suffered, even the Swiss himself. My cousin was affected with mountain sickness; as for me, I found it almost impossible to breathe and climb at the same time. We made a few steps upward, and then paused breathless and gasped again and again. The white slope vanishing above us ends in the crown of the dome, and the bowlders, strewn more sparsely be- fore us, promised a fairer way. But the farther we went the goal seemed little closer, and the shallow snow, rest- ing on a crumbling rubble, made us lose one step in every three. A strong smell of sulphur permeated the atmos- phere; it proceeded from the sliding surface upon which we were treading, a detritus of pale sulphurous stones. At 1.25 we saw a plate of white met- al affixed to a cranny in the rocks. It bore an inscription in Russian charac- ters which dated from 1888. I neglected to copy out the unfamiliar letters, but there can be little doubt that they re- corded the successful ascent of Dr. Mar- koff, an ascent in which that able lingu- ist and accomplished traveller suffered hardships which cost him dear. A few minutes later, at half-past one, the slope at last eased, the ground flat- tened, the struggling rocks sank be- neath the surface of a continuous field of snow. At last we stood upon the sum- mit of Araratbut the sun no longer pierced the white vapor; a fierce gale drove across the forbidden region and whipped the eye straining to distinguish the limits of snow and cloud. Vague forms hurried past on the wings of the whirlwind; in place of the landscape of the land of promise we searched dense banks of fog. Disappointed perhaps, but relieved of the gradient and elated with the suc- cess of our climb, we ran in the teeth of the wind across the platform, our feet scarcely sinking in the storm-swept crust of the surface, the gently undu- lating roof of the dome. Along the edge of a spacious snow-field which dipped toward the centre and was longest from northwest to southeast, on the vaulted rim of the saucer which the surface re- semubled, four separate elevations could conveniently be distinguished as the highest points in the irregular oval fig- ure which the whole platform appeared to present. The highest among these rounded elevations bore northwest from the spot where we first touched the sum- mit or emerged upon the roof; that spot itself marked another of these 234 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT ARARAT inequalities; the remaining two were situated respectively in this manner: the one about midway between the two already mentioned, but nearer to the first and on the north side, the other about south of the northwestern eleva- tion, and this seemed the lowest of alL The difference in height between this northwestern elevation and that upon the southeast was about two hundred feet, and the length of the figure be- tween these pointswe paced only a certain portion of the distance was about five hundred yards. The width of the platform, so far as we could gauge it, was some three hundred yards. A single object testified to the efforts of our forerunners and to the insatiable enterprise of man: a stout stake im- bedded upon the northwestern elevation in a little pyramid of stones. It was here that we took our observations and made our longest halt.* Before us lay a valley or deep depression, and on the farther side rose the northwestern summit, a symmetrical cone of snow. This summit connected with the bold snow buttresses beyond it, terraced upon the northwestern slope. The dis- tance down and up from where we stood to that summit was about four hundred yards, but neither the Swiss nor ourselves considered it higher, and we were prevented from still further exploring the summit region by the in- creasing violence of the gale and by the gathering gloom of cloud. The sides and floor of the valley or saddle be- tween the two summits were completely covered with snow, and we saw no trace of the lateral fissure which Abich, no doubt under different circumstances, was able to observe. We remained forty minutes upon the summit, but the dense veil never lifted from the platform, nor did the blast cease to pierce us through. No sooner did an opening in the driving vapors reveal a vista of the world below than fresh levies flew to the unguarded inter- val and the wild onset resumed. Yet * The temperature of the air a few feet below the summit out of the gale was 2O~ F. The height of the northwestern elevation of the southeastern summit of Ararat is given by my whymper Mountain aneroid as fl,493 feet. The reading is no doubt too high by several hundred feet. The Carey aneroid gives a still higher fig- ure, and the Boyleau-Mariotti mercurial barometer en- tirely refused to work. what if the spell had lost its power, and the mountain and the world lain bare? Had the tissue of the air beamed clear as crystal, and the forms of earth and sea, embroidered beneath us, shone like the tracery of a shield? We should have gained a balloon view over nature; should we have caught her voice so well? The ancient voice heard at cool of day in the garden, or the voice that spoke in accents of thunder to a world condemned to die. It re- pented the Lord that he had made man on the earth, and it grieved him at his heart. The earth was filled with vio- lence. And God looked upon the earth, and, behold, it was corrupt. . . . In the second month, the seventeenth day of the month, the same da.y were all the fountains of the great deep broken up and the windows of heaven were opened. And the rain was upon the earth forty days and forty nights. We were standing on the spot where the Ark of Gopher rested, where first the patriarch alighted on the face of an earth renewed. Before him lay the valleys of six hundred years of sor- row; the airiest pinnacle supported him, a boundless hope filled his eyes. The pulse of life beat strong and fresh around him; the busy swarms thrilled with sweet freedom, elect of all living things. In the settling exhalations stood the bow of many colors, eternal token of Gods covenant with man. The peaks which rose on the distant borderland where silence had first fal- tered into speech were wrapped about with the wreaths of fancy, a palpable world of cloud. IDid we fix our foot upon these solid landmarks to wish the vague away, to see the hard summits stark and naked and all the floating realm of mystery flown? The truth is firm and it is well to touch and feel it and know where the legend begins: but the legend itself is truth trans- figured as the snow distils into cloud. The reality of life speaks in every sylla- ble of that solemn, stately tale; divine hope bursting the bounds of matter to compromise with despair. And the ancient mountain summons the spirits about him and veils a futile frown as the rising sun illumines the valleys of Asia and the life of man lies bare. The HUNTING MUSK-OX WITH THE DOG RIBS spectres walk in naked daylight, Vie- spirit seems to whisper in his ears: lence and Corruption and Decay. The Turn from him !turn from him that traveller finds in majestic nature con- he may rest till he shall accomplish, solation for these sordid scenes, while a as an hireling, his day. 1HI~UNTiNGM1UZ5K OX 235 -I /4~~N the seventh of July, 1893, I land- ed at Fort Rae, an isolated and insig- nificant station kept by a chief trader of the Hudsons Bay Company. Rae lies sixty miles north of the main body of the Great Slave Lake, and about nine hundred miles 7 north of the last / railway point The main object of my journey to the Far North was to obtain musk-ox for museum specimens. I had chosen Rae as my head-quarters, as it is the nearest post to the Barren Ground, which occupies the northeastern portion of the continent beyond a line drawn from the mouth of the Churchill River to the mouth of the Mackenzie. The musk-ox are now hunted by the Eskimo from Hudsons Bay, and the shores of Coronation Gulf, and by the Indians, from Fort Good Hope to the eastern ~UU~51~LL end of the Great Slave Lake. They were found ten years ago at the edge of the timber, bat they have been hunt- ed during the last few years for their robes, until they have been driven back from one to two hundred miles be- yond the limit of forest growth. I expected to engage Indians to ac- company me into the Barren Ground during the months of October and November. I secured the services of a young Indian at the fort, whom I soon found would not be of any use as either man or boy, and as there were no others available as interpreters, I was of necessity interpreter, official head, dog-driver, hunter, artist, natur- alist, and cook of the expedition, though the duties of the last functionary never became very onerous. IDifilculties soon arose to prevent the accomplishment of my plans. The Ind- ians decided to abandon the fall hunt altogether, as the days are short and severe storms prevail at that season, making the trip into the Barren Ground extremely dangerous. Four years ago a man was lost and never seen again, WLTJL ~W~ I J~Y

Frank Russell Russell, Frank Musk-Ox, Hunting With The Dog Ribs 235-245

HUNTING MUSK-OX WITH THE DOG RIBS spectres walk in naked daylight, Vie- spirit seems to whisper in his ears: lence and Corruption and Decay. The Turn from him !turn from him that traveller finds in majestic nature con- he may rest till he shall accomplish, solation for these sordid scenes, while a as an hireling, his day. 1HI~UNTiNGM1UZ5K OX 235 -I /4~~N the seventh of July, 1893, I land- ed at Fort Rae, an isolated and insig- nificant station kept by a chief trader of the Hudsons Bay Company. Rae lies sixty miles north of the main body of the Great Slave Lake, and about nine hundred miles 7 north of the last / railway point The main object of my journey to the Far North was to obtain musk-ox for museum specimens. I had chosen Rae as my head-quarters, as it is the nearest post to the Barren Ground, which occupies the northeastern portion of the continent beyond a line drawn from the mouth of the Churchill River to the mouth of the Mackenzie. The musk-ox are now hunted by the Eskimo from Hudsons Bay, and the shores of Coronation Gulf, and by the Indians, from Fort Good Hope to the eastern ~UU~51~LL end of the Great Slave Lake. They were found ten years ago at the edge of the timber, bat they have been hunt- ed during the last few years for their robes, until they have been driven back from one to two hundred miles be- yond the limit of forest growth. I expected to engage Indians to ac- company me into the Barren Ground during the months of October and November. I secured the services of a young Indian at the fort, whom I soon found would not be of any use as either man or boy, and as there were no others available as interpreters, I was of necessity interpreter, official head, dog-driver, hunter, artist, natur- alist, and cook of the expedition, though the duties of the last functionary never became very onerous. IDifilculties soon arose to prevent the accomplishment of my plans. The Ind- ians decided to abandon the fall hunt altogether, as the days are short and severe storms prevail at that season, making the trip into the Barren Ground extremely dangerous. Four years ago a man was lost and never seen again, WLTJL ~W~ I J~Y 236 HUN lYNG MUSK-OX WITH THE DOG RIBS and each year one or more hunters are stricken with paralysis resulting from the hardship and exposure. There was no alternative but to wait until spring, when the longer days and milder weather would permit us to traveL Another, quite unexpected, obstacle was the superstition of the Indians, which manifested itself when I at- tempted to make a summer trip into the Barren Ground. They firmly be- lieved that the animals which I sent down to be mounted would live forever, and would be in such a happy state that they would induce all the vast herds of musk-ox and reindeer of the Barrens to migrate and join them in the mysterious Mollah Endah or white mans country. Although they looked upon any white man not connected with the Company as lawful prey, who was to pay exor- bitant prices for their services because you are rich and we are poor, their superstition was stronger than their cu- pidity. On the fourth of March I told a party of four, who had come to the fort for ammunition for the hunt, that I was going with them whether they wanted me to do so or not. With the aid of the fort interpreter we discussed the matter until midnight. Johunie A Map of the Country Traversed, showing the Aethors Route from Fort Rae. Cohoyla, a petty chief, was leader of the party. He finally consented to look after me, which meant to look at me doing my own work, and to cook for meif I purchased meat for him and his family, which became surpris- ingly large in a short time. In return I agreed to pay two skins, or one dollar a day, and supply tea for our par- ty during the trip. We started late on the 5th for the Indian camps at the edge of the tim- ber. I was not in a cheerful mood as I hitched in my dogs for the long journey which, the Dog Ribs emphatically de- clared, would kill me, as they, ac- customed to such a life, found it hard. I would have to walk or run on snow-shoes the entire distance, and not lie in a portable bed or cariole as do most travellers in the interior of the Far North, while some native driver at- tends to the team. I would not hear an English word for two months, and the antagonism of the unwilling Ind- ians must proyc a source of constant annoyance. My outfit consisted of a 4590 Win- chester and ammunition, fifteen pounds of dried caribou meat, eighteen pounds of frozen bread, several pounds of tea, and a few ounces of salt. My bedding consisted of a single four-point blanket sewed to a light deer-skin robe. Johunie tried to plant me on the hundred and fifty mile trip to the camps. He would have walked that distance in two days, but his dogs were not equal to the task, and though they were beaten until their heads were bruised and bleeding, they could not reach our destination in less than three days. My ankles troubled me with the torturing mal de raquette, which made me very glad to see the dirty smoke- begrimed lodges with their swarm of dogs and half-naked children. The whole camp was soon wrangling over my last pinch of salt. I was dependent upon my rifle or the Indians for meat, which with tea made up the bill of fare for the next two months. The Dog Ribs were not ready for the great Etjerrer-kahmusk-ox hunt. They must first make new snowshoes, sled lines, and moccasins; caribou must be killed and pounded meat and grease HUNTING MUSK-OX WITH THE DOG RIBS 237 prepared. 1AT~ moved our camp twice during the next three weeks, which in- terrupted the dreary monotonous rub- dub of the Dog Rib drums, to the beat- ing of which the beggars sat and gambled from ear- ly morning until midnight. On the evening of the 28th my dogs were not to be found at feed- ing-time; Tekah, us mangeaient, vos chiens, assoir, said Johunie. Yazzy tekah thlohn, said the others. The wolves w i 11 eat your dogs to- night. Yes, the wolves are very mimer- ous. Without the dogs I could do nothing; missing this opportunity I must remain an- other year in the country, or go back to Iowa with- out these, the most difficult to obtain of American mam- mals. After a long search the next morning, I found two of them feeding upon the remains of a caribou six miles from camp and by 3 P.M., just as I was concluding ar- rangements to buy two miserable little giddies, the other two dogs made their appearance. I felt that a year of my life had been restored! An hour later we started on the grand hunt, in which only the best men engaged, the women and children, of course, remaining at the camps in the woods. There were eleven Indians in the party, with two lodgesJohnnie in charge of mine with three other Ind- ians. On the second day we traversed a long narrow lake, called Tenendea- tity. Early in the afternoon, from the summit of a lofty granite hill, I beheld the Barren Ground for the first time. VOL. XIX.28 Behind us lay the rugged hills, their slopes clothed with stunted pines upon which a bright sun was shining. Be- fore us were hills still more precipitous and barren, everywhere strewn with an- gular blocks of granitea monot- onous, dreary waste, from which a snow-storm was swiftly approach- ing. Half-acre patches of pines from one to three feet high still ap- peared for a few miles, but our lodge - poles were cut that day; these were trimmed down so slender that they would afford little fuel for the return trip; each sled carried four poles fourteen f e e t in length. The coun- try was so rough that we only trav- elled thirty-five miles. On the fourth day we encamped in a little clump of pines on the Coppermine Riv- er. The DogRibs called this stream T8on Ta. It takes its rise in a large lake called Ek-ah Ta, which is two days journey in length. This was the last outlier of the timbered country, and henceforth fuel had to be carried on our sleds. The largest of the trees reached a height of twenty-five feet, with thick, twisted, and niuch-branched trunks. We left the Coppermine with our sleds loaded, as heavily as the dogs could haul, with wood, cut and split into billets of convenient size. What a luxury a good oil-stove would have been! As we were about to start, Jimmy the Chief, who was leader of the band, and by far the most intel- ligent man among them, after a long look eastward, turned to me and said: A-ye tetchiu touty, nitzy nitchah, The Author Equipped for the Journey. 238 HUNTING MUSK-OX WITH THE DOG RIBS yazzy edsah. This is the woodless country where the blizzards blow and it is always cold. Then drawing his old gray blanket closer about his shoulders, and gras ping his double-bar- relled smooth-bore, he set off at a rapid pace, the seven trains falling into line upon the track of his snow-shoes. We followed the course of a small stream called Kwe-lond Ta for about forty miles, until we reached a lake at least thirty miles in length, called Yam- bahty. On the seventh day I killed a male caribou, four or five years old, still bearing his antlers, though we are told that the bucks shed them early in De- cember. Half the caribou still carried their antlers. As we advanced that day the hills became more rolling, with gravel and pebbles, but fewer bowlders. Wherever the wind had swept the surface clear of snow, the reindeer moss (Cladonia ran- giferina) and tufts of low grass ap- peared. Toward evening we passed a few old musk-ox tracks. On the ninth day we traversed the largest lake seen north of the Great Slave Lake, which I think must have been the Rum Lake of Franklin, mapped as Congecathawathaga by Arrowsmith, and called by my companions Coahca- chity. Away toward the northern end of the lake four or five peaks were visible. Two of these were lofty cones, standing pure white in their snow-mantles, iden- tical in size and shape, with almost per- pendicular sides. We crossed two gravel ridges trend- ing southeast and northwest, and again encountered the hills of naked granite strewn with great angular bowlders, which necessitated constant watchful- ness to prevent our sleds from being broken. These vehicles were the common birch flat sleds of the North, fifteen inches in width and seven feet in length. They soon became grooved from end to end by the sharp points of rocks lying just below the surface of the snow, which ploughed across the bot- tom, ordinarily as smooth as glass, and made them much harder for the dogs to hauL Still JiTnmys old gray blan- ket led the way straight over the hills, never swerving from a northeast course. Sometimes we would ascend for an hour, and then go pell-mell down a steep incline for two or three hundred feet, holding back our sleds with all our strength, yet landing in the drifts at the bottom, with the sled-dog dragging under and the rest of the team tangled in the harness. The reindeer were now quite abun- dant, and we had little difficulty in killing enough for men and teams. My dogs were keen hunters, and were always ready to dash after the herds of gray-hued caribou, which swept over the snowy slopes like the shadows of swift-flying clouds. The only way that II could restrain them was to overturn the sled. In the evening, when they were released from the harness, they would pursue any caribou which might appear near our camp, which caused me considerable anxiety, as the dismal howl of the never-distant wolves gave warning of their certain fate if they left the camp. One of the giddies was lost in this way. On the tenth day Johunie, with three other Indians and myself, separated from the others and turned a little more to the northward. We were now in what the Dog Ribs designated the Musk-ox Mountains. After running about ten miles, Esyuh, who was in ad- vance, suddenly turned and began to make frantic gestures. Over the hills, a mile away, appeared a black object closely followed by another and an- other. No need for him to urge us to hasten forward, or to tell us what those huge rolling balls were. jerrer! Tahy etjerrer! Three musk- ox, and a few seconds later the dogs were all released and scattering on over the country, some in pursuit, some on the back track, and others trotting complacently along at their masters heels. We followed as fast as we could run. Then it was that I discovered the advantage of having light cloth- ing, light guns and ammunition. I was distanced by my companions, who killed the musk-ox after a run of three miles. As soon as the dogs reached them they turned to defend themselves, and fell an easy prey to the hunters, who were soon upon them. Our lodge HUNTING MUSK-OX WITH THE DOG RIBS 23~ was set up that night beside the fallen carcasses, and our teams for once had all they could eat. There were several hundred pounds of meat with fat two inches in thickness on the backs. Meat of excellent quality, without the faintest trace of musk perceptible. That from one of the animals was ten- der and as well flavored as any venison that I ever ate. The others were tough, but the Dog Ribs preferred tough meat to walking a dozen yards to get that of a younger animal. The com- plexion of our diet was now changed; before we had enjoyed caribou ribs boiled, garnished with handfuls of coarse gray hairs; now we had boiled ribs of musk-ox with hairs of a brown- ish black. I awakened next morning with a sense of weight upon my blanket, and my ears were greeted with a rushing roar caused by a northeast gale, which had covered everything inside our lodge, to a depth of a foot or more, with fine, flour-like snow. The temperature was at least thirty degrees below zero. It was impossible to face such a bliz- zard without freezing in a few minutes. All landmarks were obscured so that we could not continue upon our course. As we had only wood enough for the time that we expected to be engaged in actual travel, we could have no fire on days like this, when we were com- pelled to lay to. We remained in our blankets until midday, when a kettle of meat was (half) boiled and we turned in again. In the evening a fire about the size of a cigar-box was kept up long enough to boil a kettle of tea, one cup for each man; we always wanted four! No meat was cooked, for our appetites were soon satisfied with the large sticks of white frozen marrow from the long bones of the musk-ox. Making Preparations for the Start from Fort Rae. 240 HUNTING MUSK-OX WITH THE DOG RIBS Throughout the following day the storm continued with increased sever- ity, and we were forced to lie in the snow another twenty-four hours. My dogs never came inside the lodge at night, but boiled themselves up in the lee of the lodge, where the snow soon drifted over them, giving warmth and shelter. The twelve Indian gid- dies came inside as soon as the last man rolled up in his blanket at night. At first they spent a few minutes fight- ing over the bones about the fireplace, then they rummaged through every- thing that was not firmly lashed down. As a dog walked over a prostrate form the muffled marche or mnitla would quiet them for an instant, when their snarling and snapping would break out anew, until some of us would pick up a billet of wood and pacify them. After we had once fallen into the sleep of exhaustion we were seldom awakened by their fighting over us. In the morning I would find two or three giddies coiled up in the snow up- on my blanket; the heat of their bodies melted the snow, which froze as soon as they left it and made my scanty bed- ding hard and stiff. After sixty hours of such resting we were quite ready to move on, as the thirteenth day dawned bright and clear. Early in the day we caught sight of a band of forty musk-ox al- ready in flight a couple of miles distant. We chased them six miles, but only one of our party reached them, Wisho, who killed four. We were very much fa- tigued from our long run, and covered with perspiration, which froze on our outer garments as we walked back with the dogs to bring up the sleds. It was after nightfall before we set up the lodge and cold, tired, and hungry, sat shivering around a column of smoke over which hung a kettle containing both meat and drink; for our supply of tea was exhausted and we had to quench our thirst with the greasy bouillon or tewoh in which the meat was boiled. The temperature was falling rapidly, giving us some concern about Johunie Cohoyla, who had not returned. The next morning I was awakened by the monotonous wailing of his brother, Esyuh, who was chanting the virtues of the lost reprobate, and entreating the fates in general, and the North Wind in particular, to spare him. Thru2a hoola, a man is lost. \~ ~ N ~ k \. The Dog Ribs repeated the phrase with significant glances at me, as if this Wohkahwe accompanying them had offended the Great Spirit, so that he had wreaked his vengeance upon the man who had allowed me to enter the Dog Rib hunting - ground. A terrific gale with a temperature of thirty de- grees below zero prevented us from searching for the lost man; we could only spend the day in our blankets while the snow drifted in and over all. That was on~ of the most miserable days I ever spent. I had tried twice to run with the Indians, and failed to reach the musk-ox, and there seemed to be no immediate prospect of my getting any. The musk-ox were not numerous, they said, and our wood might fail be- fore we secured any more. Johnnie must have perished, as ,no human be- ing could live through a night of such storm without protection, and it was thirty-six hours before we could search for him. We were shivering in our blankets, even the Indians saying, Ed- sah, yazzy edsah it is cold, very cold. The next morning proved to be calm, and we set off in search of Johnnie. I had as great difficulty to keep my cheeks from freezing as at any time A Giddie. HUNTING MUSK-OX WITH THE DOG RIBS 241 during the winter, though there was scarcely any wind blowing. After running about ten miles I was recalled by the signalling of another searcher. Johnnie had been found by his brother, safely and snugly rolled up in a couple of musk-ox skins which he had secured, where he had been warmer than if in the lodge, aud with plenty of frozen marrow to eat he had been quite comfortable. On the sixteenth day we continued the journey northward. With the field- glass I discovered a band of fourteen musk-ox on the summit of a b4,h hill, so far away that it was impossible to distinguish them from the surrounding bowlders with the unaided eye. In a couple of hours we were within half a mile of them, and released the dogs, which soon disappeared over an inter- vening ridge. My companions had con- cluded, from the way that I had run, or failed to run, on the two previous occa- sions, that I could not run very far, and that their best plan to keep me from bringing a magazine-gnu into competition with their muzzle-loaders, was to give the musk-ox time to get far enough away so that they could plant me in the race. I had prepared for this occasion by taking off some of my cloth- ing, and only carrying the ammunition actually required, so that when they did begin to run at a swift pace my snow-shoes clanked close beside them. We soon came upon eleven of the musk-ox standing at bay in two little clusters, hardly lowering their heads at the dogs, whose ardor had been cooled by the statue-like immobility of the no- ble animals. Their robes were in prime condition, the long hair and heavy erect mane gave them an imposing appear- ance. To kill them was simple butch- ery, yet I had no choice but to fire as rapidly as possible and get my share of them, as they were all doomed any- way. On leaving Fort Rae Johnnie bad agreed to assist me in skinning the game killed; he now found that his own af On, the March. ii 242 HUNTING MUSK-OX WITH THE DOG RIBS fairs would require all his attention. chester was liable to make in his fur re- Esyuh helped me to skin two, while I turns, thought best to suspend the finished the third by moonlight, freez- rules of the hunting-code, and let me ing my fingers in the operation. He buy of them if I wanted any musk-ox. afterward demanded seventy skins Without releasing my dogs, which were thirty-five dollarsfor his labor! wildly tugging at their collars, I started It was impossible to skin the heads forward with little hopes of killing any in the darkness. I wrapped the skins musk-ox, but in excellent humor for around them so that they would not slaughtering a few Dog Ribs. Fortune, freeze during the night. however, smiled upon me. Four bulls Another blizzard was raging in the of the largest size broke away together morning, which prevented moving, but without a dog in pursuit, and came enabled me to attend to the heads, within range. This was not so much which had not frozen very much; but like butchering them; they were run- the skins around them were stiff and ning much faster than I could on snow- solid, so that it was impossible to fold shoes, and had a chance for their lives. them up for transportation. I killed two as they passed me about a I spent the day sawing the skulls in hundred yards distant, and wounded halves, so that they might be loaded on the others so that they were bagged the sled, sitting beside a little smoke after a run of half a mile. I had now arising from the bones of the musk-ox killed seven musk-ox, and had as many which contained enough grease to burn, on my sled as the Hudsons Bay people though not very readily. Our fires had told me it was possible to haul. were started with birch-bark, a small When Johnnie returned from chasing roll being carried by each man for that the scattered herd, I stated my plain purpose. The pine-wood was cut in and unbiassed opinion of him in all the sticks a foot in length and finely split, Red River French and Dog Rib that I then built up in a log cabin or a could command. His deprecatory Yaz- cone. Each man took his turn blowing zy changed to a sheepish Nazee to keep it alight, as the wood was not goodwhen I informed him that I dry and the quantity so small that it re- had secured all the robes that I want- quired constant attention. ed. He refused to carry a. skeleton for We were destined to spend the next me at any price, not even a head or day in the blankets, with the clouds of half a split skull would he carry, though powdery snow settling down through I gave him two robes for carrying back the smoke-hole of our lodge upon us. the lodge. We had had but two meals a day since The next day was spent in camp; the leaving the Coppermine, and when ly- others were engaged in skinning the ing storm-bound we ate but one. When animals killed, and in boiling bones for travelling, although we were voracious- grease to eat on the return trip. I thus ly hungry before nightfall, it was thirst had an opportunity to prepare the two which troubled us the most, as we were skulls for transportation. running most of the time. On the twenty-first day of the hunt Early on the nineteenth day we sight- we started homeward the turning- ed musk-ox while yet a long distance point of the expedition. We were all from them. While ascending a steep hill heavily loaded with the loose bulky I was delayed by my sled sinking in the skins. The sleds were frequently over- soft snow until the great awkward balls turned, and if our dogs had not been in into which the skins were frozen, pro- unusually good condition, would never jecting at the sides, made the load drag have been brought out at all. My load heavily. When I reached the top the extended over both ends of the sled, and others were a quarter of a mile in ad- was nearly as high as my shoulders, vance, and instead of waiting for me to with the four lodge-poles on top, mak- come up, they had released their dogs ing it no easy matter to keep every- and were likely to kill every musk-ox thing lashed firmly. before I could reach them. Johnnie, On the twenty-third day a blinding remembering the havoc which my Win- snow-storm prevented moving before HUNTING MUSK-OX WITH THE DOG RIBS 243 A Herd of Musk-ox. mid-day, when we pushed on through the soft snow without meat for our- selves or the dogs. On the return trip we only secured five caribou, which was less thau half rations for five men and sixteen dogs. We were now burning our lodge- poles for fuel; on the night of the twenty-fifth day the lodge was set up for the last time, with two poles only, and with our sled lines, made fast to the circle of sleds, which were always enclosed, gave sufficient support. We started at 6 A.M., determined to reach the Coppermine, some fifty miles dis- tant, before camping. In the afternoon we came upon a lodge-pole, standing beside a sled track which we had fol- lowed all day, upon which a line writ- ten in the syllabic characters informed us that Jimmies party was to reach the woods that evening also. At half-past ten, after sixteen and a half hours of continuous travelling, we reached the little grove of pines, which seemed more welcome than any harbor to the storm - tossed sailor. We were all too much fatigued to cut much brush, and fell asleep in a little hole scooped in the snow, before a few logs which made such an uncomfortably hot fire that we did not enjoy it as we had anticipated. But we would no longer have to sleep upon snow or fiat rocks, we would not have to sleep with our moc- casins and frozen blanket footings next our bodies to dry them, and at noon- day we could have tewoh to quench our thirst. After five hours rest we were awak- ened by Jimmie, who reminded us that there was nothing to eat, and that we must push rapidly on. My load weighed over five hundred pounds, and the dogs were getting pitifully weak. I pushed on the sled and carried a load o~n my back to assist them. We were three days in reaching the camps. We only rested five hours at night and then hurried on again, as the teams were failing rapidly for want of food. On the twenty-eighth day the first signs of a thaw appeared; the snow softened just enough to cause it to stick to our HUNTING MUSK-OX WITH THE DOG RIBS 244 snow-shoes, so that it made them I~eavy proached the camps, three hours later. to carry, and, worse still, lumps of ice As I passed one of the first lodges my would accumulate every few minutes sled swayed off the track aud caught which soou blistered the bottoms of our agaiust a tree, much to the amusement feet over the entire surface. of a couple of young women who, after On the last two days before reaching watching my attempts to right it, re- the camps the heavy snow-shoes caused marked, Yazzy Wahkahwee natsuthly, the mal de raquette to reappear, which the white man is weak, indeed. One of made it simply torture to move; yet them grasped the sled line to show me we were now in the woods, where the how to straighten up a load, and tugged soft snow required heavier work in the and hauled and tugged again without management of the sleds. producing the slightest effect. I am At two in the afternoon of the twen- afraid that I laughed very ungallant- ty-ninth day we reached the vicinity of ly as the discomfited maiden fled to the camping-place from which we had the shelter of the lodge. Mrs. Jimmie started, and fired several rounds to came to me with a very cordial greet- announce our arrival. A few minutes ing, exclaiming, Merci, MerciCho. later we dashed intoa deserted camp. Kazee etjerrerkah Thanks, b i g The lodges were gone, the snow had thanks, for the good musk-ox hunt; drifted over their sites. Their skeleton evidently ascribing our success, in a poles offered a dreary welcome to us measure, to my presence. as, tired, hungry, and disappointed, we It was nearly midnight on the fourth turned away in no pleasant humor to of May when my weary dogs crept over follow the track along which a line of the hill into Fort Rae and halted at slanting poles indicated the direction the door they had left two months be- of departure. We were upon an old, fore. The long march of eight hnn- hard track from which the sled fre- dred miles was over, but the goggles quently overturned into the soft snow and snow-shoes, the whip and harness on either side, and my dogs were about were not suffered to be long laid aside, giving up altogether. A great deal for five days later I had started on the more powder was burned as we ap- far longer journey down the Mackenzie. ITS very sweet by the river side, Where tall green flags with purple tops Bend to a current that never stops; And the level country stretches wide On either side to meet the sky A dim, gray port for the meadows tide. II Swift pointed arrows the swallows fly Dip their wings in the cold, clear stream, Then circle farand I have my dream To dream alone: till my company Becomes the winds of the night that stir The tops of the poplars straight and high. III And the white, white night is full of her. . Half-hushed whispers that thrill and break The deep-breathed stillness, as these winds shake The leaves, till the woods a murmurer Of link~d, lingering memories Of that drifted life, and the days that were. Iv She swept the chords to hgrmonies (Sing, 0 Singer, but not of me! I sing as God bids me sing, said he) A song of the wind in the poplar-trees; Of two that go through the meadows tide To a far, dim port that no man sees. VOL. XJX.29 By M. L. Van Vorst I

