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diff --git a/11548-h/11548-h.htm b/11548-h/11548-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f264f20 --- /dev/null +++ b/11548-h/11548-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6439 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta name="generator" content= +"HTML Tidy for Windows (vers 1st November 2003), see www.w3.org" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= +"text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of McCLURE'S MAGAZINE, Vol. 1, No. 549, + DECEMBER, 1895.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[*/ + +<!-- +body { +margin-left: 8%; +margin-right: 5% +} +p { +text-align : justify; +} +blockquote { +text-align : justify; +} +h1 , h2 , h3 , h4 , h5 , h6 { +text-align : center; +} +h2 { +margin-top : 4em; +} +h1 , h3 { +font-variant : small-caps; +} +pre { +font-size : 0.7em; +} +hr { +text-align : center; +width : 50%; +} +html > body hr { +margin-right : 25%; +margin-left : 25%; +width : 50%; +} +hr.full { +width : 100%; +margin-bottom : 4em; +} +html > body hr.full { +margin-right : 0%; +margin-left : 0%; +width : 100%; +} +hr.short { +text-align : center; +width : 20%; +} +html > body hr.short { +margin-right : 40%; +margin-left : 40%; +width : 20%; +} +hr.issue { +width : 100%; +margin-top : 1em; +} +.toc { +margin-top : 2em; +margin-left : 15%; +} +a { +text-decoration : none; +color : navy; +} +a:hover { +background-color : #ffffcc; +} +.smallcaps { +font-variant : small-caps; +} +.works { +text-align : center; +} +.note { +margin-left : 10%; +margin-right : 10%; +font-size : 0.9em; +} +.letter { +margin-right : 5%; +text-align : right; +} +.signed { +margin-left : 40%; +margin-top : -1em; +font-variant : small-caps; +} +.dearsir { +text-indent : 2em; +} +.yours { +margin-top : -1em; +margin-bottom : -1em; +margin-left : 40%; +} +span.pagenum { +position : absolute; +left : 1%; +right : 95%; +font-size : 8pt; +} +.poem { +margin-right : 10%; +margin-bottom : 1em; +margin-left : 10%; +text-align : left; +} +.poem .stanza { +margin : 1em 0; +} +.poem p { +margin : 0; +padding-left : 3em; +text-indent : -3em; +} +.poem p.i2 { +margin-left : 1em; +} +.poem p.i4 { +margin-left : 2em; +} +.poem p.i6 { +margin-left : 3em; +} +.poem p.i8 { +margin-left : 4em; +} +.poem p.i10 { +margin-left : 5em; +} +.figure , .figcenter , .figright , .figleft { +padding : 1em; +margin : 0; +text-align : center; +font-size : 0.8em; +} +.figure img , .figcenter img , .figright img , .figleft img , .decoration img { +border : medium none inherit; +} +.figure p , .figcenter p , .figright p , .figleft p { +margin-bottom : 0; +text-indent : 1em; +} +.figcenter { +margin : auto; +} +.figright { +float : right; +padding : 1em; +} +.figleft { +float : left; +padding : 1em; +} +.decoration { +float : left; +clear : left; +margin-top : -0.3em; +padding : 0.3em; +} +.footnote { +font-size : 0.9em; +margin-right : 10%; +margin-left : 10%; +} + --> +/*]]>*/ +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11548 ***</div> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page3" id="page3"></a>[pg 3]</span> +<h1>McClure's Magazine</h1> +<hr class="issue" /> +<table width="100%" border="0" summary="Volume, Date and Number"> +<tr> +<td width="33%" align="left"><b>Vol. VI. No. 549</b></td> +<td align="center"><b>DECEMBER, 1895.</b></td> +<td width="33%" align="right"><b>No. 1.</b></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<hr class="short" /> +<div class="toc"> +<p><a href="#ABRAHAM_LINCOLN">ABRAHAM LINCOLN, Edited by Ida M. +Tarbell</a></p> +<p><a href="#GLOTTENBERG">THE LOVE OF THE PRINCE OF GLOTTENBERG, By +Anthony Hope</a></p> +<p><a href="#MADONNA">MADONNA AND CHILD IN ART, By Will H. +Low</a></p> +<p><a href="#CHAPTERS">CHAPTERS FROM A LIFE, By Elizabeth Stuart +Phelps</a></p> +<p><a href="#UNDERSTUDY">THE UNDERSTUDY, By Robert Barr</a></p> +<p><a href="#HEROINE">THE HEROINE OF A FAMOUS SONG,<br /> +THE TRUE STORY OF ANNIE LAURIE, By Frank Pope Humphrey</a></p> +<p><a href="#A_POINT">A POINT OF KNUCKLIN' DOWN, By Ella +Higginson</a></p> +<p><a href="#THE_SUN">THE SUN'S HEAT, By Sir Robert Ball</a></p> +<p><a href="#HALL">HALL CAINE, STORY OF HIS LIFE AND WORK, By +Robert Harborough Sherard</a></p> +<p><a href="#NEIGHBOR">NEIGHBOR KING, By Collins +Shackelford</a></p> +<p><a href="#DARDANELLES">THROUGH THE DARDANELLES, by Cy +Warman</a></p> +<p><a href="#LETTERS">THE EARLIEST PORTRAIT OF LINCOLN,<br /> +LETTERS IN REGARD TO THE FRONTISPIECE OF THE NOVEMBER +McCLURE'S</a></p> +</div> +<hr /> +<a name="ABRAHAM_LINCOLN" id="ABRAHAM_LINCOLN"></a> +<h2>ABRAHAM LINCOLN.</h2> +<h3>Edited by Ida M. Tarbell.</h3> +<h4>II.</h4> +<blockquote> +<p>LIFE IN INDIANA.—REMOVAL TO ILLINOIS.—LINCOLN STARTS +OUT IN LIFE FOR HIMSELF AT TWENTY-ONE.—THE BUILDING OF THE +FLATBOAT AND THE TRIP TO NEW ORLEANS.—LINCOLN HIRES OUT AS A +GROCERY CLERK IN NEW SALEM.—HIS FIRST VOTE.</p> +</blockquote> +<br /> +<h4>INDIANA REMINISCENCES OF LINCOLN.</h4> +<div class="decoration"><img width="160" +src="images/001.png" alt="Letter A" /></div> +<p><span class="smallcaps"><b>Abraham Lincoln</b></span> grew to +manhood in Southern Indiana. When he reached Spencer County in +1816, he was seven years of age; when he left in 1830, he had +passed his twenty-first birthday. This period of a life shows +usually the natural bent of the character, and we have found in +these fourteen years of Lincoln's life signs of the qualities of +greatness which distinguished him. We have seen that, in spite of +the fact that he had no wise direction, that he was brought up by a +father with no settled purpose, and that he lived in a pioneer +community, where a young man's life at best is but a series of +makeshifts, he had developed a determination to make something out +of himself, and a desire to know, which led him to neglect no +opportunity to learn.</p> +<p>The only unbroken outside influence which directed and +stimulated him in his ambitions was that coming first from his +mother, then from his step-mother. It should never be forgotten +that these two women, both of them of unusual earnestness and +sweetness of spirit, were one or the other of them at the boy's +side throughout this period. The ideal they held before him was the +simple ideal of the early American, that if a boy is upright and +industrious he may aspire to any place within the gift of the +country. The boy's nature told him they were right. Everything he +read confirmed their teachings, and he cultivated, in every way +open to him, his passion to know and to be something.</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:60%"><img width="400" src="images/002-1.jpg" alt= +"REV. ALLEN BROONER." /> +<h5>REV. ALLEN BROONER.</h5> +<p>A neighbor of Thomas Lincoln, still living near Gentryville. Mr. +Brooner's wife was a friend of Nancy Hanks Lincoln. The two women +died within a few days of each other, and were buried side by side. +When the tombstone was placed at Mrs. Lincoln's grave, no one could +state positively which was Mrs. Brooner's and which Mrs. Lincoln's +grave. Mr. Allen Brooner gave his opinion, and the stone was +placed; but the iron fence incloses both graves, which lie in a +half-acre tract of land owned by the United States government. Mr. +Allen Brooner, after his wife's death, became a minister of the +United Brethren Church, and moved to Illinois. He received his mail +at New Salem when Abraham Lincoln was the postmaster at that place. +Mr. Brooner confirms Dr. Holland's story that "Abe" once walked +three miles after his day's work, to make right a +six-and-a-quarter-cents mistake he had made in a trade with a +woman. Like all of the old settlers of Gentryville, he remembers +the departure of the Lincolns for Illinois. "When the Lincolns were +getting ready to leave," says Mr. Brooner, "Abraham and his +stepbrother, John Johnston, came over to our house to swap a horse +for a yoke of oxen. 'Abe' was always a quiet fellow. John did all +the talking, and seemed to be the smartest of the two. If any one +had been asked that day which would make the greatest success in +life, I think the answer would have been John Johnston."</p> +</div> +<p>There are many proofs that young Lincoln's characteristics were +recognized at this period by his associates, that his determination +to excel, if not appreciated, yet made its imprint. In 1865, +thirty-five years after he left Gentryville, Mr. Herndon, anxious +to save all that was known of Lincoln in Indiana, went among his +old associates, and with a sincerity and thoroughness worthy of +great respect, interviewed them. At that time there were still +living numbers of the people with whom he had been brought up. They +all remembered something of him. It is curious to note that all of +these people tell of his doing something different from what other +boys did, something sufficiently superior to have made a keen +impression upon them. In almost every case the person had his own +special reason for admiring young Lincoln. His facility for making +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page4" id="page4"></a>[pg 4]</span> +rhymes and writing essays was the admiration of many who considered +it the more remarkable because "essays and poetry were not taught +in school," and "Abe took it up on his own account."</p> +<p>Many others were struck by the clever use he made of his gift +for writing. The wit he showed in taking revenge for a social +slight by a satire on the Grigsbys, who had failed to invite him to +a wedding, made a lasting impression in Gentryville. That he was +able to write so well that he could humiliate his enemies more +deeply than if he had resorted to the method of taking revenge +current in the country—that is, thrashing them—seemed +to his friends a mark of surprising superiority.</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:45%;"><img width="323" src="images/002-2.jpg" alt= +"JOHN W. LAMAR." /> +<h5>JOHN W. LAMAR.</h5> +<p>Mr. Lamar was one of the "small boys" of Spencer County when +Lincoln left Indiana, but old enough to have seen much of him and +to have known his characteristics and his reputation in the county. +He is still living near his old home, and gave our representative +in Indiana interesting reminiscences which are incorporated into +the present article.</p> +</div> +<p>Others remembered his quick-wittedness in helping his +friends.</p> +<p>"We are indebted to Kate Roby," says Mr. Herndon, "for an +incident which illustrates alike his proficiency in orthography and +his natural inclination to help another out of the mire. The word +'defied' had been given out by Schoolmaster Crawford, but had been +misspelled several times when it came Miss Roby's turn. 'Abe stood +on the opposite side of the room,' related Miss Roby to me in 1865, +'and was watching me. I began d-e-f—, and then I stopped, +hesitating whether to proceed with an i or a y. Looking up, I +beheld Abe, a grin covering his face, and pointing with his index +finger to his eye. I took the hint, spelled the word with an i, and +it went through all right.'"</p> +<p>This same Miss Roby it was who said of Lincoln, "He was better +read then than the world knows or is likely to know exactly.... He +often and often commented or talked to me about what he had +read—seemed to read it out of the book as he went +along—did so to others. He was the learned boy among us +unlearned folks.He took great pains to explain; could do it so +simply. He was diffident then, too."</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page5" id="page5"></a>[pg 5]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%"><img width="460" src="images/003.jpg" alt= +"LINCOLN IN 1860." /> +<h5>LINCOLN IN 1860.</h5> +<p>From an ambrotype in the possession of Mr. Marcus L. Ward of +Newark, New Jersey. This portrait of Mr. Lincoln was made in +Springfield, Illinois, on May 20, 1860, for the late Hon. Marcus L. +Ward, Governor of New Jersey. Mr. Ward had gone down to Springfield +to see Mr. Lincoln, and while there asked him for his picture. The +President-elect replied that he had no picture which was +satisfactory, but would gladly sit for one. The two gentlemen went +out immediately, and in Mr. Ward's presence Mr. Lincoln had the +above picture taken.</p> +</div> +<p>One man was impressed by the character of the sentences he had +given him for a copy. "It was considered at that time," said he, +"that Abe was the best penman in the neighborhood. One day, while +he was on a visit at my mother's, I asked him to write some copies +for me. He very willingly consented. He wrote several of them, but +one of them I have never forgotten, although a boy at that time. It +was this:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">"'Good boys who to their books apply</p> +<p class="i2">Will all be great men by and by.'"</p> +</div> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:45%;"> +<img width="400" src="images/004-1.jpg" alt= +"WILLIAM JONES." /> +<h5>WILLIAM JONES.</h5> +<p>The store in Gentryville, in which Lincoln first made his +reputation as a debater and story-teller, was owned by Mr. Jones. +The year before the Lincolns moved to Illinois Abraham clerked in +the store, and it is said that when he left Indiana, Mr. Jones sold +him a pack of goods which he peddled on his journey. Mr. Jones was +the representative from Spencer County in the State legislature +from 1838 to 1841. He is no longer living. His son, Captain William +Jones, is still in Gentryville.</p> +</div> +<p>All of his comrades remembered his stories and his clearness in +argument. "When he appeared in company," says Nat Grigsby, "the +boys would gather and cluster around him to hear him talk. Mr. +Lincoln was figurative in his speech, talks, and conversation. He +argued much from analogy, and explained things hard for us to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page6" id="page6"></a>[pg 6]</span> +understand by stories, maxims, tales, and figures. He would almost +always point his lesson or idea by some story that was plain and +near us, that we might instantly see the force and bearing of what +he said."</p> +<p>There is one other testimony to his character as a boy which +should not be omitted. It is that of his step-mother:</p> +<p>"Abe was a good boy, and I can say, what scarcely one +woman—a mother—can say in a thousand, Abe never gave me +a cross word or look, and never refused, in fact or appearance, to +do anything I requested him. I never gave him a cross word in all +my life.... His mind and mine—what little I had—seemed +to run together. He was here after he was elected President. He was +a dutiful son to me always. I think he loved me truly. I had a son, +John, who was raised with Abe. Both were good boys; but I must say, +both now being dead, that Abe was the best boy I ever saw, or +expect to see."</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:70%;"><img width="636" src="images/004-2.jpg" alt= +"PIGEON CREEK CHURCH." /> +<h5>PIGEON CREEK CHURCH.</h5> +<p>From a photograph loaned by W.W. Admire of Chicago. This little +log church or "meetin' house" is where the Lincolns attended +services in Indiana. The pulpit is said to have been made by Thomas +Lincoln. The building was razed about fifteen years ago, after +having been used for several years as a tobacco barn.</p> +</div> +<p>These are impressions of Mr. Lincoln gathered in Indiana thirty +years ago, when his companions were alive. To-day there are people +living in Spencer County who were small boys when he was a large +one, and who preserve curiously interesting impressions of him. A +representative of McCLURE'S MAGAZINE who has recently gone in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page7" id="page7"></a>[pg 7]</span> +detail over the ground of Lincoln's early life, says: "The people +who live in Spencer County are interested in any one who is +interested in Abraham Lincoln." They showed her the flooring he +whip-sawed, the mantles, doors, and window-casings he helped make, +the rails he split, the cabinets he and his father made, and scores +of relics cut from planks and rails he handled. They told what they +remembered of his rhymes and how he would walk miles to hear a +speech or sermon, and, returning, would repeat the whole in "putty +good imitation." Many remembered his coming evenings to sit around +the fireplace with their older brothers and sisters, and the +stories he told and the pranks he played there until ordered home +by the elders of the household.</p> +<p>Captain John Lamar who was a very small boy in one of the +families where Lincoln was well known, has many interesting +reminiscences which he is fond of repeating. "He told me of riding +to mill with his father one very hot day. As they drove along the +hot road they saw a boy sitting on the top rail of an old-fashioned +stake-and-rider worm fence. When they came close they saw that the +boy was reading, and had not noticed their approach. His father, +turning to him, said: 'John, look at that boy yonder, and mark my +words, he will make a smart man out of himself. I may not see it, +but you'll see if my words don't come true.' The boy was Abraham +Lincoln."</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:50%;"> +<img width="400" src="images/005.jpg" alt= +"ABRAHAM LINCOLN." /> +<h5>ABRAHAM LINCOLN.</h5> +<p>From a photograph in the collection of T.H. Bartlett, of Boston, +Massachusetts.<a id="footnotetag1" name="footnotetag1"></a><a href= +"#footnote1"><sup>1</sup></a> Mr. Bartlett regards this as his +earliest portrait of Mr. Lincoln, but does not know when or where +it was taken. This portrait is also in the Oldroyd Collection at +Washington, D.C., and is dated 1856.</p> +</div> +<p>Captain Lamar tells many good stories about the early days: +"Uncle Jimmy Larkins, as everybody called him, was a great hero in +my childish eyes. Why, I cannot now say, without it was his +manners. There had been a big fox chase, and Uncle Jimmy was +telling about it. Of course he was the hero. I was only a little +shaver, and I stood in front of Uncle Jimmy, looking up into his +eyes, but he never noticed me. He looked at Abraham Lincoln, and +'Abe, I've got the best horse in the world—he won the race +and never drew a long breath;' but Abe paid no attention to Uncle +Jimmy, and I got mad at the big, overgrown fellow, and wanted him +to listen to my hero's story. Uncle Jimmy was determined that Abe +should hear, and repeated the story. 'I say, Abe, I have the best +horse in the world; after all that running he never drew a long +breath.' Then Abe, looking down at my little dancing hero, said, +'Well, Larkins, why don't you tell us how many short breaths he +drew?' This raised a laugh on Uncle Jimmy, and he got mad, and +declared he'd fight Abe if he wasn't so big. He jumped around until +Abe quietly said: 'Now, Larkins, if you don't shut up I'll throw +you in that water.' I was very uneasy and angry at the way my hero +was treated, but I lived to change my views about +<i>heroes</i>."</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:40%"> +<img width="400" src="images/006-1.jpg" alt= +"GREEN B. TAYLOR." /> +<h5>GREEN B. TAYLOR.</h5> +<p>Son of Mr. James Taylor, for whom Lincoln ran the ferry-boat at +the mouth of Anderson Creek. Mr. Taylor, now in his eighty-second +year, lives in South Dakota. He remembers Mr. Lincoln perfectly, +and wrote our Indiana correspondent that it was true that his +father hired Abraham Lincoln for one year, at six dollars a month, +and that he was "well pleased with the boy."</p> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page8" id="page8"></a>[pg +8]</span><br /> +<h4>THE LINCOLNS DECIDE TO LEAVE INDIANA.</h4> +<p>Abraham was twenty-one years old when Thomas Lincoln decided to +leave Indiana in the spring of 1830. The reason Dennis Hanks gives +for this removal was a disease called the "milk-sick." Abraham +Lincoln's mother, Nancy Hanks Lincoln, and several of their +relatives who had followed them from Kentucky, had died of it. The +cattle had been carried off by it. Neither brute nor human life +seemed to be safe. As Dennis Hanks says: "This was reason enough +(ain't it?) for leaving."</p> +<p>The place chosen for their new home was the Sangamon country in +central Illinois. It was a country of great renown in the West, the +name meaning "The land where there is plenty to eat." One of the +family—John Hanks, a cousin of Dennis—was already +there, and sent them inviting reports.</p> +<p>Gentryville saw young Lincoln depart with real regret, and his +friends gave him a score of rude proofs that he would not be +forgotten. Our representative in Indiana found that almost every +family who remembered the Lincolns retained some impression of +their leaving.</p> +<p>"Neighbors seemed, in those days," she writes, "like relatives. +The entire Lincoln family stayed the last night before starting on +their journey with Mr. Gentry. He was loath to part with Lincoln, +so 'accompanied the movers along the road a spell.' They stopped on +a hill which overlooks Buckthorn Valley, and looked their 'good-by' +to their old home and to the home of Sarah Lincoln Grigsby, to the +grave of the mother and wife, to all their neighbors and friends. +Buckthorn Valley held many dear recollections to the movers."</p> +<p>After they were gone James Gentry planted the cedar tree which +now marks the site of the Lincoln home.<a id="footnotetag2" name= +"footnotetag2"></a><a href="#footnote2"><sup>2</sup></a> "The folks +who come lookin' around have taken twigs until you can't reach any +more very handy," those who point out the tree say.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:70%;"> +<img width="603" src="images/006-2.jpg" alt= +"THE HILL NEAR GENTRYVILLE FROM WHICH THE LINCOLNS +TOOK THEIR LAST LOOK AT THEIR INDIANA HOME." /> + +<h5>THE HILL NEAR GENTRYVILLE FROM WHICH THE LINCOLNS TOOK THEIR +LAST LOOK AT THEIR INDIANA HOME.</h5> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page9" id="page9"></a>[pg 9]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:90%;"> +<img width="400" src="images/007.jpg" alt= +"SAMUEL CRAWFORD." /> +<h5>SAMUEL CRAWFORD.</h5> +<p>Only living son of Josiah Crawford, who lent Lincoln the Weems's +"Life of Washington." To our representative in Indiana, who secured +this picture of Mr. Crawford, he said, when asked if he remembered +the Lincolns: "Oh, yes; I remember them, although I was not +Abraham's age. He was twelve years older than I. One day I ran in, +calling out, 'Mother! mother! Aaron Grigsby is sparking Sally +Lincoln; I saw him kiss her!' Mother scolded me, and told me I must +stop watching Sally, or I wouldn't get to the wedding. [It will be +remembered that Sally Lincoln was 'help' in the Crawford family, +and that she afterwards married Aaron Grigsby.] Neighbors thought +lots more of each other then than now, and it seems like everybody +liked the Lincolns. We were well acquainted, for Mr. Thomas Lincoln +was a good carpenter, and made the cupboard, mantels, doors, and +sashes in our old home that was burned down."</p> +</div> +<p>Lincoln himself felt keenly the parting from his friends, and he +certainly never forgot his years in the Hoosier State. One of the +most touching experiences he relates in all his published letters +is his emotion at visiting his old Indiana home fourteen years +after he had left it. So strongly was he moved by the scenes of his +first conscious sorrows, efforts, joys, ambitions, that he put into +verse the feelings they awakened.<a id="footnotetag3" name= +"footnotetag3"></a><a href="#footnote3"><sup>3</sup></a></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<img width="433" src="images/008-2.jpg" alt= +"SANGAMON TOWN IN 1831." /> +<h5>SANGAMON TOWN IN 1831.</h5> +<p class="author">Drawn by J. McCan Davis with the aid of Mr. John +E. Roll, a former resident.</p> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page10" id="page10"></a>[pg +10]</span> +<div class="figleft" style="width:40%;"> +<img width="317" src="images/008-1.jpg" alt= +"JOHN E. ROLL." /> +<h5>JOHN E. ROLL.</h5> +<p>Born in Green Village, New Jersey, June 4, 1814. He went to +Illinois in 1830, the same year that Mr. Lincoln went, settling in +Sangamon town, where he had relatives. It was here he met Lincoln, +and made the "pins" for the flatboat. Later Mr. Roll went to +Springfield, where he bought large quantities of land and built +many houses. A quarter of the city is now known as "Roll's +addition." Mr. Roll was well acquainted with Lincoln, and when the +President left Springfield he gave Mr. Roll his dog, Fido. Mr. Roll +knew Stephen A. Douglas well, and carries a watch which once +belonged to the "Little Giant."</p> +</div> +<p>While he never attempted to conceal the poverty and hardship of +these days, and would speak humorously of the "pretty pinching +times" he saw, he never regarded his life at this time as mean or +pitiable.</p> +<p>Frequently he talked to his friends in later years of his +boyhood, and always with apparent pleasure. "Mr. Lincoln told this +story" (of his youth), says Leonard Swett, "as the story of a happy +childhood. There was nothing sad or pinched, and nothing of want, +and no allusion to want in any part of it. His own description of +his youth was that of a joyous, happy boyhood. It was told with +mirth and glee, and illustrated by pointed anecdote, often +interrupted by his jocund laugh."</p> +<p>And he was right. There was nothing ignoble or mean in this +Indiana pioneer life. It was rude, but it was only the rudeness +which the ambitious are willing to endure in order to push on to a +better condition than they otherwise could know. These people did +not accept their hardships apathetically. They did not regard them +as permanent. They were only the temporary deprivations necessary +in order to accomplish what they had come into the country to do. +For this reason they could endure hopefully all that was hard. It +is worth notice, too, that there was nothing belittling in their +life, there was no pauperism, no shirking. Each family provided for +its own simple wants, and had the conscious dignity which comes +from being equal to a situation.</p> +<br /> +<h4>FROM INDIANA TO ILLINOIS.</h4> +<p>The company which emigrated to Illinois included the families of +Thomas Lincoln, Dennis Hanks—married to one of Lincoln's +step-sisters—and Levi Hall, thirteen persons in all. They +sold land, cattle, and grain, and much of their household goods, +and were ready in March of 1830 for their journey. All the +possessions which the three families had to take with them were +packed into a big wagon—the first one Thomas Lincoln had ever +owned, it is said—to which four oxen were attached, and the +caravan started. The weather was still cold, the streams were +swollen, and the roads were muddy, but the party started out +bravely. Inured to hardships, alive to all the new sights on their +route, every day brought them amusement and adventures, and +especially to young Lincoln the journey must have been of keen +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page11" id="page11"></a>[pg +11]</span> interest. He drove the oxen on this trip, he tells us, +and, according to a story current in Gentryville, he succeeded in +doing a fair peddler's business on the route. Captain William +Jones, in whose father's store Lincoln had spent so many hours in +discussion and in story-telling, and for whom he had worked the +last winter he was in Indiana, says that before leaving the State +Abraham invested all his money, some thirty-odd dollars, in +notions. Though the country through which they expected to pass was +but sparsely settled, he believed he could dispose of them. "A set +of knives and forks was the largest item entered on the bill," says +Mr. Jones; "the other items were needles, pins, thread, buttons, +and other little domestic necessities. When the Lincolns reached +their new home, near Decatur, Illinois, Abraham wrote back to my +father, stating that he had doubled his money on his purchases by +selling them along the road. Unfortunately we did not keep that +letter, not thinking how highly we would have prized it years +afterwards."</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:80%;"> +<img width="506" src="images/009.jpg" alt= +"LINCOLN, OFFUTT, AND GREEN ON THE FLATBOAT AT NEW SALEM." /> +<h5>LINCOLN, OFFUTT, AND GREEN ON THE FLATBOAT AT NEW SALEM</h5> +<p>From a painting in the State Capitol, Springfield, Illinois. +This picture is crude and, from a historic point of view, +inaccurate. The celebrated flatboat built by Lincoln and by him +piloted to New Orleans, was a much larger and better craft than the +one here portrayed. The little structure over the dam is meant for +the Rutledge and Cameron mill, but the real mill was a far more +pretentious affair. There was not only a grist-mill, but also a +saw-mill which furnished lumber to the settlers for many miles +around. The mill was built in 1829. March 5, 1830, we find John +Overstreet appearing before the County Commissioners' Court at +Springfield and averring upon oath "that he is informed and +believes that John Cameron and James Rutledge have erected a +mill-dam on the Sangamon River which obstructs the navigation of +said river;" and the Commissioners issued a notice to Cameron and +Rutledge to alter the dam so as to restore the "safe navigation" of +the river. James M. Rutledge, of Petersburg, a nephew of the +mill-owner, helped build the mill, and says of it: "The mill was a +frame structure, and was solidly built. They used to grind corn +mostly, though some flour was made. At times they would run day and +night. The saw-mill had an old-fashioned upright saw, and stood on +the bank." For a time this mill was operated by Denton Offutt, and +was under the immediate supervision of Lincoln. A few heavy stakes, +a part of the old dam, still show themselves at low +water.—<i>Note prepared by J. McCan Davis</i>.</p> +</div> +<p>The pioneers were a fortnight on their journey. The route they +took we do not exactly know, though we may suppose that it would be +that by which they would avoid the most watercourses. We know from +Mr. H.C. Whitney that the travellers reached Macon County from the +south, for once when he was in Decatur with Mr. Lincoln the two +strolled out for a walk, and when they came to the court-house, +"Lincoln," says Mr. Whitney, "walked out a few feet in front, and +after shifting his position two or three times, said, as he looked +up at the building, partly to himself and partly to me: 'Here is +the exact spot where I stood by our wagon when we moved from +Indiana twenty-six years ago; this isn't six feet from the exact +spot.'... I asked him if he, at that time, had expected to be a +lawyer and practise law in that court-house; to which he replied: +'No; I didn't know I had sense enough to be a lawyer then.' He then +told me he had frequently thereafter tried to locate the route by +which they had come; and that he had decided that it was near to +the line of the main line of the Illinois Central Railroad."</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page12" id="page12"></a>[pg +12]</span> +<div class="figleft" style="width:40%;"> +<img width="327" src="images/010-1.jpg" alt= +"LINCOLN'S AXE." /> +<h5>LINCOLN'S AXE.</h5> +<p>This broad-axe is said to have been owned originally by Abram +Bales, of New Salem; and, according to tradition, it was bought +from him by Lincoln. After Lincoln forsook the woods, he sold the +axe to one Mr. Irvin. Mr. L.W. Bishop, of Petersburg, now has the +axe, having gotten it directly from Mr. Irvin. There are a number +of affidavits attesting its genuineness. The axe has evidently seen +hard usage, and is now covered with a thick coat of rust.</p> +</div> +<br /> +<h4>A NEW HOME.</h4> +<p>The party settled some ten miles west of Decatur, in Macon +County. Here John Hanks had the logs already cut for their new +home, and Lincoln, Dennis Hanks, and Hall soon had a cabin erected. +Mr. Lincoln himself (though writing in the third person) says: +"Here they built a log cabin, into which they removed, and made +sufficient of rails to fence ten acres of ground, fenced and broke +the ground, and raised a crop of sown corn upon it the same year. +These are, or are supposed to be, the rails about which so much is +being said just now, though these are far from being the first or +only rails ever made by Abraham."<a id="footnotetag4" name= +"footnotetag4"></a><a href="#footnote4"><sup>4</sup></a></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:90%;"> +<img width="496" src="images/010-2.jpg" alt= +"MODEL OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S DEVICE FOR LIFTING VESSELS OVER SHOALS." /> +<h5>MODEL OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S DEVICE FOR LIFTING VESSELS OVER +SHOALS.</h5> +<p>The inscription above this model, which is shown to all visitors +to the Model Hall of the Patent Office, reads: "6469 Abraham +Lincoln, Springfield, Ill. Improvement in method of lifting vessels +over shoals. Patented May 22, 1849." The apparatus consists of a +bellows, placed in each side of the hull of the craft, just below +the water-line, and worked by an odd but simple system of ropes and +pulleys. When the keel of the vessel grates against the sand or +obstruction, the bellows is filled with air; and, thus buoyed up, +the vessel is expected to float over the shoal. The model is about +eighteen or twenty inches long, and looks as if it had been +whittled with a knife out of a shingle and a cigar box. There is no +elaboration in the apparatus beyond that necessary to show the +operation of buoying the vessel over the obstructions.</p> +</div> +<p>If they were far from being his "first and only rails," they +certainly were the most famous ones he or anybody else ever split. +This was the last work he did for his father, for in the summer of +that year (1830) he exercised the right of majority and started out +to shift for himself. When he left his home to start life for +himself, he went empty-handed. He was already some months over +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page13" id="page13"></a>[pg +13]</span> twenty-one years of age, but he had nothing in the +world, not even a suit of respectable clothes; and one of the first +pieces of work he did was "to split four hundred rails for every +yard of brown jeans dyed with white walnut bark that would be +necessary to make him a pair of trousers." He had no trade, no +profession, no spot of land, no patron, no influence. Two things +recommended him to his neighbors—he was strong, and he was a +good fellow.