M. L. Van Vorst Van Vorst, M. L. The Singer 245-246

ITS very sweet by the river side, Where tall green flags with purple tops Bend to a current that never stops; And the level country stretches wide On either side to meet the sky A dim, gray port for the meadows tide. II Swift pointed arrows the swallows fly Dip their wings in the cold, clear stream, Then circle farand I have my dream To dream alone: till my company Becomes the winds of the night that stir The tops of the poplars straight and high. III And the white, white night is full of her. . Half-hushed whispers that thrill and break The deep-breathed stillness, as these winds shake The leaves, till the woods a murmurer Of link~d, lingering memories Of that drifted life, and the days that were. Iv She swept the chords to hgrmonies (Sing, 0 Singer, but not of me! I sing as God bids me sing, said he) A song of the wind in the poplar-trees; Of two that go through the meadows tide To a far, dim port that no man sees. VOL. XJX.29 By M. L. Van Vorst I WOOD SONGS By Arthur Sherburne Hardy I ELOVED, when far up the mountain-side We found, almost at eventide, Our spring, how we did fear Lest it should dare the trackless wood And disappear! And lost all heart when on the crest we stood, And saw it spent in mist below. Yet ever surer was its flow, And, ever gathering to its own New springs of which we had not known, To fairer meadows Swept exultant from the woodland shadows; And when at last upon the baffling plain We thought it scattered like a ravelled skein, Lo, tranquil, free Its longed-for homethe wide, unfathomable sea! II LE~ it not grieve thee,dear, that Love is sad, Tho, changeless, the things that change, The morning in thine eyes, the dusk within thy hair. Were it not strange If he were glad Who cannot keep thy heart from care, Or shelter from the whip of pain The bosom where his head hath lain? Poor sentinel, that may not guard The door that love itself unbarred! Who in the sweetness Of his service knows its incompleteness, And while he sings Of life eternal, feels the coldness of Deaths wings. III LA~T night I dreamed this dream: That I was dead; nd as I slept forgot of men and God That other dreamless sleep of rest, I heard a footstep on the sod, As of one passing overhead, And lo, thou, Dear, didst touch me on the breast, Saying: What shall I write against thy name That men should see? Then quick the answer came, I was beloved of thee.

Arthur Sherburne Hardy Hardy, Arthur Sherburne Wood Songs 246-247

WOOD SONGS By Arthur Sherburne Hardy I ELOVED, when far up the mountain-side We found, almost at eventide, Our spring, how we did fear Lest it should dare the trackless wood And disappear! And lost all heart when on the crest we stood, And saw it spent in mist below. Yet ever surer was its flow, And, ever gathering to its own New springs of which we had not known, To fairer meadows Swept exultant from the woodland shadows; And when at last upon the baffling plain We thought it scattered like a ravelled skein, Lo, tranquil, free Its longed-for homethe wide, unfathomable sea! II LE~ it not grieve thee,dear, that Love is sad, Tho, changeless, the things that change, The morning in thine eyes, the dusk within thy hair. Were it not strange If he were glad Who cannot keep thy heart from care, Or shelter from the whip of pain The bosom where his head hath lain? Poor sentinel, that may not guard The door that love itself unbarred! Who in the sweetness Of his service knows its incompleteness, And while he sings Of life eternal, feels the coldness of Deaths wings. III LA~T night I dreamed this dream: That I was dead; nd as I slept forgot of men and God That other dreamless sleep of rest, I heard a footstep on the sod, As of one passing overhead, And lo, thou, Dear, didst touch me on the breast, Saying: What shall I write against thy name That men should see? Then quick the answer came, I was beloved of thee. HOPPERS OLD MAN By Robert C. V. Meyers IHEN the call came up the speaking-tube that the old man wanted to see him in the office, Hopper knew what it meant. He was sorry, but as Miss Blanche had tearfully come to the house and asked him to take her in, there had been nothing else for him to do. And though. he might question the right of an uncle to tell a niece she should have no say in the matter, but must take the husband that was picked out for her, that was none of his business; all he had to do with it was to give the girl the pro- tection she asked for when her natural protectors had turned her sway. There had been nothing else for him to do. Hopper cleared his throat, pulled down his shirt~sleeves, and went down to the office. Of course, says the old man,~~ you know why I sent for you? Hopper nodded stiffly. And equally, of course, continues Dolph, youll send Blanche away from your house at once. Hopper felt that his interlocutor knew he wouldnt do anything of the sort, and so he told him. You wont? says Dolph, his gray mustache twitching. I cant, says Hopper, stubbornly. Do you know, kept on Doiph, in a cold, dangerous manner, that she is my brother Henrys child that Ive brought up as a daughter since her parents died, denying her nothing under heaven, till she falls in love with this ninny of a music-teacher of hers and refuses to ratify her engagement with her cousin, Hector Whitcomb? I only know, Hopper returned, that shes a woman, and that she came to me and asked me to take her in when you turned her out. Me turn her away! I couldnt, if or?y out of respect to you, for shes the daughter of your Hen that was my boss more than thirty years ago. And shes the daughter of that lady Hen married. Hopper was sorry as soon as those last words left his lips, for he more than suspected how much Dolph himself had cared for the lady who afterward mar- ried his brother. Sam, said the old man, so qiiietly you might have supposed he had not been touched up at all, I have set my mind on her marrying her mother s brothers son. Its the only match for her, and she has no right to disobey me, especially as she had promised to marry him. And who is this music-teacher that comes along and dazzles her? A fool with tunes in his head instead of ideas that mean money. Her father and her mother would never have allowed it, and no more will I. Youve heard me out. Turn Blanche away, and shell come back to Hector and me. I k~now it. Ive been too easy all along; Im easy with my family, Im easy with my men. Have I ever been hard with you? Never till now, answered Hopper, with a shake in his voice. Never. Very good ! returned the old man, dryly. And now Im only hard with you for Blanches good. You like her, I think? I knew her as a baby, Hopper answered. Ive dandled her on my knee here in the shop when she come to see her father and you. I knew her father before her, and her mother was kind to my wife when our little Maggie diedshe said suppose it had been hem. And I only wish good for Miss Blanche. If shes in love with her music-teacher, thats her affair. I aint got anything to do with anything but her asking me to take her in when youd turned her out, and she was too ashamed to go to her other friends. If she wants to leave my house shes welcome to do so. But, turn her out? I dont know what you take me for. Shes trusted me, and I cant go back on that trust. I cant.

Robert C. V. Meyers Meyers, Robert C. V. Hopper's Old Man 247-253

HOPPERS OLD MAN By Robert C. V. Meyers IHEN the call came up the speaking-tube that the old man wanted to see him in the office, Hopper knew what it meant. He was sorry, but as Miss Blanche had tearfully come to the house and asked him to take her in, there had been nothing else for him to do. And though. he might question the right of an uncle to tell a niece she should have no say in the matter, but must take the husband that was picked out for her, that was none of his business; all he had to do with it was to give the girl the pro- tection she asked for when her natural protectors had turned her sway. There had been nothing else for him to do. Hopper cleared his throat, pulled down his shirt~sleeves, and went down to the office. Of course, says the old man,~~ you know why I sent for you? Hopper nodded stiffly. And equally, of course, continues Dolph, youll send Blanche away from your house at once. Hopper felt that his interlocutor knew he wouldnt do anything of the sort, and so he told him. You wont? says Dolph, his gray mustache twitching. I cant, says Hopper, stubbornly. Do you know, kept on Doiph, in a cold, dangerous manner, that she is my brother Henrys child that Ive brought up as a daughter since her parents died, denying her nothing under heaven, till she falls in love with this ninny of a music-teacher of hers and refuses to ratify her engagement with her cousin, Hector Whitcomb? I only know, Hopper returned, that shes a woman, and that she came to me and asked me to take her in when you turned her out. Me turn her away! I couldnt, if or?y out of respect to you, for shes the daughter of your Hen that was my boss more than thirty years ago. And shes the daughter of that lady Hen married. Hopper was sorry as soon as those last words left his lips, for he more than suspected how much Dolph himself had cared for the lady who afterward mar- ried his brother. Sam, said the old man, so qiiietly you might have supposed he had not been touched up at all, I have set my mind on her marrying her mother s brothers son. Its the only match for her, and she has no right to disobey me, especially as she had promised to marry him. And who is this music-teacher that comes along and dazzles her? A fool with tunes in his head instead of ideas that mean money. Her father and her mother would never have allowed it, and no more will I. Youve heard me out. Turn Blanche away, and shell come back to Hector and me. I k~now it. Ive been too easy all along; Im easy with my family, Im easy with my men. Have I ever been hard with you? Never till now, answered Hopper, with a shake in his voice. Never. Very good ! returned the old man, dryly. And now Im only hard with you for Blanches good. You like her, I think? I knew her as a baby, Hopper answered. Ive dandled her on my knee here in the shop when she come to see her father and you. I knew her father before her, and her mother was kind to my wife when our little Maggie diedshe said suppose it had been hem. And I only wish good for Miss Blanche. If shes in love with her music-teacher, thats her affair. I aint got anything to do with anything but her asking me to take her in when youd turned her out, and she was too ashamed to go to her other friends. If she wants to leave my house shes welcome to do so. But, turn her out? I dont know what you take me for. Shes trusted me, and I cant go back on that trust. I cant. 248 HOPPERS OLD MAN Very good! said Blanches uncle, flee herself for me. But Ill never turn as before. Then, Hopper, listen to her from my door. Never! this. Ive made my will. In it Ive The old man lingered, looking put you down for five thousand dollars, at the bundle under his foremans arm. in consideration of old friendship and I see, he said, you take it for your faithful services. If you keep granted she will not come back to me. Blanche another night, that will shall If she does, retorted Hopper, be altered. More than that, for he then she dont care for the man she saw the contemptuous indignation in says she loves; or else shes no wom- Hoppers face, if you keep her an- an. other night you need not inconvenience In the street Hoppers head cooled a yourself to come to the shop in the little, and he wondered if he had looked morning. all the facts in the face. But what else For the moment Hopper was stunned. could he have done than stand up for To leave the shop where as man and his own ideas of the right and wrong? boy he had done his best for so long a Also, he wondered what the Missus time he that loved the shop and cv- would say to his coming home to her erything about it, even to the greasy like this, discharged? odors, the rustle of the machinery, the But Missus was as sweet as pie; she whistling of the men as they filed and felt honored by the trust reposed in her scraped and burnished! To leave the and Hopper by Miss Blanche, and al- shop! ready she was elevated in the eyes of Then he looked the old man the neighbors, especially in those of the straight in the eyes. Without a word Bazelys, who always tried to out-do her he went up to his room and made a in the matter of social standing, and bundle of his apron and tools. the like. Besides, Missus had a wom- Whats up, Hop? called one of ans vein of romance in her, and it the men~ Had a scrap with the seemed just like a story to have Miss frapp6d dude ? this in reference to Blanche sticking up for the man she the new partner, Whitcomb. loved the Professor. Hopper was eyed by fifty men, and The only thing Hopper kept back the whistled tunes got all tangled to- was that mention of the five thousand gether as he reached for his hat and dollars in the old mans willthat went toward the door. There he was all over and done now, and nobody paused and looked back. It was all so was the richer or poorer than if the will familiar, so home-like. Well, boys, had never been made. He talked to he said, its good-by! Miss Blanche, as he had told her uncle Without waiting to hear the result he should do, and laid lYefore her the of these earthquake words he bolted. practical outcome of her going against He had to pass by the office. Dolphs wishes. There stood the old man back No, she said, Mr. Hopper, I can- of him Hopper could see the new part- not do it. I tried to like Hector for ncr with a very black face. my uncles sake, but when Mr. IDimpfel Sam, Dolph called out, coming that is, Gustavtold me what I was toward him, you are sure you are to him, I knew that I could never marry making no mistake? Remember, this Hector. Though, I am very sorry for is bad for Blanche as it is for you. If you, Mr. Hopper, and Uncle Dolphs be- you turn against her she is bound to havior toward you only proves how un- come back to me, and in time shell reasonable he is all round. learn what a little fool she has been; if Never mind me, says Hopper. you harbor her Thats all right. I harbor nobody, Hopper broke in, So Miss Blanche was married the fol- sharply. Ill tell her all youve said lowing week, and the Professor took to mc, and she can do as she pleases. her to a high-priced boarding-place. A Ill tell her all except about that mon- few days later Missus, from whom the ey you say youve left to me; she need- glamour of the wedding at her house had nt know about that, and maybe sacri- not yet faded, went to see the bride, HOPPERS dressed in her black silk and with Mrs. Bazelys stella shawl onMrs. Bazely borrowing Missuss black shawl for fu- nerals, and in turn loaning the stella for occasions of a less subdued nature. ~- Missus came back radiant. Shes too sweet for anything, she reported. And the parlors furnished in red vel- vet, and a black man waits on the door. He asked me for my card. I wished Id got Mrs. Bazelys Tom to print me one on his little printing-press. I never thought. Now Ill take back Mrs. Bazelys shawl; shes just dying to hear all about it. Laws! if I didnt forget to look if Blanche had her hand- kerchief in her hand! Maude Bazely wanted to know, for shes going to her beaus sisters party, and she dont know if its the latest to carry your handker- chief in your hand, or tuck it up under your waist. Put the kettle on, I wont be kng. Hopper knew how long she would be, so he sat and thought over matters be- fore he attended to the kettle. Already he was beginning to feel somewhat like a criminal as day after day went by and he did not go to work. It was wearing on him; often he woke at five in the morning, hurriedly got into his clothes in order that he might read the paper and get at the latest outrages inflicted on the people by congress and councils, that he might reach the shop politically primed by seven o clock as formerly. Sometimes with a boot in his hand he would stop and seem to wake up; then he would go slowly to bed again, being careful not to rouse Missus. But there was to be two years of thistwo years of anxiety and worriment and inability to obtain employment, which inability gradually forced upon him the convic- tion that he had lapsed into being an old-fashioned workman out of touch with the times, and that Dolph had kept him on for the sake of former friend- ship rather than anything else. He wondered if he were indeed a back number, as an apprentice had once called him when Hopper rated the boy for slovenly work? But Missus never threw anything up to him, not even telling him that his long continuance in the shop had made him proud and timid about pressing OLD MAN 249 his claim for a job somewhere else, as he owned to himself with bitterness was the case. No, Missus never said a word, though the romance of Miss Blanches wedding in a very little while ceased to appeal to her, even when Blanche had a little girl baby. But, then, the Professor had a pretty hard time to get along, and six months after the wedding had taken his wife from the boarding-house to less expen- sive lodgings, where they had the priv- ilege of light housek eping, which Blanche, never having attended to de- tails in her uncles sumptuous home, made as heavy housekeeping as Missus had ever seen. Thus Missus came to think that maybe she and Hopper had been rather hasty in helping on that marriage. For, Sam, argued she, if our Maggie had lived, wed wanted her to make a good match. And to think of Blanche living like she does, and not able to afford a doctor for her sick baby! But Hopper never went astray from the stand he had first taken in the mat- ter. Blanche had come to him help- less, and he could not turn her away. He couldnt. And he could get nothing to do. He grew ashamed before bis wife, and took on a habit of walking the streets for hours at a time, leading Missus to sup- pose that he was thus seeking employ- ment, when the truth was he hated to have her see him in the house all day long, idling and incompetent. Missus worked at the overcoats as she had done for years in her thrifty way. Only, now she often stayed up of nights to finish a batch. Hopper took the coats home for her, and would hope to meet an acquaintance who would tell him where he might get something to do. Unsuccessful, he would come back to his wife and hand her the mon- ey she had earned. At last he gave up tobaccohe could not ask Missus for the money to buy it. He hoped she would not notice that he was doing without it, and yet, strangely enough, it pained him that she did not appear to do so. The little sum he had in the savings fund went down and down, until he had not a dollar in the world. 250 HOPPERS OLD MAN Missus knew of it, of course, and was a little harder worked than usual, and once or twice declared that after awhile she should stay up all night to finish her coats. And then the reaction came. One afternoon Missus walks up to him and puts her hand on his shoulder. Sam, she says, why dont you get some tobacco? and holds out a quar- ter of a dollar. Hopper gulped. So did Missus. Then she threw her arms round him and began to cry. Hopper held her close up to him, as he had held her twenty - seven years ago, when little Maggie died and she had cried so hard. Em, he said, maybe I was wrong that time with Dolph ElwelL Never mind, returned Missus, wiping the tears from her eyes with her roughened forefinger; you thought you were right. I did, and I thirde so yet, says Hopper. I cant help it. In a miraculous way it seemed a great cloud had cleared away, and for the first time Hopper told his wife about the forfeited five thousand dol- lars in the old mans will. Natu- rally, she wincedfive thousand dol- lars was such a fortune in her eyes. Im glad I didnt know it at the time, she said ; it might of influ- enced me. But laws! the Professor aint getting along at all. I wonder if he was worth the trouble he give? I met Blanche yesterday; she looked real poor, and they havent wore that kind of sleeve for ages. She told me her Uncle Dolph was sick. Had you heard? Hopper had not heard, and his eyes went up to his wifes. Yes, went on Missus, and poor Blanche was real anxious. She does like him, say what you wilL Shed been to the house, but would you be- lieve Hec Whitcombd let her see her uncle? They say he just rules Dolph ElwelL And Mrs. Bazely says Maudes beau told her his cousins been in the shop only a month, but he cant stand it long. Hec Whitcomb cant get enough out of the men, and Missus was interrupted by a knock on the door. There was a package for Hopper, along with a note. Missus got at the package first. It proved to be an overcoat. Tremblingly, for he recognized the handwriting, Hopper opened the envel- ope. It contained a line from the old man asking him to accept the coat which had been worn but a few times, as he himself might not leave the house the rest of the winter, and he had heard from one of the men that Hopper was doing without an overcoat this season. The insult ! Mrs. Hopper cried, red in the face. Its only done to in- sult you. She bundled up the coat and made toward the range to cram it piecemeal into the fire, when Hopper intercepted her. Stop! he said. Stop! He would not have owned to it, but he did not feel insulted by the present of the coat. Those words in that fa- miliar hand, even the thought of. his comfort implied by themthese were not an insult, though his wife might never feel it as he did, nor understand the close bond that had united him and Dolph. He took the garment from her. Theres the worn place outside the pocket, he smiled. He always car- ries his hands in his overcoat pockets. Do you mean to say, demanded Missus, in a flame, that youll wear that coat? II didnt say Id wear it, said Hopper, uneasily. Ill keep it, though. Putting the note in the fire, to ap- peasesomething, he took the coat up to the garret, threw it hastily in upon the floor, and came downstairs again. But everything was changed, all the pathos had fallen away, and Missus was a bitter woman. For. three whole days this bitterness was kept up. Then she came in after a call at the Bazelys, and told Hopper the old man was dead. She did not give her husband much chance, but went on about hard-hearted, in- sulting men, and other men who ac- cepted insults. Mrs. Hopper was tri- umphant all that day, never heeding her husband. She was triumphant the following day as well, so much so that Hopper, feeling more acutely still the HOPPERS OLD MAN 251 pain that had come to him on hearing of his former employers death, mum- bled something about going up to the garret and seeing how his tools got on. He heard Missus give a scornful sniff as he left the room, and thinking that he must indeed be a mean-spirited in- dividual, he slowly mounted the stairs. The truth was that he meant to get the overcoat and bring it down to his wife and tell her to give it away to some poor manhe could not stand the es- trangement from her while he thought of Dolph dead, and all that must be running in her mind concerning that death, and what fortune might now be hers if her husband had not befriended a foolish girl two years ago. Of course the first thing he saw in the garret was the coat stretched out upon the floor. He shuddered. It was almost like a man lying there the old man. He shook it out, and hung it upon a naiL He looked at it. It appeared, in his eyes, to have retained the form of iDolph, even to the slight bend of the shoulders. Old Dolph! What friends they had been! No, he would wait till after the funeral to give away the coat; he could not do it till then. When he went downstairs he re- marked casually that theirs was a dry garret, for there wasnt a speck of rust on his tools. But Missus answered never a word, only rattling her machine an(1 twitch- ing an overcoat across it. The needle broke. Of course, she said. It had to brcak just as I was finishing and trying to save oil by getting through before dark. And the coffee not made, either. Ill make it, Hopper returned with alacrity. Be careful how much you put in the pot, she cried out. We cant have it as strong as were used to hav- ing it. Missus also had not time to wash the dishes. Hopper had, though, and was very quiet about it, did not knock one plate against another so that Missus might cry out that he must be careful, for the Lord only knew where new dishes were to come from. When the dishes were done Hopper fixed the fire. Then Missus did call out, and begged him for gracious sake to be less wasteful with the coal, and not to be thinking about cast-off cloth- ing of corpses all the time he did it. Hopper went and sat beside the pile of overcoats, and pulled out the hast- ings. He looked rather pitiful his wife thought as she glanced at him now and then. All at once she said she wished she was dead. Then Hopper knew that the strained relations were at an end, especially as Missus informed him she intended to go just for spite to see the old mans funeral. But she com- promised by saying she would not go in her black shawl, the occasion did not warrant so much as that she would borrow Mrs. Bazelys stella. Early next morning she left the house for that purpose. She had no sooner gone than the postman came with a letter. It was for Hopper. It was from the old man dead three days ago. A letter from a man dead three days! Dolph dead! For the first time that fact seemed to impress itself upon Hop- per. The old recollections, the old af- fection arose. No, Hopper cried out in anguish, I couldnt of done any other wayI couldnt go against myself that time Blanche come. I couldntI couldnt! Strange shadows filled the room and gradually assumed familiar forms Dolph, his brother, the lady who had been Blanches mother. Sam! Hopper gazed straight before him. Sam! Was it Dolphs voice upbraiding him for going contrary to the dearest wish of his heart ?was this letter Dolphs last words of reproach for a faithless friend? No, no, I couldnt go against the right, or what I thought was right, Dolph. I couldntupon my soul I couldnt! Sam! It was the voice of Missus after alL Sam! Hopper started up. He pointed to the letter and told her whose writing was On the envelope. Well, why dont you open it? she asked. You dont suppose he wrote 252 HOPPERS OLD MAN it after he was dead, do you? Maybe he felt sorry about giving that overcoat away and wants it back. I shouldnt think a mean man like that should want an overcoat after death. There was such a lurid meaning in this speech that Hopper savagely tore open the envelope. He fell back as he glanced at the letter. Em, he stammered, listen! I place my trust in you above all my other friends, Sam. Thats mehe places his trust in me above all his otherfriends! He calls me Sam. Lis- ten! You did the manly thing when you opposed me and stood up for Blanche. I loved her mother once And whats this? Listen! Hector watches me and keeps me from a re- conciliation with her Listen! Give it to me, commanded Missus. Youre trembling like an aspen. Whats this? as she read the letter I leave instructions that this letter shall be sent to you. I give it to my lawyer who has just had me sign a will in favor of Hector, who proposed it. But in the old will which is in your posses- sion Missus looked at him. Hopper was as white as chalk. in the old will which i~ in your possession, Missus went on rap- idly, you will see that I leave my es- tate to Blanche and Hector, share and share alike, and ten thousand dollars to you He told me only five, cried Hopper, sitting heavily down. five for you, continued lVlis sus, beating the air, and five for your wife, whom Blanches mother always liked. I have had difficulty in getting that will to you again Missus looked at her husband for Hector is as suspicious of my actions as he is bent on being revenged on Blanche. To sum up, this letter is written to say that the old paper in your possession is my true will and testament, and takes precedence over the one I have just signed. And now farewell old friend and companion, whom I have treated badly, but whose integrity I know, and whom I trust above any other man I ever knew He trusted me, Hopper cried out. he always knew my love for him. Do you hear! he trusted me above any other man he ever knew. Me! me! Missus took hold of him. Her eyes were glittering. Where is that will? she demand- ed. But Hopper was crying out: He called me old friend and com- panionhe trusted me above any other man he ever knew. Why, mother, and he had not called her so since little Maggie died why, mother, we worked at the same bench together when we was boys. When Hen mar- ried that lady, Dolph he used to get me to walk with him night after night That will! reiterated his wife, as excited as he, but cold as ice. Blanche must have her rights. Her baby can have a doctor nowher baby thats a girl like our Maggie. That will ! Hopper put his hand to his head. II he began, feebly. Then he said boldly, getting to his feet, The date of that letter? He took it from his wifes hand. It is dated the day that coat came. They reached the garret at the same time. Hopper snatched the overcoat from its nail There was nothing in the pockets. He fell to crushing his hands all over it, wildly, fiercely. All at once he cried out. He wrenched open a part of the lining and brought forth a closely folded paper. It was the wilL It fell from his hands, as his limbs gave way under him. He trusted me to right the wrong,~~ he cried. No thought was in his mind of the money that had been bequeathed to him and his wife. He trusted me above any other man he ever knew. He had got the coat closer and closer up to his heart, not caring if Missus and all the world saw him, burying his face in it, sobbing and sobbing, his tears sinking into the garment that still seemed to hold some semblance to the form of him who had worn itthe friend who had loved and trusted him, his old man. THE POINT OF VIEW THERE is a great deal of advice given by writers and preachers to contem- porary professional and business men which is of the nature of cant; something, that is, which its authors talk from a tradition that it ought to be said, but which Work and Life, they, as well as the advised, show by their disregard of it in actual life that they do not really believe, or think ought to be believed. We are told that we ought not to work so hard; ought not to put such a strain upon ourselves; ought to make our ideals simpler and easier of attainment; ought not to want so much; ought, as Cne British Medz~ai Journal once said, to take a little more care not to kill ourselves for the sake of living. Now a man who took pleasure in paradox might take issue at the start with this last as if there were any object better worth killing ourselves for than that of living (in the highest sense) while we live. But without going as far as that it may be reasonably pointed out that this k;nd of advice, given to us in civil pursuits, is not only quite different from that which it is thought well to give in any other pursuit, but is contrary to the spirit of all we know of the general progress of civilization; Sir Boyle Roche might add that it is also im- possible to follow anyhow, since the individ- ual is too little his own master. We are not accustomed to advise a man going into a battle to be careful of his life and to think earnestly about not getting hurt; nor do our pulpits say to a man whom they suppose struggling towar~l moral excellence, that he ought not to want so much, ought to sim- plify his ideal, and be content with less. There are large classes of men doing the work of the community who would smile, like the by-standers, if they were told to take a little more care not to kill them- selves. There are silly extremes of overwork, and tragic ones, like a mania, which no one would seek to justify. They are generally to be condemned on other grounds than that they risk life. But, as a rule, the multitude of men in professional and business pursuits, whose intensity of work excites these homi- lies, are working, according to their lights, for ends for which the unsparing use of thei~ lives is justifiable and even praiseworthy; or, in the rarer cases in which they are doing it because they cannot help themselves, are aid- ing a civilization which, in spite of our mo- ments of despondency and rebellion, we all know is higher and better with all the ameni- ties and refinements it accumulates. The man who uses up his life in doing the best in him to increase the well-being and the opportunities of his family; or who hav- ing accomplished this to a reasonable ex- tent, keeps on using himself hard in the con- duct of a great business because hundreds of others are dependent on it, or even because he has come to love the machinery to which he has put his hand, fulfils a better ideal than individually wanting less~ or being content. If he has set the pace harder for other men, he has contributed to their strength to bear it. If he has not helped to lessen the com- plex demands of an intricate civilization~ (they are never going to be lessened, by the way, without the civilizations going too) he has contributed something toward meeting them. He has only in this way lessened the strain, but it is a degree better than talking cant about it. He has not simpli- fied, but I like him better than Thoreau. Give him sympathy in the universally strenu- ous conditions of life, if you like; wish him