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:90%;"> +<img width="479" src="images/011.jpg" alt= +"LINCOLN IN 1857." /> +<h5>LINCOLN IN 1857.</h5> +<p>From a photograph loaned by H.W. Fay of De Kalb, Illinois. The +original was taken early in 1857 by Alex. Hesler of Chicago. Mr. +Fay writes of the picture: "I have a letter from Mr. Hesler stating +that one of the lawyers came in and made arrangements for the +sitting so that the members of the bar could get prints. Lincoln +said at the time that he did not know why the boys wanted such a +homely face." Mr. Joseph Medill of Chicago went with Mr. Lincoln to +have the picture taken. He says that the photographer insisted on +smoothing down Lincoln's hair, but Lincoln did not like the result, +and ran his fingers through it before sitting. The original +negative was burned in the Chicago fire.</p> +</div> +<p>His strength made him a valuable laborer. Not that he was fond +of hard labor. Mrs. Crawford says: "Abe was no hand to pitch into +work like killing snakes;" but when he did work, it was with an +ease and effectiveness which compensated his employer for the time +he spent in practical jokes and extemporaneous speeches. He would +lift as much as three ordinary men, and "My, how he would chop!" +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page14" id="page14"></a>[pg +14]</span> says Dennis Hanks. "His axe would flash and bite into a +sugar-tree or sycamore, and down it would come. If you heard him +fellin' trees in a clearin', you would say there was three men at +work by the way the trees fell." Standing six feet four, he could +out-lift, out-work, and out-wrestle any man he came in contact +with. Friends and employers were proud of his strength, and boasted +of it, never failing to pit him against any hero whose strength +they heard vaunted. He himself was proud of it, and throughout his +life was fond of comparing himself with tall and strong men. When +the committee called on him in Springfield, in 1860, to notify him +of his nomination as President, Governor Morgan of New York was of +the number, a man of great height and brawn. "Pray, Governor, how +tall may you be?" was Mr. Lincoln's first question. There is a +story told of a poor man seeking a favor from him once at the White +House. He was overpowered by the idea that he was in the presence +of the President, and, his errand done, was edging shyly out, when +Mr. Lincoln stopped him, insisting that he <i>measure</i> with him. +The man was the taller, as Mr. Lincoln had thought; and he went +away evidently more abashed at the idea that he dared be taller +than the President of the United States than that he had dared to +venture into his presence.</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:50%;"> +<img width="477" src="images/012.jpg" alt= +"NEW SALEM." /> +<h5>NEW SALEM.</h5> +<p>From a painting in the State Capitol, Springfield, Illinois. New +Salem, which is described in the body of this article, was founded +by James Rutledge and John Cameron in 1829. In that year they built +a dam across the Sangamon River, and erected a mill. Under date of +October 23, 1829, Reuben Harrison, surveyor, certifies that "at the +request of John Cameron one of the proprietors I did survey the +town of New Salem." The town within two years contained a dozen or +fifteen houses, nearly all of them built of logs. New Salem's +population probably never exceeded a hundred persons. Its +inhabitants, and those of the surrounding country were mostly +Southerners—natives of Kentucky and Tennessee—though +there was an occasional Yankee among them. Soon after Lincoln left +the place, in the spring of 1837, it began to decline. Petersburg +had sprung up two miles down the river, and rapidly absorbed its +population and business. By 1840 New Salem was almost deserted. The +Rutledge tavern the first house erected, was the last to succumb. +It stood for many years, but at last crumbled away. Salem hill is +now only a green cow pasture.—<i>Note prepared by J. McCan +Davis.</i></p> +</div> +<p>Governor Hoyt tells an excellent story illustrating Lincoln's +interest in muscle and his involuntary comparison of himself with +any man who showed great strength. It was in 1859, after Lincoln +had delivered a speech at the State Agricultural Fair of Wisconsin +in Milwaukee. The two men were making the rounds of the exhibits, +and went into a tent to see a "strong man" perform. He went through +the ordinary exercises with huge iron balls, tossing them in the +air and catching them, and rolling them on his arms and back; and +Mr. Lincoln, who evidently had never before seen such a thing, +watched him with intense interest, ejaculating under his breath +every now and then, "By George! By George!" When the performance +was over, Governor Hoyt, seeing Mr. Lincoln's interest, asked him +to go up and be introduced to the athlete. He did so; and, as he +stood looking down musingly on the fellow, who was very short, and +evidently wondering that a man so much shorter than he could be so +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page15" id="page15"></a>[pg +15]</span> much stronger, he suddenly broke out with one of his +quaint speeches. "Why," he said, "why, I could lick salt off the +top of your hat."</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:45%;"> +<img width="400" src="images/013.jpg" alt= +"THE NEW SALEM MILL TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO." /> +<h5>THE NEW SALEM MILL TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO</h5> +<p>The Rutledge and Cameron mill, of which Lincoln at one time had +charge, stood on the same spot as the mill in the picture, and had +the same foundation. From the map on page 18 it will be seen that +the mill was below the bluff and east of the town.</p> +</div> +<p>His strength won him popularity, but his good-nature, his wit, +his skill in debate, his stories, were still more efficient in +gaining him good-will. People liked to have him around, and voted +him a good fellow to work with. Yet such were the conditions of his +life at this time that, in spite of his popularity, nothing was +open to him but hard manual labor. To take the first "job" which he +happened upon—rail-splitting, ploughing, lumbering, boating, +store-keeping—and make the most of it, thankful if thereby he +earned his bed and board and yearly suit of jeans, was apparently +all there was before Abraham Lincoln in 1830 when he started out +for himself.</p> +<br /> +<h4>FIRST INDEPENDENT WORK.</h4> +<p>Through the summer and fall of 1830 and the early winter of +1831, Mr. Lincoln worked in the vicinity of his father's new home, +usually as a farm-hand and rail-splitter. Most of his work was done +in company with John Hanks. Before the end of the winter he secured +employment which he has given an account of himself (writing again +in the third person):<a id="footnotetag5" name= +"footnotetag5"></a><a href="#footnote5"><sup>5</sup></a></p> +<p>"During that winter Abraham, together with his stepmother's son, +John D. Johnston, and John Hanks, yet residing in Macon County, +hired themselves to Denton Offutt to take a flat-boat from +Beardstown, Illinois, to New Orleans, and for that purpose were to +join him—Offutt—at Springfield, Illinois, so soon as +the snow should go off. When it did go off, which was about March +1, 1831, the country was so flooded as to make travelling by land +impracticable; to obviate which difficulty they purchased a large +canoe and came down the Sangamon River in it from where they were +all living (near Decatur). This is the time and manner of Abraham's +first entrance into Sangamon County. They found Offutt at +Springfield, but learned from him that he had failed in getting a +boat at Beardstown. This led to their hiring themselves to him for +twelve dollars per month each, and getting the timber out of the +trees, and building a boat at old Sangamon town on the Sangamon +River, seven miles northwest of Springfield, which boat they took +to New Orleans, substantially on the old contract."</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:40%;"> +<img width="347" src="images/014.jpg" alt= +"PRESENT SITE OF NEW SALEM." /> +<h5>PRESENT SITE OF NEW SALEM.</h5> +</div> +<p>Sangamon town, where Mr. Lincoln built the flatboat, has, since +his day, completely disappeared from the earth; but then it was one +of the flourishing settlements on the river of that name. Lincoln +and his friends on arriving there in March immediately began work. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page16" id="page16"></a>[pg +16]</span> There is still living in Springfield, Illinois, a man +who helped Lincoln at the raft-building—Mr. John Roll, a +well-known citizen, and one who has been prominent in the material +advancement of the city. Mr. Roll remembers distinctly Lincoln's +first appearance in Sangamon town. To a representative of this +MAGAZINE who talked with him recently in Springfield he described +Lincoln's looks when he first came to town. "He was a tall, gaunt +young man," Mr. Roll said, "dressed in a suit of blue homespun +jeans, consisting of a roundabout jacket, waistcoat, and breeches +which came to within about four inches of his feet. The latter were +encased in raw-hide boots, into the top of which, most of the time, +his pantaloons were stuffed. He wore a soft felt hat which had at +one time been black, but now, as its owner dryly remarked, 'it had +been sunburned until it was a combine of colors.'"</p> +<p>Mr. Roll's relation to the newcomer soon became something more +than that of a critical observer; he hired out to him, and says +with pride, "I made every pin which went into that boat."</p> +<br /> +<h4>LINCOLN'S POPULARITY IN SANGAMON.</h4> +<p>It took some four weeks to build the raft, and in that period +Lincoln succeeded in captivating the entire village by his +story-telling. It was the custom in Sangamon for the "men-folks" to +gather at noon and in the evening, when resting, in a convenient +lane near the mill. They had rolled out a long peeled log on which +they lounged while they whittled and talked. After Mr. Lincoln came +to town the men would start him to story-telling as soon as he +appeared at the assembly ground. So irresistibly droll were his +"yarns" that, says Mr. Roll, "whenever he'd end up in his +unexpected way the boys on the log would whoop and roll off." The +result of the rolling off was to polish the log like a mirror. Long +after Lincoln had disappeared from Sangamon "Abe's log" remained, +and until it had rotted away people pointed it out, and repeated +the droll stories of the stranger.</p> +<br /> +<h4>AN EXCITING ADVENTURE.</h4> +<p>The flatboat was done in about a month, and Lincoln and his +friends prepared to leave Sangamon. Before he started, however, he +was the hero of an adventure so thrilling that he won new laurels +in the community. Mr. Roll, who was a witness to the whole exciting +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page17" id="page17"></a>[pg +17]</span> scene, tells the story as follows:</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:35%;"> +<img width="251" src="images/015.jpg" alt= +"A MATRON OF NEW SALEM IN 1832." /> +<h5>A MATRON OF NEW SALEM IN 1832.</h5> +<p>This costume, worn by Mrs. Lucy M. Bennett of Petersburg, +Illinois, has been a familiar attraction at old settlers' +gatherings in Menard County, for years. The dress was made by Mrs. +Hill, of New Salem, and the reticule or workbag will be readily +recognized by those who have any recollection of the early days. +The bonnet occupied a place in the store of Samuel Hill at New +Salem. It was taken from the store by Mrs. Hill, worn for a time by +her, and has been carefully preserved to this day. It is an +imported bonnet—a genuine Leghorn—and of a kind so +costly that Mr. Hill made only an occasional sale of one. Its +price, in fact, was $25.</p> +</div> +<p>"It was the spring following the winter of the deep snow.<a id= +"footnotetag6" name="footnotetag6"></a><a href= +"#footnote6"><sup>6</sup></a> Walter Carman, John Seamon, myself, +and at times others of the Carman boys, had helped Abe in building +the boat, and when he had finished we went to work to make a +dug-out, or canoe, to be used as a small boat with the flat. We +found a suitable log about an eighth of a mile up the river, and +with our axes went to work under Lincoln's direction. The river was +very high, fairly 'booming.' After the dug-out was ready to launch +we took it to the edge of the water, and made ready to 'let her +go,' when Walter Carman and John Seamon jumped in as the boat +struck the water, each one anxious to be the first to get a ride. +As they shot out from the shore they found they were unable to make +any headway against the strong current. Carman had the paddle, and +Seamon was in the stern of the boat. Lincoln shouted to them to +'head upstream' and 'work back to shore,' but they found themselves +powerless against the stream. At last they began to pull for the +wreck of an old flatboat, the first ever built on the Sangamon, +which had sunk and gone to pieces, leaving one of the stanchions +sticking above the water. Just as they reached it Seamon made a +grab, and caught hold of the stanchion, when the canoe capsized, +leaving Seamon clinging to the old timber, and throwing Carman into +the stream. It carried him down with the speed of a mill-race, +Lincoln raised his voice above the roar of the flood, and yelled to +Carman to swim for an elm-tree which stood almost in the channel, +which the action of the high water changed. Carman, being a good +swimmer, succeeded in catching a branch, and pulled himself up out +of the water, which was very cold, and had almost chilled him to +death; and there he sat, shivering and chattering in the tree. +Lincoln, seeing Carman safe, called out to Seamon to let go the +stanchion and swim for the tree. With some hesitation he obeyed, +and struck out, while Lincoln cheered, and directed him from the +bank. As Seamon neared the tree he made one grab for a branch, and, +missing it, went under the water. Another desperate lunge was +successful, and he climbed up beside Carman. Things were pretty +exciting now, for there were two men in the tree, and the boat was +gone.</p> +<p>"It was a cold, raw April day, and there was great danger of the +men becoming benumbed and falling back into the water. Lincoln +called out to them to keep their spirits up and he would save them. +The village had been alarmed by this time, and many people had come +down to the bank. Lincoln procured a rope, and tied it to a log. He +called all hands to come and help roll the log into the water, and +after this had been done, he, with the assistance of several +others, towed it some distance up the stream. A daring young fellow +by the name of 'Jim' Dorrell then took his seat on the end of the +log, and it was pushed out into the current, with the expectation +that it would be carried downstream against the tree where Seamon +and Carman were. The log was well directed, and went straight to +the tree; but Jim, in his impatience to help his friends, fell a +victim to his good intentions. Making a frantic grab at a branch, +he raised himself off the log, and <span class="pagenum"><a name= +"page18" id="page18"></a>[pg 18]</span> it was swept from under him +by the raging water, and he soon joined the other two victims upon +their forlorn perch. The excitement on shore increased, and almost +the whole population of the village gathered on the river bank. +Lincoln had the log pulled up the stream, and securing another +piece of rope, called to the men in the tree to catch it if they +could when he should reach the tree. He then straddled the log +himself, and gave the word to push out into the stream. When he +dashed into the tree, he threw the rope over the stump of a broken +limb, and let it play until he broke the speed of the log, and +gradually drew it back to the tree, holding it there until the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page19" id="page19"></a>[pg +19]</span> three now nearly frozen men had climbed down and seated +themselves astride. He then gave orders to the people on the shore +to hold fast to the end of the rope which was tied to the log, and +leaving his rope in the tree he turned the log adrift, and the +force of the current acting against the taut rope swung the log +around against the bank, and all 'on board' were saved. The excited +people, who had watched the dangerous experiment with alternate +hope and fear, now broke into cheers for Abe Lincoln and praises +for his brave act. This adventure made quite a hero of him along +the Sangamon, and the people never tired of telling of the +exploit."</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:95%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/016.jpg" alt= +"MAP OF NEW SALEM." /> +<h5>MAP OF NEW SALEM.</h5> +<p>Map made by J. McCan Davis, aided by surviving inhabitants of +New Salem. Dr. John Allen was the leading physician of New Salem. +He was a Yankee, and was at first looked upon with suspicion, but +he was soon running a Sunday-school and temperance society, though +strongly opposed by the conservative church people. Dr. Allen +attended Ann Rutledge in her last illness. He was thrifty, and +moving to Petersburg in 1840, became wealthy. He died in 1860. Dr. +Francis Regnier was a rival physician and a respected citizen. +Samuel Hill and John McNeill (whose real name subsequently proved +to be McNamar) operated a general store next to Berry & +Lincoln's grocery. Mr. Hill also owned the carding-machine. He +moved his store to Petersburg in 1839, and engaged in business +there, dying quite wealthy. Jack Kelso followed a variety of +callings, being occasionally a school-teacher, now and then a +grocery clerk, and always a fisher and hunter. He was a man of some +culture, and, when warmed by liquor, quoted Shakespeare and Burns +profusely, a habit which won for him the close friendship of +Lincoln. Joshua Miller was a blacksmith, and lived in the same +house with Kelso—a double house. He is said to be still +living, somewhere in Nebraska. Miller and Kelso were brothers-in +law. Philemon Morris was a tinner. Henry Onstott was a cooper by +trade. He was an elder in the Cumberland Presbyterian Church, and +meetings were often held at his house. Rev. John Berry, father of +Lincoln's partner, frequently preached there. Robert Johnson was a +wheelwright, and his wife took in weaving. Martin Waddell was a +hatter. He was the best-natured man in town, Lincoln possibly +excepted. The Trent brothers, who succeeded Berry & Lincoln as +proprietors of the store, worked in his shop for a time. William +Clary, one of the first settlers of New Salem, was one of a +numerous family, most of whom lived in the vicinity of "Clary's +Grove." Isaac Burner was the father of Daniel Green Burner, Berry +& Lincoln's clerk. Alexander Ferguson worked at odd jobs. He +had two brothers, John and Elijah. Isaac Gollaher lived in a house +belonging to John Ferguson. "Row" Herndon, at whose house Lincoln +boarded for a year or more after going to New Salem, moved to the +country after selling his store to Berry & Lincoln. John +Cameron, one of the founders of the town, was a Presbyterian +preacher and a highly esteemed citizen.—<i>Note prepared by +J. McCan Davis</i>.</p> +</div> +<br /> +<h4>A SECOND ADVENTURE.</h4> +<p>The flatboat built and loaded, the party started for New Orleans +about the middle of April. They had gone but a few miles when they +met with another adventure. At the village of New Salem there was a +mill-dam. On it the boat stuck, and here for nearly twenty-four +hours it hung, the bow in the air and the stern in the water, the +cargo slowly setting backward—shipwreck almost certain. The +village of New Salem turned out in a body to see what the strangers +would do in their predicament. They shouted, suggested, and advised +for a time, but finally discovered that one big fellow in the crew +was ignoring them and working out a plan of relief. Having unloaded +the cargo into a neighboring boat, Lincoln had succeeded in tilting +his craft. By boring a hole in the end extending over the dam the +water was let out. This done, the boat was easily shoved over and +reloaded. The ingenuity which he had exercised in saving his boat +made a deep impression on the crowd on the bank. It was talked over +for many a day, and the general verdict was that the "bow-hand" was +a "strapper." The proprietor of boat and cargo was even more +enthusiastic than the spectators, and vowed he would build a +steamboat for the Sangamon and make Lincoln the captain. Lincoln +himself was interested in what he had done, and nearly twenty years +later he embodied his reflections on this adventure in a curious +invention for getting boats over shoals.</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:45%;"> +<img width="400" src="images/017.jpg" alt= +"WILLIAM G. GREENE." /> +<h5>WILLIAM G. GREENE.</h5> +<p>William G. Greene was one of the earliest friends of Lincoln at +New Salem. He stood on the bank of the Sangamon River on the 19th +of April, 1831, and watched Lincoln bore a hole in the bottom of +the flatboat, which had lodged on the mill-dam, so that the water +might run out. A few months later he and Lincoln were both employed +by the enterprising Denton Offutt, as clerks in the store and +managers of the mill which had been leased by Offutt. It was +William G. Greene who, returning home from college at Jacksonville +on a vacation, brought Richard Yates with him, and introduced him +to Lincoln, the latter being found stretched out on the cellar door +of Bowling Green's cabin reading a book. Mr. Greene was born in +Tennessee in 1812, and went to Illinois in 1822. After the +disappearance of New Salem he removed to Tallula, a few miles away, +where in after years he engaged in the banking business. He died in +1894, after amassing a fortune.</p> +</div> +<br /> +<h4>NEW ORLEANS IN 1831.</h4> +<p>The raft over the New Salem dam, the party went on to New +Orleans without trouble, reaching there in May, 1831, and remaining +a month. It must have been a month of intense intellectual activity +for Lincoln. New Orleans was entering then on her "flush times." +Commerce was increasing at a rate which dazzled merchants and +speculators, and drew them in shoals from all over the United +States. From 1830 to 1840 no other American city increased in such +a ratio; exports and imports, which in 1831 amounted to +$26,000,000, in 1835 had more than doubled. The Creole population +had held the sway so far in the city; but now it came into +competition and often into contest with a pushing, ambitious, and +frequently unscrupulous native American party. To these two +predominating elements were added Germans, French, Spanish, negroes +and Indians. Cosmopolitan in its make-up, the city was even more +cosmopolitan in its life. Everything was to be seen in New Orleans +in those days, from the idle luxury of the wealthy Creole to the +organization of filibustering juntas. The pirates still plied their +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page20" id="page20"></a>[pg +20]</span> trade in the Gulf, and the Mississippi River brought +down hundreds of river boatmen—one of the wildest, wickedest +sets of men that ever existed in any city.</p> +<p>Lincoln and his companions probably tied their boat up beside +thousands of others. It was the custom then to tie up such craft +along the river front where St. Mary's Market now stands, and one +could walk a mile, it is said, over the tops of these boats without +going ashore. No doubt Lincoln went, too, to live in the boatmen's +rendezvous, called the "Swamp," a wild, rough quarter, where +roulette, whiskey, and the flint-lock pistol ruled.</p> +<p>All of the picturesque life, the violent contrasts of the city, +he would see as he wandered about; and he would carry away the +sharp impressions which are produced when mind and heart are alert, +sincere, and healthy.</p> +<p>In this month spent in New Orleans Lincoln must have seen much +of slavery. At that time the city was full of slaves, and the +number was constantly increasing; indeed, one-third of the New +Orleans increase in population between 1830 and 1840 was in +negroes. One of the saddest features of the institution was to be +seen there in its most aggravated form—the slave market. The +great mass of slave-holders of the South, who looked on the +institution as patriarchal, and who guarded their slaves with +conscientious care, knew little, it should be said, of this +terrible traffic. Their transfer of slaves was humane, but in the +open markets of the city it was attended by shocking cruelty and +degradation. Lincoln witnessed in New Orleans for the first time +the revolting sight of men and women sold like animals Mr. Herndon +says that he often heard Mr. Lincoln refer to this experience: "In +New Orleans for the first time," he writes, "Lincoln beheld the +true horrors of human slavery. He saw 'negroes in +chains—whipped and scourged.' Against this inhumanity his +sense of right and justice rebelled, and his mind and conscience +were awakened to a realization of what he had often heard and read. +No doubt, as one of his companions has said, 'slavery ran the iron +into him then and there.' One morning in their rambles over the +city the trio passed a slave auction. A vigorous and comely mulatto +girl was being sold. She underwent a thorough examination at the +hands of the bidders; they pinched her flesh, and made her trot up +and down the room like a horse, to show how she moved, and in +order, as the auctioneer said, that 'bidders might satisfy +themselves' whether the article they were offering to buy was sound +or not. The whole thing was so revolting that Lincoln moved away +from the scene with a deep feeling of 'unconquerable hate.' Bidding +his companions follow him, he said, 'Boys, let's get away from +this. If ever I get a chance to hit that thing' (meaning slavery), +'I'll hit it hard.'"</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:45%;"> +<img width="400" src="images/018.jpg" alt= +"MENTOR GRAHAM." /> +<h5>MENTOR GRAHAM.</h5> +<p>Mentor Graham was the New Salem school-master. He it was who +assisted Lincoln in mastering Kirkham's grammar, and later gave him +valuable assistance when Lincoln was learning the theory of +surveying. He taught in a little log school-house on a hill south +of the village, just across Green's Rocky Branch. Among his pupils +was Ann Rutledge, and the school was often visited by Lincoln. In +1845, Mentor Graham was defendant in a lawsuit in which Lincoln and +Herndon were attorneys for the plaintiff, Nancy Green. It appears +from the declaration, written by Lincoln's own hand, that on +October 28, 1844, Mentor Graham gave his note to Nancy Green for +one hundred dollars, with John Owens and Andrew Beerup as sureties, +payable twelve months after date. The note not being paid when due, +suit was brought. That Lincoln, even as an attorney, should sue +Mentor Graham may seem strange; but it is no surprise when it is +explained that the plaintiff was the widow of Bowling +Green—the woman who, with her husband, had comforted Lincoln +in an hour of grief. Justice, too, in this case, was clearly on her +side. The lawsuit seems never to have disturbed the friendly +relations between Lincoln and Mentor Graham. The latter's +admiration for the former was unbounded to the day of his death. +Mentor Graham lived on his farm near the ruins of New Salem until +1860, when he removed to Petersburg. There he lived until 1885, +when he removed to Greenview, Illinois. Later he went to South +Dakota, where he died about 1892, at the ripe old age of ninety-odd +years.</p> +</div> +<p>Mr. Herndon gives John Hanks as his authority for this +statement. But this is plainly an error, for, according to Mr. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page21" id="page21"></a>[pg +21]</span> Lincoln himself, Hanks did not go on to New Orleans, but +having a family and being likely to be detained from home longer +than at first expected, turned back at St. Louis. Though there is +reason for believing that Lincoln was deeply impressed on this trip +by something he saw in a New Orleans slave market, and that he +often referred to it, the story told above probably grew to its +present proportions by much telling.<a id="footnotetag7" name= +"footnotetag7"></a><a href="#footnote7"><sup>7</sup></a></p> +<br /> +<h4>LINCOLN SETTLES IN NEW SALEM.</h4> +<p>The month in New Orleans passed swiftly, and in June, 1831, +Lincoln and his companions took passage up the river. He did not +return, however, in the usual way of the river boatman "out of a +job." According to his own way of putting it, "during this +boat-enterprise acquaintance with Offutt, who was previously an +entire stranger, he conceived a liking for Abraham, and believing +he could turn him to account, he contracted with him to act as a +clerk for him on his return from New Orleans, in charge of a store +and mill at New Salem."<a id="footnotetag8" name= +"footnotetag8"></a><a href="#footnote8"><sup>8</sup></a></p> +<p>The store and mill were, however, so far only in Offutt's +imagination, and Lincoln had to drift about until his employer was +ready for him. He made a short visit to his father and mother, now +in Coles County, near Charleston (fever and ague had driven the +Lincolns from their first home in Macon County), and then, in July, +1831, he drifted over to New Salem, where, as he says, he "stopped +indefinitely and for the first time, as it were, by himself."</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:45%;"> +<img width="400" src="images/019.jpg" alt= +"VIEW FROM THE HILL ABOVE SANGAMON RIVER, LOOKING TOWARD THE SITE OF NEW SALEM." /> + +<h5>VIEW FROM THE HILL ABOVE SANGAMON RIVER, LOOKING TOWARD THE +SITE OF NEW SALEM.</h5> +</div> +<br clear="all" /> +<p>"The village of New Salem, the scene of Lincoln's mercantile +career," writes one of our correspondents who has studied the +history of the town and visited the spot where it once stood, "was +one of the many little towns which, in the pioneer days, sprang up +along the Sangamon River, a stream then looked upon as navigable +and as destined to be counted among the highways of commerce. +Twenty miles northwest of Springfield, strung along the left bank +of the Sangamon, parted by hollows and ravines, is a row of high +hills. On one of these—a long, narrow ridge, beginning with a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page22" id="page22"></a>[pg +22]</span> sharp and sloping point near the river, running south, +and parallel with the stream a little way, and then, reaching its +highest point, making a sudden turn to the west, and gradually +widening until lost in the prairie—stood this frontier +village. The crooked river for a short distance comes from the +east, and, seeming surprised at meeting the bluff, abruptly changes +its course, and flows to the north. Across the river the bottom +stretches out, reaching half a mile back to the highlands. New +Salem, founded in 1829 by James Rutledge and John Cameron, and a +dozen years later a deserted village, is rescued from oblivion only +by the fact that Lincoln was once one of its inhabitants. His first +sight of the town had been in April, 1831, when the flatboat he had +built and its little crew were detained in getting their boat over +the Rutledge and Cameron mill-dam, on which it lodged. When Lincoln +walked into New Salem, three months later, he was not altogether a +stranger, for the people remembered him as the ingenious +flatboat-man who, a little while before, had freed his boat from +water (and thus enabled it to <span class="pagenum"><a name= +"page23" id="page23"></a>[pg 23]</span> get over the dam) by +resorting to the miraculous expedient of boring a hole in the +bottom."<a id="footnotetag9" name="footnotetag9"></a><a href= +"#footnote9"><sup>9</sup></a> Offutt's goods had not arrived when +Mr. Lincoln reached New Salem; and he "loafed" about, so those who +remember his arrival say, good-naturedly taking a hand in whatever +he could find to do, and in his droll way making friends of +everybody. By chance, a bit of work fell to him almost at once, +which introduced him generally and gave him an opportunity to make +a name in the neighborhood. It was election day. The village +school-master, Mentor Graham by name, was clerk, but the assistant +was ill. Looking about for some one to help him, Mr. Graham saw a +tall stranger loitering around the polling place, and called to +him, "Can you write?" "Yes," said the stranger, "I can make a few +rabbit tracks." Mr. Graham evidently was satisfied with the answer, +for he promptly initiated him; and he filled his place not only to +the satisfaction of his employer, but also to the delectation of +the loiterers about the polls, for whenever things dragged he +immediately began "to spin out a stock of Indiana yarns." So droll +were they that years afterward men who listened to Lincoln that day +repeated them to their friends. He had made a hit in New Salem, to +start with, and here, as in Sangamon town, it was by means of his +story-telling.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:90%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/020.jpg" alt= +"LINCOLN'S FIRST VOTE." /> +<h5>LINCOLN'S FIRST VOTE.</h5> +<p>Photographed from the original poll-book, now on file in the +county clerk's office, Springfield, Illinois. Lincoln's first vote +was cast at New Salem, "in the Clary's Grove precinct," August 1, +1831. At this election he aided Mr. Graham, who was one of the +clerks. In the early days in Illinois, elections were conducted by +the <i>viva voce</i> method. The people did try voting by ballot, +but the experiment was unpopular. It required too much "book +larnin," and in 1829 the <i>viva voce</i> method of voting was +restored. The judges and clerks sat at a table with the poll-book +before them. The voter walked up, and announced the candidate of +his choice, and it was recorded in his presence. There was no +ticket peddling, and ballot-box stuffing was impossible. To this +simple system we are indebted for the record of Lincoln's first +vote. As will be seen from the fac-simile, Lincoln voted for James +Turney for Congressman, Bowling Green and Edmund Greer for +Magistrates, and John Armstrong and Henry Sinco for Constables. Of +these five men three were elected. Turney was defeated for +Congressman by Joseph Duncan. Turney lived in Greene County. He was +not then a conspicuous figure in the politics of the State, but was +a follower of Henry Clay, and was well thought of in his own +district. He and Lincoln, in 1834, served their first terms +together in the lower house of the legislature, and later he was a +State senator. Joseph Duncan, the successful candidate, was already +in Congress. He was a politician of influence. In 1834 he was a +strong "Jackson man;" but after his election as Governor he created +consternation among the followers of "Old Hickory" by becoming a +Whig. Sidney Breese, who received only two votes in the Clary's +Grove precinct, afterward became the most conspicuous of the five +candidates. Eleven years later he defeated Stephen A. Douglas for +the United States Senate, and for twenty-five years he was on the +bench of the Supreme Court of Illinois, serving under each of the +three constitutions. For the office of Magistrate Bowling Green was +elected, but Greer was beaten. Both of Lincoln's candidates for +Constable were elected. John Armstrong was the man with whom, a +short time afterward, Lincoln had the celebrated wrestling match. +Henry Sinco was the keeper of a store at New Salem. Lincoln's first +vote for President was not cast until the next year (November 5, +1832), when he voted for Henry Clay.—<i>Note furnished by J. +McCan Davis</i>.</p> +</div> +<p class="works"><i>(To be continued.)</i></p> +<hr class="full" /> +<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote1" name= +"footnote1"></a><b>Footnote 1:</b> <a href= +"#footnotetag1">(return)</a> +<p>The collection of Lincoln portraits owned by Mr. T.H. Bartlett, +the sculptor, is the most complete and the most intelligently +arranged which we have examined. Mr. Bartlett began collecting +fully twenty years ago, his aim being to secure data for a study of +Mr. Lincoln from a physiognomical point of view. He has probably +the earliest portrait which exists, the one here given, excepting +the one used as a frontispiece in our November number. He has a +large number of the Illinois pictures made from 1858 to 1860, such +as the Gilmer picture, which we use as a frontispiece in the +present number, a large collection of Brady photographs, the masks, +Volk's bust, and other interesting portraits. These he has studied +from a sculptor's point of view, comparing them carefully with the +portraiture of other men, as Webster and Emerson. Mr. Bartlett has +embodied his study of Mr. Lincoln in an illustrated lecture which +is a model of what such a lecture should be, suggestive, human, +delightful. All his fine collection of Lincoln portraits Mr. +Bartlett has put freely at our disposal, an act of courtesy and +generosity for which the readers of McCLURE'S MAGAZINE, as well as +its editors, cannot fail to be deeply grateful.</p> +</blockquote> +<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote2" name= +"footnote2"></a><b>Footnote 2:</b> <a href= +"#footnotetag2">(return)</a> +<p>See November number of McCLURE'S MAGAZINE, page 502.</p> +</blockquote> +<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote3" name= +"footnote3"></a><b>Footnote 3:</b> <a href= +"#footnotetag3">(return)</a> +<p>Letter to —— Johnston, April 18, 1846. "Abraham +Lincoln. Complete Works." Edited by John G. Nicolay and John Hay. +Volume I., pages 86, 87. The Century Co.</p> +</blockquote> +<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote4" name= +"footnote4"></a><b>Footnote 4:</b> <a href= +"#footnotetag4">(return)</a> +<p>Short autobiography written in 1860 for use in preparing a +campaign biography. "Abraham Lincoln. Complete Works." Edited by +John G. Nicolay and John Hay. The Century Co. Volume I., page +639.</p> +</blockquote> +<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote5" name= +"footnote5"></a><b>Footnote 5:</b> <a href= +"#footnotetag5">(return)</a> +<p>Short autobiography written for use in preparing a campaign +biography. "Abraham Lincoln. Complete Works." Edited by John G. +Nicolay and John Hay. Volume I., page 639. The Century Co.</p> +</blockquote> +<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote6" name= +"footnote6"></a><b>Footnote 6:</b> <a href= +"#footnotetag6">(return)</a> +<p>1830-1831. "The winter of the deep snow" is the date which is +the starting point in all calculations of time for the early +settlers of Illinois, and the circumstance from which the old +settlers of Sangamon County receive the name by which they are +generally known, "Snowbirds."</p> +</blockquote> +<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote7" name= +"footnote7"></a><b>Footnote 7:</b> <a href= +"#footnotetag7">(return)</a> +<p>"No doubt the young Kentuckian was disgusted [with what he saw +in the New Orleans slave auction]; but there is no proof that this +was his first object lesson in human slavery, or that, as so often +has been asserted, he turned to his companion and said, 'If I ever +get a chance to hit slavery, I will hit it hard.' Such an +expression from a flatboat-man would have been +absurd."—<i>Personal Reminiscences of 1840-1890, by L.E. +Chittenden.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote8" name= +"footnote8"></a><b>Footnote 8:</b> <a href= +"#footnotetag8">(return)</a> +<p>"Abraham Lincoln. Complete Works." Edited by John G. Nicolay and +John, Hay. Volume I.</p> +</blockquote> +<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote9" name= +"footnote9"></a><b>Footnote 9:</b> <a href= +"#footnotetag9">(return)</a> +<p>New Salem plays so prominent a part in the life of Lincoln that +the MAGAZINE engaged Mr. J. McCan Davis, of Springfield, Illinois, +who had already made a special study of this period of Mr. +Lincoln's life, to go in detail over the ground to secure a +perfectly accurate sequence of events, to collect new and +unpublished pictures and documents, and to interview all of the old +acquaintances of Mr. Lincoln who remain in the neighborhood. Mr. +Davis has secured some new facts about Mr. Lincoln's life in this +period; he has unearthed in the official files of the county +several new documents, and he has secured several unpublished +portraits of interest. His matter will be incorporated into our +next two articles.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr class="full" /> +<a name="GLOTTENBERG" id="GLOTTENBERG"></a> +<h2>THE LOVE OF THE PRINCE OF GLOTTENBERG.</h2> +<h3>By Anthony Hope,</h3> +<p class="works">Author of "The Prisoner of Zenda," "The Dolly +Dialogues," etc.</p> +<h4>I.</h4> +<div class="decoration"><img width="175" +src="images/021.png" alt="Letter I" /></div> +<p>It was in the spring of the year that Ludwig, Prince of +Glottenberg, came courting the Princess Osra; for his father had +sought the most beautiful lady of a royal house in Europe, and had +found none to equal Osra. Therefore the prince came to Strelsau +with a great retinue, and was lodged in the White Palace, which +stood on the outskirts of the city, where the public gardens now +are (for the palace itself was sacked and burnt by the people in +the rising of 1848). Here Ludwig stayed many days, coming every day +to the king's palace to pay his respects to the king and queen, and +to make his court to the princess. King Rudolf had received him +with the utmost friendship, and was, for reasons of state then of +great moment, but now of vanished interest, as eager for the match +as was the King of Glottenberg himself; and he grew very impatient +with his sister when she hesitated to accept Ludwig's hand, +alleging that she felt for him no more than a kindly esteem, and, +what was as much to the purpose, that he felt no more for her. For +although the prince possessed most courteous and winning manners, +and was very accomplished both in learning and in exercises, yet he +was a grave and pensive young man, rather stately than jovial, and +seemed, in the princess's eyes (accustomed as they were to catch +and check ardent glances), to perform his wooing more as a duty of +his station than on the impulse of any passion. Finding in herself, +also, no such sweet ashamed emotions as had before now crossed her +heart on account of lesser men, she grew grave and troubled; and +she said to the king:</p> +<p>"Brother, is this love? For I had as lief he were away as here; +and when he is here he kisses my hand as though it were a statue's +hand; and—and I feel as though it were. They say you know +what love is. Is this love?"</p> +<p>"There are many forms of love," smiled the king. "This is such +love as a prince and a princess may most properly feel."</p> +<p>"I do not call it love at all," said Osra, with a pout.</p> +<p>When Prince Ludwig came next day to see her, and told her, with +grave courtesy, that his pleasure lay in doing her will, she broke +out:</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page24" id="page24"></a>[pg +24]</span> +<p>"I had rather it lay in watching my face;" and then, ashamed, +she turned away from him.</p> +<p>He seemed grieved and hurt at her words, and it was with a sigh +that he said: "My life shall be given to giving you joy."</p> +<p>She turned round on him with flushed cheek and trembling +lips:</p> +<p>"Yes, but I had rather it were spent in getting joy from +me."</p> +<p>He cast down his eyes a moment, and then, taking her hand, +kissed it, but she drew it away sharply; and so that afternoon they +parted, he back to his palace, she to her chamber, where she sat, +asking again: "Is this love?" and crying: "He does not know love;" +and pausing, now and again, before her mirror, to ask her pictured +face why it would not unlock the door of love.</p> +<p>On another day she would be merry, or feign merriment, rallying +him on his sombre air and formal compliments, professing that for +her part she soon grew weary of such wooing, and loved to be easy +and merry; for thus she hoped to sting him, so that he would either +disclose more warmth, or forsake altogether his pursuit. But he +made many apologies, blaming nature that had made him grave, but +assuring her of his deep affection and respect.</p> +<p>"Affection and respect!" murmured Osra, with a little toss of +her head. "Oh, that I had not been born a princess!" And yet, +though she did not love him, she thought him a very noble +gentleman, and trusted to his honor and sincerity in everything. +Therefore, when he still persisted, and Rudolf and the queen urged +her, telling her (the king mockingly, the queen with a touch of +sadness) that she must not look to find in the world such love as +romantic girls dreamt of, at last she yielded, and she told her +brother that she would marry Prince Ludwig, yet for a little while +she would not have the news proclaimed. So Rudolf went, alone and +privately, to the White Palace, and said to Ludwig:</p> +<p>"Cousin, you have won the fairest lady in the world. Behold, her +brother says it!"</p> +<p>Prince Ludwig bowed low, and, taking the king's hand, pressed +it, thanking him for his help and approval, and expressing himself +as most grateful for the boon of the princess's favor.</p> +<p>"And will you not come with me and find her?" cried the king, +with a merry look.</p> +<p>"I have urgent business now," answered Ludwig. "Beg the princess +to forgive me. This afternoon I will crave the honor of waiting on +her with my humble gratitude."</p> +<p>King Rudolf looked at him, a smile curling on his lips; and he +said, in one of his gusts of impatience:</p> +<p>"By heaven! is there another man in the world who would talk +about gratitude, and business, and the afternoon, when Osra of +Strelsau sat waiting for him?"</p> +<p>"I mean no discourtesy," protested Ludwig, taking the king's arm +and glancing at him with most friendly eyes. "Indeed, dear friend, +I am rejoiced and honored. But this business of mine will not +wait."</p> +<p>So the king, frowning and grumbling and laughing, went back +alone, and told the princess that the happy wooer was most +grateful, and would come, after his business was transacted, that +afternoon. But Osra, having given her hand, would now admit no +fault in the man she had chosen, and thanked the king for the +message, with great dignity. Then the king came to her, and, +sitting down by her, stroked her hair, saying softly:</p> +<p>"You have had many lovers, sister Osra, and now comes a +husband."</p> +<p>"Yes, now a husband," she murmured, catching swiftly at his +hand; and her voice was half caught in a sudden sob.</p> +<p>"So goes the world—our world," said the king, knitting his +brows and seeming to fall for a moment into a sad reverie.</p> +<p>"I am frightened," she whispered. "Should I be frightened if I +loved him?"</p> +<p>"I have been told so," said the king, smiling again. "But the +fear has a way of being mastered then." And he drew her to him, and +gave her a hearty brother's kiss, telling her to take heart. +"You'll thaw the fellow yet," said the king, "though I grant you he +is icy enough." For the king himself had been by no means what he +called an icy man.</p> +<p>But Osra was not satisfied, and sought to assuage the pain of +her heart by adorning herself most carefully for the prince's +coming, hoping to fire him to love. For she thought that if he +loved she might, although since he did not she could not. And +surely he did not, or all the tales of love were false! Thus she +came to receive him very magnificently arrayed. There was a flush +on her cheek, and an uncertain, expectant, fearful look in her +eyes; and thus she stood before him, as he fell on his knee and +kissed her hand. Then he rose, and declared his thanks, and +promised his devotion; but as he spoke the flush faded, and the +light died from her eyes; and when at last he drew near to her, and +offered to kiss her cheek, her eyes were dead, and her face pale +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page25" id="page25"></a>[pg +25]</span> and cold as she suffered him to touch it. He was content +to touch it but once, and seemed not to know how cold it was; and +so, after more talk of his father's pleasure and his pride, he took +his leave, promising to come again the next day. She ran to the +window when the door was closed on him, and thence watched him +mount his horse and ride away slowly, with his head bent and his +eyes downcast; yet he was a noble gentleman, stately and handsome, +kind and true. The tears came suddenly into her eyes and blurred +her sight as she leant watching from behind the hanging curtains of +the window. Though she dashed them angrily away, they came again, +and ran down her pale, cold cheeks, mourning the golden vision that +seemed gone without fulfilment.</p> +<p>That evening there came a gentleman from the Prince of +Glottenberg, carrying most humble excuses from his master, who (so +he said) was prevented from waiting on the princess the next day by +a certain very urgent affair that took him from Strelsau, and would +keep him absent from the city all day long; and the gentleman +delivered to Osra a letter from the prince, full of graceful and +profound apologies, and pleading an engagement that his honor would +not let him break; for nothing short of that, said he, should have +kept him from her side. There followed some lover's phrases, +scantily worded, and frigid in an assumed passion. But Osra smiled +graciously, and sent back a message, readily accepting all that the +prince urged in excuse. And she told what had passed to the king, +with her head high in the air, and a careless haughtiness, so that +even the king did not rally her, nor yet venture to comfort her, +but urged her to spend the next day in riding with the queen and +him; for they were setting out for Zenda, where the king was to +hunt in the forest, and she could ride some part of the way with +them, and return in the evening. And she, wishing that she had sent +first to the prince, to bid him not come, agreed to go with her +brother; it was better far to go than to wait at home for a lover +who would not come.</p> +<p>Thus, the next morning, they rode out, the king and queen with +their retinue, the princess attended by one of her guard, named +Christian Hantz, who was greatly attached to her, and most jealous +in praise and admiration of her. This fellow had taken on himself +to be very angry with Prince Ludwig's coldness, but dared say +nothing of it. Yet, impelled by his anger, he had set himself to +watch the prince very closely; and thus he had, as he conceived, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page26" id="page26"></a>[pg +26]</span> discovered something that brought a twinkle into his eye +and a triumphant smile to his lips as he rode behind the princess. +Some fifteen miles she accompanied her brother, and then, turning +with Christian, took another road back to the city. Alone she rode, +her mind full of sad thoughts; while Christian, behind, still wore +his malicious smile. But, presently, although she had not commanded +him, he quickened his pace, and came up to her side, relying on the +favor which she always showed him, for excuse.</p> +<p>"Well, Christian," said she, "have you something to say to +me?"</p> +<p>For answer he pointed to a small house that stood among the +trees, some way from the road, and he said:</p> +<p>"If I were Ludwig and not Christian, yet I would be here where +Christian is, and not there where Ludwig is." And he pointed still +at the house.</p> +<p>She faced round on him in anger at his daring to speak to her of +the prince, but he was a bold fellow, and would not be silenced now +that he had begun to speak. He knew also that she would bear much +from him; so he leant over towards her, saying:</p> +<p>"By your bounty, madam, I have money, and he who has money can +get knowledge. So I know that the prince is there. For fifty pounds +I gained a servant of his, and he told me."</p> +<p>"I do not know why you should spy on the prince," said Osra, +"and I do not care to know where the prince is." And she touched +her horse with the spur, and cantered fast forward, leaving the +little house behind. But Christian persisted, partly in a foolish +grudge against any man who should win what was above his reach, +partly in an honest anger that she whom his worshipped should be +treated lightly by another; and he forced her to hear what he had +learnt from the gossip of the prince's groom, telling it to her in +hints and half-spoken sentences, yet so plainly that she could not +miss the drift of it. She rode the faster towards Strelsau, at +first answering nothing; but at last she turned upon him fiercely, +saying that he told a lie, and that she knew it was a lie, since +she knew where the prince was and what business had taken him away; +and she commanded Christian to be silent, and to speak neither to +her nor to any one else of his false suspicions; and she bade him, +very harshly, to fall back and ride behind her again, which he did, +sullen, yet satisfied; for he knew that his arrow had gone home. On +she rode, with her cheeks aflame and her heart beating, until she +came to Strelsau, and having arrived at the palace, ran to her own +bedroom and flung herself on the bed.</p> +<p>Here for an hour she lay; then, it being about six o'clock, she +sat up, pushing her disordered hair back from her hot, aching brow. +For an agony of humiliation came upon her, and a fury of resentment +against the prince, whose coldness seemed now to need no more +explanation. Yet she could hardly believe what she had been told of +him; for, though she had not loved him, she had accorded to him her +full trust. Rising, she paced in pain about the room. She could not +rest, and she cried out in longing that her brother were there to +aid her, and find out the truth for her. But he was away, and she +had none to whom she could turn. So she strove to master her anger +and endure her suspense till the next day; but they were too strong +for her, and she cried: "I will go myself. I cannot sleep till I +know. But I cannot go alone. Who will go with me?" And she knew of +none, for she would not take Christian with her, and she shrank +from speaking of the matter to any of the gentlemen of the court. +And yet she must know. But at last she sprang up from the chair +into which she had sunk despondently, exclaiming:</p> +<p>"He is a gentleman and my friend. He will go with me." And she +sent hastily for the Bishop of Modenstein, who was then in +Strelsau, bidding him come dressed for riding, and with a sword, +and the best horse in his stable. And the bishop came equipped as +she bade him and in very great wonder. But when she told him what +she wanted, and what Christian had made known to her, he grew +grave, saying that they must wait and consult the king when he +returned.</p> +<p>"I will not wait an hour," she cried. "I cannot wait an +hour."</p> +<p>"Then I will ride, and bring you word. You must not go," he +urged.</p> +<p>"Nay; if I go alone, I will go," said she. "Yes, I will go, and +myself fling his falseness in his teeth."</p> +<p>Finding her thus resolved, the bishop knew that he could not +turn her; so, leaving her to prepare herself, he sought Christian +Hantz, and charged him to bring three horses to the most private +gate of the palace, that opened in a little by-street. Here +Christian waited for them with the horses, and they came presently, +the bishop wearing a great slouched hat, and swaggering like a +roystering trooper, while Osra was closely veiled. The bishop again +imposed secrecy on Christian, and then, they both being mounted, +said to Osra: "If you will, then, madam, come;" and thus they rode +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page27" id="page27"></a>[pg +27]</span> secretly out of the city, about seven o'clock in the +evening, the gate-wardens opening the gates at sight of the royal +arms on Osra's ring, which she gave to the bishop in order that he +might show it.</p> +<p>In silence they rode a long way, going at a great speed. Osra's +face was set and rigid, for she felt now no shame at herself for +going, nor any fear of what she might find. But the injury to her +pride swallowed every other feeling, and at last she said, in +short, sharp words, to the Bishop of Modenstein, having suddenly +thrown the veil back from her face:</p> +<p>"He shall not live, if it prove true."</p> +<p>The bishop shook his head. His profession was peace; yet his +blood, also, was hot against the man who had put a slight on +Princess Osra.</p> +<p>"The king must know of it," he said.</p> +<p>"The king? The king is not here tonight," said Osra; and she +pricked her horse, and set him at a gallop. The moon, breaking +suddenly in brightness from behind a cloud, showed the bishop her +face. Then she put out her hand, and caught him by the arm, +whispering: "Are you my friend?"</p> +<p>"Yes, madam," said he. She knew well that he was her friend.</p> +<p>"Kill him for me, then! Kill him for me!"</p> +<p>"I cannot kill him," said the bishop. "I pray God it may prove +untrue."</p> +<p>"You are not my friend if you will not kill him," said Osra; and +she turned her face away, and rode yet more quickly.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:60%;"> +<img width="525" src="images/023.jpg" alt= +"KILL HIM FOR ME, THEN! KILL HIM FOR ME!" /> +<h5>"KILL HIM FOR ME, THEN! KILL HIM FOR ME!"</h5> +</div> +<p>At last they came in sight of the little house that stood back +from the road, and there was a light in one of the upper windows. +The bishop heard a short gasp break from Osra's lips, and she +pointed with her whip to the window. Now his own breath came quick +and fast, and he prayed to God that he might remember his sacred +character and his vows, and not be led into great and deadly sin at +the bidding of that proud, bitter face; and he clenched his left +hand, and struck his brow with it.</p> +<p>Thus, then, they came to the gate of the avenue of trees that +led to the house. Here, having dismounted, and tied their horses to +the gatepost, they stood an instant, and Osra again veiled her +face.</p> +<p>"Let me go alone, madam," he implored.</p> +<p>"Give me your sword, and I will go alone," she answered.</p> +<p>"Here, then, is the path," said the bishop; and he led the way +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page28" id="page28"></a>[pg +28]</span> by the moonlight that broke fitfully here and there +through the trees.</p> +<p>"He swore that all his life should be mine," she whispered. "Yet +I knew that he did not love me."</p> +<p>The bishop made her no answer; she looked for none, and did not +know that she spoke the bitterness of her heart in words that he +could hear. He bowed his head, and prayed again for her and for +himself; for he had found his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. +And thus, side by side now, they came to the door of the house, and +saw a gentleman standing in front of the door, still but watchful. +And Osra knew that he was the prince's chamberlain.</p> +<p>When the chamberlain saw them he started violently, and clapped +a hand to his sword; but Osra flung her veil on the ground, and the +bishop gripped his arm as with a vise. The chamberlain looked at +Osra and at the bishop, and half drew his sword.</p> +<p>"This matter is too great for you, sir," said the bishop. "It is +a quarrel of princes. Stand aside!" And before the chamberlain +could make up his mind what to do, Osra had passed by him, and the +bishop had followed her.</p> +<p>Finding themselves in a narrow passage, they made out, by the +dim light of a lamp, a flight of stairs that rose from the farthest +end of it. The bishop tried to pass the princess, but she motioned +him back, and walked swiftly to the stairs. In silent speed they +mounted till they had reached the top of the first stage; and +facing them, eight or ten steps farther up, was a door. By the door +stood a groom. This was the man who had treacherously told +Christian of his master's doings; but when he saw, suddenly, what +had come of his disloyal chattering, the fellow went white as a +ghost, and came tottering in stealthy silence down the stairs, his +finger on his lips. Neither of them spoke to him, nor he to them. +They gave no thought to him; his only thought was to escape as soon +as he might; so he passed them, and, going on, passed also the +chamberlain, who stood dazed at the house door, and so disappeared, +intent on saving the life that he had justly forfeited. Thus the +rogue vanished, and what became of him no one knew nor cared. He +showed his face no more at Glottenberg or Strelsau.</p> +<p>"Hark! there are voices," whispered Osra to the bishop, raising +her hand above her head, as they two stood motionless.</p> +<p>The voices came from the door that faced them, the voice of a +man and the voice of a woman. Osra's glance at her companion told +him that she knew as well as he whose the man's voice was.</p> +<p>"It is true, then," she breathed from between her teeth. "My +God, it is true!"</p> +<p>The woman's voice spoke now, but the words were not audible. +Then came the prince's: "Forever, in life or death, apart or +together, forever." But the woman's answer came no more in words, +but in deep, low, passionate sobs, that struck their ears like the +distant cry of some brute creature in pain that it cannot +understand. Yet Osra's face was stern and cold, and her lips curled +scornfully when she saw the bishop's look of pity.</p> +<p>"Come, let us end it," said she; and with a firm step she began +to mount the stairs that lay between them and the door.</p> +<p>Yet once again they paused outside the door, for it seemed as +though the princess could not choose but listen to the passionate +words of love that pierced her ears like knives. Yet they were all +sad, speaking of renunciation, not happiness. But at last she heard +her own name; then, with a sudden start, she caught the bishop's +hands, for she could not listen longer. And she staggered and +reeled as she whispered to him: "The door, the door—open the +door!"</p> +<p>The bishop, his right hand being across his body and resting on +the hilt of his sword, laid his left upon the handle of the door +and turned it. Then he flung the door wide open; and at that +instant Osra sprang past him, her eyes gleaming like flames from +her dead-white face. And she stood rigid on the threshold of the +room, with the bishop by her side.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<img width="549" src="images/025.jpg" alt= +"IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM STOOD THE PRINCE OF GLOTTENBERG; AND ... CLINGING TO HIM ... WAS A GIRL OF SLIGHT AND SLENDER FIGURE." /> + +<h5>"IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM STOOD THE PRINCE OF GLOTTENBERG; AND +... CLINGING TO HIM ... WAS A GIRL OF SLIGHT AND SLENDER +FIGURE."</h5> +</div> +<p>In the middle of the room stood the Prince of Glottenberg; and +strained in a close embrace, clinging to him, supported by his +arms, with head buried in his breast, was a girl of slight and +slender figure, graceful, though not tall; and her body was still +shaken by continual, struggling sobs. The prince held her there as +though against the world, but raised his head, and looked at the +intruders with a grave, sad air. There was no shame on his face, +and hardly surprise. Presently he took one arm from about the lady, +and, raising it, motioned to them to be still. Osra took one step +forward toward where the pair stood; the bishop caught her sleeve, +but she shook him off. The lady looked up into the prince's face; +with a sudden, startled cry clutched him closer, and turned a +terrified face over her shoulder. Then she moaned in great fear, +and, reeling, fell against the prince, and would have sunk to the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page29" id="page29"></a>[pg +29]</span> ground if he had not upheld her; and her eyes closed and +her lips dropped as she swooned away. But the princess smiled, and, +drawing herself to her full height, stood watching while Ludwig +bore the lady to a couch and laid her there. Then, when he came +back and faced her, she asked coldly and slowly:</p> +<p>"Who is this woman, sir? Or is she one of those that have no +names?"</p> +<p>The prince sprang forward, a sudden anger in his eyes; he raised +his hand as if he would have pressed it across her scornful mouth, +and kept back her bitter words. But she did not flinch; and, +pointing at him with her finger, she cried to the bishop, in a +ringing voice:</p> +<p>"Kill him, my lord, kill him!"</p> +<p>And the sword of the Bishop of Modenstein was half-way out of +the scabbard.</p> +<h4>II.</h4> +<p>"I would to God, my lord," said the prince in low, sad tones, +"that God would suffer you to kill me, and me to take death at your +hands. But neither for you nor for me is the blow lawful. Let me +speak to the princess."</p> +<p>The bishop still grasped his sword; for Osra's face and hand +still commanded him. But at the instant of his hesitation, while +the temptation was hot in him, there came from the couch where the +lady lay a low moan of great pain. She flung her arms out, and +turned, groaning, again on her back, and her head lay limply over +the side of the couch. The bishop's eyes met Ludwig's; and with a +"God forgive me!" he let the sword slip back, and, springing across +the room, fell on his knees beside the couch. He broke the gold +chain round his neck, and grasped the crucifix which he carried in +one hand, while with the other he raised the lady's head, praying +her to open her eyes, before whose closed lids he held the sacred +image; and he, who had come so near to great sin, now prayed +softly, but fervently, for her life and God's pity on her, for the +frailty her slight form showed could not withstand the shock of +this trial.</p> +<p>"Who is she?" asked the princess.</p> +<p>But Ludwig's eyes had wandered back to the couch, and he +answered only:</p> +<p>"My God, it will kill her!"</p> +<p>"I care not," said Osra. But then came another low moan. "I care +not," said the princess again. "Ah, she is in great suffering!" And +her eyes followed the prince's.</p> +<p>There was silence, save for the lady's low moans and the +whispered prayers of the Bishop of Modenstein. But the lady opened +her eyes, and in an instant, answering the summons, the prince was +by her side, kneeling, and holding her hand very tenderly, and he +met a glance from the bishop across her prostrate body. The prince +bowed his head, and one sob burst from him.</p> +<p>"Leave me alone with her for a little, sir," said the bishop; +and the prince, obeying, rose and withdrew into the bay of the +window, while Osra stood alone near the door by which she had +entered.</p> +<p>A few minutes passed, then Osra saw the prince return to where +the lady was, and kneel again beside her; and she saw that the +bishop was preparing to perform his most sacred and sublime office. +The lady's eyes dwelt on him now in peace and restfulness, and held +Prince Ludwig's hand in her small hand. But Osra would not kneel; +she stood upright, still and cold, as though she neither saw nor +heard anything of what passed; she would not pity nor forgive the +woman even if, as they seemed to think, she lay dying. But she +spoke once, asking in a harsh voice:</p> +<p>"Is there no physician in the house or near?"</p> +<p>"None, madam," said the prince.