The Point Of View The Point Of View 253-257

THE POINT OF VIEW THERE is a great deal of advice given by writers and preachers to contem- porary professional and business men which is of the nature of cant; something, that is, which its authors talk from a tradition that it ought to be said, but which Work and Life, they, as well as the advised, show by their disregard of it in actual life that they do not really believe, or think ought to be believed. We are told that we ought not to work so hard; ought not to put such a strain upon ourselves; ought to make our ideals simpler and easier of attainment; ought not to want so much; ought, as Cne British Medz~ai Journal once said, to take a little more care not to kill ourselves for the sake of living. Now a man who took pleasure in paradox might take issue at the start with this last as if there were any object better worth killing ourselves for than that of living (in the highest sense) while we live. But without going as far as that it may be reasonably pointed out that this k;nd of advice, given to us in civil pursuits, is not only quite different from that which it is thought well to give in any other pursuit, but is contrary to the spirit of all we know of the general progress of civilization; Sir Boyle Roche might add that it is also im- possible to follow anyhow, since the individ- ual is too little his own master. We are not accustomed to advise a man going into a battle to be careful of his life and to think earnestly about not getting hurt; nor do our pulpits say to a man whom they suppose struggling towar~l moral excellence, that he ought not to want so much, ought to sim- plify his ideal, and be content with less. There are large classes of men doing the work of the community who would smile, like the by-standers, if they were told to take a little more care not to kill them- selves. There are silly extremes of overwork, and tragic ones, like a mania, which no one would seek to justify. They are generally to be condemned on other grounds than that they risk life. But, as a rule, the multitude of men in professional and business pursuits, whose intensity of work excites these homi- lies, are working, according to their lights, for ends for which the unsparing use of thei~ lives is justifiable and even praiseworthy; or, in the rarer cases in which they are doing it because they cannot help themselves, are aid- ing a civilization which, in spite of our mo- ments of despondency and rebellion, we all know is higher and better with all the ameni- ties and refinements it accumulates. The man who uses up his life in doing the best in him to increase the well-being and the opportunities of his family; or who hav- ing accomplished this to a reasonable ex- tent, keeps on using himself hard in the con- duct of a great business because hundreds of others are dependent on it, or even because he has come to love the machinery to which he has put his hand, fulfils a better ideal than individually wanting less~ or being content. If he has set the pace harder for other men, he has contributed to their strength to bear it. If he has not helped to lessen the com- plex demands of an intricate civilization~ (they are never going to be lessened, by the way, without the civilizations going too) he has contributed something toward meeting them. He has only in this way lessened the strain, but it is a degree better than talking cant about it. He has not simpli- fied, but I like him better than Thoreau. Give him sympathy in the universally strenu- ous conditions of life, if you like; wish him 254 THE POINT OP VIEW all the aids of temperament and philosophy; but do not hold him up as a fool with wrong conceptions of the ends of living, until you can be sure that the taking care of himself to which you council him is better than his own way. Steads not to work on the keen jump Nor wine nor brains perpetual pump, is an attractive plea, and the wine and other artificial stimulation may be granted to the pleader. But if the best work is not done on the keen jump, it at least is not done by men who are always measuring the leap; and brains may be at worse business than pump- ing. MO ST of us in this generation who read newspapers and books, and are fairly conversant with the events and the gossip of our own day, have known George Augus- enough about the late George Au- tus Sala. gustus Sala to have read with inter- est and sympathy of his misfort- unes, and to have taken notice finally of his recent death. Some of us have read his live- ly and remarkable reminiscences, and al- most all of us read some of the obituary notices of him that appeared in the news- papers. We know that much unhappiness came to him in his later days; that his health finally broke down altogether; that the weekly newspaper on which he staked his savings failed, and that when, after forty years of prodigious industry, he lost the power to work, he found himself as broken in purse as he was in spirit. To be sure, an ample pension was promptly granted him by the newspaper which he had served in his prime, but there was so much of wreck and disaster about his taking~off that the observer was apt to forget what a voyage the veteran had sailed, and what an extraordinary log he had managed to keep of it. We all know the people of whom it is usual to say that they are in the world but not of it. Mr. Sala was not at all of that sort. In the world he certainly was, up to his ears and sometimes over them, but he was intensely of it too, of just as much of it as his astonishing energy enabled him to reach. If he had been responsible for its daily conduct and revolutions he could hardly have shown a livelier interest in its doings and shows and concerns than he did. For years he per- sonally kept as much of its daily record as any one man could. From time to time he sallied out and inspected it, choosing always to be present where there was the most go- ing on, and sending back prompt word of all he saw for the information of his faithful con- stituents in London. It is the mission of a modern daily newspaper to know all that is worth knowing about current events, and to tell as much of it as is worth telling. Mr. Sala seems to have been the incarnation 6f that mission. He loved to see; to know; to tell. From before he was thirty years old un- til some years after he was sixty he was on the staff of the London Daily Telegra~5h. He liked the paper, and the paper and its readers liked him. It was a liberal master. He once said that it gave him the pay of an ambassa- dor and the treatment of a gentleman. He was its willing slave, enthusiastic, versatile, and indefatigably diligent. He wrote leaders and special articles by the thousand for it. He stayed at home and wrote for it; he went away and wrote letters to it. He was its war - correspondent whenever there was a war anywhere; he was its representative whenever there was a great show to be seen. He came to know most of the peo- ple who were best worth knowing in Europe and America. He went to hangings and coronations and worlds fairs and battles and dinners and balls. He was thought to be the best story-teller in Europe; he knew a vast deal, particularly about people, and his so- ciety was prixed. For thirty years or so, while his vigor re- mained unimpaired, life must have been as full of interest and satisfaction to him as it was of labor. To be sure, he writ his name in water. Some of his stories are good, but they are not great. His newspaper articles served their purpose well, but those that did not make books are buried in the files of the Dai~y Telegra~k. More that did make over into books made books of interest, but not classics. The man himself was even more interesting than what he saw, and he will live for some time to come in his reminis- cences. But the man who Tnakes shoes does not repine because the shoes wear out, and the maker of newspaper literature need not worry because his product does not keep. Work honestly done and paid for ought to be and to bring its own sufficient reward. Mr. THE POINT OF VIEW 255 Sala must have got a great deal out of life that was very much to his taste, and that was worth getting. That he made the best of himself and his chances is unlikely. He had too little patience, too little thrift, and too im- petuous a hunger for sights and gossip for that. He should have husbanded his strength and his money and his liver a little better. He should have foregone immediate returns sometimes and preferred remoter harvests. But we who would rather sit by the fire and read about events than go out to see them, may thank our lazy stars that all men are not as we are, and that heaven has endowed vigorous beings with energy enough to see everything and diligence enough to write about it, so that we who read what they write and digest what they seize may become perhaps wiser than they at much less pains. HE history of the modern world, T according to the summing up of a L recent writer, we have observed to be simply the history of the process of development, that, having undermined the position of the power - holding Aristocracies classes, emancipated the individual and Sport. and enfranchised the people, is now tending to bring, for the first time in the his- tory of the race, all the members of the com- munity into the rivalry of life on a footing of equality of opportunity. One by one the rightsthe exemptionsthe privileges of the few have dropped or been lopped away. At almost regular intervals some fastness of the power-holders has fallen, and the multitude has passed on to the conquest of the nezt. Sometimes it has been a great thing, but very often it has seemed a very little thing that brought the silent revolution; and often what has happened has not been noticed until it was long over. One of the most important privileges, and one of the most harmful in its loss to the power-holding classes, was the privilege of war. The knight-errant encased in armor had it all his own way, disdaining to fight any except his equals; and the mass of the foot-soldiers hardly had the rank of pawns in the game. Then somebody invented a ma- chine and the end of the paladin was near. He struggled bravely and cumbrously for a long time, but it was no use; his day had passed. The equality of opportunity had come in war, and feudalism was at an end. After supremacy in war went supremacy in politics, and the popular leader is champion of to-day. Few important privileges have lingered into our time; but there is one that, although discernible enough, has hardly been duly reckoned with. Singularly enough, it was one of the very first and earliest to be as- sociated with exclusiveness. It was the joy of the first aristocracies that the world knew, and has continued to be one of the most pro- nounced characteristics of all aristocracies ever since. It has been one of their chief in- terests and occupations; and the excluded have regularly been kept from all particil)a- tion in it. The privilege of sport has been guard- ed more rigorously and defended more ear- nestly than many another more important right. It has been protected by the severest laws, and any infringement punished with the utmost severity. Whether it was a New Forest that was to be kept sacred, or the smallest preserve to be defended from poachers, it has always been the same. And as it has been with the chase, so, in great meas- ure, has it been with all out-of-door amuse- ments. There has always been an aristoc- racy of sport, and it has existed until very recently. It has been so necessarily, for the successful prosecution of sport has required the possession of time and means, and these in the past have only been within the reach of a very few. A class whose only real busi- ness was war, has needed in its idle moments suitable occupation, and has found it in this substituted warfare. In this pursuit the noble company of sports- men have been assisted more than in any other way by the horse. That animal should really be called noble, for it has been the main- stay of all nobilities. All aristocracies have always ridden, and whether for profit or pleas- ure the aristocrat has always been found on horseback. The horse is the real aristo- cratic symbol, and the Arab way of distin- guishing dignityby horse-tailswould not be at all unreasonable in our present society. There has been but little change. Men amuse themselves now in very much the same fashion that they always did, and the difference in the occupations of a sporting Assyrian or Libyan monarch and a modern sporting millionaire, are, only differences in externals and not essentials. To both the 256 THE POINT OF VIEW horse has been necessary; and it is one of the best proofs of the growth of a particular class in America, that the horse has within the last few years assumed a new importance and taken the place here that it occupies in older and more formed communities. For some time we too have had an aristocracy of horse, quite as distinctly marked as in any land of more elaborate traditions. A ND now, as has happened over and IA over again, somebody has invented Lka Machine, and the result has been revolutionary. The Bicycle has come, and although the predominance of the horse in sport is not destroyed, it is no The Wheel and 1 its Revolution. onger undisputed. Not like that other, that with such sulphurous manifestations tumbled the knight from his steed, this modern machine, in quiet and orderly manner as becomes the present, is tumbling his modern counterpart from hunter and from hack. Gradually it has been growing in favor, and now it is bearing all before it. There is no dignity too great to be borne by the nimble wheel, and coquetry has been sacrificed for its sake. Everyone rides; and it is singular that the most big- oted horseman often falls the most abject victim and is found practising upon the smoothly running innovationsometimes, it is true, on the sly. It is as the writer before quoted says in speaking of the retreat of the power-holding classes: The effect~ pro- duced on certain individuals is such that, in- stead of siding with the class to which by tradition and individual interest they un- doubtedly belong, they take their place in the ranks of the opponents. All machinery is democratic, and the bicycle is the most demo- cratic of machines. It shows that the world has taken one more step in the direction from which it has not once turned back. In the most marked eccentricities of so- cietyand hitherto it has been pretty safe to consider society the same as the power- holding classesit has generally been possi- ble to find a sane and substantial reason, if one only sought long enough. As a general thing, in the past, the aristocrat has been the best fighting animal, and in a time of con- stant contest this has been of the utmost im- portance. In all the occupations involved in sport each member of the aristocratic order prepared himself for the part he was to play, and the hunting-field has always been a preparation for the battle-field. The cause of democracy has always been fought hither- to by pale faces, and it has been superabund- ance of spirit in frail bodies that hitherto has won its victories. But the training-school in which the ruling class has always educated its adherents is at last almost free to all, and the contest hereafter is bound to be different. It will not, of course, be fought out in the field with the crudeness of a military age, but with equal physical ability the effect will be as apparent as if it were. And what is more, in the social equality that is the next step, such a change will create a feeling of respect that will do much to insure its perma- nence. Of course this change has not been wrought, and will not be wrought, by the spinning spider-web wheels alone and the ma- chine is only a peg on which to hang up a discourse, or the text for a lay sermon. The change is to be brought about by a newer athletic life in general, an athletic life that is manifesting itself in many ways, and of the corfsing of which the bicycle is only one of the most pronounced indications. But it is certainly the best illustrated and perhaps the first instance to be found of democracy in sport; it is equality of opportunity in a new field. THE FIELD OF ART JEAN CARRiES ABOUT MUSEUMS DECORATiVE PAINTING IN AMERICA A PICTURE BY TURNER. appearance of Mr. Alexan- dres beautiful book * devoted to Jean Carri~s with its nu- merous photographic pictures of his work in decorative cera- mic, reminds one of the dis- play of his strange and charming pottery, at the exhibition of 1892, in the Champ de Mars. Carries had become known among those in France who cared for forcible and original art, as the sculptor of portrait busts and medallions of wonderful vigor, and of ideal heads, statuettes, decorative bronzes, and grotesque compositions of many kinds, all inspired by a curious semi-oriental spirit which certainly never came from direct intercourse with the Orient. He was born in 1855, of a family so poor that he was left, after the early death of his parents, to the care of a noble- hearted woman, a Sister of Charity, whose name and whose praises appear again and again in this attractive book. He had made his own way, as an artist of ability can make his way in France, by working for the manu- facturers of decorative objects, but he was not the man to grow rich or to acquire news- paper fame or the popularity of the exhibitor. He gave his time willingly to experiment and to the study of processes and methods. Wax was one of his favorite materials, and he had a way of completing in wax a figure of clay or of plaster casting in bronze a cire perdue, that is to say, from the wax-fin- ished model, which is destroyed at the time, a * Ars~ne Alexandre: Jean Carri~s, Imagier et Potier. Etude dune cEuvre et dune Vie. Paris, Ancienne Maison Quanmin, 1895. VOL. XJX.30 process which allows of but one cast from the mould. The patina of his bronzes was of great interest to him, and the color of some of them was surprising to the students of such things; but we have Mr. Alexandres word for it that there was no scientific secret in all this; he had merely put his own hand to the work, following the well-known pro- cesses but modifying them as his own skill suggested. Terra- cotta was also one of his mate- rials; it was to him merely the fixing by heat of the clay forms which he was producing day by day. And when, in i888, his attention was called to certain beds of clay which were ex- cellent for pottery, he saw at once the chance of carrying farther this fav- orite form of his art. The charming origin- ality of form and colored glaze seen in some Japanese cups and bowls and jars had ap- pealed strongly to him. Even the enthu- siastic and devoted sculptor in him made room, a moment, for the decorative potter, and when the existence was made clear to him of beds of clay which he could control, he was eager to put his hand to this work too. So he modelled vases and bottles like these. Some of them are remarkable for their colored glazes, and nothing delighted Carri~s more than the surprises which the oven prepared for him, turning out his pots in tints which he had never foreseen. The FieZd of Art illustrations are from ~Aoto- graphs of pottery by Jean Carri~s.

The Field Of Art The Field Of Art 257-261

THE FIELD OF ART JEAN CARRiES ABOUT MUSEUMS DECORATiVE PAINTING IN AMERICA A PICTURE BY TURNER. appearance of Mr. Alexan- dres beautiful book * devoted to Jean Carri~s with its nu- merous photographic pictures of his work in decorative cera- mic, reminds one of the dis- play of his strange and charming pottery, at the exhibition of 1892, in the Champ de Mars. Carries had become known among those in France who cared for forcible and original art, as the sculptor of portrait busts and medallions of wonderful vigor, and of ideal heads, statuettes, decorative bronzes, and grotesque compositions of many kinds, all inspired by a curious semi-oriental spirit which certainly never came from direct intercourse with the Orient. He was born in 1855, of a family so poor that he was left, after the early death of his parents, to the care of a noble- hearted woman, a Sister of Charity, whose name and whose praises appear again and again in this attractive book. He had made his own way, as an artist of ability can make his way in France, by working for the manu- facturers of decorative objects, but he was not the man to grow rich or to acquire news- paper fame or the popularity of the exhibitor. He gave his time willingly to experiment and to the study of processes and methods. Wax was one of his favorite materials, and he had a way of completing in wax a figure of clay or of plaster casting in bronze a cire perdue, that is to say, from the wax-fin- ished model, which is destroyed at the time, a * Ars~ne Alexandre: Jean Carri~s, Imagier et Potier. Etude dune cEuvre et dune Vie. Paris, Ancienne Maison Quanmin, 1895. VOL. XJX.30 process which allows of but one cast from the mould. The patina of his bronzes was of great interest to him, and the color of some of them was surprising to the students of such things; but we have Mr. Alexandres word for it that there was no scientific secret in all this; he had merely put his own hand to the work, following the well-known pro- cesses but modifying them as his own skill suggested. Terra- cotta was also one of his mate- rials; it was to him merely the fixing by heat of the clay forms which he was producing day by day. And when, in i888, his attention was called to certain beds of clay which were ex- cellent for pottery, he saw at once the chance of carrying farther this fav- orite form of his art. The charming origin- ality of form and colored glaze seen in some Japanese cups and bowls and jars had ap- pealed strongly to him. Even the enthu- siastic and devoted sculptor in him made room, a moment, for the decorative potter, and when the existence was made clear to him of beds of clay which he could control, he was eager to put his hand to this work too. So he modelled vases and bottles like these. Some of them are remarkable for their colored glazes, and nothing delighted Carri~s more than the surprises which the oven prepared for him, turning out his pots in tints which he had never foreseen. The FieZd of Art illustrations are from ~Aoto- graphs of pottery by Jean Carri~s. 258 THE FIELD OF ART But form, and especially expressive, and even over-expressive form; shapes that pass from orderly symmetry into violencethe mood of the moment caught in the plastic material and then fixed by heatthis is what Carrids enjoyed the most, and this is what we may the most enjoy in his pots and vases and gourd- shaped bottles. The slen- der vase with the masque, as of a bearded man, laid at its footthis seems the typical one. This is not, in any sense, an .oriental idea. A sculptor of Europe, and none other, has composed this piece. The too vio- lent, the comic, the ultra- grotesque is kept out of it, and human expression, as Rembrandt understood it, is combined with abstract form to produce one deco- rative piece. AIT R, LA FARGE, in IVI his recently pub- & VA. lished lectures on painting, devotes time well spent to telling his art stu- dents the advantages of study in a museum. It was not his purpose to point out the advantages of a museum to the student of history, and yet it could be wished that he had dwelt upon that feature. For the idea seems to obtain with us that a museum is a place where only the good things are to be admitted, and that it is merely an en- largement of the private col- lectiona place for art lov- ers to congregate and enjoy themselves. That is certainly not the pri- mary idea of a museum. It is above all else a place to preserve monuments and per- petuate history. The Cypriote collections in the Metropolitan Museum are hardly good things~ in an ~sthetic sense; but they are perhaps the most valuable collections we possess, because they link Greek art with the East. A museum should be first preserva- tive and formative. It should be a practical demonstration of the growth of thought, a sequential illustration of history. Certainly most of the great art mu- seums of the world have been founded with that ob- ject in view, and the best one of them all, the Berlin Museum, is best because it teaches art - history the most thoroughly and con- secutively. It may be noted, too, that each country as it establishes its national store - house bends energy toward hiving its own art. It preserves its own be- cause it cannot expect other nations to preserve for it, and because it has some pride in its own. In Ger- man galleries we find Ger- man art, in Italian galleries Italian art, in French galler- ies French art. It might be thought that in American galleries one would find American art, but such is not the case. Boston alone can boast a museum that has any claim to represent American art-history, and even that representation is feeble and inadequate. Why is it that we can fur- nish heat, light, and lodging for Bouguereau and Vibert, while no one cares to take Gilbert Stuart and his con- temporaries in from the door - step? What matter that West and Copley were immature painters! So were Cimabue a n d Ho- garth and Ren6 of Anjou. Someone had to make a beginning, and West and Copley were be- ginners of whom we have no reason to be ashamed. At any rate they were our own, and if our improvement in art has been rapid since their time, all the more reason why we should preserve the record of the growth. Fortunately for us the recently founded Carnegie museum at Pittsburgh has for its THE FIELD OF ART 259 chief aim the accumulation of American art. Its directors think to make an art record from year to year of what has been done in these United States. It is to be hoped that they will also go back into our past and gather the works of the more promi- nent artists so that the record may be unbroken from the beginning. But the proper acquisition of either past or present art is no slight undertaking. Every artist is not an epoch - making man, nor every marble or canvas a contribution to history. The majority of works add nothing to the book of our art, and it is desira- ble that only the record- making works by the rep- resentative men be pre- served. Such an art should speak our changes of view, our advances in taste, in short our national culture-history. A clever piece of painting after the latest Parisian formula may be very good in it- self, agreeable to look at, and possibly serviceable to the young art student; but how does it represent us in any way? And we will not be allowed to hide under the robe of cosmopolitanism and say that this new land with its great democracy has no distinct point of view, no voice of its own, no new word to utter in art. What are we here for unless it is to express ourselves? Our climate and soil, our political, commercial, and social institu- tions breed thoughts and views different from those common to European nations, and only when those thoughts and views are fully expressed will the Whitman ques- tion be answered and a distinctively Ameri- can art established. The question has al- ready been answered in part. We have, and have had, distinctively American artists, but our museums furnish little or no information about them. Something less of political pride and something more of artistic pride would not hurt us. AFTER all, nature I-A is one thing and k art is another, isnt it? said young Mil- lais, long ago to W. Bell Scott, in the early days of that pre-Raphaelite move- ment which inculcated the absolute acceptance of natural fact as the highest duty of the artist. The nineteenth century has been slow in learning this lesson. We have done everything scientificallyas befitted a scientific age; under the guidance of the photograph we have ar- rived at a marvellous real- ization of natural appear- ances such as the world had never seen, and since we grew tired of photog- raphy we have taken to analyzing light and re- composing the colors of the rainbow till our eyes are dazzled with the sun. Still, nature is one thing and art is another, and there are signs abroad that at last we are begin- ning to realize that fact. The poster fad is one of these. The modern poster, with its frequent vulgarity and its abound- ing crudities, is yet noth- ing if not decorative; it is a recognition of the truth that the end of art is, first of all, to beautify something, and only secondarily to represent some- thing. To ornament an object or to fill a space with beautiful lines and masses and colors that has been the aim of art from the beginning, and to use for that end only so much of natural fact as suited the purpose. But 260 THE FIELD OF ART many more who in nobler and more permanent forms than the frivolous poster, are we showing our re- vived sense of the true aim of art. Mr. John La Farge long stood, almost alone among us, an artist who was primarily and always a decorator, but that we had only waited the chance to join him, recent events have proved. The Chi- cago Fair gave an impetus in the right direction, and showed that we had dec- orative talent in abun- dance. N o w architects and painters are working together in the good old way, and Abbey and Sar- gent and Whistler are painting the walls of thc Boston Public Library; Simmons has decorated the court of Oyer and Ter- miner in New York, and a dozen of our best men are working for the new Li- brary of Congress, while as many more are engaged on work for churches or hotels or private houses. Mistakes have been made and will be made. Commissions have been given to the wrong men, or the right men have not yet found their way and have not yet learned to discriminate sufficiently between decorating a wall and merely putting a picture on it. Nevertheless, we are moving in the right direction, and if the movement continues, as I believe it will, the day is not far distant when our art shall worthily stand beside that of any other country. Encourage our artists in some- thing else besides the painting of little pict- ures for the market give them something to do; some special space to decorate, some specific task of beautification to perform and they will show that they know how to do it. THE exhibition in New York of a charac- teristic picture by J. M. W. Turner gives an occasion to consider the real worth of an artist about whom perhaps more nonsense has been written than about any other that ever lived. St. Marks Place is a much saner picture than, for instance, The Slave Ship, but still the first feeling of any visitor is apt to be one of perplexity. What does it rep- resent, and what is the time of day or night? That the drawing of the architecture is sys- tematically falsified so that, at a rough guess, the heights are twice too great for the widths that rich-hued St. Marks is represented as a snow - white building; these are but a small part of the puzzle. Not only local facts, but the facts of nature, are cavalierly disregarded. The picture is paler than most repre- sentations of sunlight, yet the stars and the artificial lights show that it is night. We are told that it rep- resents twilight, but the church shows strong cast shadows under the arches, and there are other indi- cations that the source of light is near 450 from the horizon. Probably we may assume that it is meant for moonlight, but it is suchmoonlight as never was on sea or land. It is not as fantastic in its lighting as is The Old Tdmt~raire, or in its construction as is the Mercury and Ar- gus, but it is fantastic enough to enter into the category of Turnerian dreams. It is purely as a work of the imagination that one has to consider it. Considered so, is it fine? Has it the unity and breadth and largeness of impression that belong to great painting? Hardly. It is restless, unquiet, filled with litter and glitter. To use a technical phrase, it does not hang together. The effort for light has pushed it into chalkiness, so that the stars and the rocket are sheer white paint without luminosity, while the foreground fig- ures are in forced and vulgar contrast with the rest. Even the blue sky is hard in qual- ity, and the inky water on the right swears with every other note in the picture. To the present writer it seems that the epithet most descriptive of Turners genius, here as else- where, is theatrical, or better, operatic. He should have painted drop-curtains and would have done so magnificently, but his pictures are true neither to nature nor to the highest canons of art. ABOUT THE WORLD HE Baroness von Suttner and her disciples in the cause of Universal Peace have often been answered by the profession of arms with the plea that large standing armaments are so many peace - makers. Small boys, practically in- nocuous as to their. fists, will incontinently splutter out into bitter rows on the least occasion; but the cocks of the sdhool are so thoroughly alive to the damage which would re- sult from combats be- tween creatures of their terrible offensive powers, that mills of the first or- der are rare enough to be landmarks in acad- emic history. This excuse for the maintenance of mighty armaments has dignity enough for so fine a writer and warrior as Captain Ma- Diplomacy and han; and indeed, the state of dip- Peace. lomatic affairs throughout the world to-day lends some color to the rather para- doxical theory. The~ Eastern Question has kept the world trembling on the verge of a bloody cataclysm at least a decade; and it is possible we may tremble comfortably for a generation or so to come, with enough of the cataclysm always in sight to furnish peri- odical alarms and gloomy diplomatic secrets for the sustenance of journalists. The dogs of war have not been unleashed because on the whole there was more to lose than to gain from their ravages; and the point of the ar- mament theory is that with every advance in the science of killing they will do more harm and will be chained all the closer. If a peaceful disposition be made of the most uncomfortable Turk by the Six Powers that have been anchored before the Sublime Porte these many weeks, it will no doubt be due to just this principle of mutual and recip- rocal fear, heightened by the tremendous fe- rocity of Russias and Englands fighting machines. It would be difficult to imagine how any other consideration than this saving quality of discretion could induce Lord Salis- bury to see, without a struggle, the Muscovite Empire grasp its prize of Constantinoplea prize coveted by four centuries of Czars even though Englands road to the East is already fissured through the Mediterranean and. the Suez Canal. Probably the harried Armenians do not appreciate the beauties of this even balance of power, which maintains peace in Europe and leaves them beneath the sword of the Kurd until such time as the slow majesty of the Great Powers may be brought to move without the danger of political colli- sions. The art of saying that which is not so has surely never before reached so luxuriant a perfection as in the reign of Abdul Hamid, and the statistics ~Thich come to us of butch- ered Armenians are probably not free from the contagion of Ot- toman mendacity. But it would re- quire rarely nice distinctions to ex- plain in just what degree more dis- graceful it is to mur- der o n e hundred thousand h u m a n beings because they are Christians and money-lenders than to add only ten thousand to the army of martyrs. Apart from the The A bout the World illustrations are fr#m jhoto- graphs of scenes in and about Santiago de Cuba.

About The World About The World 261-266

ABOUT THE WORLD HE Baroness von Suttner and her disciples in the cause of Universal Peace have often been answered by the profession of arms with the plea that large standing armaments are so many peace - makers. Small boys, practically in- nocuous as to their. fists, will incontinently splutter out into bitter rows on the least occasion; but the cocks of the sdhool are so thoroughly alive to the damage which would re- sult from combats be- tween creatures of their terrible offensive powers, that mills of the first or- der are rare enough to be landmarks in acad- emic history. This excuse for the maintenance of mighty armaments has dignity enough for so fine a writer and warrior as Captain Ma- Diplomacy and han; and indeed, the state of dip- Peace. lomatic affairs throughout the world to-day lends some color to the rather para- doxical theory. The~ Eastern Question has kept the world trembling on the verge of a bloody cataclysm at least a decade; and it is possible we may tremble comfortably for a generation or so to come, with enough of the cataclysm always in sight to furnish peri- odical alarms and gloomy diplomatic secrets for the sustenance of journalists. The dogs of war have not been unleashed because on the whole there was more to lose than to gain from their ravages; and the point of the ar- mament theory is that with every advance in the science of killing they will do more harm and will be chained all the closer. If a peaceful disposition be made of the most uncomfortable Turk by the Six Powers that have been anchored before the Sublime Porte these many weeks, it will no doubt be due to just this principle of mutual and recip- rocal fear, heightened by the tremendous fe- rocity of Russias and Englands fighting machines. It would be difficult to imagine how any other consideration than this saving quality of discretion could induce Lord Salis- bury to see, without a struggle, the Muscovite Empire grasp its prize of Constantinoplea prize coveted by four centuries of Czars even though Englands road to the East is already fissured through the Mediterranean and. the Suez Canal. Probably the harried Armenians do not appreciate the beauties of this even balance of power, which maintains peace in Europe and leaves them beneath the sword of the Kurd until such time as the slow majesty of the Great Powers may be brought to move without the danger of political colli- sions. The art of saying that which is not so has surely never before reached so luxuriant a perfection as in the reign of Abdul Hamid, and the statistics ~Thich come to us of butch- ered Armenians are probably not free from the contagion of Ot- toman mendacity. But it would re- quire rarely nice distinctions to ex- plain in just what degree more dis- graceful it is to mur- der o n e hundred thousand h u m a n beings because they are Christians and money-lenders than to add only ten thousand to the army of martyrs. Apart from the The A bout the World illustrations are fr#m jhoto- graphs of scenes in and about Santiago de Cuba. 262 blood which has been spilled, it seems rea- sonably certain that nearly a quarter of a million people of the Armenian race have been left by the robber Kurds without ade- quate food, clothing, or shelter for the winter. We have our own problem on hand in the claim of the Cuban revolutionists that their belligerency be recognized, a matter which is being mooted so widely with the growth of pro-revolutionist sentiment in the United States. The proverb that nothing succeeds like success loses some of its triteness when applied to revolutions. Americans are gen- erally of the mind that Cuba ought to be a free state, and that Spain is act- ing the part of a proud bully who will push the thorn of war far- ther into his side rather than give way in the strug- gle. But the de- crees of interna- tional law make the official recog- nition of the righteousness of - ~-~ the insurgents cause depend ~ Santiago de cuba. practically on the number of Span- ish troops they and the fever can kill, and the quantity of fighting utensils that can be fili- bustered into the interior of the island; though the outward and visible sign of those achieve- ments is to be the forming of a provisional gov- ernment, etc. In the meantime, though the cli- mate and the guerillas have brought about the very creditable mortality of fifteen thousand out of seventy-five thousand Spanish troops, the more authentic reports that come to us do not testify to the presence of order and disci- pline among the patriots. They fight with fowling-pieces and machetes, according to the good old customs of West Indian revolutions, with now and then the pleasing innovation of dynamite; and few of their warriors luxuri- ate in any addition to the established uniform a pair of trousers. So far, however, from this lean state of affairs leading to an abate- ment in their enthusiasm, we are regaled with picturesque stories of wives, sisters, and sweet- hearts who are marching to the front, armed and intent on dealing havoc among the myr- midons of Spain. HE Fat Knight and his coney-catching I~retinue are not alone among British subjects in the possession of imagina- tions that take fire at fabulous regions of Guiana, all gold and bounty. In fact, the nation of shop-keepers, to whom Sir John was in other traits a picturesque exception, have never been able to keep their heads New South Sea when gold or rumors of gold were Bubbles. abroad. After certain years of no greater fillip to safe investment than such minute income as may be expected from the Three Per Cents, they are ever in good fettle for a riotous indulgence in dia- mond mines and gold fields. This weak- ness is excellent stock-in-trade for the sol- dier of fortune from Africa, India, Austra- lia, and Americatoo often, indeed, his only stock-in-trade; but never before have the needy and adventurous thriven so gloriously as in the recent boom of African and Austra- lian gold mines, which reached its most dizzy height in October. Beside the rapidity of inflation and the huge transactions in Kaf- firs, the historic South Sea Bubble was a mere flurry. Cockney underclerks and humble slaveys of a few months ago have emerged from the flood of speculation made men and notable citizens, with incredible stores of gold, found, not in South Africa, but in London bucket - shops. Kaffirs have been the talk of England at the break- fast-table, over teacups, in boudoirs, draw- ing-rooms and butlers pantries, as well as in Throgmorton Street. Just when the tide of demand for Witwatersrand shares showed signs of ebbing, there came a rush of buying orders from the Bourses of Paris and Berlin, and the savings of an enormous number of European peasants were recklessly thrown into the stream. The various development and mining companies of the Transvaal region, known as the Rand, alone issued stock to the par value of $i 50,000,000, and so eagerly did stockings disgorge their shillings, francs, and marks that these shares were soon quoted at an aggregate price of $750,000,000! The stock of mushroom companies often rose to several hundred per cent. premium actu- ally before they were issued, and in one case attained quickly a selling value of three thou- sand per cent. ABOUT THE WORLD ABOUT THE WORLD 263 It is one of the curious phases of this feverish infla- tion that in a respectable pro- portion of instances a really solid foundation exists for investment. The Witwater- srand gold fields are in Dutch South Africa, in the midst of a sterile region which, outside of its mineral wealth, is only fit for Kaffirmen and ostrich- es. A strip of this uninviting country, fifty miles long and a fexv hundred feet wide, con- tains the gold-hearing reefs in ~ which Eu rope has placed her ~ faith to the tune of nearly a billion of dollars. The ore is not even rich; but with the improved processes which rescue about eighty - five per cent. of the gold from its quartz prison, a net profit of about thirty per cent. on the actual cost of mining is available for dividends. The most reassuring charac- teristic of the reefs is their unusual homoge- neity; so constant is the proportion of gold that experts find it easy to determine the prospective output for years to come. The profits of a half-century to come have been discounted. In fact, allowing for a very large increase of production next year, the average rate of dividends on the October valuations would be about one and one-half per cent. The English custom of issuing mining shares at a par value of L each ,brings a try at the wheel of fortune within the reach of every servant-girl and newsboy. It is neither more nor less than a high old national gambling orgy, in which, as in every decent game of chance, some of the hands are sure to win. That the first reaction did not produce a horrible panic is due to the saving method of speculation; that is, the shares are bought outright, not on mar- gins. The student of psychological epi- demics takes note that the individual mines and development properties are valued by frenzied buyers in proportion to the uncer- tainty of the yield, the market almost in- variably preferring a problematic vein under two thou- sand feet of earth to a certain one in sight. T is a far cry from Throgmorton Street to I the confines of Denver, Col., where a Ger- man shoemaker, possessed with the fixed idea that he is divinely appointed to heal, has been sought daily by thousands and thousands of the lame, halt, and blind. Yet the ministry of the Denver Messiah is no small evidence of the depth, extent, and contagiousness of human credulity which is playing A Western such a striking rOle in the more Messiah. tragical farce of Kaffir speculation. Beyond the data he may furnish for students of mental pathology, there is nothing new or significant in the delusion of the poor tramp himself, unless it be his quiet sincerity and steadfast refusal to accept material rewards~ But there is an interest to others than psy- chological specialists in the spectacle of the crowds who have travelled from almost every quarter of the United States to avail themselves of Schlatters supposed powers, and to become firm be- lievers in their efficacy. This extraordinary phe- nomenon began months ago, when the German came to Denver, after fast- ing in the Southwestern deserts for a periodif he is to be trustedof forty days. He became imbued with the idea that this self- denial had won him the power to cure the afflicted, and his repertoire had the infinite variety of a patent-medicine advertisement. An ex-alder- man of Denver, otherwise scarcely promising, one would think, as a neophyte in mysticism, was cured, to his own satisfaction, of an un- deniable deafness, and so grateful was he that his house and all that was his were put at the service of Schlatter for an indefinite period. In an incredibly short time the fame of this and of other cures were spread abroad. Schlatter had office hours, from nine to four, for treating people, the process being simply a clasp of the hand and a murmured supplica- tion. To obtain this coveted benefit, thou- sands of people stood in line; crowds began to arrive at two oclock in the morning; with Western enterprise certain robust individu- als secured places in the line and sold out to the infirm who had not been so lucky, until the practice was stopped by Schlatter. Men, women, and children journeyed, in some in- A Hut of cocoanut Thatch. 264 ABOUT THE WORLD stances fifteen hundred miles, to be cured. made by the The physicians of Denver had their time on c a m p a i g n their hands, and were voted, as with one voice, against t h e superfluous; so many parents wished to with- Pole through draw their children from State institutions for Franz Joseph the blind and deaf, to be treated by Schlatter, L a n d, 1 e d that the authorities asked himin vainto by Jackson, visit these asylums. The post-office officials were obliged to deliver the healers mail in bundles; after writing industriously for six hours each night to the epistolary appli- cants for relief, there were always thousands of letters yet unanswered. When it was im- possible for the sick to come in person or to await their turn for treatment, they procured handkerchiefs which the healer had blessed, and which were reputed to have the requisite virtue. A small merchant of opportunist tem- perament took advantage of this to establish a handkerchief shop on the spot, from which those individuals not possessing that effete garment might purchase it for presentation to the healer. Up- on this the in- evitablefakirap- peared with a huge stock of highly orna- Native Nuts. m e n t a 1 mozi- choirs, which, until exposure came, retailed like hot cakes, for the sum of one dollar each, on the false claim that they had been blessed. Mean- while the man Schlatter stood bareheaded in the open air day after day, through sun and rain, devoting a few seconds to each indi- vidual of the anxious throngs. The incident happens to be absolutely harmless, and th~ spirit of the multitude was so quiet and reverent that it is difficult even to picture the absurdities of the situation with any whole-souled mirth. But one cannot help pinching ones self to ask how many years have passed since those merry witch- burnings at Salem. It is to be hoped that some essential quality of those beastly days has escaped, for the silly basis of superstition is surely with us still. THE general scientific value of Lieuten- ant Pearys recent Arctic work can scarcely be questioned, and it is to be hoped that an equally good showing will be whose ship, the yacht Windward, has recently reported in temperate zones. - Lieutenant Pearys ambitions were not by any means bounded by the idea of carving his name on the North Pole. In fact, he did not come so near it as the explorer Lock- wood, by a good hundred miles, though In- dependence Bay holds the northward record as far as Greenland itself is concerned. But we are reasonably sure, after this eleven hun- dred mile journey on the great ice-cap, that Greenland is an island; and the next genera- tion of schoolboys will not grow up Arctic to have their reverence for things in Exploration. general rudely shaken by the dis- covery that the map of the Western Hemi- sphere is all wrong in the upper right-hand corner. But, perhaps, the most important result of these last Arctic voyages will be the proof that exploration in the high latitudes need not be the almost certain occasion of death to some of the brave men who entrust themselves to the ice-floes. Our disdain of unknown polar regions is showing itself in the plans to rum- mage about, next year, inside the Antarctic circle to see if there is not some good seal fishing there; not to speak of the more purely scientific aims of the Germans who are going south through Kerguelen Land. At any rate, here are several expeditions that, with no inordinate expenditure of money, have been managed, not only without incur- ring the loss of a single lifeunless one counts sledge-dogsor the health of any member of the party, but even without interrupting the domesticity of the leading spirit. And on the last voyage this was true in spite of the very serious misfortune which befel the caches of supplies. The discouraging layer of some twenty feet of snow which covered these sin- ews of war alone prevented Lieutenant ~eary from pushing on beyond Independence Bay to a point nearer the Pole than has yet been attained. t CHILD PICKING FRUIT ENGRAVED BY JOHN P. DAVIS (See ~yD. yjj aezdy92.) FROM THE PAINTiNG BY MARY CASSATT

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Scribner's magazine. / Volume 19, Issue 3 Commentator Scribner's commentator Charles Scribner's Sons New York March, 1896 0019 3
E. Benjamin Andrews Andrews, E. Benjamin A History Of The Last Quarter-Century In The United States. XI. Columbus's Deed After Four Centuries 267-297