</p> +<p>The bishop began the office, and Osra stood, dimly hearing the +words of comfort, peace, and hope; dimly seeing the smile on the +lady's face, for gradually her eyes clouded with tears. Now her +ears seemed to hear nothing save the sad and piteous sobs that had +shaken the girl as she hung about Ludwig's neck. But she strove to +drive away her softer thoughts, fanning her fury when it burnt low, +and telling herself again of the insult that she had suffered. Thus +she rested till the bishop had performed the office. But when he +had finished it he rose from his knees, and came to where Osra +was.</p> +<p>"It was your duty," she said. "But it is none of mine."</p> +<p>"She will not live an hour," said he. "For she had an affection +of the heart, and this shock has killed her. Indeed, I think she +was half dead from grief before we came."</p> +<p>"Who is she?" broke again from Osra's lips.</p> +<p>"Come and hear," said he; and she followed him obediently, yet +unwillingly, to the couch, and looked down at the lady. The lady +looked at her with wondering eyes, and then she smiled faintly, +pressing the prince's hand and whispering:</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page30" id="page30"></a>[pg +30]</span> +<p>"Yet she is so beautiful." And she seemed now wonderfully happy, +so that the three all watched her, and were envious, although they +were to live and she to die.</p> +<p>"Now God pardon her sin," said the Princess Osra suddenly, and +she fell on her knees beside the couch, crying: "Surely God has +pardoned her."</p> +<p>"Sin she had none, save what clings even to the purest in this +world," said the bishop. "For what she has said to me I know to be +true."</p> +<p>Osra answered nothing, but gazed in questioning at the prince, +and he, still holding the lady's hand, began to speak in a gentle +voice.</p> +<p>"Do not ask her name, madam. But from the first hour that we +knew the meaning of love we have loved one another. And had the +issue rested in my hands I would have thrown to the winds all that +kept me from her. I remember when first I met her—ah, my +sweet! do you remember? And from that day to this, in soul she has +been mine, and I hers in all my life. But more could not be. Madam, +you have asked what love is. Here is love. Yet fate is stronger. +Thus I came here to woo, and she, left alone, resolved to give +herself to God."</p> +<p>"How comes she here, then?" whispered Osra. And she laid one +hand timidly on the couch near the lady, yet not so as to touch +even her garments.</p> +<p>"She came here," he began—but suddenly, to their +amazement, the lady, who had seemed dead, with an effort raised +herself on her elbow, and spoke in a quick, eager whisper, as if +she feared time and strength would fail.</p> +<p>"He is a great prince," she said; "he must be a great king. God +means him for greatness. God forbid that I should be his ruin! Oh, +what a sweet dream he painted! But praise be to the blessed saints +that kept me strong. Yet, at the last I was weak. I could not live +without another sight of his face, and so—so I came. Next +week I am—I was to take the veil, and I came here to see him +once again—God pardon me for it—but I could not help +it. Ah, madam, I know you, and I see now your beauty. Have you +known love?"</p> +<p>"No," said Osra; and she moved her hand near to the lady's +hand.</p> +<p>"And when he found me here he prayed me again to do what he +asked, and I was half killed in denying it. But I prevailed, and we +were even then parting when you came. Why, why did I come?" And for +a moment her voice died away in a low, soft moan. But she made one +more effort. Clasping Osra's hand in her delicate fingers, she +whispered: "I am going. Be his wife."</p> +<p>"No, no, no!" whispered Osra, her face now close to the lady's. +"You must live you must live and be happy." And then she kissed the +lady's lips. The lady put out her arms, and clasped them round +Osra's neck; and again she whispered softly in Osra's ear. Neither +Ludwig nor the bishop heard what she said, but they heard only that +Osra sobbed. Presently the lady's arms relaxed a little in their +hold, and Osra, having kissed her again, rose, and signed to Ludwig +to come nearer; while she, turning, gave her hand to the bishop, +and he led her from the room, and finding another room near, took +her in there, where she sat silent and pale.</p> +<p>Thus half an hour passed; then the bishop stole softly out, and +presently returned, saying:</p> +<p>"God has spared her the long, painful path, and has taken her +straight to his rest."</p> +<p>Osra heard him, half in a trance, and as if she did not hear; +she did not know whither he went, nor what he did, nor anything +that passed, until, as it seemed, after a long while, she looked +up, and saw Prince Ludwig standing before her. He was composed and +calm, but it seemed as if half the life had gone out of his face. +Osra rose slowly to her feet, supporting herself on an arm of the +chair on which she had sat, and when she had seen his face she +suddenly threw herself on the floor at his feet, crying:</p> +<p>"Forgive me! Forgive me!"</p> +<p>"The guilt is mine," said he; "for I did not trust you, and did +by stealth what your nobility would have suffered openly. The guilt +is mine." And he offered to raise her, but she rose unaided, asking +with choking voice:</p> +<p>"Is she dead?"</p> +<p>"She is dead," said the prince; and Osra, hearing it, covered +her face with her hands, and blindly groped her way back to the +chair, where she sat, panting and exhausted.</p> +<p>"To her I have said farewell, and now, madam, to you. Yet do not +think that I am a man without eyes for your beauty, or a heart to +know your worth. I seemed to you a fool and a churl. I grieved most +bitterly, and I wronged you bitterly; my excuse for all is now +known. For though you are more beautiful than she, yet true love is +no wanderer; it gives a beauty that it does not find, and weaves a +chain no other charms can break. Madam, farewell."</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:60%;"> +<img width="412" src="images/029.jpg" alt= +"OSRA ... SUDDENLY THREW HERSELF ON THE FLOOR AT HIS FEET, CRYING, 'FORGIVE ME! FORGIVE ME!'" /> + +<h5>"OSRA ... SUDDENLY THREW HERSELF ON THE FLOOR AT HIS FEET, +CRYING, 'FORGIVE ME! FORGIVE ME!'"</h5> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page31" id="page31"></a>[pg +31]</span> +<p>She looked at him and saw the sad joy in his eyes, an exultation +over what had been that what was could not destroy; and she knew +that the vision was still with him, though his love was dead. +Suddenly he seemed to her a man she also might love, and for whom +she also, if need be, might gladly die. Yet not because she loved +him, for she was asking still in wonder: "What is this love?"</p> +<p>"Madam, farewell," said he again; and, kneeling before her, he +kissed her hand.</p> +<p>"I carry the body of my love," he went on, "back with me to my +home, there to mourn for her; and I shall come no more to +Strelsau."</p> +<p>Osra bent her eyes on his face as he knelt, and presently she +said to him in a whisper that was low for awe, not shame:</p> +<p>"You heard what she bade me do?"</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page32" id="page32"></a>[pg +32]</span> +<p>"Yes, madam, I know her wish."</p> +<p>"And you would do it?" she asked.</p> +<p>"Madam, my struggle was fought before she died. But now you know +that my love was not yours."</p> +<p>"That also I knew before, sir;" and a slight, bitter smile came +on her face. But she grew grave again, and sat there, seeming to be +pondering, and Prince Ludwig waited on his knees. Then she suddenly +leant forward and said:</p> +<p>"If I loved I would wait for you to love. Now what is the love +that I cannot feel?"</p> +<p>And then she sat again silent, but at last raised her eyes again +to his, saying in a voice that even in the stillness of the room he +hardly heard:</p> +<p>"Now I do dearly love you, for I have seen your love, and know +that you can love; and I think that love must breed love, so that +she who loves must in God's time be loved. Yet"—she paused +here, and for a moment hid her face with her hand—"yet I +cannot," she went on. "Is it our Lord Christ who bids us take the +lower place? I cannot take it He does not so reign in my heart. For +to my proud heart—ah, my heart so proud!—she would be +ever between us. I could not bear it. Even though she is dead, I +could not bear it. Yet I believe now that with you I might one day +find happiness."</p> +<p>The prince, though in that hour he could not think of love, was +yet very much moved by her new tenderness, and felt that what had +passed rather drew them together than made any separation between +them. And it seemed to him that the dead lady's blessing was on his +suit, so he said:</p> +<p>"Madam, I would most faithfully serve you, and you would be the +nearest and dearest to me of all living women."</p> +<p>She waited a while, then she sighed heavily, and looked in his +face with an air of wistful longing, and she knit her brows as +though she were puzzled. But at last, shaking her head, she +said:</p> +<p>"It is not enough."</p> +<p>And with this she rose and took him by the hand, and they two +went back together to where the Bishop of Modenstein still prayed +beside the body of the lady.</p> +<p>Osra stood on one side of the body, and stretched her hand out +to the prince, who stood on the other side.</p> +<p>"See," said she, "she must be between us." And having kissed the +dead face once, she left the prince there by the side of his love, +and herself went out, and turning her head, saw that the prince +knelt again by the corpse of his love.</p> +<p>"He does not think of me," she said to the bishop.</p> +<p>"His thoughts are still with her, madam," he answered.</p> +<p>It was late night now, and they rode swiftly and silently along +the road to Strelsau. And on all the way they spoke to one another +only a few words, being both sunk deep in thought. But once Osra +spoke, as they were already near to Strelsau. For she turned +suddenly to the bishop, saying:</p> +<p>"My lord, what is it? Do you know it?"</p> +<p>"Yes, madam, I have known it," answered the bishop.</p> +<p>"Yet you are a churchman!"</p> +<p>"True, madam," said he, and he smiled sadly.</p> +<p>She seemed to consider, fixing her eyes on his; but he turned +his aside.</p> +<p>"Could you not make me understand?" she asked.</p> +<p>"Your lover, when he comes, will do that, madam," said he, and +still he kept his eyes averted. And Osra wondered why he kept his +eyes turned away; yet presently a faint smile curved her lips, and +she said:</p> +<p>"It may be you might feel it, if you were not a churchman. But I +do not. Many men have said they loved me, and I have felt something +in my heart—but not this!"</p> +<p>"It will come," said the bishop.</p> +<p>"Does it come, then, to every one?"</p> +<p>"To most," he answered.</p> +<p>"Heigho, will it ever come to me?" she sighed.</p> +<p>And so they were at home. And Osra was for a long time very +sorrowful for the fate of the lady whom the Prince of Glottenberg +had loved; but since she saw Ludwig no more, and the joy of youth +conquered her sadness, she ceased to mourn; and as she walked along +she would wonder more and more what it might be, this great love +that she did not feel.</p> +<p>"For none will tell me, not even the Bishop of Modenstein," said +she.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page33" id="page33"></a>[pg +33]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:90%;"> +<img width="669" src="images/031.jpg" alt= +"P.A.J. DAGNAN-BOUVERET, A LIVING FRENCH PAINTER." /> +<h5>P.A.J. DAGNAN-BOUVERET, A LIVING FRENCH PAINTER.</h5> +</div> +<a name="MADONNA" id="MADONNA"></a> +<h2>MADONNA AND CHILD IN ART.</h2> +<h3>By Will H. Low.</h3> +<p>When shepherds watched their flocks by night, and the angel +appeared, bringing the tidings of good-will, a new vocation, until +then unknown, was given to men. Tradition has it that one of the +earliest of the followers of the Child born that night was a +painter, and in the pictures of the primitive Dutch and Italian +schools a not uncommon subject is St. Luke painting the Virgin and +Child, while in more than one church in Europe the original(?) +picture may be seen. Perhaps the most notable of these is the +beautiful though quaint picture by Rogier van der Weyden, now in +the Old Pinakothek, in Munich. And the tradition is a pleasant one, +showing how early the services of the painters were enlisted in +spreading abroad the new gospel of peace on earth.</p> +<p>When we consider that, even stripped of divinity, the birth of a +child, its first dawning intelligence, its flower-like tenderness +of aspect, are one and all motives which excite the best that is in +man, there is little wonder that the Christ-child should have been +and should still be the best subject that a painter could demand. +In many forms, in fact, do we of a later day and of less fervent +faith celebrate the beauty of mother and child. How much more +ardently, therefore, in the days when faith and the painter's craft +were so intimately linked, have the painters approached their task. +Almost transfigured to divinity is the woman with the child at her +breast that shines upon us in so many galleries; quite divine in +the devout painter's thought it was as he wrought.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">"Fair shines the gilded aureole</p> +<p class="i2">In which our highest painters place</p> +<p class="i2">Some living woman's simple face."</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>sings Rossetti; and the "highest painter," pious monk, as in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page34" id="page34"></a>[pg +34]</span> case of Fra Angelico, and stately courtier, as was Peter +Paul Rubens, meet, extremes though they are, on the same ground +when they approach this sacred subject. The pictures reproduced +here, it may safely be said, are all celebrated, and yet they +represent but a small part of the pictures of the same subject +which are known to be by men of importance, and of which every +museum in the world has a goodly number. If we add to these the +pictures in private collections, and then take into account the +tens of thousands of pictures of the same subject which, everywhere +throughout the world, especially in Europe, are to be found in the +churches, it is safe to say that no other subject has so often +given its inspiration to the painter.</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:60%;"> +<img width="453" src="images/032-1.jpg" alt= +"MOTHER AND CHILD. TITIAN (ITALIAN: BORN 1477; DIED 1576)." /> +<h5>MOTHER AND CHILD. TITIAN (ITALIAN: BORN 1477; DIED 1576).</h5> +</div> +<p>Nor in any other case has a subject given such variety of +inspiration. The elements are few and simple, and though +occasionally there are accessory figures, the concentration of +interest, the reason for the existence of the picture, is centred +on the Mother and Child. A survey of these pages will suffice to +show that of these two principal elements a great variety of +pictorial effect, of expression, of sentiment, of composition of +line, and of light and shade, is possible. We can go back to the +splendid Byzantine churches, with their wealth of mosaic, their +subdued splendor of dulled gold covering arch and pillar as a +background for the glow of color with which the artists of +Constantine worked,—in a rigid convention as to form which +gives their figures an impressive air, but which is ill-suited to +the representation of the divine Mother and Child. Hence, in this, +the earliest manifestation of Christian art, it is the remembrance +of the majesty of a prophet, of the benign dignity of the mature +Christ, that I we carry away with us. Giotto, however, had no +sooner freed himself from the hampering conditions under which his +predecessors worked, than we begin to feel the human element enter +into art. Down through the centuries until to-day, the long +procession of artists comes to us: those of Italy first of all, +birthplace of modern art, land where time has touched everything +with so reverent a hand that all has been rendered beautiful.</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:60%;"> +<img width="470" src="images/032-2.jpg" alt= +"MADONNA AND CHILD. MURILLO (SPANISH: BORN 1618?; DIED 1682)." /> +<h5>MADONNA AND CHILD. MURILLO (SPANISH: BORN 1618?; DIED +1682).</h5> +</div> +<p>This legion of valiant painters enlisted in the service of "that +most noble Lady and her Son, our Lord and Seigneur," have names +which sound sweet to the ear, as their work is goodly to the sight. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page35" id="page35"></a>[pg +35]</span> Giotto, Era Angelico, Filippo Lippi, Gentile da +Fabriano, Ghirlandajo, names like the beads of a rosary, commence +the list, to which Botticelli, Perugino, Raffaello Santi, Leonardo +da Vinci, Andrea del Sarto, Correggio, Tiziano, Veronese, and, last +of all, with a name like the blast of a trumpet, the mighty Michael +the Archangel, add their syllabic charm. Then the painters of more +northern lands bring the tribute of their name and work; names less +pleasing to the ear, as their work has less beauty to the sight, +but rich, both in name and work, with honest intent and simple +devotion.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/033.jpg" alt= +"MOTHER AND CHILD, MURILLO (SPANISH: BORN 1618?; DIED 1682)." /> +<h5>MOTHER AND CHILD, MURILLO (SPANISH: BORN 1618?; DIED +1682).</h5> +</div> +<p>First come the men whose names are those of their works or of +their birthplace: Master William of Cologne, Master of the Death of +Mary, Master of the Holy Companionship. Then the Van Eycks, Hubert +and Jan, Rogier van der Weyden, Hugo van der Goes, Hans Memling, +Quentin Massys, Lucas van Leyden, the two Hans Holbein, elder and +younger, Burgkmair, Wolgemut, and then, master of them all, +Albrecht Dürer. Something of their honesty of purpose must +have been mixed with their pigments, for the works of these +fortunate painters of the early Dutch and German schools shine on +us to-day from the gallery walls with undiminished splendor; and +brave with vivid reds, with blues as rich and deep as an organ +chord, and yellows rich as the gold with which they embroidered +their Virgin's robes, their pictures show, with touching lapses in +some of the details, a large technical mastery, coupled with an +intensity of sentiment which has remained unapproachable.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page36" id="page36"></a>[pg +36]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:90%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/034-1.jpg" alt= +"HOLY FAMILY. NICOLAS POUSSIN (FRENCH: BORN 1594; DIED 1665)." /> +<h5>HOLY FAMILY. NICOLAS POUSSIN (FRENCH: BORN 1594; DIED +1665).</h5> +</div> +<div class="figleft" style="width:50%;"> +<img width="486" src="images/034-2.jpg" alt= +"MOTHER AND CHILD. LANDELLE. A LIVING FRENCH PAINTER." /> +<h5>MOTHER AND CHILD. LANDELLE. A LIVING FRENCH PAINTER.</h5> +</div> +<div class="figright" style="width:50%;"> +<img width="474" src="images/034-3.jpg" alt= +"MOTHER AND CHILD. UNKNOWN EARLY FLEMISH PAINTER." /> +<h5>MOTHER AND CHILD. UNKNOWN EARLY FLEMISH PAINTER.</h5> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page37" id="page37"></a>[pg +37]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"> +<img width="443" src="images/035.jpg" alt= +"THE MADONNA WITH THE DIADEM. RAPHAEL (ITALIAN: BORN 1483; DIED 1520)." /> + +<h5>THE MADONNA WITH THE DIADEM. RAPHAEL (ITALIAN: BORN 1483; DIED +1520).</h5> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page38" id="page38"></a>[pg +38]</span> +<div class="figleft" style="width:50%;"> +<img width="464" src="images/036-1.jpg" alt= +"MOTHER AND CHILD. RUBENS (FLEMISH: BORN 1577; DIED 1640)." /> +<h5>MOTHER AND CHILD. RUBENS (FLEMISH: BORN 1577; DIED 1640).</h5> +</div> +<div class="figright" style="width:50%;"> +<img width="459" src="images/036-2.jpg" alt= +"VIRGIN, INFANT JESUS, AND ST. JOHN. BOTTICELLI (ITALIAN: BORN 1447; DIED 1515)" /> + +<h5>VIRGIN, INFANT JESUS, AND ST. JOHN. BOTTICELLI (ITALIAN: BORN +1447; DIED 1515).</h5> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/036-3.jpg" alt= +"THE REPOSE OF THE HOLY FAMILY. CANTARINI (ITALIAN: BORN 1612; DIED 1648)." /> + +<h5>THE REPOSE OF THE HOLY FAMILY. CANTARINI (ITALIAN: BORN 1612; +DIED 1648).</h5> +</div> +<p>The next of these northern painters who can claim the first rank +is he who is in some respects the greatest of all from a painter's +standpoint, Rembrandt van Ryn. There is little of the primitive +Italian here, little of the painter who worships his Madonna +through the medium of his craft as some great lady, "empress of +heaven and of earth." Rembrandt's picture, lacking this mysticism, +gains, however, in humanity; and however far even from our modern +point of view it may be as a creation embodying the divine +Motherhood, it throbs with tenderness. The homely interior, the +good mother, the almost pathetic <i>abandon</i> of the sleeping +child—surely no painter ever wrought better, nor, we may be +sure, more devoutly!</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page39" id="page39"></a>[pg +39]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"> +<img width="408" src="images/037.jpg" alt= +"MOTHER AND CHILD. P.A.J. DAGNAN-BOUVERET, A LIVING FRENCH PAINTER." /> + +<h5>MOTHER AND CHILD. P.A.J. DAGNAN-BOUVERET, A LIVING FRENCH +PAINTER.</h5> +</div> +<div class="figleft" style="width:30%;"> +<img width="290" src="images/038-1.jpg" alt= +"MOTHER AND CHILD. N. BARABINO, A LIVING ITALIAN PAINTER." /> +<h5>MOTHER AND CHILD. N. BARABINO, A LIVING ITALIAN PAINTER.</h5> +</div> +<p>Then the giant Peter Paul Rubens, with his facile brush, his +acres of canvas, covered with the virile arabesque by which he has +transmitted to us the record of a temperament so full of life that +it needs no great effort of imagination, before one of his crowded +canvases, to imagine the doughty Fleming back in our midst, and +taking his place as Jupiter upon his painted Olympus, reawakened to +life. Yet, when he in turn approaches this natal subject, his pagan +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page40" id="page40"></a>[pg +40]</span> brush touches the canvas lightly, and all its deftness +is given to the praise of Our Lady and Our Lord. With him, as with +the painters of all and differing nationalities, both Mother and +Child bear the strong impress of the painter's surroundings. It is +as though the miraculous birth had, by some mysterious +dispensation, taken place in each of the countries of the world, +the better to insure the comprehension of the message of divine +love to all peoples.</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:50%;"> +<img width="529" src="images/038-2.jpg" alt= +"HOLY FAMILY. SIR ANTHONY VAN DYCK (FLEMISH: BORN 1599; DIED 1641)." /> + +<h5>HOLY FAMILY. SIR ANTHONY VAN DYCK (FLEMISH: BORN 1599; DIED +1641).</h5> +</div> +<div class="figright" style="width:50%;"> +<img width="524" src="images/038-3.jpg" alt= +"MOTHER AND CHILD. CARLO DOLCI (ITALIAN: BORN 1616; DIED 1686)." /> +<h5>MOTHER AND CHILD. CARLO DOLCI (ITALIAN: BORN 1616; DIED +1686).</h5> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:70%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/038-4.jpg" alt= +"HOLY FAMILY. BONIFAZIO (ITALIAN: BORN 1494; DIED 1563)." /> +<h5>HOLY FAMILY. BONIFAZIO (ITALIAN: BORN 1494; DIED 1563).</h5> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page41" id="page41"></a>[pg +41]</span> +<div class="figright" style="width:30%;"> +<img width="284" src="images/039.jpg" alt= +" MOTHER AND CHILD. N. BARABINO, A LIVING ITALIAN PAINTER." /> +<h5>MOTHER AND CHILD. N. BARABINO, A LIVING ITALIAN PAINTER.</h5> +</div> +<p>With Van Dyck, a little later, the Child is a young patrician; +the quality of the painter's imagination, influenced by his +frequentation of the princes of the earth, making him conceive the +young Christ as a magnificent man-child, fit to be called later to +the high places of the world, a serene and noble leader.</p> +<p>Somewhat differently did the Italians of the great epoch of +painting, Raphael, Titian, Veronese, even Bellini, who was earlier, +conceive their subject. While both Mother and Child with them were +merely what painters call a "bit" of painting, directly founded on +close study of a living woman and child, there was always present a +religious feeling, different, but almost as intense as that of the +primitive Italian painters. Throughout the many Madonnas on which +the fame of Raphael is founded we feel that, through a certain +variety of type, the research was always the same—a desire to +realize the maid-mother, and to presage, in the lineaments of the +child, his future character. This sentiment, everywhere present, is +approached reverently, and the too short-lived painter in his work +at least utters a constant prayer. With Bellini, with Titian, and +with Veronese the effort is not dissimilar, though something of the +sumptuosity of Venetian life has crept in, and it is to a queen of +earth as much as of heaven, and to a prince of the church temporal, +that their service is rendered.</p> +<p>In the Spanish pictures, particularly those of earlier date than +any Spanish picture reproduced here, we feel the strong impress of +the Church. In the picture by Alonso Cano there looks out from the +eyes of the Mother the sentiment of the cloistered nun; and though, +with the Murillos, we catch a glimpse of Spain outside of the +Church, even with him there is a sense of subjection from which the +memories of the Inquisition are not altogether absent.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page42" id="page42"></a>[pg +42]</span> +<div class="figleft" style="width:60%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/040-1.jpg" alt= +"LA VIERGE AU COUSSIN VERT—MADONNA OF THE GREEN CUSHION." /> +<h5>LA VIERGE AU COUSSIN VERT—MADONNA OF THE GREEN CUSHION. +ANDREA DA SOLARIO (ITALIAN: BORN 1458; DIED 1530).</h5> +</div> +<div class="figright" style="width:60%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/040-2.jpg" alt= +"LA VIERGE AUX CERISES—MADONNA OF THE CHERRIES." /> +<h5>LA VIERGE AUX CERISES—MADONNA OF THE CHERRIES. ANNIBALE +CARRACCI (ITALIAN: BORN 1560; DIED 1609).</h5> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:80%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/040-3.jpg" alt= +"JESUS ASLEEP. L. DESCHAMPS, A LIVING FRENCH PAINTER" /> +<h5>JESUS ASLEEP. L. DESCHAMPS, A LIVING FRENCH PAINTER.</h5> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page43" id="page43"></a>[pg +43]</span> +<div class="figleft" style="width:40%;"> +<img width="350" src="images/041.jpg" alt= +"MOTHER AND CHILD. S.H. LYBAERT, A LIVING GERMAN PAINTER." /> +<h5>MOTHER AND CHILD. S.H. LYBAERT, A LIVING GERMAN PAINTER.</h5> +</div> +<p>Our modern art has become so complex, the demands on the modern +painter are so different from those which the older masters met, +that our latter-day painting offers fewer examples of the Mother +and Child. Dagnan-Bouveret, in France, however, has treated the +subject in such a way as to show that there yet remains new +presentations of the world-old theme. To-day the painter has to +retain the sentiment of his subject through a network of technical +difficulties, and the gracious virginal figure which Monsieur +Dagnan-Bouveret has painted does this measurably well; while he has +triumphed technically in painting a figure in white, lit by +reflected light filtered through a network of green leaves. Another +picture of the Virgin and Child, where the outline of the Child is +seen through the cloak by which his mother shelters him, was +exhibited not long ago in New York, and is reproduced here.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page44" id="page44"></a>[pg +44]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:80%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/042-1.jpg" alt= +"MOTHER AND CHILD. E. VAN HOVE, A LIVING FRENCH PAINTER." /> +<h5>MOTHER AND CHILD. E. VAN HOVE, A LIVING FRENCH PAINTER.</h5> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:80%;"> +<img width="452" src="images/042-2.jpg" alt= +"THE HOLY NIGHT. F. ROEBER, A LIVING GERMAN PAINTER." /> +<h5>THE HOLY NIGHT. F. ROEBER, A LIVING GERMAN PAINTER.</h5> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page45" id="page45"></a>[pg +45]</span> +<div class="figleft" style="width:40%;"> +<img width="282" src="images/043-1.jpg" alt= +"MOTHER AND CHILD. ITALIAN SCHOOL OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY; ARTIST UNKNOWN." /> + +<h5>MOTHER AND CHILD. ITALIAN SCHOOL OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY; +ARTIST UNKNOWN.</h5> +</div> +<div class="figright" style="width:50%;"> +<img width="457" src="images/043-2.jpg" alt= +"THE ADORATION OF THE MAGI. SPAGNOLETTO (SPANISH: BORN 1588; DIED 1656)." /> + +<h5>THE ADORATION OF THE MAGI. SPAGNOLETTO (SPANISH: BORN 1588; +DIED 1656).</h5> +</div> +<br clear="all" /> +<div class="figleft" style="width:40%;"> +<img width="420" src="images/043-3.jpg" alt= +"THE MADONNA OF THE TEMPI FAMILY. RAPHAEL (ITALIAN: BORN 1483; DIED 1520)." /> + +<h5>THE MADONNA OF THE TEMPI FAMILY. RAPHAEL (ITALIAN: BORN 1483; +DIED 1520).</h5> +</div> +<br /> +<br /> +<p>In Italy, sadly fallen from her former greatness in art, many +painters render their service to the Church and to their ancient +faith, and there are numerous pictures of the divine Mother and +Child. The best of these, however, are characterized by novel +arrangement of the figures rather than by any sentiment in keeping +with theme—a criticism applicable also to most the modern +French examples. Modern Germany gains in sentiment while losing +decidedly in pictorial value, and it is a question whether it is +possible, in these times, to avoid a mere repetition of what has +already been so well done, and produce more than a picture which, +with pictorial and technical qualities, is laboring in the messages +of "peace on earth, good-will to men."</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:50%;"> +<img width="417" src="images/043-4.jpg" alt= +"HOLY FAMILY. REMBRANDT (DUTCH: BORN 1607; DIED 1669)." /> +<h5>HOLY FAMILY. REMBRANDT (DUTCH: BORN 1607; DIED 1669).</h5> +</div> +<br clear="all" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page46" id="page46"></a>[pg +46]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:80%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/044-1.jpg" alt= +"MADONNA, INFANT JESUS, AND ST. JOHN. VOUET (FRENCH: BORN 1590; DIED 1649)." /> + +<h5>MADONNA, INFANT JESUS, AND ST. JOHN. VOUET (FRENCH: BORN 1590; +DIED 1649).</h5> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"> +<img width="459" src="images/044-2.jpg" alt= +"LA VIERGE À LA GRAPPE--;MADONNA OF THE GRAPES. PIERRE MIGNARD (FRENCH: BORN 1610; DIED 1695)." /> + +<h5>LA VIERGE À LA GRAPPE—MADONNA OF THE GRAPES. +PIERRE MIGNARD (FRENCH: BORN 1610; DIED 1695).</h5> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page47" id="page47"></a>[pg +47]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:90%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/045-1.jpg" alt= +"LA VIERGE AU LAPIN--;MADONNA OF THE RABBIT. TITIAN (ITALIAN: BORN 1477; DIED 1576)." /> + +<h5>LA VIERGE AU LAPIN—MADONNA OF THE RABBIT. TITIAN +(ITALIAN: BORN 1477; DIED 1576).</h5> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:80%;"> +<img width="448" src="images/045-2.jpg" alt= +"THE FOND MOTHER. GABRIEL GUAY, A LIVING FRENCH PAINTER." /> +<h5>THE FOND MOTHER. GABRIEL GUAY, A LIVING FRENCH PAINTER.</h5> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page48" id="page48"></a>[pg +48]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<img width="528" src="images/046.jpg" alt= +"ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS." /> +<h5>ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS.</h5> +From a photograph by Mr. Benjamin Kimball, Boston.</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page49" id="page49"></a>[pg +49]</span> <a name="CHAPTERS" id="CHAPTERS"></a> +<h2>CHAPTERS FROM A LIFE.</h2> +<h4>I.</h4> +<h3>By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps,</h3> +<p class="works">Author of "The Gates Ajar," "The Madonna of the +Tubs," etc.</p> +<div class="decoration"><img width="124" +src="images/047.png" alt=" Letter H" /></div> +<p>Has it not been said that once in a lifetime most of us succumb +to the particular situation against which we have cultivated the +strongest principles? If there be one such, among the possibilities +to which a truly civilized career is liable, more than another +objectionable to the writer of these words, the creation of +autobiography has long been that one.</p> +<p>Yet, for that offence, once criminal to my taste, I find myself +hereby about to become indictable; and do set my hand and seal, on +this day of the recall of my dearest literary oath, in this year of +eminent autobiographical examples, one thousand eight hundred and +ninety-five.</p> +<p>"There is ——, who has written a charming series of +personal reminiscences, and —— ——, and +——.</p> +<p>"You might meet your natural shrinking by allowing yourself to +treat especially of your literary life; including, of course, +whatever went to form and sustain it."</p> +<p>"I suppose I <i>might</i>," I sigh. The answer is faint; but the +deed is decreed. Shall I be sorry for it?</p> +<p>It is a gray day, on gray Cape Ann, as I write these words. The +fog is breathing over the downs. The outside steamers shriek from +off the Point, as they feel their way at live of noon, groping as +though it were dead of night, and stars and coast-lights all were +smitten dark, and every pilot were a stranger to his chart.</p> +<p>A stranger to my chart, I, doubtful, put about, and make the +untried coast.