SCRIBNERS MAGAZINE MARCH 1896 No. 3 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY IN THE UNITED STATES BY E. BENJAMIN ANDREWS COLUMBUSS DEED AFTER FOUR CENTURIES THE ELEVENTH CENSUS CHICAGO FAIR PROJECTED COLUMBUS DAY THE HOMESTEAD RIOTS CLEVELAND S SUCCESS THE WHITE CITY THE FERRIS WHEEL THE AGE OF INVENTION EDISON AND TESLA NIAGARA HARNESSED THE years of President Harrisons Small percentage of increase from 1880 administration were bright with to 1890, when the count footed up but fore-gleams of two coming events, 50,155,783, disappointed even consery- the Eleventh Census, to be begun in ative estimates. It was exceeded by 1890, and the celebration of the four- that of every decade down to 1860, and hundredth anniversary of the discovery rose above that of the war decade by of America by Columbus. That these a little over two per cent. Increase ln two subjects awakened public atten- the proportion of city population, ob- tion together was fortunate, as each servable in 1880, was more so now. made more impressive the others tes- Only in the West had rural develop- timony to our unparalleled national ment stood comparison with urban. growth. The Census of 1790 had been In 1880 our cities contained 22.57 per a mere count of the people, quickly cent. of the population; in 1890, 29.20 and easily despatched. Five years af- per cent. New York still held her pri- ter the enumeration for the Eleventh macy, containing 1,515,301 souls. Chic- Census, the returns, destined to fill ago had grown to be the second city of twenty-five volumes and to cost $11,- the Union, with a population of 1,099,- 000,000, were not fully compiled. In 850. Philadelphia, Brooklyn, and St. 1790 the population of the United Louis followed, in this order. St. Paul, States numbered 3,929,214. In 1890 Omaha, and Denver had tripled or quad- there were 62,622,250, nearly sixteen rupled their size since 1880. Kansas no times the earlier sum. The relatively longer possessed any unoccupied land. Copyright~ 1896, by Charles Scribner~ Sons. All rights reserved. VOL XIX 268 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY Nebraska owned scarcely any. Among Western States Nevada alone lan- guished. The State of Washington had nearly quintupled her citizens. Though only a few counties in the whole country absolutely lost in popu- lation, many parts of the East and South had grown little. The 1890 cen- sus revealed the centre of population twenty miles east of Columbus, md., it having, since 1880, moved forty miles west and nine miles north. In 1890 the country had 163,000 miles of railroad, nearly double that in exist- ence ten years before. Our national wealth in 1890 was valued at $65,037,- 091,197, an increase, for the decade, of $21,395,091,197. The per capita wealth had multiplied from $870 to $1,039, an increase of 49.02 per cent. The output of minerals had gone up more than half. Farming alone seemed to have lagged. The improved ~acreage of the country had increased less than a third, THE HOME- The Strikers Burning the Barges frsm which the Pinkerton Men had been Taken. Drawn by Orson Lowell from Noobograpiss laken cinring coed jesl cf/er 1/so /roz~//le. A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 269 THE CARNEGIE STEEL WORKS. (Showing the shield used by the strikers when firing the cannon, snd when wstching the Pinkerton men; siso the chain by which the cannon was anchored and a wheelbarrow isli of bolts and nsts ssed as ammsnition.) Drawn by G. IV Pelers frow /Voolograpks onacle after floe wililia had taken possession of Ike works. STEAD RIOTS. The Militia Behind the Barricade Inside the Carnegie Worko. From a ~IsoIogra~Ia. 270 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY the number of farms a little over an New York was appealed to as a suitable ighth. The proportion of school en- seat for the enterprise, and entertained rollment to total population had ad- the suggestion by subscribing $5,000,- vanced from twelve per cent. in 1840, to 000, whereupon, in August, 1889, Chic- twenty-three per cent. in 1890. Be- ago apprised the country of her wish tween 1880 and 1890 public school ex- to house the Fair. St. Louis and penditures rose from $88,990,466 to Washington appeared as competitors, $155,980,800. The religious bodies of but the other three cities unanimous- the United States embraced 20,612,806 ly set Washington aside. St. Louis communicants, not far from a third of the pop- ulation. One- tenth of the pop- ulation, 6,231,- 417, were Catho- lies. THE CHICAGO FAIR THE leaps and bounds with which the nation had been advanc- ing, no figures could have pict- ured so impress- ively as did the Worlds Colum- bian Exposition. TheCorivict Stockade and Military Camp at Oliver Springs. The historian of Frey a ~7netegva~Iz. the half-century will turn with pleasure from the bat- showed little enthusiasm. Thirty-five tles which he must describe to the citizens of Chicago, led by a specially victories of peace, whose records are active few of their number, organized traceable in a succession of Worlds Chicagos energies with such success, Expositions, transient as breakers, yet that on appearing before Congress she each marking a higher tide of well- had $5,000,000 in hand and could prom- being than the one before it. The first ise $5,000,000 more. The commodious- of these to occur this side the Atlantic ness of the city as well as its position enlivened New York in 1853. The see- near the centre of population and com- ond was at Philadelphia in 1865. Mem- merce told in its favor. Father Knick- ory of both these was well-nigh oblit- erbocker was not a little chagrined erated by the Centennial Exposition in when his alert and handsome cousin 1876. In 1883 Boston held a modest persuaded Congress to allot her the International Exposition, contemporan- prize. The act organizing the Exposi- eons with a similar display at Louis- tion was approved April 25, 1890. A ville. The New Orleans Cotton Expo- National Commission was appointed, sition of 1881 may be mentioned in under the presidency of Hon. T. W. connection with its notable successor of Palmer, of Michigan. An Executive 1884. The Worlds Columbian Exposi- Committee was raised, also a Board tion at Chicago in 1893 excelled all that of Reference and Control, a Chicago had preceded it, whether here or abroad. Local Board, a Board of Lady Mana- The idea of celebrating in this way gers, and a number of standing commit- Columbuss discovery of the New World tees to deal with various branches of long anticipated the anniversary year. the colossal undertaking. THE CONVICT TROUBLES A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 271 In the seventeenth century the pres- waters edge dreary ridges of sand, in cut site of Chicago was a swamp, which the background a swamp with flags, fur - traders and missionaries found marsh-grass, and clumps of willow and fatally miasmatic. About 1800 a gov- wild-oak. Paris had taken nearly three eminent engineer, viewing that rank years to prepare for the Exposition of morass traversed by a sluggish stream, 1889; twenty months were allowed Chi- pronounced it the only spot on Lake cago. The site to be gotten in readiness Michigan where a city could not be was four times as large as that for the built. In 1804 Fort Dearborn was Paris Exposition. A dozen palaces and ten score other edifices were to be located, raised, a 4 adorned; the waiers tobe gath- ered in canals, ba- sins, and lagoons, and spanned by bridges. Under- ground conduits had to be provid- ed for electric wires. Endless grading, plant- ing, turfing, pav- ing, a n d road- making must be des pate he d. Thousands of workmen of all nationalities and Dr. Betto, The Cowboy Preacher, Inciting the Miners to Attack Fort Anderson. trades, also fire, From a tirotograNr taken at Tire Grove, tietoveeci Brreeoryte arid Coat Creek p o 1 i c e, a rub u - lance, and hospit erected here to counteract British in- al servicea superb industrial army fluence. In 1812 the fort was demol- had to be mustered in and controlled. ished by Indians, but in 1816 rebuilt, The growth of the colossal structures and it continued, standing till 1871. Around the little fort in 1840 were settled 4,500 people. The number was 30,000 in 1850; 109,000 in 1860; 300,- 000 in 1870. In 1880 the com- munity embraced 503,185 souls; in 1890 it had 1,099,850. In 1855 the indomitable city illus- trated her spirit by pulling her- self bodily out of her natal swamp, lifting churches, blocks and houses from eight to ten feet, without pause in general business. A task similar to this was now again incumbent. The least unavailable site for the Exposition was Jackson Park, in the southeastern part of the city, where one saw at the Non-combatantsA Typical Tennessee Mosotain Home. IN TENNESSEE. 272 A HISTORY OF THE LAST Q!JARTER-CENTLJRY seemed magical. Sections of an im- shall know, European eyes saw Amen- mense arch would silently meet high can land. This climacteric event in hu- in air like shadows man history was by flitting across the Old Style dated Oc- sky. Some giant tober 12th. The ad- pillar would hang as dition of nine days by a thread ahundred to translate it into feet above ground till New Style made the a couple of men ap- date October 21st. peared aloft and set On that day occurred it in place. Work- a reception in the men h~ all sorts of Auditorium, 3~5OO impossible postures persons responding and positions were to the invitation. swarming, climbing, President Harrison and gesticulating like was unable to attend Palmer Coxs Brown- because of what ies. proved to be the last On Wednesday, illness of his wife. October 21, 1892, the Under the circum- hive was stilled, in stances Mr. Cleve- honor of Columbuss land won much praise immortal deed. Just by considerately de- four hundred years clining the invitation before, for the first ________________ sent him. The presi- time so far as we cer- dential campaign of tainly know or ever 1892 was already in The Late Richard M. Hunt, Architect of Administration Building. THE WORLDS FAIR The Administration Building seen from the Agricultural Building. Frem a pIsm~iRraP15. A HISTOPY OF THE LAST QUARTEk-CENTURY 273 progress, Harrison and Cleveland be- ing matched for the second time. Mr. Cleveland wrote: I should be very glad to be present on this interesting occasion and thus show my apprecia- tion of its impor- tance, if I could do so solely as an ex-Presi- dent of the United States. I am sure however, that this is impossible. My general aversion to such a trip is overwhelmingly in- creased in this par- ticular instance, when I recall the afflictive dispensa- tion which detains at the bedside of his sick wife another candidate for the presidency. The post of honor, Columbus Day, was occupied by Vice- President Morton. AT CHICAGO. On Thursday he reviewed a civic parade three hours long, marshalled by General Miles. On Friday the special exercises in dedication of the buildings and grounds brought to Jackson Park over 250,000 people. High officials re- viewed imposing military columns in Washington P a r k, and proceeded thence to the Manu- factures Building on the Exposition grounds. Here a chorus sang the Co- lumbus hymn, by John Knowles Payne, and Bishop Fowler offered prayer. The buildings were then formally handed over to the National Com- mission and by it to the Nation, through Vice-President Mor- ton. Medals were awarded to artists A View toward the Periatyle from Machinery Hall. Prow a pko/ogrc~pk. D. H. Burnham, Director of Works. 274 A L-JSTOkY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY and architects. Several addresses were made. Beethovens anthem, and the prayer of benediction by Rev. H. C. MeCook, D.D., of Philadelphia, con- cluded the ceremonies. In the even- ing were fireworks, among them a hun- dred fire balloons armed with rockets. The Columbus anniversary was ob- served in many other cities. New York celebrated October 12th. Fifty thousand troops passed the reviewing stand, millions lined the sidewalks. On the 27th occurred a naval parade, embracing thirty-five ves- sels and more than 10,000 men. The ships were splendid specimens of naval architecture. The Russian Dimitri Donskoi was the largest. Its com- pany numbered 570. Next in size was the Brit- ish Blake. The Argen- tine Nueve de Julio was I the swiftest ship present. The Kaiserin Augusta, the prognathous Jean Bart, of France, and the ill - starred Reina Regente were of the fleet. The marines land muster was even more brilliant than the parade of the 12th. Curious among its features was the mascot of the Tartars crew, a goat decked in scarlet silk and gold lace, like an Egyptian or a Siamese deity. CLEVELAND 5 RE-ELECTION WORK was resumed at Chicago October 22d, and pushed day and night, rain or shine, to make ready for the opening, May 1, 1893. When that date arrived, the chief magistracy of the nation had changed hands. The contest for the Presi- dency had been excep- tionally good - humored, each candidate being treated by his political opponents with studied respect. In spite of the snap New York Con- THE WORLDS FAiR George B. Post, Architect of Mansfacteres and Liberal Arts Building. The Manufactures and Liberal Arts Bailding, sees from the Southwest. Frern a ~7io/egraJ/s. 274 A L-JSTOkY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY and architects. Several addresses were made. Beethovens anthem, and the prayer of benediction by Rev. H. C. MeCook, D.D., of Philadelphia, con- cluded the ceremonies. In the even- ing were fireworks, among them a hun- dred fire balloons armed with rockets. The Columbus anniversary was ob- served in many other cities. New York celebrated October 12th. Fifty thousand troops passed the reviewing stand, millions lined the sidewalks. On the 27th occurred a naval parade, embracing thirty-five ves- sels and more than 10,000 men. The ships were splendid specimens of naval architecture. The Russian Dimitri Donskoi was the largest. Its com- pany numbered 570. Next in size was the Brit- ish Blake. The Argen- tine Nueve de Julio was I the swiftest ship present. The Kaiserin Augusta, the prognathous Jean Bart, of France, and the ill - starred Reina Regente were of the fleet. The marines land muster was even more brilliant than the parade of the 12th. Curious among its features was the mascot of the Tartars crew, a goat decked in scarlet silk and gold lace, like an Egyptian or a Siamese deity. CLEVELAND 5 RE-ELECTION WORK was resumed at Chicago October 22d, and pushed day and night, rain or shine, to make ready for the opening, May 1, 1893. When that date arrived, the chief magistracy of the nation had changed hands. The contest for the Presi- dency had been excep- tionally good - humored, each candidate being treated by his political opponents with studied respect. In spite of the snap New York Con- THE WORLDS FAiR George B. Post, Architect of Mansfacteres and Liberal Arts Building. The Manufactures and Liberal Arts Bailding, sees from the Southwest. Frern a ~7io/egraJ/s. 276 A HIS TOP Y OF THE LAST ~UAPTEP-CENTURY strike at Homestead, Pa., against the Carnegie Steel Company, which broke out on July 6, 1892, because of a re- duction in wages. The Amalgamated Steel and Iron Workers sought to inter- cede against the reduction, but were re- fused recognition by the company. H. C. Frick, President of the company, was burned in effigy. .A shut-down was ordered. Preparing to start up again with non - union men, the company ar- ranged to introduce a force of Pinke ton detec- tives to protect these new employees. The Pinker- tons came in barges by the river, and when they approached the mills the strikers met them with a volley of bullets, begin- ning a regular battle which raged two days. The barges, armored in- side, were impervious to bullets ; therefore on the second day cannons were used, bombarding the boats for hours. Effort was also made to fire them by means of burning oil floated down against them. Seven de- tectives were killed and twenty or thir- ty wounded. On the workmens side eleven were killed. The wretches in the boats twice hoisted a flag of truce, but it was ignored. The third time officers of the Amalgamated Association inter- fered, and a committee was sent on board to arrange terms of surrender. Having no alternative, the Pinkerton police agreed to give up their arms and ammunition and retire from the scene. Strikers were to guard them on their departure, and effort was made to do this; yet, as they marched through Homestead streets, the mob element, always on hand at such times, bru- tally attacked them with clubs, stones, and bullets. After cruel delay the en- tire militia of Pennsylva- nia arrived on the 12th, and quickly restored or- der. Good - will it was harder to reinstate. Sev- eral workmen were ar- rested on charge of mur- der, which led to counter- Charles F. McKim of McKim, Mead arrests and charges & White, against Carnegie officers, Architects of the Agricultural Building, the Pinkertons, and some of their subordinates. During most of the disturbance pub- lic sympathy was with the strikers, as the employment, by great corpora- tions, of armed men, not officers of the law, to defend property, was very unpopular. Sentiment turned the oth- er way when, on July 21st, Mr. Frick Solon S. Beeman, Henry mao Cobb, Mines and Mining Building. Fisheries Building. SOME ARCHITECTS OF THE WORLDS FAIR. Louis H. Sullivan, Transportation Building. A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY was brutally shot and stabbed in his own office by Alexander Bergmann, an anarchist from New York. The man fired two shots, both taking effect in Mr. Fricks body, then grappled with him, trying to use his knife. Mr. Frick displayed utmost courage. Though seeming to be fatally wounded, he suc- ceeded in holding his foe until help arrived. Mr. Frick was confined to ~ 277 GERVIAN Detail Main Entrance Horticultural Building. The Worlds Fair views in i/irs ariicie are, wi//i iwo e& ecetiio s, from ~/ioiogra~/is by T. S. Jo/i ason. VOL. XIX.32 a tkotograNr by Ran. 278 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY ready high, was swollen by a cloud- burst aud had flooded the lower part of Titusyille, when several oil-tanks, prob- ably struck by lightning, gave way, the oil flowing out, ignited, over the water, forming an immense sheet of moving flame. Scores of buildings in Titusville were soon on fire, and about a third of be gotten out of its track. Nearly two hundred perished, and between $1,000,- 000 and $2,000,000 worth of property was destroyed. As Democrats saw political capital in the Homestead disturbance, so IRepubli- cans pointed to labor troubles in a Dem- ocratic State. The bad system of farm- ( the city was destroyed. The flaming ing out convicts to labor in competition flood swept down to Oil City, eighteen with deserving citizens led, in Tennes- miles below, overwhelming or burning see, during 1891 and 1892, to riots and such persons and property as could not loss of life. For three years previously A Detail of the Golden D~orway at th~ Entrance to the Transportation Building. A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 279 the States prisoners, numbering over sub-letting the rest, partly to colliers at fourteen hundred, had been farmed, for Coal Creek and Oliver Springs, partly to contractors who used them in Nashville niaking brick and har- nesses and building sewers. The contractors fed and clothed the convicts and provided guard- houses for such as wrought at a distance from the main prison; but the State appointed the guards and pretended, through inspec- tors, to see that the prisoners were decently used. All went well till work grew slack. Then many free miners had to go on short time, though the convicts still wrought full time. August 13, 1892, min- ers attacked Tracy City and re- moved the convicts, of whom sev- eral escaped. This was repeated at Inman and Oliver Springs. The process was easy, since, pop- ular sympathy favoring the min- ers so that a sheriff could not muster a posse, the authorities made little effort to defend tbe contract gangs. At Coal Creek, however, the rioters were resisted by the garrison, consisting of Col- onel Anderson with a hundred and fifty men. Being beaten, the $100,000 a year, to a large coal and mob raised a flag of truce, answering iron company. This company worked which, in person, Colonel Anderson fell most of theni at Tracy City and Inman, into their power, and was commanded, TRANSPORTATION BUILDING -~ - -~ FROM ELECTRICxTY~ BUILDrnGj). - 280 A HISTORY OP THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY ThE CARAVEIS INT YRONT OF THE CASINO TBUILDING J~i~ L~ on threat of death, to order a surren- Thus there was wavering in the ranks. der. He refused. Meantime the miii- The tin schedule of the new tariff was tia, which had been called out, arrived lauded as sure to transfer the tin in- and briskly attacked the rioters, killing dustry from Wales to this country. several, routing the residue, and rescu- Free sugar was also made promi- ing Colonel Anderson. Five hundred nent. Upon the tariff question the miners were arrested and all disturb- Democrats wavered too. Their Con ance soon ended. vention had displaced a resolution The Force Bill was remembered in the squinting toward protection, and put presidential campaign of 1892, and that i the platform a plain tariff-for-revenue in parts of the land where, but for it, its plank. Most of their Western speakers authors might now have hoped for gains, took the stump, crying: Republican They made no effort to raise the corpse protection is a fraud! and denouncing to life, but left it unwept, unhonored, the McKinley Act as the culminating and unsung where it fell two years be- atrocity of class legislation. Republi- fore. Veteran Democrats suspected a cans charged that the Democracy stood piece of shrewd shamming, and circled committed to British Free Trade. the remains, crying No Force Bill! No There was some justice in the state- Negro Domination! till sure that it ment, yet Clevek~nds letter of accept- was a case of death. While not attack- ance was not in this tone. We wage, ing the Dependent Pensions Act, for said he, no exterminating warfare which they were too shrewd, the Demo- against American industries. And in crats may have gained somewhat by all the Eastern centres Democratic ora- their loud demands for honesty in ad- tors and papers declined to attack the ministcring this. The other expendi- principle of protection, only urging tures of the Fifty-first Congress they that manufacturing interests would be placed under searching review, with advanced by freer raw materials. scant result as to details, though the The Populists, heirs of the Grangers aggregate sum impressed the public un- and Farmers Alliance, scored a triumph favorably, now. In Colorado, Idaho, Kansas, The Republicans centre in the battle North Dakota, Oregon, and Wyoming was McKinley Protection, but many the Democrats voted for Weaver, the of their best fighting men thought that Populist candidate. In those States, McKinley had led them too far to the subtracting Oregon and adding Neva- front and wished to fall back upon da, he obtained a majority. In Louis- reciprocity as a stronger position. iana and Alabama, on the contrary, it 4 I A 1 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QJJARTER-CENTURY 281 was Republicans who fused with Popu- lists. The Tillman movement in South Carolina, nominally Democratic, was akin to Populism, but was complicated with the color question and later with novel liquor legislation. In its essence it was a revolt of the ordinary white population from the traditional domi- nance of the aristocracy. In Alabama a similar movement, led by Reuben F. Kolb, was defeated, fraudulently, as he thought, by vicious manipulation of votes in the Black Belt. Spite of these diversions the election was a second tidal wave in favor of the democracy. Of the total 444 votes in the electoral col- lege, Cleveland received 277, Harrison 145, and Weaver 22giving Cleveland a plurality of 132. Cleveland received 5,556,000 votes, Harrison 5,175,000, and Weaver 1,041,000. The Senate held forty-four Democrats thirty-soy- en Republicans, and four Populists; the House two hundred and sixteen Democrats, one hundred and twenty- live Republicans, and eleven Populists. auguration was upon the Opening Day of the Columbian Exposition, May 1, THE FORMAL OPENING or THE EXPO5ITION 1893. It was a legal holiday. In spite of the mist, rain, and mud of its early hours, patient multitudes waited out- side for the gates of Jackson Park to swing. The inevitable proces- sion, dramatically welcomed by the uncouth aliens of the Mid- way Plaisance, stopped at the temporary platform in front of the Administration B nil ding, where, among many others, sat President Cleveland side by side with Columbuss descendant, the Duke of Yeragua. Inspirating music and poetry led up to the climax of the occasion. After re- counting the steps by which the Exposition had originated, the Director-General said: It only remains for you, Mr. President, if in your opinion the Exposition here presented is commensurate in dignity with what the world should expect of our great coun- try, to direct that it shall be opened to the public; and when you touch this magic key the pon- derous machinery will start in its revolutions and the activity of the Exposition will begin. MR CLEVELANDS first prominent ap- pearance before the public after his in- TOTEM POLES j;j 282 A HISTORY OP THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY As the President touched the but- ton there arose from all sides a wild outburst of sound, the people and or- chestra uniting in the triumphant strains of Handels Hallelujah Chorus, while the wheels of the great Allis en- gine in the Machinery Hall began to re- volve and the electric fountains in the lagoons to play. Torrents of water gushed from the great MacMonnies fountain, the artillery thundered salutes, and the chimes of the Factories Hall and German building rang merry peals; while conspicuous in the Court of Hon- or the golden beauty of the Republic, stood discovered. At the same moment the flags in front of the platform parted, revealing the gilded models of the Co- lumbian caravels. The flags of all na- tions were simultaneously unfmrled on all the buildings of the Exhibition. The roof of the Factories Building be- came gorgeous with red gonfalons, while the Agricultural Building was dressed in ensigns of orange and white. It was a magnificent transformation scene. Amid all the cannon continued to boom and the people to cheer, while the band played the national anthem. Many of the festal days which fol- lowed were chosen by States and na- tions for their own in particular. The French BuiId~ng. A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 283 Every State had its day, which it brightened with music and pageantry, not omitting the eloquence and hospi- tality suited to sneh occasions. On her day, California dispensed freely to all corners of her abnndant fruit. New York did not sulk over her loss of the opportunity to entertain the Fair, bnt vigorously and with splendid success celebrated the day set apart for her. The great day of the feast was Chicago Day, October 9th, the twenty-second anniversary of the awful fire. All the night before honseless thousands. had sheltered themselves in doorways and nuder the elevated ~rail- road, while 15,000 awaited at the gates the opening of the grounds. During the day 716,881 persons paid their way into the grounds, the largest number for any one day, exc~ediug the maxi- mum at Philadelphia 217,526, and that at Paris in 1889397,150. Orig- inal and interesting exercises marked the hours. Two aged Pottawottomi chiefs, pathetic types of the vanished red man, who stood si e by side near the Columbian Bell, eceived much homage. One was in white mans at- tire; the other in feathered head-dress and breechiug and moccasins of beaded buck-skin, all supplemented by a liberal paint-coat of many colors. The white nans proselyte was Simo Pokaron, whose father, Leopold, once owned the site of Chicago; the uncouveutionalized warrior was chief John Young, son of a chief of the same name. Leopold gave the inland metropolis a local habitation, John Young, Sr., gave her a name, Chicago meaning thunder, ac- cording to some; onion, in the belief of others; and skunks home as maintained by a third school of inter- preters. Fire-works, the finest ever seen, lighted up the evening. Some of the desig s were, OI.d Fort Dearborn, Chicago ~elcoming the World, Old GlQry, and Niagara Falls. Four scenes, each covering 14,000 square feet, illustrated the b rning of the city in 1871. Conspieno is among the rep- resentations was Mrs. OLearys incen- diary cow, said to have started the fire by kicking over a lamp. In magnitude and splendor the grounds anO buildings coi stituting the White City fai surpassed any ever be- fore laid out for Exposition purposes. The origirv 1 sketch of the grounds was drawn with pencil on brown paper by the late Mr. John T~ Root. It pro- jected an effective contrast of land and water as well as of art and nature, which subsequent elaboration, mainly under the invaluable advice and guid- ance of the late Richard M. Hunt, nobly filled out. The North Pond communi- cated with the lake by the North Inlet and with the Grand Basin by the North Drawn front nataro by Otto If. Backer. ~ 1 1~ 4 4, 1 -~~ THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE. A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-cENTURY 285 Canal, opposite which was the South Canal. South of the Basin was South Inlet, leading from Lake Michigan into South Pond. In one corner was the isolated Northwest Pond. Approach- ing the park by water one landed at a long pier, on which was the moving sidewalk the Power House, where alone steam-power was allowed, stand- ing to the south. At another pier was moored the facsimile battle-ship Il- linois. Almost at the lips of her can- non the nations of the world had tab- ernacled, England nearest. Beyond these, at the north, was tho neighbor- hood of States, each represented by a house. Sonic of the houses were cas- tles, some were cottages. Some pro- vided only comforts, others held dis- plays. Not one but offered points of great interest. Iowa, Washington, Cal- ifornia, and Illinois advertised their prospects; Florida, Virginia, Pennsyl- vania, New York, and Massachusetts their history. Mutual visits among these families and mutual admiration were the order of each day. Upon the Wooded Island, under the protectorate of Horticultural Hall, con- summate art had made a refuge for wildest nature. Stunted trees were masked by shrubbery and the water planted with aquatic vegetation. Near- ly every variety of American tree and shrub was represented upon these acres. Here as well as elsewhere land- scape gardeners had created effective backgrounds of willows and of flowers, and stretches of lawn set off by statu- ary and fountains. Distances were too great to be traversed always on foot, but other modes of locomotion were ample. A good if somewhat noisy ser- vant was the Intramural Railway, which conducted one by the rear of the grounds, the back way, as it were, from one end of the enclosure to the other. But the beauty of the place more impressed you if you boarded a gondola or an electric launch, sweep- ing under arches, around islands, and past balustrades, terraces, and flow- ered lawns. Easy transit through the larger buildings, or from one to an- other, was furnished by wheeled chairs. From the number of theological students employed to propel them, VOL. XJX.33 these were known as gospel char- iots. Notwithstanding the charge of ma- terialism so often brought against Amer- ica, and against Chicago in particu- lar, foreigners visiting the Fair found that we had not provided mere utili- tarian housings for the exhibits. We came near falling into another fault, that of vain lavishness. The architects wrought together with mutual interest and affection, free from Ml selfish ri- valry. They sacrificed pecuniary con- siderations to love of art, working with a zeal which money alone couH never have called forth. Great as was the ex- penditure, it would have been inade- quate to the results had it not been possible to employ a material at once cheap, sufficiently durable, and very ductile in architects hands. This was a mixture of plaster of Paris with cer- tain fibres, commonly known as staff. It permitted the architects to indulge in an architectural spree. It made possible a group of buildings which might have been a vision of an ancient monarch, but which no autocrat and no government could have carried out in permanent form. It allow ed mod- ern masters to reproduce the best de- tails of ancient architectureto erect temples, colonnades, towers, and domes of surpassing beauty and noble pro- portionsmaking an object-lesson of practical educational value equal to its impressive character. The leading motives of composition were to obtain such a disposition of the greater build- ings as should make the best and most effective use of the actual conditions of the grounds when modified and cor- rected by the art of the lahdscape archi- tect ; should give to these buildings a proper and articulate relation one to the other and also to the water sys- tem of the park; should group them in a formal and artificial manner at those points where their great size and nec- essary mutual proximity invited a predominance of architectural magnif- icence, or picturesquely and incidental- ly where the conditions of the landscape were such as to forbid a close observa- tion of axial lines and vistas. Near the centre of the grounds was the Government Building, with a ready- 286 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY made, conventional look, out of keep- ing with the other architecture. Critics declared it the only discordant note in the symphony, but the flhinois Build- ing, conspicuously situated, topped by a dome looking like a cartridge upright upon a box, was not exactly pleasing, at least in comparison with edifices near by. Looking away from it across the North Pond, one saw the Art Palace, of pure Ionic style, perfectly proportioned; restful to view, contest- ing with the Administration Building the first architectural laurels of the Fair. I~o the south of the Illinois Building rose the Womans Building, and next Horticultural Hall, with dome high enough to shelter the tallest palms. So overrun was this depart- ment with applications that only the choicest exhibits could be accepted. Among these Australia, land of anoma- lies, planted her giant tree-fern and giant stag-horn fern. Here experi- menting was carried on in a cave il- luminated only by electricity, for the purpose of determining whether plants can be made to thrive under such light alone. In. connection with Horticul- tural Hall may be nientioned the rustic Forestry Building. Supreme archi- tectural victory was realized in the fact that even the Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building, almost awful in its proportions, did not tyrannize over its neighbors. This structure was thrice the size of St. Peters at Rome and would easily have roofed the Yen- d6me Column. It was severely classi- cal, with a long perspective of arches, broken only at the corners and in the centre by portals fit to immortalize Alexanders triumphs. The name of the Court of Honor awoke in one a throb of anticipation be- fore seeing its chaste beauty, which must to his dying day haunt the memory of every visitor who beheld it. Its ma- jestic unity was mainly due to the gen- ius of R M. Hunt, already mentioned for his masterly agency in rendering the Fair so picturesque and so perfect as an architectural ensemble. Down the Grand Basin you looked upon the gold- en statue of the Republic with its noble proportions, beyond it the peristyle, a forest of columns surmounted by the Columbian quadriga. On the right hand stood the Agricultural Building, in the style of the Renaissance, upon whose summit the Diana~ of Augus- tus St. Gaudens had alighted. To the left stood the enormous Hall of Manu- factures just mentioned. Looking from the peristyle the eye met the Adminis- tration Building, adm iied by critics and laymen alike. Its architect was Mr. Hunt. He was a devotee of the French school, and here presented to the American people its best exeniplifi- cation. The dome resembled that of the H6tel des Invalides in Paris. In this Court originality was happily sac- rificed to harmony. It was well that specimens of the best architecture should be set before the public, rather than novel departures from standard types; for the Fair not only showed the vast growth of art in America since 1876, but served as an educator in the canons of taste. The American art dis- played at the Fair disappointed Europe by imitating hers so welL Yet it was clear that we were not mere imitators. A DI5A5TROIJ5 FIRE ONE of the most unique conceptions presented at the Fair was that of the Cold Storage Building, just south of the Sixty-fourth Street entrance, where a hundred tons of ice to supply the Exposition were daily made. Its archi- tecture was handsome and suitable; the walls unbroken, save on the ground, floor, where the large, tunnel-like en- trance was flanked by a row of win- dows, and on the fifth floor, which was designed for an ice skating-rink. Four corner towers relieved the steeple ef- fect of a fifth one in the centre, which resembled the tower on Madison Square Garden in New York City. This cen- tral pinnacle rose sheer to the dizzy height of 225 feet. Through it went the smoke-stack. The cheering cool- ness of this building was destined not to last. Early in the afternoon of July 10th, its occupants were startled by the cry of Fire! Flames had been dis- covered at the top of the central tower, which had caught from the smoke~ stack, owing, apparently, to neglect of A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY the architects precautions and of the fire marshals repeated warnings. Delay- ing his departure till he had provided against explosion, the brave engineer barely saved his life. Before his es- cape, the firemen were on hand and a band at once climbed to the balcony near the blazing summit. At this juncture, suddenly, to the horror of all, fire burst from the lower part of the tower. The rope and hose were burnt in two, precipitating a number in their attempt to slide back to the roof. Others leaped recklessly from the co- lossal torch. In less than two minutes, it seemed, the whole pyre was swathed in flames, and, as it toppled, the last wretched form was seen to poise and plunge with it into the now blazing abyss. Sixteen firemen in all suffered horrible death. Another unique fabric stood by the water of the North Pond. It was the Fisheries Building, having a curved ar- cade at each end, leading to a circular aquarium. Visitors were fascinated at Plan of the Worlds Fair Grounds at Jackson Park. A, Administration Building. L, Transportalian Building. B, MacMennies Fonatain. M, Mines and Micin~ Building. C, Canine. N, Electricity Building. D, Maaic Hall. 0, Choral Building. E, Central Railroad Station. F, Herticaltaral Bailding. F, Maonfactaren sod Liberal Arts. Q, Womens Building. 5, Agricalisire Building. R, Gorerament Baildtag. H, Machinery Hall. S. Fisheries Building. I, Stech Pavilion. T, Art Galleries. J French Agricaltare. U, Naval Exhibit. I~, Forestry Bsiilding. V, I ilinoin Building. seeing the pillars twined with creatures of the sea, frogs, tortoises, eels, and star-fish. The capitals, similarly, were architectural puns here a fantastic mass of marine life, there a lobster-pot. Even the balustrades were supported by small fishy caryatids. The Electric- ity and Transportation Buildings were equally original, each in its way, the former with its pinnacled sky-line, the latter with its forcefulness of contour and rich archaic decoration. The Min- ing Building, hard by the Electric- ity Building, suggested monumental strength, as the Transportation Build- ing intimated ruthless force. Machin- ery Hall, with its shapely dome, colon- nade, and arcades, was much admired. Amid a muster of earths choicest rarities, a multitude of wonders stupe- fying in its vastness, to specify indi- vidual marvels as pre-eminent seemed wild. One feature would specially im- press you, another your friend. Our Governments display deserved and re- ceived incessant attention. The State Department gave to the light for the moment some rich treasures from its archives. The War 0111cc exhibit showed our superiority in heavy ord- nance and ammunition, and at the same time our failure to rival Europe in small-arms. Among the cannon was the famous Long Tom, formerly aboard the privateer General Armstrong, which kept at bay a British squadron till sunk to avoid capture by a line-of-battle ship. A thrilling Arctic tableau represented Major Greely greeting the brave Lieu- tenant Lockwood on his return from farthest North. A first-class post- office was operated on the grounds. A combination postal - car, sixty feet in length,~ manned by the most expert sorters and operators, interested vast crowds. Close by was an ancient mail- coach once actually captured by Ind- ians, with effigies of the pony express, formerly so familiar on the Western plains, of a mail sledge drawn by dogs, and of a mail carrier mounted on a bi- cycle. Models of a quaint little Miss- issippi mail steamer and of the mod- ern steamer Paris, stood side by side. Weapons, stuffed birds, and bottled rep- tiles from the dead letter office were displayed. 287 288 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY A rich assemblage of jewelry and gems adorned a section of the Fair, one cabinet being rightly styled the mill- ion-dollar ease. Self-winding and self- regulating clocks were a feature. So were the transportation exhibits. Lo- comotives of all styles ~and ages were presented, from Sir Isaac Newtons, of 1680, based on an invention of 130 B.c., to the famous 999. Some fully equipped railroad trains were shown. One had bath-room, barber-shop, writ- ing-desk and libraryaccommodations for railway travel then novel, though now familiar. The apartment sleeping- car and the observation-car were then quite new. Another train was vesti- buled the entire width of the cars, and from the tender to the rear lights. Many such are now seen, improved, since, by burglar-proof doors to the cars. The locomotive Queen Em- press, of the London & Northwest- ern line, was exhibited, heading a train of English railway carriages beautifully complete to the uttermost detail. THE MIDWAY FROM the serious side of the Fair one turned for relaxation to the Midway Plaisance. The Midway was the de- lightful Limbo of the Exposition. Here were realistic bits of Dahomey, Samoa, the far Orient, the Levant, the frozen North, Europe, Ireland. The na- tives felt perfectly at home, even to marrying and giving in marriage, one infatuated Kabyle going so far as to attempt to steal a bride, according to tribal custom. His romance termina- ted in a police station. The Plaisance was a library of human documents. Not the least interesting was far-away Moses immortalized by Mark Twain. In spite of frowning battlements and formidable watchmen with lanterns and battle-axes, hordes besieged and over- ran old Vienna. On this populous avenue were the Libby glass works, artificers of the Infantas glass dress, the ice-railway, the Hagenbeck animal show of equestrian lions and rope- walking bears, the ostrich farm, theatres, and bazaars galore. There abode all fakirs, making short work of your small change, while they delighted you with the ingenuity and despatch of the operation. Jmmensely popular was Cairo Street, travelled by 2,250,000 vis- itors. Hagenbeck entertained more than 2,000,000. Between 650,000 and 800,000 entered the villages of Java, Germany, and Vienna. Lady Aber- deens Irish village admitted more than 550,000. THE FERRI5 WHEEL THOSE of weak nerves shunned the chief feature of the Midway, the Ferris Wheel, the most novel mechanism in existence. It is said that at a banquet, more than a year before the opening day, the director, while praising the architects, complained that the en- gineers of this country had suggested for the Fair nothing original like the Eiffel Tower at Paris. Mr. George W. G. Ferris, of Pittsburg, took this as a reflection on his calling, and excogi- tated his remarkable invention, literal- ly in an hour, over a mutton-chop. In principle it resembles the Eiffel Tower. The tower is, in effect, a cantilever bridge set on end; the wheel is such a bridge bent around a pair of Bro1~ding- nagian bicycle wheels. These are geared on an axle weighing more than the average locomotive, which in turn is supported by two skeleton pyramids. The spokes are of wire, two and a half inches thick. liJuprepared for a proj- ect so startlingly original, the author- ities withheld, till within six months of the opening, a concession for placing it, allowing Mr. Ferris for the construc- tion and placement of his monster less than a sixth of the time consumed in building the Eiffel Tower. Yet the wheel was completed in the time re- quired, and is said to have varied from a true circle less than the most delicate pivot-wheel of a watch. Pilgrims to the Chicago spectacle, of course, required extensive preparations for their convenience and safety both en route and after arrivaL The Ex- position managers early appointed a Committee on Transportation. This chanced to consist largely of railroad men whose lines converged in Chicago. As committeemen these gentlemen were A HISTORY OF THE hAST QUARTER-CENTURY 289 not supposed to know the temper of the roads. They therefore wrote ask- ing reduced rates. On receiving, next morning, their own requests, they were better informed, and wrote themselves answers unanimously refusing to re- duce. This was the worse policy in that, later, the roads did lower rates, thus aggravating the inevitable con- gestion of traffic toward the end of the season, and increasing the number of railroad accidents. Yet the railway achievements evoked by the Fair were admirable. A New York Central and Lake Shore train daily covered in twenty hours the almost 1,000 miles from New York to Chicago, a rate of 48.4 miles an hour, including stops. Permanent improvements were made in some roads, such as long watering- troughs, from which the locomotives scooped their water, like Gideons war- riors, as they bounded along. For ex- cursions to the Exposition Pittsburg seemed to be the banner city. Thence, on October 21st, a single excursion train, in eight sections, bore to Chicao~o 3,575 passengers. The Fair increased the passenger traffic of the Illinois Cen- tral two hundred and thirteen per cent. That road spent over $2,000,000 in preparation, raising its tracks for 2 ~ miles over 13 city streets, building 300 special cars, and erecting many new stations. The number of paid admissions to the Columbian Fair was 21,477,218, a daily average of 119.984k. The gross attendance was 27,529,400, exceeding by. nearly a million the number at the Paris Exposition for the six months ending with October, though rather over half a million less than the total attendance at Paris, where the gates were open a considerably longer time than at Chicago. The monthly average of visitors increased steadily from about 1,000,000 in May to nearly 7,000,000 in October. It is estimated that in all 12,000,000 different individuals saw the Fair. Notwithstanding the presence of such multitudes, the grounds were always clean and there was no ruffian- ismtwo creditable features which Eng- lish visitors remarked. The most in- teresting sight was the sight-seers. It was a typical American crowd, or- derly, good-natured, intelligent. At points where more than could do so wished to see the same sight at the same time, no greedy elbowing oc- curred. A careful and constant visitor failed to observe on the grounds by day or night a single drunken or dis- orderly person, or any emergency at any time when a guard or policeman was required. The police, and partic- ularly the secret service, were efficient. Of $32,988 worth of property reported stolen, $31,875 was recovered and re- stored. A55A55INATION OF CARTER HARRI5ON Two days before the Exposition closed an assassins bullet felled at his own threshold Carter Harrison, mayor of Chicago. This accomplished gentle- man had been prominent in originating and installing the Fair, and its closing ceremonies in Festival Hall were deeply shadowed by his death. Only prayer, resolutions of condolence, and a bene- diction preceded the sharp click of President Higinbothams gavel. As the assembly dispersed the organ pealed out Chopins and Beethovens funeral marches. At sunset the shore battery fired a last salute, the half-inasted flags of all nations dropped simultaneously, and the mighty parade was over. The only structure intended to be permanent was the Art Building. The others were superfluous so soon as the occasion that called them into ex- istence had passed. The question of their disposition was summarily solved. One day some boys playing near the Terminal Station saw a sinister leer of flame inside. They tried to stamp it out, but a high wind was blowing, and soon Chicagos old discomfited foe rose with a roar to wreak vengeance upon the deserted and helpless White City, Chicagos child. The flames quickly enveloped the beautiful Ad- ministration Building, and in a ~few minutes the Mining and Electricity Buildings as well. Meanwhile, from the Terminal Station the fierce contagion had spread to the Machinery and Agri- cultural Buildings. Next moment it fastened upon the Transportation Build- 290 A HISTORY OF THE LAST ~2UARTER-CENTURY ing and the lordly Hall of iVianufac- tures. Witnesses will never forget the burning of this mammoth. Hardly had it caught fire when the roof col- lapsed, while from hundreds of windows shot out derisive tongues of flame. The lagoons and the lake were lurid with a glare visible long leagues away. The walls tottered, the vistas fell in with a deafening roar, and at last the fire demon subsided among the ruins, leaving ashes, heaps of d6bris, tortured iron work, and here and there an arch, to tell of his orgy. The Chicago Exposition proved that the ideals of the Republic, if far, from being attained, had not been surren- dered. The building just north of Horticultural Hall, tastefully designed by Miss Sophia Hayden, of Boston, was not only the first of the Worlds Fair edifices to be completed, but the first of its kind to be anywhere built. It typified that note of our life, most strik- ing to foreigners, the high position of woman, which Professor Bryce declares, if not a complete test, one of the best tests of the progress a nation has made in civilization. For the excellence of its contents the Womans Building was finally made an exhibit building, oc- cupying a creditable place. Other de- partments of the Exposition gathered obvious refinement from feminine in- fluence. This was especially true of the art set forth at the Fair, which ought, perhaps, to be pronounced strictly American in hardly any other par- ticular but this. The principal thor- oughly national painting presented, Breaking Home Ties, sensibly be- trayed the motive here referred to. Raised to practical equality with her brothers, the American woman~ s in- fluence has shown to excellent advan- tage. Occupations of honor and profit are, more and more as the years pass, open to her, and she does well in which- ever she chooses. In fields of philan- thropy and moral reform, womens tal- ent for organization and persistence in working for good ends have been con- spicuous. Outwardly composed of materialities, the Exposition was a colossal manifes- tation of mentality, an unspoken but sublime protest against materialism. To emphasize that fact, to bring together the leaders of human progress, to re- view this, make clear statements of liv- ing problems, and ascertain practical means by which further advancement might be effected, a series of Worlds congresses was held at Chicago, con- stituting a Worlds Congress Auxiliary. Its motto was not matter but mind, not things but men. In all there were 160 congresses, covering the entire six months of the Fair. Philosophy, Re- ligion, Moral and Social Reform, Wom- ans Progress, the Press, Commerce and Finance, Music, Literature, Art, Juris- prudence, Education, Agriculture, Hor- ticulture, Engineering, Medical and Dental Science were all learnedly dis- cussed, several congresses apiece being devoted to some of them. The Evan- gelical Alliance held its congress, as did the Womens Christian Temperance IJnion. There were also a congress on Public Health and a Worlds Real Estate congress. The Congress Auxiliary em- ployed 210 working committees, who sent out over 1,000,000 circulars. Its membership exceeded 15,000, its at- tendance exceeded 700,000. There were 1,245 sessions, addressed by 5,974 speak- ers. Most interesting was the Worlds Parliament of Religions, which held three sessions a day for seventeen days, each session being thronged. Repre- sent~tives of the leading Christian sects and of the worlds leading relig- ions presented their views. The Par- liament was an index of the tolerance of the time and nation, and had an ef- fect not unlike that of the crusades in broadening and strengthening mens sympathies. What the Fair hinted at in the way of the nations scientific progress was immensely more than what it imm cdi- ately revealed. The Eiffel Tower might be styled the badge of the Paris Exposi- tion ; the Ferris Wheel bore the same relation to ours. Tower and wheel alike uniquely exemplified the fact that in the last thirty years bridge construc- tion has become almost an exact sci- ence. Many remember the days of wooden bridges and massive wooden trestles, to compose one of which a forest had to be felled. Improvement in iron and steel manufacture has A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 291 changed this. The suspension bridge marked the new era, its most noted ex- emplar being the East River Bridge be- tween New York and Brooklyn. John A. Roebling designed it, but died before work upon it was fairly commenced. It was continued by his son, Washington A. Roebling, even after he was stricken with paralysis, his wife becoming his lieutenant. The towers rose, then strand by strand the sixteen-inch cables were woven. The length of the bridge is nearly six thousand feet, and each foot weighs more than a ton. The rise and fall winter and summer is three feet. A still larger suspension bridge, with 2,800 feet clear span, is about to cross the North River. The suspen- sion bridge did not meet the demand of our Western railroad builders for speed in construction. Accordingly, the au- tumn of 1883, the year when the Brooklyn Bridge was completed, wit- nessed the advent of a pioneer of an- other type, the cantilever bridge, con- sisting of truss-work beams poised upon stone piers and meeting each other, a design of wonderful capabili- ties. Extension in the use of iron and steel also made elevated railways pos- sible. A project in this direction dates from 1868. Exactly ten years later two sections of railway were open in New York. The first elevated road in Brook- lyn began operation in 1885. These speedways at once became popular. In 1884 no fewer than 250 engines and 800 cars were in use by the New York lines, carrying over three hun- dred thousand passengers daily, or about one hundred and three millions for the year. Chicago followed with the Alley L line, so-called from the lanes to which it is relegated. Boston prefers and is preparing provision for rapid transit by means of an under- ground railway system like Londons. Spite of the freest possible lateral vent, population and business in our largest cities exert greater and greater verti- cal pressure. High buildings result, in which, again, steel plays a vital part, affording lightness, strength, and fire- proof quality, and permitting rapidity of construction. THE ERA or ELECTRICITY WHAT wonder it evoked at the Expo- sition of 1876, that the Corliss engine with its complex system of belting was able to supply power so f~r! At Chi- cago silent wires carried energy to the remotest extremities of the vast grounds. In 1876 the telegraph constituted al- most the sole practical application of electricity. Even that invention now owes its chief efficiency to improve- ments since made, while the new uses of electricity are almost infinitely nu- merous. Edison prophecies that crc long mankinds sole work will consist in pushing the button. When Morses bill for a telegraph line be- tween Washington and Baltimore first reached Congress, he was ridiculed as rain-makers now are. One legislator moved to amend by prc~viding for a line to the moon, the House entertaining the amendment because it entertained the House. Morse, however, got his appropriation. The first day of its public operation that telegraph yielded the Government one cent; in 1890 a single telegraph company had a yearly revenue of nearly $20,000,000. Stearns and Edison have compelled the single wire to carry several messages at once, and that in different directions. The telephone, the electric light, and the electric motor are the three great fin de sPcle inventions. In 1876 Mr. Bell exhibited to the curious an electric tran~mitter of the human voice, a con- trivance on which, after years of experi- ment, he had stumbled almost simul- taneously with other men. Testing the possibility of sending mere sound-waves over a wire, he accidentally found that articulate speech could be so carried. The same year Edison added a carbon transmitter, whereupon the novelty went forth conquering and to conquer. In 1893 the Bell Telephone Company owned 307,748 miles of wire, an amount increased by rival companies property to 444,750. There were that year nearly 14,000 exchanges, 10,000 employees, 250,000 subscribers, and 2,000,000 daily conversations. This device promises to rival the telegraph, being able to transmit the human voice 1,400 miles. 292 A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY New York and Chicago were placed on speaking terms only three or four days before Columbus Day. Telephone service now connects New York, Phila- delphia, Boston, Chicago, and other cities each to each, and is already found indispensable. Arc-lamps shown at the Philadelphia Exposition drew sight- seers as candles attract moths. They had originated only shortly before, when Charles G. Brush, of Cleveland, 0., per- fected his dynamo. Men of science still viewed incandescent lighting as an elu- sive will-o-the-wisp; but in 1878 Edi- son, after stupendous labor, mastered the secret and rendered it practically available. At the White City the arc light literally turned night into day. Palaces were radiant with countless in- candescent bulbs, while many-colored electric fountains coruscated outside. In the Centennial year the thought of transmitting power by electricity was considered chimerical. In the Col- umbian year it was no longer even a novelty, and electricity was far and wide beginning to supplant forms of power familiar before. Street - car traction soon passed to its control, the few horses still in this service coming to be looked upon as curious survivals. Whereas in 1889, out of 3,150 miles of street railway in fifty-eight of the lead- ing American cities, only 260 were op- erated by electricity, the proportion in the intervening six years has been al- most reversed, and the electric car has become an established feature of our civilization. Where a city business man or laborer living in the suburbs former- ly required an hour to reach home, tbe trolley-car now transports him in twenty minutes. A vast addition is thus made to the leisure at mens disposal for uses which enrich life. Rapid transit bless- edly relieves the crowded sections of cities, placing the country with its in- vigorating air within reach of the poor. Electricity is moving trains upon great railways and bids fair to supplant steam there. The use of it by a few roads proves its perfect availability, and its The Entrance to the German Building. ,, A HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY 293 full employment seems to be postponed Railway, he foun time to read New- solely by disinclination to invest in a tons Principia, to edit and print a given mode for its application when a small weekly paper, and to conduct ex- cheaper and better one may be invented periments. He became a telejaph any day. Horseless cairiages and pedal- operator. One of his inventions was less cycles are clearly in prospect. an automatic device for answering Among those deserving the worlds the central office, when it called, gratitude for harnessing electricity to that he was awake, though in fact he was quietly dozing. He also contrived an auto- matic repeater to transfer messages from one wire to another. Interesting some capitalists in a machine by which votes in legislative bodies could be automati- cally recorded, he learned that expedition in legisla- tion is what legislators, at least if in the minority, do not desire. His first profit- able invention was an im- proved stock printer, for which he received $40,000. From this time he wrought miracles on notification useful ones, that have mod- ified mens life in import- ant regards. Incandescent lighting is familiar to all; the phonograph to most. This instrument was re- cently employed by a coro- ner to pronounce a funeral service. He had proenred a phonograph for the pur- pose and gott~n a clergy- man to utter to it the prop- er scriptures, hymns, and prayers. When occasion arose for its use the friends gathered for the obsequies were astonished to hear the in nis oanorasory an sJrange, IN. ~ words, Blessed are the From a g5izotogra~ taken for Scribners Maga me, dead who die in the Lord (Tbse g5tootograp/zer found tim great inventor te ~orarity discomfi ted stnck, as sonorousl roll forth. Coin- toe /ozmselfe pressed et.) y bined with the kinetoscope humanitys uses, Thomas Alva Edison, the phonograph forms the kineto-phon- the Wizard of Menlo Park, is famous ograph. Edison declares that the time less for absolute originality than for is near when grand opera can be given dogged patience and subtle insight en- at the Metropolitan Opera House at abling him to fructify others devices. New York without any material change Thrown upon the world at fifteen, with from the original, and with artists and little book learning but with a wonder- musicians long dead. ful craving for knowledge, he is now A more original genius than Edison, among the worlds most famous men. veritably a wizard, is his young disci- While a newsboy on the Grand Trunk ple, Nikola Tesla, who was born in Ser- VOL. XIX.34 294 A HISTORY OF THE LAST ~2UARTEI?-CENTURY via and found employment with Edison on landing in America. For small elec- tric lights he dispenses with the fila- ments inside the bulbs and makes dilute air do their work. He sends currents of high tension through space, without any conductor, at a voltage many times greater than that employed in electro- cution. He receives in his person cur- rents vibrating a million times a second, of two hundred times greater voltage than needed to produce death. He sur- rounds himself with a halo of electric light and calls purple streams from the soil. His experiments are of the ut- most promise to the industrial world. His aim is to hook mans machinery directly to natures, pressing the ether waves directly into our service without the intervention or the generation of heat, in which such an enormous pro- portion of the energy goes to waste, ninety per cent. in arc lighting, ninety- four in incandescent. By his rotating magnetic field and the employment, devised by him, of currents of great fre- quency and high potential power can be economically transmitted to a much greater distance than hitherto. Teslas pol~{phase motors were adopted for con~ verting into electricity the power of Ni- agara Falls. In 1873 a canal was opened there with a fall furnishing 6,000 horse- power. Since 1890 another canal has been built, conveying a vast weight of water to the wheel-pit through ten sep- arate channels. This mighty volume of descending water drives three dynamos each equipped with one of Teslas 2- phase alternating generators of 5,000 horse-power, developing about 2,000 volts with a frequency of 25 cycles a sec- ond. It is thought that the Niagara Falls Power Company can, before very long, furnish Chicago with energy at a cost less than that of steam made on the spot by coaL Presaging this result, electricity created at Laufen, Germany, has been carried to Frankfort with a loss of only four per cent. Electricity created at the falls of the American River at Folsom, Cal., where four tur GENERAL VIEW OF A HISTOkY OP THE LAST QUAPTER-cENTURY 295 bine water - wheels develop over 5,000 horse-power, has been carried by over- head copper wires to Sacramento, twen- ty-four miles away, with a loss of not over twenty per cent. At present it propels street-cars, but it is also to be used for lighting streets and operating factories. THE BURNING OF THE WHITE CITY. 97.- THE WORLDS FAIR GROUNDS The Electricity Building. The Mines end Mining Building. Drarvns by Wrllinm IfrzflrreM. Shes dying man, he cued Let her die, answered Aaron. Page 300. SENTIMENTAL TOMMY THE STORY OF HIS BOYHOOD BY J. M. BARRIE Author of The Little Minister, A Window in Thrums, etc. CHAPTER XI AARON LATTA THE Airlie post had dropped the letters for outlying farms at the Monypenny smithy and trudged on. The smith having wiped his hand on his hair, made a row of them, without looking at the addresses, on his window - sill, where, happening to be seven in number, they were almost a model of Monypenny, which is within hail of Thrums, but round the corner from it, and so has ways of its own. With the next clang on the anvil the middle letter fell flat, and now the like- ness to Monypenny was absolute. Again all the sound in the- land was the melancholy sweet kink, kink, kink of the smiths hammer. Across the road sat Dite Deuchars, the mole-catcher, a solitary figure, tak- ing his pleasure on the dyke. Behind him was the flour-millers field, and be- yond it the den, of which only some tree-tops were visible. He looked wea- rily east the road, but no one emerged from Thrums; he looked wearily west the road, which doubled out of sight at Aaron Lattas cottage, little more than a stones throw distant. On the inside of Aarons window an endless procession seemed to be passing, but it was only the warping mill going round. It was an empty day, but Dite, the accursed, was used to them; nothing ever hap- pened where he was, but many things as soon as he had gone. He yawned and looked at the houses opposite. They were all of one story; the smiths had a rusty plough stowed away on its roof; under a window stood a pew and bookboard, bought at the roup of an old church, and thus trans- VOL. XIX.35 formed into a garden-seat. There were many of them in Thruins that year. All the doors, except that of the smithy, were shut, until one of them blew ajar, when Dite knew at once, from the smell which crossed the road, that Blinder was in the bunk pulling the teeth of his potatoes. May Ann Irons, the blind mans niece, came out at this door to beat the cistern with a bass, and she gave Dite a wag of her head. He was to be married to her if she could get nothing better. By and by the Painted Lady came along the road. She was a little woman, brightly dressed, so fragile that a collie might have knocked her over with his tail, and she had a beautiful white-and- pink face, the white ending of a sudden in the middle of her neck, where it met skin of a duller color. As she tripped along with mincing gait, she was speak- ing confidentially to herself, but when she saw Dite grinning, she seemed, first, afraid, and then sorry for herself, and then she tried to carry it off with a giggle, cocking her head impudently at him. Even then she looked childish, and a faded guilelessness, with many pretty airs and graces, still lingered about her, like innocent birds loath to be gone from the spot where their nest has been. When she had passed monotony again reigned, and Dite crossed to the smithy window, though none of the let- ters could be for him. He could read the addresses on six of them, but the seventh lay on its back, and every time he rose on his tip-toes to squint down at it, the spout pushed his bonnet over his eyes. Smith, he cried in at the door, to gang hame afore I ken wha that letteis to is mair than I can do. The smith good-naturedly brought