</p> +<p>At such a moment, one thinks wistfully of that fair, misty world +which is all one's own, yet on the outside of which one stands so +humbly, and so gently. One thinks of the unseen faces, of the +unknown friends who have read one's tales of other people's lives, +and cared to read, and told one so, and made one believe in their +kindness, and affection and fidelity for thirty years. And the +hesitating heart calls out to them: Will <i>you</i> let me be +sorry? Thirty years! It is a good while that you and I have kept +step together. Shall we miss it now? If <i>you</i> will care to +hear such chapters as may select themselves from the story of the +story-teller,—you have the oldest right to choose, and I, the +happy will to please you if I can.</p> +<hr /> +<p>The lives of the makers of books are very much like other +people's in most respects, but especially in this: that they are +either rebels to, or subjects of, their ancestry. The lives of some +literary persons begin a good while after they are born. Others +begin a good while before.</p> +<p>Of this latter kind is mine.</p> +<p>It has sometimes occurred to me to find myself the possessor of +a sort of unholy envy of writers concerning whom our stout American +phrase says that they have "made themselves." What delight to be +aware that one has not only created one's work, but the worker! +What elation in the remembrance of the battle against a commercial, +or a scientific, or a worldly and superficial heredity; in the +recollection of the tug with habit and education, and the overthrow +of impulses setting in other directions than the chosen movement of +one's own soul!</p> +<p>What pleasure in the proud knowledge that all one's success is +one's own doing, and the sum of it cast up to one's credit upon the +long ledger of life! To this exhilarating self-content I can lay no +claim. For whatever measure of what is called success has fallen to +my lot, I can ask no credit. I find myself in the chastened +position of one whose literary abilities all belong to one's +ancestors.</p> +<p>It is humbling—I do not deny that it may be morally +invigorating—to feel that whatever is "worth mentioning" in +my life is no affair of mine, but falls under the beautiful and +terrible law by which the dead men and women whose blood bounds in +our being control our destinies.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page50" id="page50"></a>[pg +50]</span> +<p>Yet, with the notable exception of my father, I have less than +the usual store of personal acquaintance with the "people who most +influenced me." Of my grandfather, Moses Stuart, I have but two +recollections; and these, taken together, may not be quite devoid +of interest, as showing how the law of selection works in the mind +of an imaginative child.</p> +<p>I remember seeing the Professor of Sacred Literature come into +his dining-room one morning in his old house on Andover Hill which +was built for him, and marked the creation of his department in the +early days of the seminary history. He looked very tall and +imposing. He had a mug in his hand, and his face smiled like the +silver of which it was made.</p> +<p>The mug was full of milk, and he handed it ceremoniously to the +year-old baby, his namesake and grandson, my first brother, whose +high-chair stood at the table.</p> +<p>Then, I remember—it must have been a little more than a +year after that—seeing the professor in his coffin in the +front hall; that he looked taller than he did before, but still +imposing; that he had his best coat on—the one, I think, in +which he preached; and that he was the first dead person I had ever +seen.</p> +<p>Whenever the gray-headed men who knew him used to sit about, +relating anecdotes of him—as, how many commentaries he +published, or how he introduced the first German lexicon into this +country (as if a girl in short dresses would be absorbingly +interested in her grandfather's dictionaries!)—I saw the +silver mug and the coffin.</p> +<p>Gradually the German lexicon in a hazy condition got melted in +between them. Sometimes the baby's mug sat upon the dictionary. +Sometimes the dictionary lay upon the coffin. Sometimes the baby +spilled the milk out of the mug upon the dictionary. But for my +personal uses, the Andover grandfather's memoirs began and ended +with the mug and the coffin.</p> +<p>The other grandfather was not distinguished as a scholar; he was +but an orthodox minister of ability and originality, and with a +vivacious personal history. Of him I knew something. From his own +lips came thrilling stories of his connection with the underground +railway of slavery days; how he sent the sharpest carving-knife in +the house, concealed in a basket of food, to a hidden fugitive +slave who had vowed never to be taken alive, and whose master had +come North in search of him. It was a fine thing, that throbbing +humanity, which could in those days burst the reformer out of the +evangelical husk, and I learned my lesson from it. ("Where +<i>did</i> she get it?" conservative friends used to wail, whenever +I was seen to have tumbled into the last new and unfashionable +reform.)</p> +<p>From his own lips, too, I heard the accounts of that +extraordinary case of house-possession of which (like Wesley) this +innocent and unimaginative country minister, who had no more faith +in "spooks" than he had in Universalists, was made the astonished +victim.</p> +<p>Night upon night I have crept gasping to bed, and shivered for +hours with my head under the clothes, after an evening spent in +listening to this authentic and fantastic family tale. How the +candlesticks walked out into the air from the mantelpiece, and back +again; how the chairs of skeptical visitors collected from all +parts of the country to study what one had hardly then begun to +call the "phenomena" at the parsonage at Stratford, Connecticut, +hopped after the guests when they crossed the room; how the dishes +at the table leaped, and the silver forks were bent by unseen +hands, and cold turnips dropped from the solid ceiling; and ghastly +images were found, composed of underclothing proved to have been +locked at the time in drawers of which the only key lay all the +while in Dr. Phelps's pocket; and how the mysterious agencies, +purporting by alphabetical raps upon bed-head or on table to be in +torments of the nether world, being asked what their host could do +to relieve them, demanded a piece of squash pie.</p> +<p>From the old man's own calm hands, within a year or two of his +death, I received the legacy of the written journal of these +phenomena, as recorded by the victim from day to day, during the +seven months that this mysterious misfortune dwelt within his +house.</p> +<p>It may be prudent to say, just here, that it will be quite +useless to make any further inquiries of me upon the subject, or to +ask of me—a request which has been repeated till I am fain to +put an end to it—for either loan or copy of these records for +the benefit of either personal or scientific curiosity. Both +loaning and copying are now impossible, and have been made so by +family wishes which will be sacredly respected. The phenomena +themselves have long been too widely known to be ignored, and I +have no hesitation in making reference to them.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page51" id="page51"></a>[pg +51]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:80%;"> +<img width="463" src="images/049.jpg" alt= +"ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS, HER MOTHER, AND HER INFANT BROTHER. AFTERWARDS PROFESSOR M. STUART PHELPS." /> + +<h5>ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS, HER MOTHER, AND HER INFANT BROTHER. +AFTERWARDS PROFESSOR M. STUART PHELPS.</h5> +</div> +<p>Perhaps it is partly on account of the traditions respecting +this bit of family history that I am so often asked if I am a +spiritualist. I am sometimes tempted to reply in grammar +comprehensible to the writers of certain letters which I receive +upon the subject:</p> +<p>"No; nor none of our folks!"</p> +<p>How the Connecticut parson on whom this mysterious infliction +fell ever came out of it <i>not</i> a spiritualist, who can tell? +That the phenomena were facts, and facts explicable by no known +natural law, he was forced, like others in similar positions, to +believe and admit. That he should study the subject of spiritualism +carefully from then until the end of his life, was inevitable.</p> +<p>But, as nearly as I can make it out, on the whole, he liked his +Bible better.</p> +<p>Things like these did not happen on Andover Hill; and my talks +with this very interesting grandfather gave me my first vivid +sensation of the possibilities of life.</p> +<p>With what thrills of hope and fear I listened for thumps on the +head of my bed, or watched anxiously to see my candlestick walk out +into the air!</p> +<p>But not a thump! Not a rap! Never a snap of the weakest +proportions (not explicable by natural laws) has, from that day to +this, visited my personal career. Not a candlestick ever walked an +inch for me. I have never been able to induce a chair to hop after +me. No turnip has consented to drop from the ceiling for me. +Planchette, in her day, wrote hundreds of lines for me, but never +one that was of the slightest possible significance to me, or to +the universe at large. Never did a medium tell me anything that +ever came to pass; though one of them once made a whole winter +miserable by prophesying a death which did not occur.</p> +<p>Being destitute of objections to belief in the usefulness of +spiritualistic mystery,—in fact, by temperament, perhaps +inclining to hope that such phenomena may be tamed and yoked, and +made to work for human happiness,—yet there seems to be +something about me which these agencies do not find congenial. +Though I have gone longing for a sign, no sign has been given me. +Though I have been always ready to believe all other people's +mysteries, no inexplicable facts have honored my experience.</p> +<p>The only personal prophecy ever strictly fulfilled in my life +was—I am not certain whether I ought to feel embarrassed in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page52" id="page52"></a>[pg +52]</span> alluding to it—made by a gipsy fortune-teller. She +was young and pretty, the seventh child of a seventh child, and she +lived in a Massachusetts shoe-town by the name of Lynn. And what +was it? Oh, but you must excuse me.</p> +<p>The grandfather to whom these marvels happened was not, as I +say, a literary man; yet even he did write a little book—a +religious tale, or tract, after the manner of his day and +profession; and it took to itself a circulation of two hundred +thousand copies. I remember how Mr. James T. Fields laughed when he +heard of it—that merry laugh peculiar to himself.</p> +<p>"You can't help it," the publisher said; "you come of a family +of large circulations."</p> +<p>One day I was at school with my brother,—a little, private +school, down by what were called the English dormitories in +Andover.</p> +<p>I was eight years old. Some one came in and whispered to the +teacher. Her face turned very grave, and she came up to us quietly, +and called us out into the entry, and gently put on our things.</p> +<p>"You are to go home," she said; "your mother is dead." I took my +little brother's hand without a word, and we trudged off. I do not +think we spoke—I am sure we did not cry—on the way +home. I remember perfectly that we were very gayly dressed. Our +mother liked bright, almost barbaric colors on children. The little +boy's coat was of red broadcloth, and my cape of a canary yellow, +dyed at home in white-oak dye. The two colors flared before my eyes +as we shuffled along and crushed the crisp, dead leaves that were +tossing in the autumn wind all over Andover Hill.</p> +<p>When we got home they told us it was a mistake; she was not +dead; and we were sent back to school. But, in a few weeks after +that, one day we were told we need not go to school at all; the red +and yellow coats came off, and little black ones took their places. +The new baby, in his haggard father's arms, was baptized at his +mother's funeral; and we looked on, and wondered what it all meant, +and what became of children whose mother was obliged to go to +heaven when she seemed so necessary in Andover.</p> +<p>At eight years of age a child cannot be expected to know her +mother intimately, and it is hard for me always to distinguish +between the effect produced upon me by her literary success as I +have since understood it, and that left by her own truly +extraordinary personality upon the annals of the nursery.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:95%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/050.jpg" alt= +"PROFESSOR PHELPS'S HOUSE AT ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS, THE HOUSE IN WHICH ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WAS REARED." /> + +<h5>PROFESSOR PHELPS'S HOUSE AT ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS, THE HOUSE +IN WHICH ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WAS REARED.</h5> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page53" id="page53"></a>[pg +53]</span> +<p>My mother, whose name I am proud to wear, was the eldest +daughter of Professor Stuart, and inherited his intellectuality. At +the time of her death she was at the first blossom of her very +positive and widely-promising success as a writer of the simple +home stories which took such a hold upon the popular heart. Her +"Sunnyside" had already reached a circulation of one hundred +thousand copies, and she was following it fast—too +fast—by other books for which the critics and the publishers +clamored. Her last book and her last baby came together, and killed +her. She lived one of those rich and piteous lives such as only +gifted women know; torn by the civil war of the dual nature which +can be given to women only. It was as natural for her daughter to +write as to breathe; but it was impossible for her daughter to +forget that a woman of intellectual power could be the most +successful of mothers.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:80%;"> +<img width="442" src="images/051.jpg" alt= +"PROFESSOR AUSTIN PHELPS, FATHER OF ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS." /> +<h5>PROFESSOR AUSTIN PHELPS, FATHER OF ELIZABETH STUART +PHELPS.</h5> +From an early photograph.</div> +<p>"Everybody's mother is a remarkable woman," my father used to +say when he read overdrawn memoirs indited by devout children; and +yet I have sometimes felt as if even the generation that knows her +not would feel a certain degree of interest in the tact and power +by which this unusual woman achieved the difficult reconciliation +between genius and domestic life.</p> +<p>In our times and to our women such a problem is practical, +indeed. One need not possess genius to understand it now. A career +is enough.</p> +<p>The author of "Sunnyside," "The Angel on the Right Shoulder," +and "Peep at Number Five," lived before women had careers and +public sympathy in them. Her nature was drawn against the grain of +her times and of her circumstances; and where our feet find easy +walking, hers were hedged. A child's memories go for something by +way of tribute to the achievement of one of those rare women of the +elder time whose gifts forced her out, but whose heart held her +in.</p> +<p>I can remember no time when I did not understand that my mother +must write books because people would have and read them; but I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page54" id="page54"></a>[pg +54]</span> cannot remember one hour in which her children needed +her and did not find her.</p> +<p>My first distinct vision of this kind of a mother gives her by +the nursery lamp, reading to us her own stories, written for +ourselves, never meant to go beyond that little public of two, and +illustrated in colored crayons by her own pencil. For her gift in +this direction was of an original quality, and had she not been a +writer she must have achieved something as an artist.</p> +<p>Perhaps it was to keep the standards up, and a little girl's +filial adoration down, that these readings ended with some +classic—Wordsworth, I remember most often—"We are +Seven," or "Lucy Gray."</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:95%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/052.jpg" alt= +"ELM ARCH, ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS." /> +<h5>ELM ARCH, ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS.</h5> +</div> +<p>It is certain that I very early had the conviction that a mother +was a being of power and importance to the world; but that the +world had no business with her when we wanted her. In a word, she +was a strong and lovely symmetry—a woman whose heart had not +enfeebled her head, but whose head could never freeze her +heart.</p> +<p>I hardly know which of those charming ways in which I learned to +spell the word motherhood impressed me most. All seemed to go on +together side by side and step by step. Now she sits correcting +proof-sheets, and now she is painting apostles for the baby's first +Bible lesson. Now she is writing her new book, and now she is +dyeing things canary-yellow in the white-oak dye—for the +professor's salary is small, and a crushing economy was in those +days one of the conditions of faculty life on Andover Hill. +Now—for her practical ingenuity was unlimited—she is +whittling little wooden feet to stretch the children's stockings +on, to save them from shrinking; and now she is reading to us from +the old, red copy of Hazlitt's "British Poets," by the register, +upon a winter night. Now she is a popular writer, incredulous of +her first success, with her future flashing before her; and now she +is a tired, tender mother, crooning to a sick child, while the MS. +lies unprinted on the table, and the publishers are wishing their +professor's wife were a free woman, childless and solitary, able to +send copy as fast as it is wanted. The struggle killed her, but she +fought till she fell.</p> +<p>In these different days, when,</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">"Pealing, the clock of time</p> +<p class="i2">Has struck the Woman's Hour,"</p> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page55" id="page55"></a>[pg +55]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:85%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/053.jpg" alt= +"THE REV. DR. E. PHELPS, GRANDFATHER OF ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS." /> + +<h5>THE REV. DR. E. PHELPS, GRANDFATHER OF ELIZABETH STUART +PHELPS.</h5> +</div> +<p>I have sometimes been glad, as my time came to face the long +question which life puts to-day to all women who think and feel, +and who care for other women and are loyal to them, that I had +those early visions of my own to look upon.</p> +<p>When I was learning why the sun rose and the moon set, how the +flowers grew and the rain fell, that God and heaven and art and +letters existed, that it was intelligent to say one's prayers, and +that well-bred children never told a lie, I learned that a mother +can be strong and still be sweet, and sweet although she is strong; +and that she whom the world and her children both have need of, is +of more value to each, for this very reason.</p> +<p>I said it was impossible to be her daughter and not to write. +Rather, I should say, impossible to be <i>their</i> daughter and +not to have something to say, and a pen to say it.</p> +<p>The comparatively recent close of my father's life has not left +him yet forgotten, and it can hardly be necessary for me to do more +than to refer to the name of Austin Phelps to recall to that part +of our public which knew and loved him the quality of his work.</p> +<p>"The Still Hour" is yet read, and there are enough who remember +how widely this book has been known and loved, and how marked was +the literary gift in all the professor's work.</p> +<p>It has fallen to me otherwise to say so much of my peculiar +indebtedness to my father, that I shall forbid myself, and spare my +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page56" id="page56"></a>[pg +56]</span> reader, too much repetition of a loving credit which it +would not be possible altogether to omit from this chapter.</p> +<p>He who becomes father and mother in one to motherless children, +bears a burden which men shirk or stagger under; and there was not +a shirking cell in his brain or heart.</p> +<p>As I have elsewhere said: "There was hardly a chapter in my life +of which he was not in some sense, whether revealed or concealed, +the hero."</p> +<p>"If I am asked to sum in a few words the vivid points of his +influence, I find it as hard to give definite form to my +indebtedness to the Christian scholar whose daughter it is my honor +to be, as to specify the particulars in which one responds to +sunshine or oxygen. He was my climate. As soon as I began to think, +I began to reverence thought and study and the hard work of a man +devoted to the high ends of a scholar's life. His department was +that of rhetoric, and his appreciation of the uses and graces of +language very early descended like a mantle upon me. I learned to +read and to love reading, not because I was made to, but because I +could not help it. It was the atmosphere I breathed."</p> +<p>"Day after day the watchful girl observed the life of a +student—its scholarly tastes, its high ideals, its scorn of +worldliness and paltry aims or petty indulgences, and forever its +magnificent habits of <i>work</i>."</p> +<p>"At sixteen, I remember, there came to me a distinct arousing or +awakening to the intellectual life. As I look back, I see it in a +flash-light. Most of the important phases or crises of our lives +can be traced to some one influence or event, and this one I +connect directly with the reading to me by my father of the +writings of De Quincey and the poems of Wordsworth. Every one who +has ever heard him preach or lecture remembers the rare quality of +Professor Phelps's voice. As a pulpit orator he was one of the few, +and to hear him read in his own study was an absorbing experience. +To this day I cannot put myself outside of certain pages of the +laureate or the essayist. I do not read; I listen. The great lines +beginning:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">"'Thanks to the human heart by which we live,</p> +<p class="i2">Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and fears;'</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>the great passage which opens: 'Then like a chorus the passion +deepened,' and which rises to the aching cry: 'Everlasting +farewells!... Everlasting farewells!' ring in my ears as they left +his lips."</p> +<p>For my first effort to sail the sea of letters, it occurs to me +that I ought to say that my father's literary reputation cannot be +held responsible.</p> +<p>I had reached (to take a step backwards in the story) the mature +age of thirteen. I was a little girl in low-necked gingham dresses, +I know, because I remember I had on one (of a purple shade, and +incredibly unbecoming to a half-grown, brunette girl) one evening +when my first gentleman caller came to see me.</p> +<p>I felt that the fact that he was my Sunday-school teacher +detracted from the importance of the occasion, but did not +extinguish it.</p> +<p>It was perhaps half-past eight, and, obediently to law and +gospel, I had gone upstairs.</p> +<p>The actual troubles of life have never dulled my sense of +mortification at overhearing from my little room at the head of the +stairs, where I was struggling to get into that gingham gown and +present a tardy appearance, a voice distinctly excusing me on the +ground that it was past her usual bedtime, and she had gone to +bed.</p> +<p>Whether the anguish of that occasion so far aged me that it had +anything to do with my first literary undertaking, I cannot say; +but I am sure about the low-necked gingham dress, and that it was +during this particular year that I determined to become an +individual and contribute to the "Youth's Companion."</p> +<p>I did so. My contribution was accepted and paid for by the +appearance in my father's post-office box of the paper for a year; +and my impression is that I wore high-necked dresses pretty soon +thereafter, and was allowed to sit up till nine o'clock. At any +rate, these memorable events are distinctly intertwined in my +mind.</p> +<p>This was in the days when even the "Companion," that oldest and +most delightful of children's journals, printed things like +these:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"<i>Why Julia B. loved the Country</i>.</p> +<p class="i2">"Julia B. loved the country because whenever she +walked out she could see God in the face of Nature."</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I really think that the semi-column which I sent to that +distinguished paper was a tone or two above this. But I can +remember nothing about it, except that there was a sister who +neglected her little brothers, and hence defeated the first object +of existence in a woman-child. It was very proper, and very pious, +and very much like what well-brought-up little girls were taught to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page57" id="page57"></a>[pg +57]</span> do, to be, to suffer, or to write in those days. I have +often intended to ask Mr. Ford if the staff discovered any signs of +literary promise in that funny little performance.</p> +<p>At all events, my literary ambitions, with this solitary +exercise, came to a sudden suspension. I have no recollection of +having written or of having wanted to write anything more for a +long time.</p> +<p>I was not in the least a precocious young person, and very much +of a tomboy into the bargain. I think I was far more likely to have +been found on the top of an apple-tree or walking the length of the +seminary fence than writing rhymes or reading "solid reading." I +know that I was once told by a queer old man in the street that +little girls should not walk fences, and that I stood still and +looked at him, transfixed with contempt. I do not think I +vouchsafed him any answer at all. But this must have been while I +was still in the little gingham gowns.</p> +<p>Perhaps this is the place, if anywhere, to mention the next +experiment at helping along the literature of my native land of +which I have any recollection. There was another little +contribution—a pious little contribution, like the first. +Where it was written, or what it was about, or where it was +printed, it is impossible to remember; but I know that it appeared +in some extremely orthodox young people's periodical—I think, +one with a missionary predilection. The point of interest I find to +have been that I was paid for it.</p> +<p>With the exception of some private capital amassed by abstaining +from butter (a method of creating a fortune of whose wisdom, I must +say, I had the same doubts then that I have now), this was the +first money I had ever earned. The sum was two dollars and a half. +It became my immediate purpose not to squander this wealth. I had +no spending money in particular that I recall. Three cents a week +was, I believe, for years the limit of my personal income, and I am +compelled to own that this sum was not expended at book-stalls, or +for the benefit of the heathen who appealed to the generosity of +professors' daughters through the treasurer of the chapel +Sunday-school; but went solidly for cream cakes and apple turnovers +alternately, one each week.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/055.jpg" alt= +"VIEW FROM THE WESTERN WINDOW OF THE STUDY IN PROFESSOR AUSTIN PHELPS'S HOUSE, ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS." /> + +<h5>VIEW FROM THE WESTERN WINDOW OF THE STUDY IN PROFESSOR AUSTIN +PHELPS'S HOUSE, ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS.</h5> +</div> +<p>Two dollars and a half represented to me a standard of +munificent possession which it would be difficult to make most +girls in their first teens, and socially situated today as I was +then, understand. To waste this fortune in riotous living was +impossible. From the hour that I received that check for +"two-fifty," cream cakes began to wear a juvenile air, and +turnovers seemed unworthy of my position in life. I remember +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page58" id="page58"></a>[pg +58]</span> begging to be allowed to invest the sum "in pictures," +and that my father, gently diverting my selection from a frowsy and +popular "Hope" at whose memory I shudder even yet, induced me to +find that I preferred some excellent photographs of Thorwaldsen's +"Night" and "Morning," which he framed for me, and which hang in +our rooms to-day.</p> +<p>It is impossible to forget the sense of dignity which marks the +hour when one becomes a wage-earner. The humorous side of it is the +least of it—or was in my case. I felt that I had suddenly +acquired value—to myself, to my family, and to the world.</p> +<p>Probably all people who write "for a living" would agree with me +in recalling the first check as the largest and most luxurious of +life.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<a name="UNDERSTUDY" id="UNDERSTUDY"></a> +<h2>THE UNDERSTUDY.</h2> +<h3>By Robert Barr,</h3> +<p class="works">Author of "In the Midst of Alarms," "A +Typewritten Letter," etc.</p> +<p>The monarch in the Arabian story had an ointment which, put upon +his right eye, enabled him to see through the walls of houses. If +the Arabian despot had passed along a narrow street leading into a +main thoroughfare of London one night, just before the clock struck +twelve, he would have beheld, in a dingy back room of a large +building, a very strange sight. He would have seen King Charles the +First seated in friendly converse with none other than Oliver +Cromwell.</p> +<p>The room in which these two noted people sat had no carpet and +but few chairs. A shelf extended along one side of the apartment, +and it was covered with mugs containing paint and grease. Brushes +were littered about, and a wig lay in a corner. Two mirrors stood +at each end of the shelf, and beside them flared two gas jets +protected by wire baskets. Hanging from nails driven in the walls +were coats, waistcoats, and trousers of more modern cut than the +costumes worn by the two men.</p> +<p>King Charles, with his pointed beard and his ruffles of lace, +leaned picturesquely back in his chair, which rested against the +wall. He was smoking a very black briar-root pipe, and perhaps his +Majesty enjoyed the weed all the more that there was just above his +head, tacked to the wall, a large placard containing the words, "No +smoking allowed in this room, or in any other part of the +theatre."</p> +<p>Cromwell, in more sober garments, had an even jauntier attitude +than the king; for he sat astride the chair, with his chin resting +on the back of it, smoking a cigarette in a meerschaum holder.</p> +<p>"I'm too old, my boy," said the king, "and too fond of my +comfort. Besides, I have no longer any ambition. When an actor once +realizes that he will never be a Charles Kean or a Macready, then +comes peace and the enjoyment of life. Now, with you it is +different; you are, if I may say so in deep affection, young and +foolish. Your project is a most hair-brained scheme. You are +throwing away all you have already won."</p> +<p>"Good gracious!" cried Cromwell, impatiently, "what have I +won?"</p> +<p>"You have certainly won something," resumed the elder, calmly, +"when a person of your excitable nature can play so well the +sombre, taciturn character of Cromwell. You have mounted several +rounds, and the whole ladder lifts itself up before you. You have +mastered several languages, while I know but one, and that +imperfectly. You have studied the foreign drama, while I have not +even read all the plays of Shakespeare. I can do a hundred parts +conventionally well. You will, some day, do a great part as no +other man on earth will do it, and then fame will come to you. Now +you propose recklessly to throw all this away and go into the wilds +of Africa."</p> +<p>"The particular ladder you offer to me," said Cromwell, "I have +no desire to climb; I am sick of the smell of the footlights and +the whole atmosphere of the theatre. I am tired of the unreality of +the life we lead. Why not be a hero, instead of mimicking one?"</p> +<p>"But, my dear boy," said the king, filling his pipe again, "look +at the practical side of things. It costs a fortune to fit out an +African expedition. Where are you to get the money?"</p> +<p>This question sounded more natural from the lips of the king +than did the answer from the lips of Cromwell.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page59" id="page59"></a>[pg +59]</span> +<p>"There has been too much force and too much expenditure about +African travel. I do not intend to cross the continent with arms +and the munitions of war. As you remarked a while ago, I know +several European languages, and if you will forgive what sounds +like boasting, I may say that I have a gift for picking up tongues. +I have money enough to fit myself out with some necessary +scientific instruments, and to pay my passage to the coast. Once +there, I will win my way across the continent through love and not +through fear."</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/057.jpg" alt= +"IT WAS A YEAR AFTER THE DISAPPEARANCE THAT A WAN LIVING SKELETON STAGGERED OUT OF THE WILDERNESS IN AFRICA." /> + +<h5>IT WAS A YEAR AFTER THE DISAPPEARANCE THAT A WAN LIVING +SKELETON STAGGERED OUT OF THE WILDERNESS IN AFRICA.</h5> +</div> +<p>"You will lose your head," said King Charles; "they don't +understand that sort of thing out there, and, besides, the idea is +not original. Didn't Livingstone try that tack?"</p> +<p>"Yes, but people have forgotten Livingstone and his methods. It +is now the explosive bullet and the elephant gun. I intend to learn +the language of the different native tribes I meet, and if a chief +opposes me, and will not allow me to pass through his territory, +and if I find I cannot win him over to my side by persuasive talk, +then I will go around."</p> +<p>"And what is to be the outcome of it all?" cried Charles. "What +is your object?"