J. M. Barrie Barrie, J. M. Sentimental Tommy - The Story Of His Boyhood 297-313

SENTIMENTAL TOMMY THE STORY OF HIS BOYHOOD BY J. M. BARRIE Author of The Little Minister, A Window in Thrums, etc. CHAPTER XI AARON LATTA THE Airlie post had dropped the letters for outlying farms at the Monypenny smithy and trudged on. The smith having wiped his hand on his hair, made a row of them, without looking at the addresses, on his window - sill, where, happening to be seven in number, they were almost a model of Monypenny, which is within hail of Thrums, but round the corner from it, and so has ways of its own. With the next clang on the anvil the middle letter fell flat, and now the like- ness to Monypenny was absolute. Again all the sound in the- land was the melancholy sweet kink, kink, kink of the smiths hammer. Across the road sat Dite Deuchars, the mole-catcher, a solitary figure, tak- ing his pleasure on the dyke. Behind him was the flour-millers field, and be- yond it the den, of which only some tree-tops were visible. He looked wea- rily east the road, but no one emerged from Thrums; he looked wearily west the road, which doubled out of sight at Aaron Lattas cottage, little more than a stones throw distant. On the inside of Aarons window an endless procession seemed to be passing, but it was only the warping mill going round. It was an empty day, but Dite, the accursed, was used to them; nothing ever hap- pened where he was, but many things as soon as he had gone. He yawned and looked at the houses opposite. They were all of one story; the smiths had a rusty plough stowed away on its roof; under a window stood a pew and bookboard, bought at the roup of an old church, and thus trans- VOL. XIX.35 formed into a garden-seat. There were many of them in Thruins that year. All the doors, except that of the smithy, were shut, until one of them blew ajar, when Dite knew at once, from the smell which crossed the road, that Blinder was in the bunk pulling the teeth of his potatoes. May Ann Irons, the blind mans niece, came out at this door to beat the cistern with a bass, and she gave Dite a wag of her head. He was to be married to her if she could get nothing better. By and by the Painted Lady came along the road. She was a little woman, brightly dressed, so fragile that a collie might have knocked her over with his tail, and she had a beautiful white-and- pink face, the white ending of a sudden in the middle of her neck, where it met skin of a duller color. As she tripped along with mincing gait, she was speak- ing confidentially to herself, but when she saw Dite grinning, she seemed, first, afraid, and then sorry for herself, and then she tried to carry it off with a giggle, cocking her head impudently at him. Even then she looked childish, and a faded guilelessness, with many pretty airs and graces, still lingered about her, like innocent birds loath to be gone from the spot where their nest has been. When she had passed monotony again reigned, and Dite crossed to the smithy window, though none of the let- ters could be for him. He could read the addresses on six of them, but the seventh lay on its back, and every time he rose on his tip-toes to squint down at it, the spout pushed his bonnet over his eyes. Smith, he cried in at the door, to gang hame afore I ken wha that letteis to is mair than I can do. The smith good-naturedly brought 298 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY the letter to him, and then glancing at the address was dumfounded. God behears, he exclaimed, with a sudden look at the distant cemetery, its to Double Dykes! Dite also shot a look at the cemetery. Hell never get it, he said, with mighty conviction. The two men gazed at the cemetery for some time, and at last Dite muttered, Ay, ay, Double Dykes, you was aye fond o your joke! What has that to do wi t? rapped out the smith, uncomfortably. Dite shuddered. Man, he said, does that letter no bring Double Dykes back terrible vive again! If we was to see him climbing the cemetery dyke the now, and coming stepping down the fields in his moleskin waist- coat wi the pearl buttons Auchterlonie stopped him with a ner- vous gesture. But it couldna be the pearl but- tons, Dite added, thoughtfully, for Betty Finlayson has been wearing them to the kirk this four year. Ay, ay, Double Dykes, that puts you farrer awa again. The smith took the letter to a neigh- bors house to ask the advice of old Irons, the blind tailor, who when he lost his sight had given himself the name of Blinder for bairns to play with. Make your mind easy, smith, was Blinders counsel. The letter is meant for the Painted Lady. Whats Double Dykes? Its but the name of a farm, and we gave it to Sanders because he was the farmer. Hes dead, and them - thats in the house now become Double Dykes in his place. But the Painted Lady only had the house, objected Dite; Nether Drumgley was farming the land, and so he was the real Double Dykes. True, she might have pretended to her friends that she had the land also. She had no friends, the smith said, and since she came to Double Dykes from no one could find out where, though they knew her furniture was bought in Tilliedrum, she had never got a letter. Often, though, as she passed his window she had keeked sideways at the letters, as bairns might look at parlys. If he made a tinkle with his hammer at such times off she went at once, for she was as easily fiichtered as a field of crows, that take wing if you tap your pipe on the loof of your hand. It was true she had spoken to him once; when he suddenly saw her standing at his smiddy door, the surprise near made him fall over his brot. She looked so neat and ladylike that he gave his hair a respectful pull before he remembered the kind of woman she was. And what was it she said to him? Dite asked, eagerly. She had pointed to the letters on the window-sill, and said she, Oh, the dear loves ! It was a queer say, but she had a bonny English word. The English word was no doubt prideful, but it melted in the mouth like a lick of sirup. She offered him sixpence for a letter, any letter he liked, but of course he re- fused it. Then she prigged with him just to let her hold one in her hands, for said she, bairnlike, I used to get one every day. It so happened that one of the letters was to Mys?y Robbie; and Mysy was of so little importance that he thought there would be no harm in letting the Painted Lady hold her let- ter, so he gave it to her, and you should have seen her dawting it with her hand and holding it to her breast like a lassie with a pigeon. Isnt it sweet? she said, and before he could stop her she kissed it. She forgot it was no letter of hers, and made to open it, and then she fell a-trembling and saying she durst not read it, for you never knew whether the first words might not break your heart. The envelope was red where her lips had touched it, and yet she had an innocent look beneath the paint. When he took the letter from hex, though, she called him a low, vulgar fellow for pre- suming to address a lady. She worked herself into a fury, and said far worse than that; a perfect guller of clarty lan- guage came pouring out of her. He had heard women curse many a time without turning a hair, but he felt wae when she did it, for she just spoke it like a bairn that had been in ill com- pany. The smiths wife, Suphy, who had joined the company, thought that men were easily taken in, especially smiths. She offered, however, to convey the let- Yr SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 299 ter to Double Dykes. She was anxious to see the inside of the Painted Ladys house, and this would be a good oppor- tunity. She admitted that she had crawled to the east window of it before now, but that dour bairn of the Painted Ladys had seen her head and whipped down the blind. Unfortunate Suphy! She could not try the window this time, as it was broad daylight, and the Painted Lady took the letter from her at the door. She returned crestfallen, and for an hour nothing happened. The mole-catcher went off to the square, saying, despond- ently, that nothing would happen until he was round the corner. No sooner had he rounded the corner than some- thing did happen. A girl who had left Double Dykes with a letter was walking quickly toward Monypenny. She wore a white pinafore over a magenta frock, and no one could tell her whether she was seven or eight, for she was only the Painted Ladys child. Some boys, her natural enemies, were behind; they had just emerged from the Den, and she heard them be- fore they saw her, and at once her lit- tle heart jumped and ran off with her. But the halloo that told her she was discovered checked her running. Her teeth went into her underlip; now her head was erect. After her came the rab- ble with a rush, flinging stones that had no mark and epithets that hit. Grizel disdained to look over her shoulder. Little hunted child, where was succor to come from if she could not fight for herself? Though nuder the torture she would not cry out. Whats a father?~ was their favorite jeer, because she had once innocently asked this question of a false friend. One tried to snatch the letter from her, but she flashed him a look that sent him to the other side of the dyke, where, he said, did she think he was afraid of her? Another strutted by her side, mimicking her in such divert- ing manner that presently the others had to pick him out of the ditch. Thus ~ Grizel moved onward defiantly until she - reached Monypenny, where she tossed the letter in at the smithy door and immediately returned home. It was the letter that had been sent to her mother, now sent back, because it was meant for the dead farmer after alL The smith read Jean Myless last letter, with a face of growing gravity. Dear Double Dykes, it said, I send you these few scrapes to say I am dying, and you and Aaron Latta was seldom sindry, so I charge you to go to him and say to him Aaron Latta, its all lies Jean Myles wrote to Thrums about her grandeur, and her man died mony year back, and it was the only kindness he ever did her, and if she doesna die quick, her and her starving bairns will be flung out into the streets. If that doesna move him, say, Aaron Latta, do you mind yon day at Inver- quharty and the cushie doos? likewise, Aaron Latta, do you mind you day at the Kaims of Airlie? likewise, Aaron Latta, do you mind that Jean Myles was ower heavy for you to lift? Oh, Aaron, you could lift me so pitiful easy now. And sync says you solemnly three times, Aaron Latta, Jean Myles is lying dying all alone in a foreign land; Aaron Latta, Jean Myles is lying dying all alone in a foreign land; Aaron Latta, Jean Myles is lying dying all alone in a foreign land. And if hes sweer to come, just say, Oh, Aaron, man, you niicht; oh, Aaron, oh, Aaron, are you coming? The smith had often denounced this woman, but he never said a word against her again. He stood long re- flecting, and then took the letter to Blinder and read it to him. She doesna say, Oh, Aaron Latta, do you mind the cuttle well? was the blind mans first comment. She was thinking about it, said Auchterlonie. Ay, and hes thinking about it, said Blinder, night and day, night and day. What a toon therell be about that letter, smith I There will. But Im to take it to Aaron afore the news spreads. Hell never gang to London though. I think he will, smith. I ken him weeL Maybe I ken him better. You canna see the ugly mark it left on his brow. I can see the uglier marks it has left in his breast. 300 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY Weel, Ill take the letter; I can do no more. When the smith opened the door of Aarons house he let out a draught of hot air that was glad to be gone from the warpers restless home. The usual hallan, or passage, divided the but from the ben, and in the ben a great revolv- ing thing, the warping-mill, half filled the room. Between it and a pile of webs that obscured the light a little si- lent man was sitting on a box turning a handle. His shoulders were almost as high as his ears, as if he had been caught forever in a storm, and though he was barely five and thirty, he had the tattered, dishonored beard of black and white that comes to none till the glory of life has gone. Suddenly the smith appeared round the webs. Aaron, he said awkward- ly, do you mind Jean Myles? The warper did not for a moment take his eyes off a contrivance with pirns iu it that was climbing up and down the whirring mill. Shes dead, he answered. Shes dying, said the smith. A thread broke, and Aaron had to rise to mend it. Stop the mill and listen, Auchter- lonie begged him, but the warper re- turned to his seat and the mill again revolved. This is her dying words to you, continued the smith. Did you speak? I didna, but I wish you would take your arm off the haik. Shes loath to die without seeing you.4 Do you hear, man? You shall listen to me, I tell you. I am listening, smith, the warper replied, without rancor. Its but right that you should come here to take your pleasure on a shamed man. His calmness gave him a kind of dig- nity. Did I ever say you was a shamed man, Aaron? Am I not? the warper askdd, quietly; and Auchterlonie hung his head. Aaron continued, still turning the handle, Youre truthful, and you can- na deny it. Nor will you deny that I shamed you and every other mothers son that night. You try to hod it out o pity, smith, but even as you look at me now, does the man in you no rise up against me? If so, the smith answered, reluc- tantly, if so, its against my wilL It is so, said Aaron in the same measured voice, and its right that it should be so. A man may thieve or debauch or murder, and yet no be so very different frae his fellow-men, but theres one thing he shall not do with- out their wanting to spit him out o their mouths, and that is, violate the feelings of sex.,~ The strange words in which the warper defined his fall had always an uncomfortable effect on those who heard him use them, and Auchterlonie could only answer in distress, Maybe thats what it is. Thats what it is. I have had twal lang years sitting on this box to think it out. I blame none but mysel. Then youll hae pity on Jean in her sair need, said the smith. He read slowly the first part of the letter, but Aaron made no comment, and the mill had not stopped for a moment. She says, the smith proceeded, dog- gedly she says to say to you, Aaron Latta, do you mind you day at Inver- quharity and the cushie doos? Only the monotonous whirr of the mill replied. She says, Aaron Latta, do you mind That Jean Myles was ower heavy for you to lift? Oh, Aaron, you could lift me so pitiful easy ~ Another thread broke and the warper rose with sudden fury. Now that youve eased your con- science, smith, he said, fiercely, make your feet your friend. Ill do so, Auchterlonie answered, laying the letter on ..the webs, but I leave this ahint me. Wap it in the fire. If thats to be done, you do it your- sel. Aaron, she treated you ill, but Theres the door, smith. The smith walked away, and had only gone a few steps when he heard the whirr of the mill again. He went back to the door. Shes dying, man ! he cried. Let her die! answered Aaron. 4 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 301 In an hour the sensational news was through half of Thrums, of which Mony- penny may be regarded as a broken piece, left behind, like the dot of quick- silver in the tube to show how high the town once rose. Some could only re- joice at first in the down-come of Jean Myles, but most blamed the smith (and himself among them) for not taking note of her address, so that Thrums Street could be informed of it and sent to her relief. For Blinder alone be- lieved that Aaron would be softened. It was twa threads the smith saw him break, the blind man said, and Aarons good at his work. Hell go to London, I tell you. You forget, Blinders, that he was warping afore I was a dozen steps frae the door. Ay, and that just proves he hadna burned the letter, for he hadna time. If he didna do it at the first impulse, hell no do it now. Every little while the boys were sent along the road to look in, at Aarons end window and report. At seven in the evening Aaron had not left his box, and the blind mans reputation for seeing farther than those with eyes was fallen low. Its a good sign, he insisted, never- theless. It shows his minds troubled, for he usually louses at six. By eight the news was that Aaron had left his mill and was sitting staring at his kitchen fire. Hes thinking o Inverquharity and the cushie doos, said Blinder. Mair likely, said Dite Deuchars, hes thinking o the Cuttle WelL Corp Shiach clattered along the road about nine to say that Aaron Latta was putting on his blacks as if for a journey. At once the blind mans reputation rose on stilts. It fell flat, however, be- fore the ten-oclock bell rang, when three of the Auchterlonie children, each pulling the others back that he might arrive first, announced that Aaron had put on his corduroys again, and was back at the milL That settles it, was everyones good- night to Blinder, but he only answered thoughtfully, Theres a fierce fight go- ing on, my billies. Next morning when his niece was shaving the blind man, the razor had to travel over a triumphant smirk which would not explain itself to womankind, Blinder being a man who could bide his time. The time came when the smith looked in to say, Should I gang yont to Aarons and see if hell gie me the puir womans address? No, I wouldna advise that, answered Blinder, cleverly concealing his elation, for Aaron Lattas awa to London. What! How can you ken? I heard him go by in the night. Its no possible! I kent his foot. Youre sure it was Aaron? Blinder did not consider the question worth answering, his sharpness at rec- ognizing friends by their tread being proved. Sometimes he may have carried his pretensions too far. Many granted that he could tell when a doctor went by, when a lawyer, when a thatcher, when a herd, and this is conceivable, for all callings have their walk. But he was regarded as uncanny when he claimed not only to know ministers in this way, but to be able to distinguish between the steps of the different de- nominations. He had made no mistake about the warper, however. Aaron was gone, and ten days elapsed before he was again seen in Thrums. CHAPTER XII A CHILD S TRAGEDY o one in Thrums ever got a word from Aaron Latta about how he spent those ten days, and Tonimy and Elspeth, whom he brought back with him, also tried to be reticent, but soms of the women were too clever for them. Jean and Aaron did not meet again. Her first intimation that he had come she got from Shovel, who said that a lit- tle high-shouldered man in black had been inquiring if she was dead, and was now walking up and down the street, like one waiting. She sent her children out to him, but lie would not come up. He had answered Tommy roughly, but 302 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY when Elspeth slipped her hand into his, he let it stay there, and he in- structed her to tell Jean Myles that he would bury her in the Thrums ceme- tery and bring up her bairns. Jean managed once to go to the window and look down at him, and by and by he looked up and saw her. They looked long at each other, and then he turned away his head and began to walk up and down again. At Tilliedrum the coffin was put into a hearse and thus conveyed to Mony- penny, Aaron and the two children sit- ting on the box-seat. Someone said, Jean Myles boasted that when she came back to Thrums it would be in her carriage and pair, and she has kept her word, and the saying is still preserved in that Bible for week-days of which all little places have their unwritten copy, one of the wisest of books, but nearly every text in it has cost a lifq. About a score of men put on their blacks and followed the hearse from the warpers house to the grave. Elspeth wanted to accompany Tommy, but Aaron held her back, saying, quietly, In this part, its only men that go to burials, so you and me maun bide at hame, and then she cried, no one understood why, except Tommy. It was because he would see Thrums first; but he whispered to her, I promise to keep my eyes shut and no look once, and so faithfully did he keep his prom- ise on the whole that the smith held him by the hand most of the way, un- der the impression that he was blind. But he had opened his eyes at the grave, when a cord was put into his hand, and then he wept passionately, and on his way back to Monypenny, whether his eyes were open or shut, what he saw was his mother being shut up in a black hole and trying for ever and ever to get out. He ran to Elspeth for comfort, but in the meantime she had learned from Blinders niece that graves are dark and cold, and so he found her sobbing even like himself. Tommy could never bear to see Elspeth crying, and he revealed his true self in his way of drying her tears. It will be so cold in that hole, she sobbed. No, he said, its warm.~~ It will be dark. No, its clear. She would like to get out. No, she was terrible pleased to get in. It was characteristic of him that he soon had Elspeth happy by arguments not one of which he believed himself; characteristic also that his own grief was soothed by the sound of them. Aaron, who was in the garret preparing their bed, had told the children that they must remain indoors to-day out of respect to their mothers memory (to- morrow morning they could explore Thrums); but there were many things in that kitchen for them to look at and exult over. It had no commonplace ceiling, the couples, or rafters, being covered with the loose flooring of a romantic garret, and in the rafters were several great hooks, and from one of these hung a ham, and Tommy remem- bered, with a thrill which he communi- cated to Elspeth, that it is the right of Thrums children to cut tiny bits off the ham and roast them on the ribs of the fire. The chief pieces of furniture were a dresser, a corner cupboard with dia- mond panes, two tables, one of which stood beneath the other, but would have to come out if Aaron tried to bake, and a bed with a door. These two did not know it, but the room was full of memories of Jean Myles. The corner cupboard had been bought by Aaron at a roup because she said she would like to have one; it was she who had chosen the six cups and saucers with the blue spots on them. A razor- strop, now hard as iron, hung on a nail on the wall; it had not been used since the last time Aaron strutted through the Den with his sweetheart. One day later he had opened the door of the bird-cage, which still stood in the win- dow, and let the yellow yite go. Many things were where no woman would have left them: clothes on the floor with the nail they had torn from the wall; on a chair a tin basin, soapy water and a flannel rag in it; horn spoons with whistles at the end of them were anywhereon the mantelpiece, beneath the bed; there were drawers that could not be opened because their handles were inside. Perhaps the windows SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 303 were closed hopelessly also, but this must be left doubtful; no one had ever tried to open them. The garret where Tommy and El- speth were to sleep was reached by a ladder from the hallan; when you were near the top of the ladder your head hit a trap - door and pushed it open. At one end of the garret was the bed, and at the other end were piled sticks for firewood and curious dark-colored slabs whose smell the children disliked until Tommy said, excitedly, Peat! and then they sniffed reverently. It was Tommy, too, who discovered the tree-tops of the Den, and Elspeth seeing him gazing in a transport out at the win- dow cried, What is it Tommy? Quick! Promise no to scream, he replied, warningly. Well, then, Elspeth San- dys, thats where the Den is! Elspeth blinked with awe, and anon said, wistfully, Tommy, do you see that there? Thats where the Den is! It were me what told you, cried Tommy, jealously. But let me tell you, Tommy! Well, then, you can tell me. That there is the Den, Tommy 1 - Dagont! Oh, that to-morrow were here! Oh, that Shovel could see these two to-mor- row! Here is another splendid game, T. Sandys, inventor. The girl goes into the bed, the boy shuts the door on her, and imitates the sound of a train in motion. He opens the door and cries, Tickets, please. The girl says, What is the name of this place? The boy replies, Its Thrums ! There is more to follow, but the only two who have played the game always roared so joy- ously at this point that they could get no farther. Oh, to-morrow, come quick, quick ! Oh, poor Shovel ! To-morrow caine, and with it two eager little figures rose and gulped their porridge, and set off to see Thrums. They were dressed in the black clothes Aaron Latta had bought for them in London, and they had agreed just to walk, but when they reached the door and saw the tree-tops of the Den they they ran. Would you not like to hold them back? It is a childs tragedy. They went first into the Den, and the rocks were dripping wet, all the trees, save the firs, were bare, and the mud round a tiny spring pulled off one of Elspeths boots. Tommy, she cried, quaking, that narsty puddle cant not be the Cuttle Well, can it? No, it aint, said Tommy, quickly, but he feared it was. Its cccolder here than London,~~ Elspeth said, shivering, and Tommy was shivering too, but he answered, Im ImIm warm. The Den was strangely small, and soon they were on a shabby brae where women in short gowns came to their doors and men in night-caps sat down on the shafts of their barrows to look at Jean Myless bairns. What does yer~ think? Elspeth whispered, very doubtfully. Theyre beauties, Tommy answered, determinedly. Presently Elspeth cried, Oh, Tom.. my, what a ugly stair! Where is the beauty stairs as is wore outside for show? This was one of them and Tommy knew it. Wait till you see the west town end, he said, bravely; its grand. But when they were in the west town end, and he had to admit it, Wait till you see the square, he said, and when they were in the square, Wait, he said, huskily, till you see the town- house. Alas, this was the town-house facing them, and when they knew it, he -~ said, hurriedly, Wait till you see the Auld Licht Kirk. They stood long in front of the Auld Licht Kirk, which he had sworn was bigger and lovelier than St. Pauls, but well, it is a different style of archi- tecture, and had Elspeth not been there with tears in waiting, Tommy would have blubbered. Itsits littler than I thought, he said, desperately, but the minister, oh, what a wonderful big man he is! Are you sure? Elspeth squeaked. I swear he is. The church door opened and a gen- tleman came out, a little man, boyish in the back, with the eager face of those who live too quickly. But it was not at him that Tommy pointed reassuringly; 7 304 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY it was at the monster church key, half of which protruded from his tail pock- et and waggled as he moved, like the hilt of a sword. Speaking like an old residenter, Tom- my explained that he had brought his sister to see the church. Shes taen aback, he said, picking out Scotch words carefully, because its littler than the London kirks, but I telled her J telled her that the preaching is bet- ter. This seemed to please the stranger, for he patted Tommy on the head while inquiring, How do you know that the preaching is better? Tell him, Elspeth, replied Tommy, modestly. There aint nuthin as Tommy dont know, Elspeth explained. He knows what the minister is like too. Hes a nobie sight, said Tommy. He can get anything from God he likes, said Elspeth. Hes a terrible big man, said Tommy. This seemed to please the little gen- tleman less. Big! he exclaimed, ir- ritably; why should he be big? He is big, Elspeth almost screamed, for the minister was her last hope. Nonsense! said the little gentle- man. He iswell, I am the minis- ter. You! roared Tommy, wrathfully. Oh, oh, oh! sobbed Elspeth. For a moment the Rev. Mr. Dishart looked as if he would like to knock two little heads together, but he walked away without doing it. Never mind, Tommy whispered hoarsely to Elspeth. Never mind, El- speth, you have me yet. This consolation seldom failed to gladden her, but her disappointment was so sharp to-day that she would not even look up. Come away to the cemetery, its grand, he said; but still she would not be comforted. And Ill let you hold my hand as soon as were past the houses, he added. Ill let you hold it now, he said, eventually; but even then Elspeth cried dismally, and her sobs were hurting him more than her. He knew all the ways of getting round Elspeth, and when next he spoke it was with a sorrowful dignity. I didna think, he said, as ver wanted me never to be able to speak again; no, I didna think it, Elspeth. She took her hands from her face and looked at him inquiringly. One of the stories mamma telled me and Reddy, he said, were about a man what saw such a beauty thing that he was struck dumb with admira- tion. Struck dumb is never to be able to speak again, and I wish I had been struck dumb when you wanted it. But I didnt want it! Elspeth cried. If Thrums had been one little bit beautier than it is, he went on, sol- emnly, it would have struck me dumb. It would have hurt me sore,~ but what about that, if it pleased you! Then did Elspeth see what a wicked girl she had been, and when next the two were seen by the curious (it was on the cemetery road), they were once more looking cheerful. At the small- est provocation they exchanged notes of admiration, such as, Oh, Tommy, what a bonny barrel ! or Oh, El- speth, I tell yer thats a dyke, and theres just walls in London, but sometimes Elspeth would stoop hastily, pretending that she wantsd to tie her bootlace, but really to brush away a tear, and there were moments when Tommy hung very limp. Each was trying to deceive the other for the others sake, and one of them was never good at deception. They saw through each other, yet kept up the chilly game, because they could think of nothing better, and perhaps the game was worth playing, for love invented it. They sat down on their mothers grave. No stone was ever erected to the memory of Jean Myles, but it is enough for her that she lies at home. That comfort will last her to the Judg- mentDay. The man who had dug the grave sent them away, and they wandered to the hill, and thence down the Hoods, where there were so many outside stairs not put there for show that it was well Elspeth remembered how susceptible Tommy was to being struck dumb. For her sake he said, Theyre bonny, SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 305 and for his sake she replied, Im glad they aint bonnier. When within one turn of Monypenny they came suddenly upon some boys playing at capey-dykey, a game with marbles that is only known in Thrums. There are thirty-live ways of playing marbles, but this is the best way, and Elspeth knew that Tommy was hunger- ing to look on, but without her, lest he should be accused of sweethearting. So she offered to remain in the back- ground. Was she sure she wouldnt mind? She said falteringly that of course she would mind a little, but Then Tommy was irritated, and, said he, he knew she would mind, but if she just pretended she didnt mind, he could leave her without feeling that he was mean. So Elspeth affected not to mind, and then he deserted her, conscience at rest, which was his nature. But he should have remained with her. The players only gave him the side of their eye, and a horrid fear grew on him that they did not know he was a Thrums boy. Dagont! he cried to put them righj on that point, but though they paused in their game, it was only to laugh at him uproariously. Let the historian use an oath for once; dagont, Tommy had said the swear in the wrong place! How fond he had been of that word! Many a time he had fired it in the face of Londoners, and the flash had often blinded them and always him. Now he had brought it home, and Thrums would have none of it ; it was as if these boys were jeering at their own flag. He tottered away from them until he came to a trance, or passage, where he put his face to the wall and forgot even Elspeth. He had not noticed a girl pass the mouth of the trance, trying not very successfully to conceal a brandy-bottle beneath her pinafore, but presently he heard shouts, and looking out he saw Grizel, the Painted Ladys child, in the hands of her tormentors. She was un- known to him, of course, but she hit back so courageously that he watched her with interest, untiluntil suddenly he retreated farther into the trance. He had seen Elspeth g~ on her knees, obviously to ask God to stay the hands and tongues of these cruel boys. Elspeth had disgraced him, he felt. He was done with her forever. If they struck her, serve her right. Struck her! Struck little Elspeth! His imagination painted the picture with one sweep of its brush. Take care, you boys, Tommy is scudding back. They had not molested Elspeth as yet. When they saw and heard her praying, they had bent forward, agape, as if struck suddenly in the stomach. Then one of them, Francie Crabb, the golden-haired son of Esther Auld, re- covered and began to knead Grizels back with his fists, less in viciousness than to show that the prayer was futile. Into this scene sprang Tommy, and he thought that Elspeth was, the kneaded one. Had he taken time to reflect he would probably have used the Thrums feint, and then in with a left-hander, which is not very efficacious in its own country; but being in a hurry he let out with Shovels favorite, and down went Francie Crabb. Would you! said Tommy, threat- eningly, when Francie attempted to rise. He saw now that Elspeth was un- touched, that he had rescued an un- known girl, and it cannot be pretended of him that he was the boy to squire all ladies in distress. In ordinary circum- stances he might have left Grizel to her fate, but having struck for her, he felt that he would like to go on striking. He had also the days disappointments to avenge. It is startling to reflect that the little ministers height, for instance, put an extra kick in him. So he stood stridelegs over Francie, who whimpered, I wouldna have struck this ane if that ane hadna prayed for me. It wasna likely I would stand that. You shall stand it, replied Tommy, and turning to Elspeth, who had risen from her knees, he said: Pray away, Elspeth. Elspeth refused, feeling that there would be something wrong in praying from triumph, and Tommy, about to be very angry with her, had a glorious in- spiration. Pray for yourself, he said to Francie, and do it out loud. 306 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY The other boys saw that a novelty promised, and now Francie need expect no aid from them. At first he refused to pray, but he succumbed when Tommy had explained the consequences and il- lustrated them. Tommy dictated: Oh, God, I am a sinner. Go on. Francie not only said it, but looked it. And I pray to you to repent me, though I aint worthy, continued Tommy. And I pray to you to repent me, though I aint worthy, growled Francie. (It was the arrival of aint in Thrums.) Tommy considered, and then: I thank Thee, 0 God, he said, for telling this girlthis lassieto pray for me. Two gentle taps helped to knock this out of Francie. Being an artist, Tommy had kept his best for the end (and made it up first). And lastly, he said, I thank this boy for thrashing meI mean this here laddie. Oh, may he allus be near to thrash me when I strike this other lassie again. Amen. When it was all over Tommy looked around triumphantly, and though he liked the expression on several faces, Grizels pleased him best. It aint no wonder you would like to be me, las- sie! he said, in an ecstasy. I dont want to be you, you con- ceited boy, rctorted the Painted Ladys child hotly, and her heat was the great- er because the clever little wretch had read her thoughts aright. But it was her sweet voice that surprised him. Youre English! he cried. So are you, broke in a boy of- fensively, and then Tommy said to Grizel loftily, Run away; Ill not let none on them touch you.~ I am not afraid of them, she re- joined, with scorn, and I shall not let you help me, and I wont run. And run she did not; she walked off leis- urely with her head in the air, and her dignity was beautiful, except once when she made the mistake of turning round to put out her tongue. But, alas! in the end someone ran. If only they had not called him Eng- lish. In vain .he fired a volley of Scotch; they pretended not to under- stand it. Then he screamed that he and Shovel could fight the lot of them. Who was Shovel? they asked, derisively. He replied that Shovel was a bloke who could lick any two of themand with one hand tied behind his back. No sooner had he made this proud boast than he went white, and soon two disgraceful tears rolled down his checks. The boys saw that for some reason un- known his courage was gone, and even Francie Crabb began to turn up his sleeves and spit upon his hands. Elspeth was as bewildered as the others, but she slipped her hand into his and away they ran ingloriously, the foe too much astounded to jeer. She sought to comfort him by saying (and it brought her a step nearer womanhood), You wasnt feared for yourself, you wasnt; you was just feared they would hurt me. But Tommy sobbed in reply, That aint it. I bounced so much about the Thrums folk to Shovel, and now the first day Im here I heard myself bounc- ing about Shovel to Thrums folk, and it were that what made me cry. Oh, El- speth, itsits not the same what I thought it would be! Nor was it the same to Elspeth, so they sat down by the roadside and cried with their arms round each other, and any passer-by could look who had the heart. But when night came, and they were in their garret bed, Tommy was once more seeking to comfort Els- peth with arguments he disbelieved, and again he succeeded. As usual, too, the make-believe made him happy also. Have you forgot, he whispered, that my mother said as she would come and see us every night in our bed? If yer cries, shell see as were terrible unhappy, and that will make her unhappy too. Oh, Tommy, is she here now? Whisht! Shes here, but they dont like living ones to let on as they knows it. Elspeth kept closer to Tommy, and with their heads beneath the blankets, so as to stifle the sound, he explained to her how they could cheat their mother. When she understood, he took the blankets off their faces and said in the darkness in a loud voice: Its a grand place, Thrums ! SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 307 Elspeth replied in a similar voice, Aint the town-house just big! Said Tommy, almost chuckling, Oh, the bonny, bonny Auld Licht Kirk! Said Elspeth, Oh, the beauty out- side stairs 1 Said Tommy, The minister is so long! Said Elspeth, The folk is so kind! Said Tommy, Especially the lad- dies! Oh, I is so happy ! cried Elspeth. Me too! cried Tommy~ My mother would be so chirpy if she could jest see us ! Elspeth said, quite archly. But she canna! replied Tommy, slyly pinching Elspeth in the rib. Then they dived beneath the blankets, and the whispering was resumed. Did she hear, does yer think? asked Elspeth. Every word, Tommy replied. El- speth, weve done her! CHAPTER XIII 5H0W5 HOW TOMMY TOOK CAKE OF ELSPETH III US the first day passed, and others followed in which women, who had known Jean Myles, did her children kind- nesses, but could not do all they would have done, for Aaron forbade them to enter his home though it was beg- ging for a housewife all day. Had Elspeth at the age of six now settled down to domestic duties she would not have been the youngest housekeeper ever known in Thrums, but she was never very good at doing things, only at loving and being loved, and the observ- ant neighbors thought her a backward girl; they forgot, like most people, that service is not necessarily a handicraft. Tommy discovered what they were say- ing, and to shield Elspeth he took to housewifery with the blind down; but Aaron, entering the kitchen unexpected- ly, took the besom from him, saying: Its an ill thing for men folk to ken ower muckle about womens work. You do it yoursel, Tommy argued. I said men folk, replied Aaron, quietly. The children knew that remarks of this sort had reference to their mother, of whom he never spoke more directly; indeed he seldom spoke to them at all, and save when he was cooking or giving the kitchen a slovenly cleaning they saw little of him. Monypenny had predicted that their presence must make a new man of him, but he was still unsociable and morose and sat as long as ever at the warping-mill, of which he seemed to have become the silent wheel. Tommy and Elspeth always dropped their voices when they spoke of him, and sometimes when his mill stopped he heard one of them say to the other Whisht, hes com- ing ! Though he seldom spoke sharp- ly to them, his face did not lose its loneliness at sight of them. Elspeth was his favorite (somewhat to the indig- nation of both); they found this out without his telling them or even show- ing it markedly, and when they wanted to ask anything of him she was deputed to do it, but she did it quavering, and after drawing farther away from him instead of going nearer. A dreary life would have lain before them had they not been sent to school. There were at this time three schools in Thrums, the chief of them ruled over by the terrible Cathro (called Knuckly when you were a street away from him). It was a famous school, from which a band of three or four or even six marched every autumn to the universi- ties as determined after bursaries as ever were Highlandmen to lift cattle, and for the same reason, that they could not do without. A very different kind of dominie was Cursing Ballingall, who had been dropped at Thrums by a travelling cir- cus, and first became familiar to the town as, carrying two carpet shoes, two books, a pillow and a saucepan, which were all his belongings, he wandered from manse to manse offering to write sermons for the ministers~ at circus prices. That scheme failing, he was next seen looking in at windows in search of a canny calling, and eventu- ally he~ cut one of his braces into a pair of tawse, thus with a single stroke of the knife, making himself a school-mas- ter and lop-sided for life. His fee was but a penny a week, with a bit o the 308 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY swine when your father kills, and some- times there were so many pupils on a form that they could only rise as one. During the first half of the scholastic day Ballingalls shouts and pounces were for parents to listen to, but after his dinner of crowdy, which is raw meal and hot water, served in a cogie, or wooden bowl, languor overcame him and he would sleep, having first g1ven out a sum in arithmetic and announced: The one as finds out the answer first, Ill give him his licks. Last comes the Hanky School, which was for the genteel and for the com- mon who contemplated soaring. You were not admitted to it in corduroys or barefooted, nor did you pay weekly; no, your father called four times a year with the money in an envelope. He was shown into the blue - and - white room, and there, after business had been transacted, very nervously on Miss Ailies part, she offered him his choice between ginger wine and what she fal- teringly called wh - wh - whiskey. He partook in the polite national manner, which is thus: You will take something, Mr. Cor- tachy? No, I thank you, ma~am.~~ A little ginger wine? It agrees ill with me. Then a little wh-wh-whiskey? You are ower kind. Then may I? I am not heeding. Perhaps, though, you dont take? I can take it or want it. Is that enough? It will do perfectly. Shall I fill it up? As you please, ma~am.~~ Miss Ailies relationship to the mager- ful man may be remembered; she shud- dered to think of it herself, for in mid- dle-age she retained the mind of a young girl, but when duty seemed to call, this school-mistress could be brave, and she offered to give Elspeth her schooling free of charge. Like the other two hers was a mixed school, but she did not want Tommy, because she had seen him in the square oiie day, and there was a leer on his face that reminded her of his father. Another woman was less particular. This was Mrs. Crabb, of the Tappit Hen, the Esther Auld whom Jean Myless let- ters had so frequently sent to bed. Her Francie was still a pupil of Miss Ailie, and still he wore the golden hair, which, despite all advice, she would not crop. It was so beautiful that no common boys could see it without wanting to give it a tug in passing, and partly to prevent them, partly to show how high she had risen in the social scale, Esther usually sent him to school under the charge of her servant lass. She now proposed to Aaron that this duty should devolve on Tommy, and for the service she would pay his fees at the Hanky School. We maun all lend a hand to poor Jeans bairns, she said, with a gleam in her eye. It would hae been wed for her, Aaron, if she had married you. Is that all you hae to say? asked the warper, who had let her enter no farther than the hallan. I would expect him to lift Francie ower the pools in wet weather; and it might be as weel if he called him Mas- ter Francie. Is that all? Ay, I ask no more, for we mann all help Jeans bairns. If she could only look down, Aaron, and see her little vel- vets, as she called him, lifting my little corduroys ower the pools! Aaron flung open the door. Munt! he said, and he looked so dangerous that she retired at once. He sent Tommy to Ballingalls, and accepted Miss Ailies offer for Elspeth, but this was an impossible arrangement, for it was known to the two persons primarily concerned that Elspeth would die if she was not where Tommy was. The few boys he had already begun to know were at Cathros or Ballingalls, and as they called Miss Ailies a lassie school he had no desire to attend it, but where he was there also must Elspeth be. Daily he escaped from Ballingalls and hid near the Dovecot, as Miss Ailies house was called, and every little while he gave vent to Shovels whistle, so that Elspeth might know of his prox- imity and be cheered. Thrice was he carried back, kicking, to Ballingalls by urchins sent in pursuit, stern ministers of justice on the first two occasions; but SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 309 on the third they made him an offer: if he would hide in Couthies hen-house they were willing to look for him every- where else for two hours. Tommys behavior seemed beautiful to the impressionable Miss Ailie, but it infuriated Aaron, and on the fourth day he set off for the parish school, meaning to put the truant in the hands of Cathro, from whom there was no es- cape. Vainly had Elspeth implored him to let Tommy come to the Dove- cot, and vainly apparently was she trot- ting at his side now, looking up appeal- ingly in his face. But when they reached the gate of the parish school- yard he walked past it because she was tugging him, and always when he seemed about to turn she took his hand again, and he seemed to have lost the power to resist Jean Myless bairn. So they came to the Dovecot, and Miss Ailie gained a pupil who had been meant for Cathro. Tommy s arms were stronger than Elspeths, but they could. not have done as much for him that day. Thus did the two children enter upon the genteel career, to the indignation of the other boys aad girls of Monypenny, all of whom were commoners. CHAPTER XIV THE HANKY SCHOOL HE Dovecot was a prim lit- tle cottage standing back from the steepest brae in Thrums and hidden by high garden walls, to the top of which an- other boys shoulders were, for apple- lovers, but one step up. Jargonelle trees grew against the house, stretching their arms round it as if to measure its girth, and it was also remarkable for several dumb windows with the most artful blinds painted on them. Miss Ailies fruit was famous, but she loved her flowers best, and for long a notice board in her garden said, appealingly: Persons who come to steal the fruit are requested not to walk on the flower- beds. It was that old bachelor, Dr. McQueen, who suggested this inscrip- tion to her, and she could never under- stand why he chuckled every time he read it. There were six rooms in the house, seven if you included the pantry (and Miss Aiies maid, Gavinia, always in- cluded it), but only two were of public note, the school-room, which was down- stairs, and the blue - and - white room above. The school-room was so long that it looked very low in the ceiling, and it had a carpet, and on the walls were texts as well as maps. Miss Ailies~ desk was in the middle of the room, and there was another desk in a corner; a cloth had been hung over it, as one covers a cage to send the bird to sleep. Perhaps Miss Ailie thought that a bird had once sung there, for this had been the desk of her sister, Miss Kitty, who died years before Tommy came to Thrums. Dainty Miss Kitty, Miss Kitty with the roguish curls, it is strange to think that you are dead, and that only Miss Ailie hears you singing now at your desk in the corner! Miss Kitty never sang there, but the playful ringlets were once the bright thing in the room, and Miss Ailie sees them still, and they are a song to her. The pupils had to bring handkerchiefs to the Dovecot, which led to its being called the Hanky School, and in time these handkerchiefs may be said to have assumed a religious character, though their purpose was merely to protect Miss Ailies carpet. She opened each scholastic day by reading fifteen verses from the Bible, and then she said, stern- ly, Hankies ! whereupon her pupils whipped out their handkerchiefs, spread them on the floor and kneeled on them while Miss Ailie repeated the Lords Prayer. School closed at four oclock, again with hankies. Only on great occasions were the boys and girls admitted to the blue-and-white room, when they were given shortbread, but had to eat it with their heads flung back so that no crumbs should fall. Nearly everything in this room was blue or white, or both. There were white blinds and blue curtains, a blue table- cover and a white crumb-cloth, a white sheepskin with a blue footstool on it, blue chairs dotted with white buttons. Only white flowers came into this room, where there were blue vases for them, 310 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY not a book was to be seen without a blue alpaca cover. Here Miss Ailie received visitors in her white with the blue braid, and enrolled new pupils in blue ink with a white pen. Some laughed at her, others remembered that she must have something to love after Miss Kitty died. Miss Ailie had her romance, as you may hear by and by, but you would not have thought it as she came forward to meet you in the blue-and-white room, trembling lest your feet had brought in mud, but too much a lady to ask you to stand on a newspaper, as she would have liked dearly to do. She was somewhat beyond middle - age, and stoutly, even squarely, built, which gave her a mascu- line appearance ; but she had grown so timid since Miss Kittys death that when she spoke you felt that either her figure or her manner must have been intend- ed for someone else. In conversation she had a way of ending a sentence in the middle which gave her a reputation of being throither, though an artifi- cial tooth was the cause. It was slight- ly loose, and had she not at times shut her mouth suddenly, and then done something with her tongue, an accident might have happened. This tooth fas- cinated Tommy, and once when she was talking he cried, excitedly, Quick, its coming ! whereupon her mouth snapped close, and she turned pink in the blue-and-white room. Nevertheless Tommy became her fa- vorite, and as he had taught himself to read, after a fashion, in London, where his lesson - books were chiefly placards and the journal subscribed to by Shovels father, she often invited him after school hours to the blue-and-white room, where he sat on a kitchen chair (with his boots offf and read aloud, very slowly, while Miss Ailie knitted. The volume was from the Thrums Book Club, of which Miss Ailie was one of the twelve members. Each member con- tributed a book every year, and as their tastes in literature differed, all sorts of books came into the club, and there was one member who invariably gave a ro- ro-romance. He was double - chinned and forty, but the school-mistress called him the dashing young banker, and for months she avoided his dangerous con- tribution. But always there came a black day when a desire to read the nov- el seized her, and she hurried home with it beneath her rokelay. This year the dashing bankers choice was a ladys novel called I Love My Love with an A, and it was a frivolous tale, those being before the days of the new fic- tion with its grand discovery that women have an equal right with men to grow beards. The hero had such a way with him and was so young (Miss Ailie could not stand them a day more than twenty) that the school-mistress was en- raptured and scared at every page, but she fondly hoped that Tommy did not understand. However, he discovered one day what something printed thus, Dn, meant, and he immediately said the word with such unction that Miss Ailie let fall her knitting. She would have ended the readings then had not Agatha been at that point in the arms of an officer who, Miss Aiie felt almost certain, had a wife in India, and so how could she rest till she knew for certain? To track the officer by herself was not to be thought of, to read without knitting being such shameless waste of time, and it was decided to resume the read- ings on a revised plan: Tommy to say stroke in place of the Dns, and word we have no concern with in- stead of Darling and Little One. Miss Aiie was not the only person at the Dovecot who admired Tommy. Though in duty bound, as young pa- triots, to jeer at him for having been born in the wrong place, the pupils of his own age could not resist the charm of his reminiscences; even Gay Dish- art, a son of the manse, listened at- tentively to him. His great topic was his birthplace, and whatever happened in Thrums, he instantly made contemp- tible by citing something of the same kind, but on a larger scale, that had hap- pened in London; he turned up his nose almost farther than was safe when they said Catlaw was a stiff mountain to climb. ( Oh, Gay, if you just saw the London mountains ! ) Snow! why they didnt know what snow was in Thrums. If they could only see St. Pauls or Hyde Park or Shovel I he couldnt help laugh- ing at Thrums, he couldntLarfing, he said at first, but in a short time his 4 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY 311 Scotch was better than theirs, though less unconscious. His English was better also, of course, and you had to speak in a kind of English when inside the Hanky School; you got your revenge at minutes. On the whole, Tommy irritated his fellow-pupils a good deal, but they found it difficult to keep away from him. He also contrived to enrage the less genteel boys of Monypenny. Their leader was Corp Shiach, three years Tommys senior, who had never been inside a school except once, when he broke hopefully into Ballingalls be- cause of a stirring rumor (nothing in it) that the dominie had hangit himself with his remaining brace; then in order of merit came Birkie Fleemister; then, perhaps, the smiths family, called the Haggerty - Taggertys, they were such slovens. When school was over Tom- my frequently stepped out of his boots and stockings, so that he no longer looked offensively genteel, and then Monypenny was willing to let him join in spyo, smuggle bools, kickbonnety, peeries, the preens, pilly, or whatever game was in season, even to the baiting of the Painted L~rdy, but they would not have Elspeth, who should have been content to play dumps with the female Haggerty - Taggertys, but could enjoy no game of which Tommy was not the larger half. Many times he deserted her for manlier joys, but though she was out of sight he could not forget her longing face, and soon he sneaked off to her; he upbraided her, but he stayed with her. They bore with him for a time, but when they discovered that she had persuaded him (after prayer) to put back the spugs eggs which he had brought home in triumph, then they drove him from their com- pany, and for a long time afterward his deadly enemy was the hard - hitting Corp Shiach. Elspeth was not invited to attend the readings of I Love My Love with an A, perhaps because there were so many words in it that she had no concern with, but she knew they ended as the eight-oclock bell began to ring, and it was her custom to meet Tommy a few yards froi~i Aarons door. Farther she darst not venture in the gloaming through fear of the Painted Lady, for Aarons house was not far from the fear- some lane that led to Double IDykes, and even the big boys who made faces at this woman by day ran from her in the dusk. Creepy tales were told of what happened to those on whom she cast a blighting eye before they could touch cold iron, and Tommy was one of mauy who kept a bit of cold iron from the smithy handy in his pocket. On his way home from the readings he never had occasion to use it, but at these times he sometimes met Grizel, who liked to do her shopping in the evenings when her persecutors were more easily eluded, and he forced her to speak to him. Not her loneliness appealed to him, but that look of admi- ration she had given him when he was astride of Francie Crabb. For such a look he could pardon many rebuffs; without it no praise greatly pleased him; he was always on the outlook for it. I warrant, he said to her one even- ing, you would like to have some man- body to take care of you the way I take care of Elspeth. No, I dont, she replied, promptly. Would you no like somebody to love you? Do you mean kissing? she asked. Theres better things in it than that, he said, guardedly ; but if you want kissing, JJElspethll kiss you. Will she want to do it? inquired Grizel, a little wistfully. Ill make her do it, Tommy said. I dont want her to do it, cried Grizel, and he could not draw another word from her. However he was sure she thought him a wonder, and when next they met he challenged her with it. Do you not now? I wont tell you, answered Grizel, who was never known to lie. You think Im a wonder, Tommy persisted, ~ but you dinna want me to know you think it. Grizel rocked her arms, a quaint way she had when excited, and she blurted out, How do you know? The look he liked had come back to her face, but he had no time to enjoy it, for just then Elspeth appeared, and Elspeths jealousy was easily aroused. 312 SENTIMENTAL TOMMY I dinna ken you, lassie, he said coolly to Grizel, and left her stamping her foot at him. She decided never to speak to Tommy again, but the next time they met he took her into the Den and taught her how to fight. It is painful to have to tell that Miss Aiie was the person who provided him with the opportunity. In the readings they arrived one evening at the scene in the conservatory, which has not a sin- gle stroke in it, but is so full of words we have no concern with that Tommy reeled home blinking, and next day so disgracefully did he flounder in his les- sons that the gentle school mistress cast up her arms in despair. I dont know what to say to you, she exclaimed. Fine I know what you want to say, he retorted, and unfortunately she asked, What? Stroke! he replied, leering hor- ridly. I Love My Love with an A was re- turned to the club forthwith (whether he really did have a wife in India Miss Ailie never knew) and Judd on the Shorter Catechism took its place. But mark the result. The readings ended at a quarter to eight now, at twenty to eight, at hall-past seven, and so Tommy could loiter on the way home without arousing Elspeths suspicion. One even- ing he saw Grizel cutting her way through the Haggerty-Taggerty group, and he offered to come to her aid if she would say Help me. But she re- fused. When, however, the Haggerty-Tag- gertys were gone she condescended to say, I shall never, never ask you t