</p> +<p>"Fame, my boy, fame," cried Cromwell enthusiastically, flinging +the chair from under him and pacing the narrow room.</p> +<p>"If I can get from coast to coast without taking the life of a +single native, won't that be something greater to have done than +all the play-acting from now till doomsday?"</p> +<p>"I suppose it will," said the king gloomily; "but you must +remember you are the only friend I have, and I have reached an age +when a man does not pick up friends readily."</p> +<p>Cromwell stopped in his walk, and grasped the king by the arm. +"And are not you the only friend I have?" he said. "And why can you +not abandon this ghastly sham and come with me, as I asked you to +at first? How can you hesitate when you think of the glorious +freedom of the African forest, and compare it with this cribbed, +and cabined, and confined business we are now at?"</p> +<p>The king shook his head slowly, and knocked the ashes from his +pipe. He seemed to have some trouble in keeping it alight, probably +because of the prohibition on the wall.</p> +<p>"As I said before," replied the king, "I am too old. There are +no 'pubs' in the African forest where a man can get a glass of beer +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page60" id="page60"></a>[pg +60]</span> when he wants it. No, Ormond, African travel is not for +me. If you are resolved to go—go, and God bless you; I will +stay at home and carefully nurse your fame. I will from time to +time drop appetizing little paragraphs into the papers about your +wanderings, and when you are ready to come back to England, all +England will be ready to listen to you. You know how interest is +worked up in the theatrical business by judicious puffing in the +papers, and I imagine African exploration requires much the same +treatment. If it were not for the press, my boy, you could explore +Africa till you were blind and nobody would hear a word about it; +so I will be your advance agent, and make ready for your home +coming."</p> +<p>At this point in the conversation between these two historical +characters, the janitor of the theatre put his head into the room +and reminded the celebrities that it was very late; whereupon both +king and commoner rose with some reluctance and washed +themselves—the king becoming, when he put on the ordinary +dress of an Englishman, Mr. James Spence, while Cromwell, after a +similar transformation, became Mr. Sidney Ormond; and thus, with +nothing of royalty or dictatorship about them, the two strolled up +the narrow street into the main thoroughfare, and entered their +favorite midnight restaurant, where, over a belated meal, they +continued the discussion of the African project, which Spence +persisted in looking upon as one of the maddest expeditions that +had ever come to his knowledge. But the talk was futile—as +most talk is—and within a month from that time Ormond was on +the ocean, headed for Africa.</p> +<p>Another man took Ormond's place at the theatre, and Spence +continued to play his part, as the papers said, in his usual +acceptable manner. He heard from his friend, in due course, when he +landed. Then at intervals came one or two letters showing how he +had surmounted the unusual difficulties he had to contend with. +After a long interval came a letter from the interior of Africa, +sent to the coast by messenger. Although at the beginning of this +letter Ormond said he had but faint hope of reaching his +destination, he nevertheless gave a very complete account of his +wanderings and his dealings with the natives; and up to that point +his journey seemed to be most satisfactory. He enclosed several +photographs, mostly very bad ones, which he had managed to develop +and print in the wilderness. One, however, of himself was easily +recognizable, and Spence had it copied and enlarged, hanging the +framed enlargement in whatever dressing-room fate assigned to him, +for Spence never had a long engagement at any one theatre. He was a +useful man who could take any part, but had no specialty, and +London was full of such.</p> +<p>For a long time he heard nothing from his friend; and the +newspaper men to whom Spence indefatigably furnished interesting +items about the lone explorer began to look upon Ormond as an +African Mrs. Harris, and the paragraphs, to Spence's deep regret, +failed to appear. The journalists, who were a flippant lot, used to +accost Spence with, "Well, Jimmy, how's your African friend?" and +the more he tried to convince them the less they believed in the +peace-loving traveller.</p> +<p>At last there came a final letter from Africa, a letter that +filled the tender middle-aged heart of Spence with the deepest +grief he had ever known. It was written in a shaky hand, and the +writer began by saying that he knew neither the date nor his +locality. He had been ill and delirious with fever, and was now at +last in his right mind, but felt the grip of death upon him. The +natives had told him that no one ever recovered from the malady he +had caught in the swamp, and his own feelings led him to believe +that his case was hopeless. The natives had been very kind to him +throughout, and his followers had promised to bring his boxes to +the coast. The boxes contained the collections he had made and also +his complete journal, which he had written up to the day he became +ill.</p> +<p>Ormond begged his friend to hand over his belongings to the +Geographical Society, and to arrange for the publication of his +journal, if possible. It might secure for him the fame he had died +to achieve, or it might not; but, he added, he left the whole +conduct of the affair unreservedly to his friend, on whom he +bestowed that love and confidence which a man gives to another man +but once in his life, and then when he is young. The tears were in +Jimmy's eyes long before he had finished the letter.</p> +<p>He turned to another letter he had received by the same mail as +Ormond's and which also bore the South African stamp upon it. +Hoping to find some news of his friend, he broke the seal, but it +was merely an intimation from the steamship company that half a +dozen boxes remained at the southern terminus of the line addressed +to him; but, they said, until they were assured the freight upon +them to Southampton would be paid, they would not be forwarded.</p> +<p>A day or two after, the London papers announced in large type, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page61" id="page61"></a>[pg +61]</span> "Mysterious Disappearance of an Actor." The well-known +actor, Mr. James Spence, had left the theatre in which he had been +playing the part of Joseph to a great actor's Richelieu, and had +not since been heard of. The janitor remembered him leaving that +night, for he had not returned his salutation, which was most +unusual. His friends had noticed that for a few days previous to +his disappearance he had been apparently in deep dejection, and +fears were entertained. One journalist said jestingly that probably +Jimmy had gone to see what had become of his African friend; but +the joke, such as it was, was not favorably received, for when a +man is called Jimmy until late in life it shows that people have an +affection for him, and every one who knew Spence was sorry that he +had disappeared, and hoped that no evil had overtaken him.</p> +<p>It was a year after the disappearance that a wan living skeleton +staggered out of the wilderness in Africa, and blindly groped his +way to the coast, as a man might who had lived long in darkness, +and found the light too strong for his eyes. He managed to reach a +port, and there took steamer homeward-bound for Southampton. The +sea-breezes revived him somewhat, but it was evident to all the +passengers that he had passed through a desperate illness. It was +just a toss-up whether he could live until he saw England again. It +was impossible to guess at his age, so heavy a hand had disease +laid upon him; and he did not seem to care to make acquaintances, +but kept much to himself, sitting wrapped up in his chair, gazing +with a tired-out look at the green ocean.</p> +<p>A young girl often sat in the chair beside him, ostensibly +reading, but more often glancing sympathetically at the wan figure +beside her. Frequently she seemed about to speak to him, but +apparently hesitated about doing so, for the man took no notice of +his fellow-passengers. At length, however, she mustered up courage +to address him, and said: "There is a good story in this +magazine—perhaps you would like to read it."</p> +<p>He turned his eyes from the sea, and rested them vacantly upon +her face for a moment. His dark mustache added to the pallor of his +face, but did not conceal the faint smile that came to his lips; he +had heard her but had not understood.</p> +<p>"What did you say?" he asked gently.</p> +<p>"I said there was a good story here entitled 'Author, Author!' +and I thought you might like to read it;" and the girl blushed very +prettily as she said this, for the man looked younger than he had +before he smiled.</p> +<p>"I am not sure," said the man slowly, "that I have not forgotten +how to read. It is a long time since I have seen a book or a +magazine. Won't you tell me the story? I would much rather hear it +from you than make the attempt to read it myself in the +magazine."</p> +<p>"Oh," she cried breathlessly, "I'm not sure that I could tell +it—at any rate, not as well as the author tells it; but I +will read it to you if you like."</p> +<p>The story was about a man who had written a play, and who +thought, as every playwright thinks, that it was a great addition +to the drama, and would bring him fame and fortune. He took this +play to a London manager, but heard nothing from it for a long +time, and at last it was returned to him. Then, on going to a first +night at the theatre to see a new tragedy which this manager called +his own, he was amazed to see his rejected play, with certain +changes, produced upon the stage; and when the cry arose for +"Author, Author!" he rose in his place; but illness and privation +had done their work, and he died proclaiming himself the author of +the play.</p> +<p>"Ah," said the man when the reading was finished, "I cannot tell +you how much the story has interested me. I once was an actor +myself, and anything pertaining to the stage interests me, although +it is years since I saw a theatre. It must be hard luck to work for +fame and then be cheated out of it, as was the man in the tale; but +I suppose it sometimes happens—although, for the honesty of +human nature, I hope not very often."</p> +<p>"Did you act under your own name, or did you follow the fashion +so many of the profession adopt?" asked the girl, evidently +interested when he spoke of the theatre.</p> +<p>The young man laughed, for perhaps the first time on the voyage. +"Oh," he answered, "I was not at all noted. I acted only in minor +parts and always under my own name, which, doubtless, you have +never heard; it is Sidney Ormond."</p> +<p>"What!" cried the girl in amazement, "not Sidney Ormond, the +African traveller?"</p> +<p>The young man turned his wan face and large, melancholy eyes +upon his questioner.</p> +<p>"I am certainly Sidney Ormond, an African traveller, but I don't +think I deserve the '<i>the</i>,' you know. I don't imagine any one +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page62" id="page62"></a>[pg +62]</span> has heard of me through my travelling any more than +through my acting."</p> +<p>"The Sidney Ormond I mean," she said, "went through Africa +without firing a shot; his book, 'A Mission of Peace,' has been +such a success both in England and America. But of course you +cannot be he, for I remember that Sidney Ormond is now lecturing in +England to tremendous audiences all over the country. The Royal +Geographical Society has given him medals or degrees, or something +of that sort—but I believe it was Oxford that gave the +degree. I am sorry I haven't his book with me; it would be sure to +interest you. But some one on board is almost certain to have it, +and I will try to get it for you. I gave mine to a friend in Cape +Town. What a funny thing it is that the two names should be exactly +the same!"</p> +<p>"It is very strange," said Ormond gloomily; and his eyes again +sought the horizon, and he seemed to relapse into his usual +melancholy.</p> +<p>The girl left her seat, saying she would try to find the book, +and left him there meditating. When she came back after the lapse +of half an hour or so she found him sitting just as she had left +him, with his sad eyes on the sad sea. The girl had a volume in her +hand. "There," she said, "I knew there would be a copy on board, +but I am more bewildered than ever; the frontispiece is an exact +portrait of you, only you are dressed differently and do not +look"—the girl hesitated—"so ill as when you came on +board."</p> +<p>Ormond looked up at the girl with a smile, and said:</p> +<p>"You might say with truth, so ill as I look now."</p> +<p>"Oh, the voyage has done you good. You look ever so much better +than when you came on board."</p> +<p>"Yes, I think that is so," said Ormond, reaching for the volume +she held in her hand. He opened it at the frontispiece, and gazed +long at the picture.</p> +<p>The girl sat down beside him, and watched his face, glancing +from it to the book.</p> +<p>"It seems to me," she said at last, "that the coincidence is +becoming more and more striking. Have you ever seen that portrait +before?"</p> +<p>"Yes," said Ormond, slowly, "I recognize it as a portrait I took +of myself in the interior of Africa, which I sent to a very dear +friend of mine—in fact, the only friend I had in England. I +think I wrote him about getting together a book out of the +materials I sent him, but I am not sure. I was very ill at the time +I wrote him my last letter. I thought I was going to die, and told +him so. I feel somewhat bewildered, and don't quite understand it +all."</p> +<p>"I understand it!" cried the girl, her face blazing with +indignation. "Your friend is a traitor. He is reaping the reward +that should have been yours, and so poses as the African traveller, +the real Ormond. You must put a stop to it when you reach England, +and expose his treachery to the whole country."</p> +<p>Ormond shook his head slowly and said:</p> +<p>"I cannot imagine Jimmy Spence a traitor. If it were only the +book, that could be, I think, easily explained, for I sent him all +my notes of travel and materials; but I cannot understand his +taking of the medals or degrees."</p> +<p>The girl made a quick gesture of impatience.</p> +<p>"Such things," she said, "cannot be explained. You must confront +him, and expose him."</p> +<p>"No," said Ormond, "I shall not confront him. I must think over +the matter deeply for a time. I am not quick at thinking, at least +just now, in the face of this difficulty. Every thing seemed plain +and simple before; but if Jimmy Spence has stepped into my shoes, +he is welcome to them. Ever since I came out of Africa, I seem to +have lost all ambition. Nothing appears to be worth while now."</p> +<p>"Oh!" cried the girl, "that is because you are in ill health. +You will be yourself again when you reach England. Don't let this +worry you now; there is plenty of time to think it all out before +we arrive. I am sorry I spoke about it, but you see I was taken by +surprise when you mentioned your name."</p> +<p>"I am very glad you spoke to me," said Ormond, in a more +cheerful voice. "The mere fact that you have spoken to me has +encouraged me wonderfully. I cannot tell how much this conversation +has been to me. I am a lone man, with only one friend in the world; +I am afraid I must add now, without even one friend in the world. I +am grateful for your interest in me, even though it was only +compassion for a wreck, for a derelict, floating about on the sea +of life."</p> +<p>There were tears in the girl's eyes, and she did not speak for a +moment. Then she laid her hand softly on Ormond's arm, and said: +"You are not a wreck—far from it. You sit alone too much, and +I am afraid that what I have thoughtlessly said has added to your +troubles." The girl paused in her talk, but after a moment added: +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page63" id="page63"></a>[pg +63]</span> "Don't you think you could walk the deck for a +little?"</p> +<p>"I don't know about walking," said Ormond, with a little laugh; +"but I'll come with you if you don't mind an incumbrance."</p> +<p>He rose somewhat unsteadily, and she took his arm.</p> +<p>"You must look upon me as your physician," she said, cheerfully, +"and I shall insist that my orders are obeyed."</p> +<p>"I shall be delighted to be under your charge," said Ormond, +"but may I not know my physician's name?"</p> +<p>The girl blushed deeply as she realized that she had had such a +long conversation with one to whom she had never been introduced. +She had regarded him as an invalid who needed a few words of +cheerful encouragement; but as he stood up she saw that he was much +younger than his face and appearance had led her to suppose.</p> +<p>"My name is Mary Radford," she said.</p> +<p>"<i>Miss</i> Mary Radford?" inquired Ormond.</p> +<p>"Miss Mary Radford."</p> +<p>That walk on the deck was the first of many, and it soon became +evident to Ormond that he was rapidly becoming his old self again. +If he had lost a friend in England he had certainly found another +on shipboard, to whom he was getting more and more attached as time +went on. The only point of disagreement between them was in regard +to the confronting of Jimmy Spence. Ormond was determined in his +resolve not to interfere with Jimmy and his ill-gotten fame.</p> +<p>As the voyage was nearing its end Ormond and Miss Radford stood +together, leaning over the rail, conversing quietly. They had +become very great friends indeed.</p> +<p>"But if you do not intend to expose this man," said Miss +Radford, "what then do you propose to do when you land? Are you +going back to the stage again?"</p> +<p>"I don't think so," replied Ormond. "I will try to get something +to do, and live quietly for awhile."</p> +<p>"Oh," answered the girl, "I have no patience with you."</p> +<p>"I am sorry for that, Mary," said Ormond, "for if I could have +made a living I intended to have asked you to be my wife."</p> +<p>"Oh!" cried the girl breathlessly, turning her head away.</p> +<p>"Do you think I would have any chance?" asked Ormond.</p> +<p>"Of making a living?" inquired the girl, after a moment's +silence.</p> +<p>"No. I am sure of making a living, for I have always done so. +Therefore, answer my question: Mary, do you think I would have any +chance?" And he placed his hand softly over hers, which lay on the +ship's rail.</p> +<p>The girl did not answer, but she did not withdraw her hand; she +gazed down at the bright green water with its tinge of foam.</p> +<p>"I suppose you know," she said at length, "that you have every +chance, and that you are merely pretending ignorance to make it +easier for me, because I have simply flung myself at your head ever +since we began the voyage."</p> +<p>"I am not pretending, Mary," he said. "What I feared was that +your interest was only that of a nurse in a somewhat backward +patient. I was afraid that I had your sympathy, but not your love. +Perhaps that was the case at first."</p> +<p>"Perhaps that was the case—at first—but it is far +from being the truth now—Sidney."</p> +<p>The young man made a motion to approach nearer to her, but the +girl drew away, whispering:</p> +<p>"There are other people besides ourselves on deck, +remember."</p> +<p>"I don't believe it," said Ormond, gazing fondly at her. "I can +see no one but you. I believe we are floating alone on the ocean +together and that there is no one else in the wide world but our +two selves. I thought I went to Africa for fame, but I see I really +went to find you. What I sought seems poor compared to what I have +found."</p> +<p>"Perhaps," said the girl, looking shyly at him, "fame is waiting +as anxiously for you to woo her as—as another person waited. +Fame is a shameless huzzy, you know."</p> +<p>The young man shook his head.</p> +<p>"No. Fame has jilted me once. I won't give her another +chance."</p> +<p>So those who were twain sailed gently into Southampton docks +resolved to be one when the gods were willing.</p> +<p>Miss Mary Radford's people were there to meet her, and Ormond +went up to London alone, beginning his short railway journey with a +return of the melancholy that had oppressed him during the first +part of his long voyage. He felt once more alone in the world, now +that the bright presence of his sweetheart was missing, and he was +saddened by the thought that the telegram he had hoped to send to +Jimmy Spence, exultingly announcing his arrival, would never be +sent. In a newspaper he bought at the station he saw that the +African traveller Sidney Ormond was to be received by the mayor and +corporation of a midland town and presented with the freedom of the +city. The traveller was to lecture on his exploits in the town so +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page64" id="page64"></a>[pg +64]</span> honoring him, that day week. Ormond put down the paper +with a sigh, and turned his thoughts to the girl from whom he had +so lately parted. A true sweetheart is a pleasanter subject for +meditation than a false friend.</p> +<p>Mary also saw the announcement in the paper, and anger tightened +her lips and brought additional color to her cheeks. Seeing how +adverse her lover was to taking any action against his former +friend, she had ceased to urge him, but she had quietly made up her +own mind to be herself the goddess of the machine.</p> +<p>On the night the bogus African traveller was to lecture in the +midland town, Mary Radford was a unit in the very large audience +that greeted him. When he came on the platform she was so amazed at +his personal appearance that she cried out, but fortunately her +exclamation was lost in the applause that greeted the lecturer. The +man was the exact duplicate of her betrothed. She listened to the +lecture in a daze; it seemed to her that even the tones of the +lecturer's voice were those of her lover. She paid little heed to +the matter of his discourse, but allowed her mind to dwell more on +the coming interview, wondering what excuses the fraudulent +traveller would make for his perfidy. When the lecture was over, +and the usual vote of thanks had been tendered and accepted, Mary +Radford still sat there while the rest of the audience slowly +filtered out of the large hall. She rose at last, nerving herself +for the coming meeting, and went to the side door, where she told +the man on duty that she wished to see the lecturer. The man said +that it was impossible for Mr. Ormond to see any one at that +moment; there was to be a big dinner, and he was to meet the mayor +and corporation; an address was to be presented, and so the +lecturer had said that he could see no one.</p> +<p>"Will you take a note to him if I write it?" asked the girl.</p> +<p>"I will send it in to him, but it's no use—he won't see +you. He refused to see even the reporters," said the doorkeeper, as +if that were final, and a man who would deny himself to the +reporters would not admit royalty itself.</p> +<p>Mary wrote on a slip of paper the words, "The affianced wife of +the real Sidney Ormond would like to see you for a few moments," +and this brief note was taken in to the lecturer.</p> +<p>The doorkeeper's faith in the consistency of public men was +rudely shaken a few minutes later, when the messenger returned with +orders that the lady was to be admitted at once.</p> +<p>When Mary entered the green-room of the lecture-hall she saw the +double of her lover standing near the fire, her note in his hand +and a look of incredulity on his face.</p> +<p>The girl barely entered the room, and, closing the door, stood +with her back against it. He was the first to speak.</p> +<p>"I thought Sidney had told me everything. I never knew he was +acquainted with a young lady, much less engaged to her."</p> +<p>"You admit, then, that you are not the true Sidney Ormond?"</p> +<p>"I admit it to you, of course, if you were to have been his +wife."</p> +<p>"I am to be his wife, I hope."</p> +<p>"But Sidney, poor fellow, is dead—dead in the wilds of +Africa."</p> +<p>"You will be shocked to learn that such is not the case, and +that your imposture must come to an end. Perhaps you counted on his +friendship for you, and thought that, even if he did return, he +would not expose you. In that you were quite right, but you did not +count on me. Sidney Ormond is at this moment in London, Mr. +Spence."</p> +<p>Jimmy Spence, paying no attention to the accusations of the +girl, gave the war-whoop which had formerly been so effective in +the second act of "Pocahontas"—in which Jimmy had enacted the +noble savage—and then he danced a jig that had done service +in "Colleen Bawn." While the amazed girl watched these antics, +Jimmy suddenly swooped down upon her, caught her round the waist, +and whirled her wildly around the room. Setting her down in a +corner, Jimmy became himself again, and dabbing his heated brow +with his handkerchief carefully, so as not to disturb the +make-up—</p> +<p>"Sidney in England again? That's too good news to be true. Say +it again, my girl; I can hardly believe it. Why didn't he come with +you? Is he ill?"</p> +<p>"He has been very ill."</p> +<p>"Ah, that's it, poor fellow! I knew nothing else would have kept +him. And then when he telegraphed to me at the old address on +landing, of course there was no reply, because, you see, I had +disappeared. But Sid wouldn't know anything about that, and so he +must be wondering what has become of me. I'll have a great story to +tell him when we meet, almost as good as his own African +experiences. We'll go right up to London to-night as soon as this +confounded dinner is over. And what is your name, my girl?"</p> +<p>"Mary Radford."</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page65" id="page65"></a>[pg +65]</span> +<p>"And you're engaged to old Sid, eh? Well! well! well! well! This +is great news. You mustn't mind my capers, Mary, my dear; you see, +I'm the only friend Sid has, and I'm old enough to be your father. +I look young now, but you wait till the paint comes off. Have you +any money? I mean to live on when you're married, because I know +Sidney never had much."</p> +<p>"I haven't very much either," said Mary, with a sigh.</p> +<p>Jimmy jumped up and paced the room in great glee, laughing and +slapping his thigh.</p> +<p>"That's first rate," he cried. "Why, Mary, I've got over twenty +thousand pounds in the bank saved up for you two. The book and the +lectures, you know. I don't believe Sid himself could have done as +well, for he always was careless with money; he's often lent me the +last penny he had, and never kept any account of it. And I never +thought of paying it back either until he was gone, and then it +worried me."</p> +<p>The messenger put his head into the room, and said the mayor and +the corporation were waiting.</p> +<p>"Oh, hang the mayor and the corporation," cried Jimmy; then, +suddenly recollecting himself, he added hastily: "No, don't do +that. Just give them Jimmy—I mean Sidney Ormond's +compliments, and tell his Worship that I have just had some very +important news from Africa, but will be with them directly."</p> +<p>When the messenger was gone Jimmy continued, in high feather: +"What a time we will have in London! We'll all three go to the old +familiar theatre. Yes, and, by Jove, we'll pay for our seats; +<i>that</i> will be a novelty. Then we will have supper where Sid +and I used to eat. Sidney will talk, and you and I will listen; +then I'll talk, and you and Sid will listen. You see, my dear, I've +been to Africa too. When I got Sidney's letter saying he was dying, +I just moped about and was of no use to anybody. Then I made up my +mind what to do. Sid had died for fame, and it wasn't just he +shouldn't get what he paid so dearly for. I gathered together what +money I could, and went to Africa steerage. I found I couldn't do +anything there about searching for Sid, so I resolved to be his +understudy and bring fame to him, if it was possible. I sank my own +identity, and made up as Sidney Ormond, took his boxes, and sailed +for Southampton. I have been his understudy ever since; for, after +all, I always had a hope he would come back some day, and then +everything would be ready for him to take the principal role, and +let the old understudy go back to the boards again, and resume +competing with the reputation of Macready. If Sid hadn't come back +in another year, I was going to take a lecturing trip in America; +and when that was done, I intended to set out in great state for +Africa, disappear into the forest as Sidney Ormond, wash the paint +off, and come out as Jimmy Spence. Then Sidney Ormond's fame would +have been secure, for they would be always sending out relief +expeditions after him, and not finding him, while I would be +growing old on the boards, and bragging what a great man my friend +Sidney Ormond was."</p> +<p>There were tears in the girl's eyes as she rose and took Jimmy's +hand.</p> +<p>"No man has ever been so true a friend to his friend as you have +been," she said.</p> +<p>"Oh, bless you, yes," cried Jimmy jauntily; "Sid would have done +the same for me. But he is luckier in having you than in having his +friend, although I don't deny I've been a good friend to him. Yes, +my dear, he is lucky in having a plucky girl like you. I missed +that somehow when I was young, having my head full of Macready +nonsense, and I missed being a Macready too. I've always been a +sort of understudy; so you see the part comes easy to me. Now I +must be off to that confounded mayor and corporation. I had almost +forgotten them, but I must keep up the character for Sidney's sake. +But this is the last act, my dear. To-morrow I'll turn over the +part of explorer to the real actor,—to the star."</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page66" id="page66"></a>[pg +66]</span> <a name="HEROINE" id="HEROINE"></a> +<h2>THE HEROINE OF A FAMOUS SONG.</h2> +<h3>THE TRUE STORY OF "ANNIE LAURIE."</h3> +<h3>By Frank Pope Humphrey.</h3> +<div class="decoration"><img width="153" +src="images/064-1.jpg" alt="Letter M" /></div> +<p>Most people suppose "Annie Laurie" to be a creation of the +songwriter's fancy, or perhaps some Scotch peasant girl, like +Highland Mary and most of the heroines of Robert Burns. In either +case they are mistaken.</p> +<p>Annie Laurie was "born in the purple," so to speak, at Maxwelton +House, in the beautiful glen of the Cairn—Glencairn. Her home +was in the heart of the most pastorally lovely of Scottish +shires—that of Dumfries. Her birth is thus set down by her +father, in what is called the "Barjorg MS.":</p> +<p>"At the pleasure of the Almighty God, my daughter Anna Laurie +was borne upon the 16th day of December 1682 years, about six +o'clock in the morning, and was baptized by Mr. +George—minister of Glencairn,"</p> +<p>Her father was Sir Robert Laurie, first baronet, and her mother +was Jean Riddell.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:95%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/064-2.jpg" alt= +"MAXWELTON HOUSE, ANNIE LAURIE'S BIRTHPLACE." /> +<h5>MAXWELTON HOUSE, ANNIE LAURIE'S BIRTHPLACE.</h5> +</div> +<p>Maxwelton House was originally the castle of the earls of +Glencairn. It was bought in 1611 by Stephen Laurie, the founder of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page67" id="page67"></a>[pg +67]</span> the Laurie family. Stephen was a Dumfries merchant. The +castle was a turreted building. In it Annie Laurie was born.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:90%;"> +<img width="393" src="images/065.jpg" alt= +"ANNIE LAURIE." /> +<h5>ANNIE LAURIE.</h5> +From a painting now preserved at Maxwelton House.</div> +<p>This castle was partially burned in the last century, but not +all of it. The great tower is incorporated in the new house, and +also a considerable portion of the old walls was built in. The +foundations are those of the castle. The picture shows the double +windows of the tower. In places its walls are twelve feet thick. +The lower room is the "gun-room," and the little room above, that +in the next story, is always spoken of in the family as "Annie +Laurie's room," or "boudoir." This room of Annie's has been opened +into the drawing-room by taking down the wall, and it forms a +charming alcove. Its stone ceiling shows its great age.</p> +<p>In the dining-room, a fine, large apartment, we come again upon +the old walls, six feet thick, which gives very deep window +recesses. In this room hang the portraits of Annie Laurie and her +husband, Alexander Ferguson. They are half-lengths, life-size.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page68" id="page68"></a>[pg +68]</span> +<p>Annie's hair is dark brown, and she has full dark eyes—it +is difficult to say whether brown or deep hazel. I incline to the +latter. Whoever doctored the second verse of the original +song—I heard it credited to "Mrs. Grundy" by a grandnephew of +Burns—whoever it was, he had apparently no knowledge of this +portrait, for you all know he has given Annie a "dark <i>blue</i> +e'e."</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:50%;"> +<img width="422" src="images/066.jpg" alt= +"ALEXANDER FERGUSON, ANNIE LAURIE'S HUSBAND." /> +<h5>ALEXANDER FERGUSON, ANNIE LAURIE'S HUSBAND.</h5> +From a painting now preserved at Maxwelton House.</div> +<p>The nose is long and straight; the under lip full, as though +"some bee had stung it newly," like that of Suckling's bride. A +true Scotch face, of a type to be met any day in Edinburgh, or any +other Scotch town. She is in evening dress of white satin, and she +wears no jewels but the pearls in her hair.</p> +<p>Alexander Ferguson, the husband of Annie Laurie, has a handsome, +youthful face, with dark eyes and curling hair. His coat is brown, +and his waistcoat blue, embroidered with gold, and he wears +abundant lace in the charming old fashion.</p> +<p>It was at Maxwelton House, Annie's birthplace, that I came +across the missing link in the chain of evidence that fixes the +authorship of the song upon Douglas of Fingland. Fingland is in the +parish of Dalry, in the adjacent shire of Kirkcudbright, and +Douglas was a somewhat near neighbor of Annie.</p> +<p>The present proprietor of Maxwelton House is Sir Emilius Laurie, +formerly rector of St. John's, Paddington, when he was known as Sir +Emilius Bayley. He took the name of Laurie when he succeeded to the +family estates. Sir Emilius is a descendant of Sir Walter, third +baronet and brother of Annie.</p> +<p>Sir Emilius placed in my hands a letter of which he said I might +make what use I liked, and this letter contained the missing link. +While the song has been generally credited to Douglas of Fingland, +it has always been a matter of tradition rather than of ascertained +fact.</p> +<p>But to the important letter.</p> +<p>It was written in 1889, by a friend, to Sir Emilius, and relates +an incident which took place in 1854. At that time the writer, whom +we will call Mr. B., was on a visit with his wife to some friends +in Yorkshire. Mrs. B. was a somewhat famous singer of ballads. A +few friends were invited to meet them one evening, and, after the +ladies had retired to the drawing-room, their hostess asked Mrs. B. +to sing; and she sang "Annie Laurie," in the modern revision, just +as we all sing it.</p> +<p>Among the guests was a lady in her ninety-seventh year. She gave +close attention to the singing of the ballad, and when Mrs. B. had +finished, she spoke up: "Thank you, thank you very much! But +<i>they're na the words my grandfather wrote</i>." Then she +repeated the first stanza as she knew it.</p> +<p>The next day Mr. and Mrs. B. called upon her, and in the +meantime she had had the original first stanza written out, +dictating it to a grandniece. She had signed it with her own shaky +hand. Not being satisfied with the signature, she had signed it a +second time.</p> +<p>She explained that her grandfather, Douglas of Fingland, was +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page69" id="page69"></a>[pg +69]</span> desperately in love with Annie Laurie when he wrote the +song. "But," she added, "he did na get her after a'."</p> +<p>She was not quite sure as to Annie's fate, she said. Some folks +had said she died unmarried, while some had said she married +Ferguson of Craigdarrock, and she rather thought <i>that</i> was +the truth.</p> +<p>Questioned as to the authenticity of the lines she had given, +she said:</p> +<p>"Oh, <i>I</i> mind them fine. I have remembered them a' my life. +My father often repeated them to me." And here is the stanza signed +with her name:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">"'Maxwelton's banks are bonnie,</p> +<p class="i4">They're a' clad owre wi' dew,</p> +<p class="i2">Where I an' Annie Laurie</p> +<p class="i4">Made up the bargain true.</p> +<p class="i2">Made up the bargain true,</p> +<p class="i4">Which ne'er forgot s'all be,</p> +<p class="i2">An' for bonnie Annie Laurie</p> +<p class="i4">I'd lay me down an' dee.'</p> +</div> +</div> +<blockquote> +<p>"I mind na mair.</p> +<p class="yours">[Signed] "Clark Douglas.</p> +<p>"August 30, 1854."</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In the common version this stanza reads:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">"Maxwelton's braes are bonnie</p> +<p class="i4">Where early fa's the dew,</p> +<p class="i2">And it's there that Annie Laurie</p> +<p class="i4">Gie'd me her promise true;</p> +<p class="i2">Gie'd me her promise true,</p> +<p class="i4">Which ne'er forgot will be,</p> +<p class="i2">An' for bonnie Annie Laurie</p> +<p class="i4">I'd lay me down an' dee."</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>In the original song there were but two stanzas, and this is the +second:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">"She's backit like the peacock,</p> +<p class="i4">She's breistit like the swan,</p> +<p class="i2">She's jimp around the middle,</p> +<p class="i4">Her waist ye weel micht span—</p> +<p class="i2">Her waist ye weel micht span—</p> +<p class="i4">An' she has a rolling e'e,</p> +<p class="i2">An' for bonnie Annie Laurie</p> +<p class="i4">I'd lay me down an' dee."</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>As I have said, the "rolling e'e" has been changed, and wrongly, +into one of "dark blue."</p> +<p>Who added the third stanza is not known; but no lover of the +song would willingly dispense with it:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">"Like dew on the gowan lying</p> +<p class="i4">Is the fa' o' her fairy feet;</p> +<p class="i2">Like summer breezes sighing,</p> +<p class="i4">Her voice is low an' sweet—</p> +<p class="i2">Her voice is low an' sweet—</p> +<p class="i4">An' she's a' the world to me,</p> +<p class="i2">An' for bonnie Annie Laurie</p> +<p class="i4">I'd lay me down an' dee."</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>The music of the song is modern, and was composed by Lady John +Scott, aunt by marriage of the present Duke of Buccleuch. The +composer was only guessed at for many years, but somewhat recently +she has acknowledged the authorship.</p> +<p>Maxwelton House sits high upon its "braes." It is "harled" +without and painted white, and is built around three sides of a +sunny court. Ivy clambers thriftily about it. Over the entrance +door of the tower, and above a window in the opposite wing, are +inserted two marriage stones; the former that of Annie's father and +mother, the latter of her grandfather and grandmother. These +marriage stones are about two feet square. The initials of the +bride and bridegroom, and the date of the marriage, are cut upon +them, together with the family coat of arms, which bears, among +other heraldic devices, two laurel leaves and the motto, <i>Virtus +semper viridis</i>. Below the grandfather's marriage stone is cut +in the lintel the following:</p> +<p><i>Except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain who build +it</i>.</p> +<p>Looking up the glen from Maxwelton, the chimneys of Craigdarrock +House are seen.</p> +<p>It is distant about five miles, and Annie had not far to remove +from her father's house to that of her husband. She was +twenty-eight at the time of her marriage.</p> +<p>The Fergusons are a much older family, as families are reckoned, +than the Lauries. Fergusons of Craigdarrock were attached to the +courts of William the Lion and Alexander the II. (1214-1249).</p> +<p>Craigdarrock House stands near the foot of one of the three +glens whose waters unite to form the Cairn. The hills draw together +here, and give an air of seclusion to the house and grounds. The +house, large and substantial, lacks the picturesqueness of +Maxwelton. It is pale pink in tone with window-casings and copings +of French gray. The delicate cotoneaster vine clings to the stones +of it. There are pretty reaches of lawns and abundant shrubberies, +and in one place Craigdarrock Water has been diverted to form a +lake, spanned in one part by a high bridge. Sheep feed upon the +hills topped with green pastures, at the south, and shaggy Highland +cattle in the meadows below. A heavy wood overhangs to the north. +There is plenty of fine timber on the grounds, beeches, and great +silver firs and, especially to be named, ancient larches with knees +and elbows like old oaks, given to the proprietor by George II., +when the larch was first introduced into Scotland.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page70" id="page70"></a>[pg +70]</span> +<p>The present proprietor of Craigdarrock is Captain Robert +Ferguson, of the fourth generation in direct descent from Annie +Laurie.</p> +<p>Religion has always been a burning question in Scotland, and +about Annie's time the flames raged with peculiar ferocity. Her +father, Sir Robert Laurie, was a bitter enemy of the Covenantry, +and his name finds a somewhat unenviable fame in mortuary verses of +this sort cut upon gravestones:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"Douglas of Stenhouse, <i>Laurie of Maxwelton</i>, Caused Count +Baillie give me martyrdom."</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But the Fergusons were staunch Covenanters, and Annie, if we may +judge from her marriage with one of that party, must have favored +"compromise." Without doubt she must have worshipped with her +husband in the old parish kirk, which was burned about fifty years +since. The two end gables, ivy-shrouded, are still standing.</p> +<p>Against the east gable is the burial-ground of the Lauries, and +against the west that of the Fergusons. A ponderous monument marks +the grave of Annie's grandfather, cut with those hideous emblems +which former generations seemed to delight in. But the burial-place +of the Fergusons is singularly lacking in early monuments, and no +stone marks the place of Annie's rest. It is a sweet, secluded +spot, and Cock-Robin—it was September—was chanting his +cheerful noonday song over the sleepers when I was there.</p> +<p>At Craigdarrock House is kept Annie's will, a copy of which I +give. As a will, simply, it is of no special value. As Annie +Laurie's, it will be read with interest.</p> +<blockquote class="note"> +<p>"I, Anna Laurie, spouse to Alexr. Fergusone of Craigdarrock. +Forasmuch as I considering it a devotie upon everie persone whyle +they are in health and sound judgement so to settle yr. worldly +affairs that yrby all animosities betwixt friend and relatives may +obviat and also for the singular love and respect I have for the +said Alex. Fergusone, in case he survive me I do heirby make my +letter will as follows:</p> +<p>"First, I recommend my soule to God, hopeing by the meritorious +righteousness of Jesus Christ to be saved; secondly, I recommend my +body to be decently and orderly interred; and in the third plaice +nominate and appoynt the sd. Alexr. Fergusone to be my sole and +only executor, Legator and universall intromettor with my hail +goods, gear, debts, and soams off money that shall pertain and +belong to me the tyme of my decease, or shall be dew to me by bill, +bond, or oyrway; with power to him to obtain himself confirmed and +decreed exr. to me and to do everie thing for fixing and +establishing the right off my spouse in his person as law reqaires; +in witness whereof their putts (written by John Wilsone off Chapell +in Dumfries) are subd. by me at Craigdarrock the twenty eight day +of Apryle Jajvij and eleven (1711) years, before the witnesses the +sd. John Wilsone and John Nicholsone his servitor.</p> +<p class="signed">"Ann. Laurie,<br /> +"Jo. Wilson, Witness.<br /> +"John Hoat, Witness."</p> +</blockquote> +<p>If our dates are correct, this will was written the year after +her marriage. And it is pleasant to see that she had such entire +trust in Alexander Ferguson. Evidently she cherished no lingering +regrets for Douglas of Fingland.</p> +<p>In following up the "fairy" footsteps of Annie Laurie I came +upon others wholly different, but of equal interest—those of +Robert Burns.</p> +<p>At Craigdarrock House is kept "the whistle" of his poem of that +name. Burns tells the story of it in a note. It was brought into +Scotland by a doughty Dane in the train of Anne, queen of James VI. +He had won it in a drinking bout. It was a "challenge whistle," to +use a modern term. The man who gave the last whistle upon it, +before tumbling under the table dead drunk, won it.</p> +<p>After various vicissitudes, the whistle came into possession of +Laurie of Maxwelton, and then passed into the hands of a Riddell of +the same connection. Finally came the last drinking skirmish in +which it was to appear, and which is chronicled by Burns. This +final drinking bout took place October 16, 1790. The three +champions were Sir Robert Laurie of Maxwelton, Alexander Ferguson +of Craigdarrock—an eminent lawyer, and who must, I think, +have been a grandson of Annie Laurie—and Captain Riddell of +Friar's Carse, antiquary and friend of Burns. The contest took +place at Friar's Carse, and Alexander Ferguson gave the last faint +whistle before going under the table, and won the prize, which ever +since has been kept at Craigdarrock.</p> +<p>The whistle is large, of dark brown wood, and is set in a silver +cup upon which is engraved the fact that it is "Burns's whistle," +together with the date of the contest. A silver chain is attached +to it; but it reposes on velvet, under glass. It is too precious to +use.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page71" id="page71"></a>[pg +71]</span> <a name="A_POINT" id="A_POINT"></a> +<h2>A POINT OF KNUCKLIN' DOWN.</h2> +<h3>By Ella Higginson,</h3> +<p class="works">Author of "The Takin' in of Old Mis' Lane" and +other stories.</p> +<p>It was the day before Christmas—an Oregon Christmas. It +had rained mistily at dawn; but at ten o'clock the clouds had +parted and moved away reluctantly. There was a blue and dazzling +sky overhead. The rain-drops still sparkled on the windows and on +the green grass, and the last roses and chrysanthemums hung their +beautiful heads heavily beneath them; but there was to be no more +rain. Oregon City's mighty barometer—the Falls of the +Willamette—was declaring to her people by her softened roar +that the morrow was to be fair.</p> +<p>Mrs. Orville Palmer was in the large kitchen making preparations +for the Christmas dinner. She was a picture of dainty loveliness in +a lavender gingham dress, made with a full skirt and a shirred +waist and big leg-o'-mutton sleeves. A white apron was tied neatly +around her waist.</p> +<p>Her husband came in, and paused to put his arm around her and +kiss her. She was stirring something on the stove, holding her +dress aside with one hand.</p> +<p>"It's goin' to be a fine Christmas, Emarine," he said, and +sighed unconsciously. There was a wistful and careworn look on his +face.</p> +<p>"Beautiful!" said Emarine vivaciously. "Goin' down-town, +Orville?"</p> +<p>"Yes." Want anything?"</p> +<p>"Why, the cranberries ain't come yet. I'm so uneasy about 'em. +They'd ought to 'a' b'en stooed long ago. I like 'em cooked down +an' strained to a jell. I don't see what ails them groc'rymen! +Sh'u'd think they c'u'd get around some time before doomsday! Then +I want—here, you'd best set it down." She took a pencil and a +slip of paper from a shelf over the table and gave them to him. +"Now, let me see." She commenced stirring again, with two little +wrinkles between her brows. "A ha'f a pound o' citron; a ha'f a +pound o' candied peel; two pounds o' cur'nts; two pounds o' +raisins—git 'em stunned, Orville; a pound o' sooet—make +'em give you some that ain't all strings! A box o' Norther' Spy +apples; a ha'f a dozen lemons; four-bits' worth o' walnuts or +a'monds, whichever's freshest; a pint o' Puget Sound oysters fer +the dressin', an' a bunch o' cel'ry. You stop by an' see about the +turkey, Orville; an' I wish you'd run in 's you go by mother's, an' +tell her to come up as soon as she can. She'd ought to be here +now."</p> +<p>Her husband smiled as he finished the list. "You're a wonderful +housekeeper, Emarine," he said.</p> +<p>Then his face grew grave. "Got a present for your mother yet, +Emarine?"</p> +<p>"Oh, yes, long ago. I got 'er a black shawl down t' Charman's. +She's b'en wantin' one."</p> +<p>He shuffled his feet about a little. "Unh-hunh. Yuh—that +is—I reckon yuh ain't picked out any present fer—fer my +mother, have yuh, Emarine?"</p> +<p>"No," she replied, with cold distinctness. "I ain't."</p> +<p>There was a silence. Emarine stirred briskly. The lines grew +deeper between her brows. Two red spots came into her cheeks. "I +hope the rain ain't spoilt the chrysyanthums," she said then, with +an air of ridding herself of a disagreeable subject.</p> +<p>Orville made no answer. He moved his feet again uneasily. +Presently he said: "I expect my mother needs a black shawl, too. +Seemed to me her'n looked kind o' rusty at church Sunday. Notice +it, Emarine?"</p> +<p>"No," said Emarine.</p> +<p>"Seemed to me she was gittin' to look offul old. +Emarine"—his voice broke; he came a step nearer—"it'll +be the first Christmas dinner I ever eat without my mother."</p> +<p>She drew back and looked at him. He knew the look that flashed +into her eyes, and shrank from it.</p> +<p>"You don't have to eat this 'n' without 'er, Orville Parmer! You +go an' eat your dinner with your mother 'f you want! I can get +along alone. Are you goin' to order them things? If you ain't, just +say so, an' I'll go an' do 't myself!"</p> +<p>He put on his hat and went without a word.</p> +<p>Mrs. Palmer took the saucepan from the stove and set it on the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page72" id="page72"></a>[pg +72]</span> hearth. Then she sat down and leaned her cheek in the +palm of her hand, and looked steadily out the window. Her eyelids +trembled closer together. Her eyes held a far-sighted look. She saw +a picture; but it was not the picture of the blue reaches of sky, +and the green valley cleft by its silver-blue river. She saw a +kitchen, shabby compared to her own, scantily furnished, and in it +an old, white-haired woman sitting down to eat her Christmas dinner +alone.</p> +<p>After a while she arose with an impatient sigh. "Well, I can't +help it!" she exclaimed. "If I knuckled down to her this time, I'd +have to do 't ag'in. She might just as well get ust to 't first as +last. I wish she hadn't got to lookin' so old an' pitiful, though, +a-settin' there in front o' us in church Sunday after Sunday. The +cords stand out in her neck like well-rope, an' her chin keeps +a-quiv'rin' so! I can see Orville a-watchin' her—"</p> +<p>The door opened suddenly and her mother entered. She was +bristling with curiosity. "Say, Emarine!" She lowered her voice, +although there was no one to hear. "Where d' you s'pose the +undertaker's a-goin' up by here? Have you hear of +anybody—"</p> +<p>"No," said Emarine. "Did Orville stop by an' tell you to hurry +up?"</p> +<p>"Yes. What's the matter of him? Is he sick?"</p> +<p>"Not as I know of. Why?"</p> +<p>"He looks so. Oh, I wonder if it's one o' the Peterson children +where the undertaker's a-goin'! They've all got the quinsy sore +throat."</p> +<p>"How does he look? I don't see 's he looks so turrable."</p> +<p>"Why, Emarine Parmer! Ev'rybody in town says he looks <i>so</i>! +I only hope they don't know what ails him!"</p> +<p>"What <i>does</i> ail him?" cried out Emarine, fiercely. "What +are you hintin' at?"</p> +<p>"Well, if you don't know what ails him, you'd ort to; so I'll +tell you. He's dyin' by inches ever sence you turned his mother out +o' doors."</p> +<p>Emarine turned white. Sheet lightning played in her eyes.</p> +<p>"Oh, you'd ought to talk about my turnin' her put!" she burst +out, furiously. "After you a-settin' here a-quar'l'n' with her in +this very kitchen, an' eggin' me on! Wa'n't she goin' to turn you +out o' your own daughter's home? Wa'n't that what I turned her out +fer? I didn't turn her out, anyhow! I only told Orville this house +wa'n't big enough fer his mother an' me, an' that neither o' us +'u'd knuckle down, so he'd best take his choice. You'd ought to +talk!"</p> +<p>"Well, if I egged you on, I'm sorry fer 't," said Mrs. Endey, +solemnly. "Ever sence that fit o' sickness I had a month ago, I've +feel kind o' old an' no account myself, as if I'd like to let all +holts go, an' jest rest. I don't spunk up like I ust to. No, he +didn't go to Peterson's—he's gawn right on. My land! I wonder +'f it ain't old gran'ma Eliot: she had a bad spell—no, he +didn't turn that corner. I can't think where he's goin' to!"</p> +<p>She sat down with a sigh of defeat.</p> +<p>A smile glimmered palely across Emarine's face and was gone. +"Maybe if you'd go up in the antic you could see better," she +suggested, dryly.</p> +<p>"Oh, Emarine, here comes old gran'ma Eliot herself! Run an' open +the door fer 'er. She's limpin' worse 'n usual."</p> +<p>Emarine flew to the door. Grandma Eliot was one of the few +people she loved. She was large and motherly. She wore a black +dress and shawl and a funny bonnet, with a frill of white lace +around her brow.</p> +<p>Emarine's face softened when she kissed her. "I'm so glad to see +you," she said, and her voice was tender.</p> +<p>Even Mrs. Endey's face underwent a change. Usually it wore a +look of doubt, if not of positive suspicion, but now it fairly +beamed. She shook hands cordially with the guest and led her to a +comfortable chair.</p> +<p>"I know your rheumatiz is worse," she said, cheerfully, "because +you're limpin' so. Oh, did you see the undertaker go up by here? We +can't think where he's goin' to. D' you happen to know?"</p> +<p>"No, I don't; an' I don't want to neither." Mrs. Eliot laughed +comfortably. "Mis' Endey, you don't ketch me foolin' with +undertakers till I have to." She sat down and removed her black +cotton gloves. "I'm gettin' to that age when I don't care much +where undertakers go to so long 's they let <i>me</i> alone. Fixin' +fer Christmas dinner, Emarine dear?"</p> +<p>"Yes, ma'am," said Emarine in her very gentlest tone. Her mother +had never said "dear" to her, and the sound of it on this old +lady's lips was sweet. "Won't you come an' take dinner with +us?"</p> +<p>The old lady laughed merrily. "Oh, dearie me, dearie me! You +don't guess my son's folks could spare me now, do you? I spend +ev'ry Christmas there. They most carry me on two chips. My son's +wife, Sidonie, she nearly runs her feet off waitin' on me. She +can't do enough fer me. My, Mrs. Endey, you don't know what a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page73" id="page73"></a>[pg +73]</span> comfort a daughter-in-law is when you get old an' +feeble!"</p> +<p>Emarine's face turned red. She went to the table and stood with +her back to the older women; but her mother's sharp eyes observed +that her ears grew scarlet.</p> +<p>"An' I never will," said Mrs. Endey, grimly.</p> +<p>"You've got a son-in-law, though, who's worth a whole townful of +most son-in-laws. He was such a good son, too; jest worshipped his +mother; couldn't bear her out o' his sight. He humored her high an' +low. That's jest the way Sidonie does with me. I'm gettin' cranky +'s I get older, an' sometimes I'm reel cross an' sassy to her; but +she jest laffs at me, an' then comes an' kisses me, an' I'm all +right ag'in. It's a blessin' right from God to have a +daughter-in-law like that."</p> +<p>The knife in Emarine's hand slipped, and she uttered a little +cry.</p> +<p>"Hurt you?" demanded her mother, sternly.</p> +<p>Emarine was silent, and did not turn.</p> +<p>"Cut you, Emarine? Why don't you answer me? Aigh?"</p> +<p>"A little," said Emarine. She went into the pantry, and +presently returned with a narrow strip of muslin which she wound +around her finger.</p> +<p>"Well, I never see! You never will learn any gumption! Why don't +you look what you're about? Now, go around Christmas with your +finger all tied up!"</p> +<p>"Oh, that'll be all right by to-morrow," said Mrs. Eliot, +cheerfully. "Won't it, Emarine? Never cry over spilt milk, Mrs. +Endey; it makes a body get wrinkles too fast. O' course Orville's +mother's comin' to take dinner with you, Emarine."</p> +<p>"Dear me!" exclaimed Emarine, in a sudden flutter. "I don't see +why them cranberries don't come! I told Orville to hurry 'em up. +I'd best make the floatin' island while I wait."</p> +<p>"I stopped at Orville's mother's as I come along, Emarine."</p> +<p>"How?" Emarine turned in a startled way from the table.</p> +<p>"I say I stopped at Orville's mother's as I come along."</p> +<p>"Oh!"</p> +<p>"She well?" asked Mrs. Endey.</p> +<p>"No, she ain't; shakin' like she had the Saint Vitus dance. +She's failed harrable lately. She'd b'en cryin'; her eyes was all +swelled up."</p> +<p>There was quite a silence. Then Mrs. Endey said, "What she b'en +cryin' about?"</p> +<p>"Why, when I asked her she jest laffed kind o' pitiful, an' +said: 'Oh, only my tom-foolishness, o' course.' Said she always got +to thinkin' about other Christmases. But I cheered her up. I told +her what a good time I always had at my son's, an' how Sidonie jest +couldn't do enough fer me. An' I told her to think what a nice time +she'd have here 't Emarine's to-morrow."</p> +<p>Mrs. Endey smiled. "What she say to that?"</p> +<p>"She didn't say much. I could see she was thankful, though, she +had a son's to go to. She said she pitied all poor wretches that +had to set out their Christmas alone. Poor old lady! she ain't got +much spunk left. She's all broke down. But I cheered her up some. +Sech a <i>wishful</i> look took holt o' her when I pictchered her +dinner over here at Emarine's. I can't seem to forget it. Goodness! +I must go. I'm on my way to Sidonie's, an' she'll be comin' after +me if I ain't on time."</p> +<p>When Mrs. Eliot had gone limping down the path, Mrs. Endey said: +"You got your front room red up, Emarine?"</p> +<p>"No; I ain't had time to red up anything."</p> +<p>"Well, I'll do it. Where's your duster at?"</p> +<p>"Behind the org'n. You can get out the wax cross again. Mis' +Dillon was here with all her childern, an' I had to hide up +ev'rything. I never see childern like her'n. She lets 'em handle +things so!"</p> +<p>Mrs. Endey went into the "front room" and began to dust the +organ. She was something of a diplomat, and she wished to be alone +for a few minutes. "You have to manage Emarine by contrairies," she +reflected. It did not occur to her that this was a family trait. +"I'm offul sorry I ever egged her on to turnin' Orville's mother +out o' doors, but who'd 'a' thought it 'u'd break her down so? She +ain't told a soul either. I reckoned she'd talk somethin' offul +about us, but she ain't told a soul. She's kep' a stiff upper lip +an' told folks she al'ays expected to live alone when Orville got +married. Emarine's all worked up. I believe the Lord hisself must +'a' sent gran'ma Eliot here to talk like an angel unawares. I bet +she'd go an' ask Mis' Parmer over here to dinner if she wa'n't +afraid I'd laff at her fer knucklin' down. I'll have to aggravate +her.'</p> +<p>She finished dusting, and returned to the kitchen. "I wonder +what gran'ma Eliot 'u'd say if she knew you'd turned Orville's +mother out, Emarine?"</p> +<p>There was no reply. Emarine was at the table making tarts. Her +back was to mother.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page74" id="page74"></a>[pg +74]</span> +<p>"I didn't mean what I said about bein' sorry I egged you on, +Emarine. I'm glad you turned her out. She'd <i>ort</i> to be turned +out."</p> +<p>Emarine dropped a quivering ruby of jelly into a golden ring of +pastry and laid it carefully on a plate.</p> +<p>"Gran'ma Eliot can go talkin' about her daughter-'n-law Sidonie +all she wants, Emarine. You keep a stiff upper lip."</p> +<p>"I can 'tend to my own affairs," said Emarine, fiercely.</p> +<p>"Well, don't flare up so. Here comes Orviile. Land, but he does +look peakid!"</p> +<hr /> +<p>After supper, when her mother had gone home for the night, +Emarine put on her hat and shawl.</p> +<p>Her husband was sitting by the fireplace, looking thoughtfully +at the bed of coals.</p> +<p>"I'm goin' out," she said briefly. "You keep the fire up."</p> +<p>"Why, Emarine, it's dark. Don't choo want I sh'u'd go +along?"</p> +<p>"No; you keep the fire up."</p> +<p>He looked at her anxiously, but he knew from the way she set her +heels down that remonstrance would be useless.</p> +<p>"Don't stay long," he said, in a tone of habitual tenderness. He +loved her passionately, in spite of the lasting hurt she had given +him when she parted him from his mother. It was a hurt that had +sunk deeper than even he realized. It lay heavy on his heart day +and night. It took the blue out of the sky, and the green out of +the grass, and the gold out of the sunlight; it took the exaltation +and the rapture out of his tenderest moments of love.</p> +<p>He never reproached her, he never really blamed her; certainly +he never pitied himself. But he carried a heavy heart around with +him, and his few smiles were joyless things.</p> +<p>For the trouble he blamed only himself. He had promised Emarine +solemnly before he married her, that if there were any "knuckling +down" to be done, his mother should be the one to do it. He had +made the promise deliberately, and he could no more have broken it +than he could have changed the color of his eyes. When bitter +feeling arises between two relatives by marriage, it is the one who +stands between them—the one who is bound by the tenderest +ties to both—who has the real suffering to bear, who is torn +and tortured until life holds nothing worth the having.</p> +<p>Orville Palmer was the one who stood between. He had built his +own cross, and he took it up and bore it without a word.</p> +<p>Emarine hurried through the early winter dark until she came to +the small and poor house where her husband's mother lived. It was +off the main-travelled street.</p> +<p>There was a dim light in the kitchen; the curtain had not been +drawn. Emarine paused and looked in. The sash was lifted six +inches, for the night was warm, and the sound of voices came to her +at once. Mrs. Palmer had company.</p> +<p>"It's Miss Presly," said Emarine, resentfully, under her breath. +"Old gossip!"</p> +<p>"—goin' to have a fine dinner, I hear," Miss Presly was +saying. "Turkey with oyster dressin', an' cranberries, an' mince +an' pun'kin pie, an' reel plum puddin' with brandy poured over 't +an' set afire, an' wine dip, an' nuts an' raisins, an' wine itself +to wind up on. Emarine's a fine cook. She knows how to git up a +dinner that makes your mouth water to think about. You goin' to +have a spread, Mis' Parmer?"</p> +<p>"Not much of a one," said Orville's mother. "I expected to, but +I c'u'dn't git them fall patatas sold off. I'll have to keep 'em +till spring to git any kind o' price. I don't care much about +Christmas, though"—her chin was trembling, but she lifted it +high. "It's silly for anybody but children to build so much on +Christmas."</p> +<p>Emarine opened the door and walked in. Mrs. Palmer arose slowly, +grasping the back of her chair. "Orville's dead?" she said +solemnly.</p> +<p>Emarine laughed, but there was the tenderness of near tears in +her voice. "Oh, my, no!" she said, sitting down. "I run over to ask +you to come to Christmas dinner. I was too busy all day to come +sooner. I'm goin' to have a great dinner, an' I've cooked ev'ry +single thing of it myself! I want to show you what a fine Christmas +dinner your daughter-'n-law can get up. Dinner's at two, an' I want +you to come at eleven. Will you?"</p> +<p>Mrs. Palmer had sat down, weakly. Trembling was not the word to +describe the feeling that had taken possession of her. She was +shivering. She wanted to fall down on her knees and put her arms +around her son's wife, and sob out all her loneliness and +heartache. But life is a stage; and Miss Presly was an audience not +to be ignored. So Mrs. Palmer said: "Well, I'll be reel glad to +come, Emarine. It's offul kind o' yuh to think of 't. It 'u'd 'a' +be'n lonesome eatin' here all by myself, I expect."</p> +<p>Emarine stood up. Her heart was like a thistle-down. Her eyes +were shining. "All right," she said; "an' I want that you sh'u'd +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page75" id="page75"></a>[pg +75]</span> come just at eleven. I must run right back now. +Good-night."</p> +<p>"Well, I declare!" said Miss Presly. "That girl gits prettier +ev'ry day o' her life. Why, she just looked full o' <i>glame</i> +to-night!"</p> +<hr /> +<p>Orville was not at home when his mother arrived in her rusty +best dress and shawl. Mrs. Endey saw her coming. She gasped out, +"Why, good grieve! Here's Mis' Parmer, Emarine!"</p> +<p>"Yes, I know," said Emarine, calmly. "I ast her to dinner."</p> +<p>She opened the door, and shook hands with her mother-in-law, +giving her mother a look of defiance that almost upset that lady's +gravity.</p> +<p>"You set right down, Mother Parmer, an' let me take your things. +Orville don't know you're comin', an' I just want to see his face +when he comes in. Here's a new black shawl fer your Christmas. I +got mother one just like it. See what nice long fringe it's got. +Oh, my! don't go to cryin'! Here comes Orville."</p> +<p>She stepped aside quickly. When her husband entered his eyes +fell instantly on his mother, weeping childishly over the new +shawl. She was in the old splint rocking-chair with the high back. +"<i>Mother!</i>" he cried; then he gave a frightened, tortured +glance at his wife. Emarine smiled at him, but it was through +tears.</p> +<p>"Emarine ast me, Orville—she ast me to dinner o' herself! +An' she give me this shawl. +I'm—cryin'—fer—joy—"</p> +<p>"I ast her to dinner," said Emarine, "but she ain't ever goin' +back again. She's goin' to <i>stay</i>. I expect we've both had +enough of a lesson to do us."</p> +<p>Orville did not speak. He fell on his knees and laid his head, +like a boy, in his mother's lap, and reached one strong but +trembling arm up to his wife's waist, drawing her down to him.</p> +<p>Mrs. Endey got up and went to rattling things around on the +table vigorously. "Well, I never see sech a pack o' loonatics!" she +exclaimed. "Go an' burn all your Christmas dinner up, if I don't +look after it! Turncoats! I expect they'll both be fallin' over +theirselves to knuckle down to each other from now on! I never +see!"</p> +<p>But there was something in her eyes, too, that made them +beautiful.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<a name="THE_SUN" id="THE_SUN"></a> +<h2>THE SUN'S HEAT.</h2> +<h3>By Sir Robert Ball,</h3> +<blockquote> +<p class="works">Lowndean Professor of Astronomy and Geometry at +Cambridge, England; formerly Royal Astronomer of Ireland.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There is a story told of a well-intentioned missionary who tried +to induce a Persian fire-worshipper to abandon the creed of his +ancestors. "Is it not," urged the Christian minister, "a sad and +deplorable superstition for an intelligent person like you to +worship an inanimate object like the sun?" "My friend," said the +old Persian, "you come from England; now tell me, have you ever +seen the sun?" The retort was a just one; for the fact is, that +those of us whose lot requires them to live beneath the clouds and +in the gloom which so frequently brood over our Northern latitudes, +have but little conception of the surpassing glory of the great orb +of day as it appears to those who know it in the clear Eastern +skies. The Persian recognizes in the sun not only the great source +of light and of warmth, but even of life itself. Indeed, the +advances of modern science ever tend to bring before us with more +and more significance the surpassing glory with which Milton tells +us the sun is crowned. I shall endeavor to give in this article a +brief sketch of what has recently been learned as to the actual +warmth which the sun possesses and of the prodigality with which it +pours forth its radiant treasures.</p> +<p>I number among my acquaintances an intelligent gardener who is +fond of speculating about things in the heavens as well as about +things on the earth. One day he told me that he felt certain it was +quite a mistake to believe, as most of us do believe, that the sun +up there is a hot, glowing body. "No," he said; "the sun cannot be +a source of heat, and I will prove it. If the sun were a source of +heat," said the rural philosopher, "then the closer you approached +the sun the warmer you would find yourself. But this is not the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page76" id="page76"></a>[pg +76]</span> case, for when you are climbing up a mountain you are +approaching nearer to the sun all the time; but, as everybody +knows, instead of feeling hotter and hotter as you ascend, you are +becoming steadily colder and colder. In fact, when you reach a +certain height, you will find yourself surrounded by perpetual ice +and snow, and you may not improbably be frozen to death when you +have got as near to the sun as you can. Therefore," concluded my +friend, triumphantly, "it is all nonsense to tell me the sun is a +scorching hot fire."</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:85%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/074.jpg" alt= +"THE SUN: FROM A PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN BY LEWIS M. RUTHERFURD IN NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER 22, 1870." /> + +<h5>THE SUN: FROM A PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN BY LEWIS M. RUTHERFURD IN NEW +YORK, SEPTEMBER 22, 1870.</h5> +Professor C. A. Young, writing to the editor of McCLURE'S MAGAZINE, +pronounces this "still the best photograph of the entire sun" with +which he is acquainted.</div> +<p>I thought the best way to explain the little delusion under +which the worthy gardener labored was to refer him to what takes +place in his own domain. I asked him wherein lies the advantage of +putting his tender plants into his greenhouse in November. How does +that preserve them through the winter? How is it that even without +artificial heat the mere shelter of the glass will often protect +plants from frost? I explained to him that the glass acts as a +veritable trap for the sunbeams; it lets them pass in, but it will +not let them escape. The temperature within the greenhouse is +consequently raised, and thus the necessary warmth is maintained. +The dwellers on this earth live in what is equivalent, in this +respect, to a greenhouse. There is a copious atmosphere above our +heads, and that atmosphere extends to us the same protection which +the glass does to the plants in the greenhouse. The air lets the +sunbeams through to the earth's surface, and then keeps their heat +down here to make us comfortable. When you climb to the top of a +high mountain you pass through a large part of the air. This is the +reason why you feel warmer on the surface of the earth than you do +on the top of a high mountain. If, however, it were possible to go +very much closer to the sun; if, for example, the earth were to +approach within half its present distance, it is certain that the +heat would be so intense that all life would be immediately +scorched away.</p> +<p>It will be remembered that when Nebuchadnezzar condemned the +unhappy Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego to be cast into the burning +fiery furnace, he commanded in his fury that the furnace should be +heated seven times hotter than it was wont to be heated. Let us +think of the hottest furnace which the minions of Nebuchadnezzar +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page77" id="page77"></a>[pg +77]</span> could ever have kindled with all the resources of +Babylon; let us think indeed of one of the most perfect of modern +furnaces, in which even a substance so refractory as steel, having +first attained a dazzling brilliance, can be melted so as to run +like water; let us imagine the heat-dispensing power of that +glittering liquid to be multiplied sevenfold; let us go beyond +Nebuchadnezzar's frenzied command, and imagine the efficiency of +our furnace to be ten or twelve times as great as that which he +commanded—we shall then obtain a notion of a heat-giving +power corresponding to that which would be found in the wonderful +celestial furnace, the great sun in heaven.</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:65%;"> +<img width="433" src="images/075.jpg" alt= +"SIR ROBERT BALL." /> +<h5>SIR ROBERT BALL.</h5> +From a photograph by Russel & Sons, London.</div> +<p>Ponder also upon the stupendous size of that orb, which glows at +every point of its surface with the astonishing fervor I have +indicated. The earth on which we stand is no doubt a mighty globe, +measuring as it does eight thousand miles in diameter; yet what are +its dimensions in comparison with those of the sun? If the earth be +represented by a grain of mustard seed, then on the same scale the +sun should be represented by a cocoanut. Perhaps, however, a more +impressive conception of the dimensions of the great orb of day may +be obtained in this way. Think of the moon, the queen of the night, +which circles monthly around our heavens, pursuing, as she does, a +majestic track, at a distance of two hundred and forty thousand +miles from the earth. Yet the sun is so vast that if it were a +hollow ball, and if the earth were placed at the centre of that +ball, the moon could revolve in the orbit which it now follows, and +still be entirely enclosed within the sun's interior.</p> +<p>For every acre on the surface of our globe there are more than +ten thousand acres on the surface of the great luminary. Every +portion of this illimitable desert of flame is pouring forth +torrents of heat. It has indeed been estimated that if the heat +which is incessantly flowing through any single square foot of the +sun's exterior could be collected and applied beneath the boilers +of an Atlantic liner, it would suffice to produce steam enough to +sustain in continuous movement those engines of twenty thousand +horse-power which enable a superb ship to break the record between +Ireland and America.</p> +<p>The solar heat is shot forth into space in every direction, with +a prodigality which seems well-nigh inexhaustible. No doubt the +earth does intercept a fair supply of sunbeams for conversion to +our many needs; but the share of sun-heat that the dwelling-place +of mankind is able to capture and employ forms only an +infinitesimal fraction of what the sun actually pours forth. It +would seem, indeed, very presumptuous for us to assume that the +great sun has come into existence solely for the benefit of poor +humanity. The heat and light daily lavished by that orb of +incomparable splendor would suffice to warm and illuminate, quite +as efficiently as the earth is warmed and lighted, more than two +thousand million globes each as large as the earth. If it has +indeed been the scheme of nature to call into existence the solar +arrangements on their present scale for the solitary purpose of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page78" id="page78"></a>[pg +78]</span> cherishing this immediate world of ours, then all we can +say is that nature carries on its business in the most outrageously +wasteful manner.</p> +<p>What should we think of the prudence of a man who, having been +endowed with a splendid fortune of not less than twenty million +dollars, spent one cent of that vast sum usefully and dissipated +every other cent and every other dollar of his gigantic wealth in +mere aimless extravagance? This would, however, appear to be the +way in which the sun manages its affairs, if we are to suppose that +all the solar heat is wasted save that minute fraction which is +received by the earth. Out of every twenty million dollars' worth +of heat issuing from the glorious orb of day, we on this earth +barely secure the value of one single cent; and all but that +insignificant trifle seems to be utterly squandered. We may say it +certainly is squandered so far as humanity is concerned. No doubt +there are certain other planets besides the earth, and they will +receive quantities of heat to the extent of a few cents more. It +must, however, be said that the stupendous volume of solar +radiation passes off substantially untaxed into space, and what may +actually there become of it science is unable to tell.</p> +<p>And now for the great question as to how the supply of heat is +sustained so as to permit the orb of day to continue in its career +of such unparalleled prodigality. Every child knows that the fire +on the domestic hearth will go out unless the necessary supplies of +wood or coal can be duly provided. The workman knows that the +devouring blast furnace requires to be incessantly stoked with +fresh fuel. How, then, comes it that a furnace so much more +stupendous than any terrestrial furnace can continue to pour forth +in perennial abundance its amazing stores of heat without being +nourished by continual supplies of some kind? Professor Langley, +who has done so much to extend our knowledge of the great orb of +heaven, has suggested a method of illustrating the quantity of fuel +which would be required, if indeed it were by successive additions +of fuel that the sun's heat had to be sustained. Suppose that all +the coal seams which underlie America were made to yield up their +stores. Suppose that all the coal fields of England and Scotland, +Australia, China, and elsewhere were compelled to contribute every +combustible particle they contained. Suppose, in fact, that we +extracted from this earth every ton of coal it possesses, in every +island and in every continent. Suppose that this vast store of +fuel, which is adequate to supply the wants of this earth for +centuries, were to be accumulated in one stupendous pile. Suppose +that an army of stokers, arrayed in numbers which we need not now +pause to calculate, were employed to throw this coal into the great +solar furnace. How long, think you, would so gigantic a mass of +fuel maintain the sun's expenditure at its present rate? I am but +uttering a deliberate scientific fact when I say that a +conflagration which destroyed every particle of coal contained in +this earth would not generate so much heat as the sun lavishes +abroad to ungrateful space in the tenth part of every single +second. During the few minutes that the reader has been occupied +over these lines, a quantity of heat which is many thousands of +times as great as, the heat which could be produced by the ignition +of all the coal in every coal-pit in the globe has been dispersed +and totally lost to the sun.</p> +<p>But we have still one further conception to introduce before we +shall have fully grasped the significance of the sun's extravagance +in the matter of heat. As the sun shines to-day on this earth, so +it shone yesterday, so it shone a hundred years ago, a thousand +years ago; so it shone in the earliest dawn of history; so it shone +during those still remoter periods when great animals flourished +which have now vanished forever; so it shone during that remarkable +period in earth's history when the great coal forests flourished; +so it shone in those remote ages many millions of years ago when +life began to dawn on an earth which was still young. There is +every reason to believe that throughout these illimitable periods +which the imagination strives in vain to realize, the sun has +dispensed its radiant treasures of light and warmth with just the +same prodigality as that which now characterizes it.</p> +<p>We all know the consequences of wanton extravagance. We know it +spells bankruptcy and ruin. The expenditure of heat by the sun is +the most magnificent extravagance of which human knowledge gives us +any conception. How have the consequences of such awful prodigality +been hitherto averted? How is it that the sun is still able to draw +on its heat reserves from second to second, from century to +century, from eon to eon, ever squandering two thousand million +times as much heat as that which genially warms our temperate +regions, as that which draws forth the exuberant vegetation of the +tropics, or which rages in the Desert of Sahara? This is indeed a +great problem.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page79" id="page79"></a>[pg +79]</span> +<p>It was Helmholtz who discovered that the continual maintenance +of the sun's temperature is due to the fact that the sun is neither +solid nor liquid, but is to a great extent gaseous. His theory of +the subject has gained universal acceptance. Those who have taken +the trouble to become acquainted with it are compelled to admit +that the doctrine set forth by this great philosopher embodies a +profound truth.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/077.jpg" alt= +"A TYPICAL SUN-SPOT" /> +<h5>A TYPICAL SUN-SPOT</h5> +. By permission of Longmans, Green & Co., from "Old and New +Astronomy," by Richard A. Proctor.</div> +<p>Even the great sun cannot escape the application of a certain +law which affects every terrestrial object, and whose province is +wide as the universe itself. Nature has not one law for the rich +and another for the poor. The sun is shedding forth heat, and +therefore, affirms this law, the sun must be shrinking in size. We +have learned the rate at which this contraction proceeds; for among +the many triumphs which mathematicians have accomplished must be +reckoned that of having put a pair of callipers on the sun so as to +measure its diameter. We thus find that the width of the great +luminary is ten inches smaller to-day than it was yesterday. Year +in and year out the glorious orb of heaven is steadily diminishing +at the same rate. For hundreds of years, aye, for hundreds of +thousands of years, this incessant shrinking has gone on at about +the same rate as it goes on at present. For hundreds of years, aye, +for hundreds of thousands of years, the shrinking still will go on. +As a sponge exudes moisture by continuous squeezing, so the sun +pours forth heat by continuous shrinking. So long as the sun +remains practically gaseous, so long will the great luminary +continue to shrink, and thus continue its gracious beneficence. +Hence it is that for incalculable ages yet to come the sun will +pour forth its unspeakable benefits; and thence it is that, for a +period compared with which the time of man upon this earth is but a +day, summer and winter, heat and cold, seedtime and harvest, in +their due succession, will never be wanting to this earth.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page80" id="page80"></a>[pg +80]</span> <a name="HALL" id="HALL"></a> +<h2>HALL CAINE.</h2> +<h3>STORY OF HIS LIFE AND WORK, DERIVED FROM CONVERSATIONS.</h3> +<h3>By Robert Harborough Sherard.</h3> +<p>Extreme dignity is the leading characteristic of Thomas Henry +Hall Caine as a man, just as extreme conscientiousness is his +leading characteristic as a writer. He possesses in a high degree +the sense of the responsibility which an author owes to the public +and to himself. It is on account of these facts that the story of +his uneventful life and brilliant literary career is a highly +interesting one. It shows how, by firmness of principle and a high +respect of the public and himself, a man of undoubted genius has +been enabled to raise himself to a position in the English-speaking +worlds to which few men of letters have ever attained—a +position which may be compared to that of a <i>vates</i> amongst +the Romans, of a prophet in Israel.</p> +<p>Hall Caine, as his double name implies, comes of the mixed Norse +and Celtic race which constitutes the population of the Isle of +Man. Hall, his mother's name, is Norse, and is common to this day +in Iceland, from which the Norsemen came to Manxland. Caine, which +means "a fighter with clubs," is Celtic. Hall Caine himself, with +his ruddy beard and hair and distinctive features, has inherited +rather the physical characteristics of his maternal ancestors, the +Norsemen.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:90%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/078.jpg" alt= +"BALLAVOLLEY COTTAGE, BALLAUGH, ISLE OF MAN, WHERE HALL CAINE LIVED AS A LITTLE BOY." /> + +<h5>BALLAVOLLEY COTTAGE, BALLAUGH, ISLE OF MAN, WHERE HALL CAINE +LIVED AS A LITTLE BOY.</h5> +</div> +<p>He comes of a stock of crofters, or small farmers, who for +centuries had supported themselves by tilling the soil and fishing +the sea. He is the first of all his line who ever worked his brain +for a living. His grandfather, who had a farm of sixty acres in the +beautiful parish of Ballaugh, which lies between Peel and Ramsey, +was a wastrel, fond of the amusements and dissipations to be found +in Douglas, and alienated his small property, so that, at the age +of eighteen, his son, Hall Caine's father, was for a living obliged +to apprentice himself to a blacksmith at Ramsey. When he had +learned his trade he removed, in the hopes of finding more +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page81" id="page81"></a>[pg +81]</span> remunerative employment, to Liverpool. Here, however, he +found it so hard to support himself as a blacksmith that he set to +work to learn the trade of ship's smith—a remunerative one in +those days, when Liverpool was the centre of the ship-building +trade. He became a skilled worker, and at the time of his marriage +was able to command a wage of thirty-six shillings a week, in +addition to what he was able to earn by piece work. It was whilst +engaged on a <span class="pagenum"><a name="page82" id= +"page82"></a>[pg 82]</span> piece of work on a ship at Runcorn, in +Cheshire, that on May 14, 1853, the child was born—his second +son—to whom he gave the names of Thomas Henry Hall. Runcorn +can thus claim to be the birthplace of the famous writer, although +his birth there was a mere accident, and not more than ten days of +his life were spent there.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<img width="475" src="images/079.jpg" alt= +"From a photograph by Barraud, London." /></div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<img width="251" src="images/079-s.jpg" alt= +"signature" /> +<p class="works">From a photograph by Barraud, London.</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:75%;"> +<img width="432" src="images/080.jpg" alt= +"FACSIMILE OF HALL CAINE'S MANUSCRIPT" /> +<h5>FACSIMILE OF HALL CAINE'S MANUSCRIPT, FROM "THE MANXMAN." AN +ADDITION MADE IN REVISING PROOFS.</h5> +</div> +<p>Hall Caine has no remembrance of the first years which he spent +in Liverpool, and his earliest recollections are of life in his +grandmother's cottage of Ballavolley, Ballaugh, in the Isle of Man, +a house set in a wooded plain surrounded by high mountains which +glow, here yellow with the gorse, there purple with the heather. In +the foreground is the beautiful old church of Ballaugh, in the +cemetery of which many generations of Caines lie at rest; and +between the old church and the village lies the curragh land, full +of wild flowers and musical with the notes of every bird that +uplifts its voice to heaven. Far off can be descried, across the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page83" id="page83"></a>[pg +83]</span> sea, the Mull of Galloway. It is in its rare beauty a +spot than which, for a poet's childhood, no fitter could be +found.</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:50%;"> +<img width="400" src="images/081-1.jpg" alt= +"MRS. HALL CAINE." /> +<h5>MRS. HALL CAINE.</h5> +From a photograph by Alfred Ellis, London.</div> +<br /> +<h4>CHILDHOOD IN A MANX COTTAGE.</h4> +<p>The Ballavolley cottage was a typical Manx cottage. On one side +of the porch was the parlor, which also served as a dairy, redolent +of milk and bright with rare old Derby china. On the other side was +the living-room, with its undulating floor of stamped earth and +grateless hearthstone in the ingle, to the right and left of which +were seats. Here in the ingle-nook the little boy would sit +watching his aunts cooking the oaten cake on the griddle, over a +fire of turf from the curragh and gorse from the hills, or the +bubbling cooking-pot slung on the slowrie. One of his earliest +recollections is of his old grandmother, seated on her three-legged +stool, bending over the fire, tongs in hand, renewing the fuel of +gorse under the griddle. The walls of this room were covered with +blue crockery ware, and through the open rafters of the unplastered +ceiling could be seen the flooring of the bedrooms above. These +were very low dormer rooms, with the bed in the angle where the +roof was lowest. One had to crawl into bed and lie just under the +whitewashed "scraa" or turf roofing, which smelt deliciously with +an odor that at times still haunts the cottage lad in statelier +homes.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:80%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/081-2.jpg" alt= +"HALL CAINE'S LIBRARY." /> +<h5>HALL CAINE'S LIBRARY.</h5> +From a photograph by Barton.</div> +<p>Hall Caine's impressions of his life at Ballavolley are +vivid—the old preacher at the church, the drinking-bouts of +"jough"-beer by the gallon amongst the villagers, the donkey rides +upon the curragh. But what it best pleases him to remember are the +times when, seated in the ingle-nook, he used to listen to his +grandmother telling fairy stories, as she sat at her black oak +spinning-wheel, bending low over the whirling yarn. +"Hommybeg"—it was a pet name she had given to +him—"Hommybeg," she would say, "I will tell you of the +fairies." And the story that he liked best to listen to, though it +so frightened him that he would run and hide his face in the folds +of the blue Spanish cloak which Manx women have worn since two +ships of the Great Armada were wrecked upon the island, was the +story of how his grandmother, when a lass, had seen the fairies +with her own eyes. That was many years before. She had been out one +night to meet her sweetheart, and as she was returning in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page84" id="page84"></a>[pg +84]</span> moonlight she was overtaken by a multitude of little +men, tiny little fellows in velvet coats and cocked hats and +pointed shoes, who ran after her, swarmed over her, and clambered +up her streaming hair.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/082.jpg" alt= +"GREEBA CASTLE, ISLE OF MAN, WHERE MR. CAINE WROTE MOST OF THE MANXMAN'" /> + +<h5>GREEBA CASTLE, ISLE OF MAN, WHERE MR. CAINE WROTE MOST OF "THE +MANXMAN."</h5> +From a photograph by Abel Lewis, Douglas, Isle of Man.</div> +<p>He was a precocious lad, and knew no greater delight than to +read. The first book that he remembers reading was a bulky tome on +the German Reformation, about Luther and Melancthon, which he had +found. He spent weeks over it, and, staggering under its weight, +would carry it out into the hayfield, where, truant to the harvest, +he would lie behind the stacks and read and read. One night, +indeed, his interest in this book led him to break the rules of his +thrifty home—where children went to bed when it was dark, so +that candles should not be burned—and light the candles and +read on about Luther. He was found thus by one of his aunts as, +pails in hand, she returned home from milking the cows. Her anger +was great. "Candles lit!" she cried. "What's to do? Candles! +Wasting candles on reading, on mere reading!" He was beaten and +sent to bed, bursting with indignation at such injustice, for he +felt that candles were nothing compared to knowledge. He was a +bookish boy, wanting in boyishness, and never played games, but +spent his time in reading, not boyish books, indeed, but books in +which never boy before took interest—histories, theological +works, and, in preference, parliamentary speeches of the great +orators, which he would afterwards rewrite from memory. At a very +early age he showed a great passion for poetry and was a great +reader of Shakespeare. His talent for reading passages of +Shakespeare aloud was such that at the school at Liverpool, where +he was educated, his schoolmaster, George Gill, used to make him +read aloud before all the boys. This caused him great nervous +agony, he says, and he suffered horribly. He was a favorite pupil, +and, in a school where corporal punishment was inflicted with great +severity, was never once beaten. He left school at the age of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page85" id="page85"></a>[pg +85]</span> fifteen and was apprenticed by his father to John +Murray, architect and land-surveyor. The lad had no special +faculties for architecture beyond possessing a fair knowledge of +drawing. When only thirteen he drew the map of England which +appeared in the first edition of "Gill's Geography." At this time +he had shown no bent for authorship beyond making the +transcriptions from memory of the speeches he had read, and +writing, for a school competition, a "Life of Joseph," which was +not even read by the arbitrator, because it was much too long. It +is noticeable, however, that on this "Life of Joseph" he had worked +with the same conscientiousness which has distinguished his +literary activity through all his career. "I read everything on the +subject that I could lay my hands upon," he says, "and spent day +and night in working at it." To-day, as then, when Hall Caine has a +book to write, he reads every book bearing on his theme which he +can obtain—"a whole library for each chapter"—and will +work at his subject day and night, all-absorbed, wrapped up, +concentrated.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/083.jpg" alt= +"PEEL CASTLE, ISLE OF MAN." /> +<h5>PEEL CASTLE, ISLE OF MAN.</h5> +</div> +<p>John Murray was agent for the Lancashire estates of W.E. +Gladstone, and it was in this way that Hall Caine first became +known to the statesman, who from the first has been amongst his +keenest admirers. One of the first occasions on which he attracted +Mr. Gladstone's attention was one day when he was superintending +the surveying of Seaforth, Gladstone's estate. Gladstone was +surprised to see so small a lad in charge of the chainmen, and +began to talk with him. He must have been impressed by the lad's +conversation, for he patted his head and told him he would be a +fine man yet. Mr. Gladstone has never forgotten this incident. Some +time later, John Murray having failed in the meanwhile, an offer +was made to Hall Caine, from the Gladstones, of the stewardship of +the Seaforth estate at a salary of one hundred and twenty pound a +year. "Although the thought of so much wealth," he relates, +"overwhelmed me, I did not see in this offer the prospect of any +career—indeed this had been pointed out to me—and I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page86" id="page86"></a>[pg +86]</span> determined to continue in the architect's office." He +accordingly attached himself as pupil or apprentice to Richard +Owens, the architect.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/084.jpg" alt= +"PEEL, ISLE OF MAN, WHERE MR. CAINE FINISHED 'THE MANXMAN.'" /> +<h5>PEEL, ISLE OF MAN, WHERE MR. CAINE FINISHED "THE MANXMAN." THE +LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT, IN THE ROW FRONTING ON THE WATER AT THE +LEFT OF THE PICTURE, IS THE ONE MR. CAINE OCCUPIED.</h5> +</div> +<br /> +<h4>FIRST WRITINGS FOR THE PUBLIC.</h4> +<p>Hall Caine's first writings for the public were done in the Isle +of Man, at the age of sixteen, when he had come over to recruit his +health at the house of his uncle, the schoolmaster at Kirk +Maughold. At that time the island was divided by a discussion as to +the maintenance or abolition of Manx political institutions, and +the boy threw himself into this discussion with characteristic +ardor. His vehement articles in favor of the maintenance of the +political independence, published each week in "Mona's Herald," +were full of force. They attracted, however, little notice beyond +that of James Teare, Caine's uncle, the great temperance reformer, +who admired them justly. He encouraged the boy to write, and told +his skeptical relations that if Hall Caine failed as an architect +he would certainly be able to make a living with his pen.</p> +<p>A visit to Kirk Maughold will afford to the observer the best +insight into Hall Caine's literary temperament. The spirit of the +place expounds his spirit; its genius seems to have entered into +him. There are seasons when this headland height lies serene and +calm, wrapped in such loveliness of light on sea and land that the +heart melts for very ecstasy at the beauty of all things around, +the glowing hills, the flowers that are everywhere, the sea beyond, +the tenderness, the color, the native poetry of it all. There are +seasons, too, of strife and hurricane, of titanic forces battling +in the air, when vehement and irresistible winds burst forth to +make howling havoc on the bleakest heights—so they seem +then—that man's foot ever trod. There are times when not one +harebell nods its head in the calm air, not one seed falls from the +feathered grass, in the tender serenity of a quiet world; and there +are times, too, when Nature aroused puts forth her terrible +strength, so that man ventures abroad at his great peril, and ropes +must be stretched along the roads by which the unwary wanderer may +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page87" id="page87"></a>[pg +87]</span> drag his storm-tossed body home. In Hall Caine's work we +also find these extremes of tenderness and its calm, of passion and +its riot.</p> +<p>On his return to Liverpool, encouraged by what James Teare had +said, Hall Caine continued to write. No longer, however, on +political questions, but on the subjects with which his profession +had familiarized him. Between the ages of sixteen and twenty this +boy wrote learned leading articles on building, land-surveying, and +architecture for "The Builder." George Godwin, the editor of this +leading periodical, could not believe his eyes when he first met +his contributor. Hall Caine was then nineteen. "I felt terribly +ashamed of being so young," he says, in speaking of this +interview.</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:60%;"> +<img width="451" src="images/085.jpg" alt= +"R.E. MORRISON. R.H.SHERARD. HALL CAINE." /> +<h5>R.E. MORRISON. R.H.SHERARD. HALL +CAINE.</h5> +<p>From a photograph taken specially for McCLURE'S MAGAZINE, by +George B. Cowen, Ramsey, Isle of Man. Mr. Morrison is an artist who +has lately painted a portrait of Mr. Caine.</p> +</div> +<p>It was about this time that he returned to the Isle of Man, +tired of architecture. His uncle died, and there was no +schoolmaster at Kirk Maughold school. So Hall Caine became +schoolmaster, and for about six months kept a mixed school on the +bleak headland. He is still remembered as a schoolmaster, and last +year, when "The Manxman" was appearing in serial publication, his +grown-up scholars used to gather at a farm near Kirk Maughold +school and listen to the schoolmaster reading the story as each +instalment came out.</p> +<p>The six months of his schoolmastership were a period of great +activity. It was the time of the Paris Commune, and, a rabid +Communist, Hall Caine read Communist and socialistic literature +with avidity. He contributed violent propagandist articles to +"Mona's Herald," in which three years previously he had preached +the virtues of conservatism, and attracted the attention of John +Ruskin by his eulogies of Ruskin's work with his recently founded +Guild of St. George. His leisure was spent in his workshop, and +during this period he not only carved a tombstone for his uncle's +grave, but built a house—Phoenix cottage—both of which +are still standing and may be seen. It was a happy time, a time of +inspiration; and it may be, from the sympathy between the man and +the place, that Hall Caine would have stayed on at Kirk Maughold +had not a most imperative letter from Richard Owens, which said +that it was deplorable that he should be throwing his life away in +such occupations, recalled him to Liverpool. To Liverpool +accordingly he returned, to work as a draughtsman, and fired withal +with a double ambition—for one thing to win fame as a poet, +for another to succeed as a dramatist. Already in 1870 he had +written a long poem, which was published in 1874 anonymously by an +enterprising Liverpool publisher. About this poem George Gilfillan, +to whom Hall Caine sent it in 1876, wrote that there was much in it +that he admired, that it had the ring of genius, but that in parts +it was spoiled by affectations of language which could, however, be +remedied. Of the same poem, Rossetti, to whom it was also sent, +wrote that it contained passages of genius. As a dramatist, Hall +Caine wrote, at this period in his career, a play called "Alton +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page88" id="page88"></a>[pg +88]</span> Locke." founded on Kingsley's story. It was shown to +Rousby, the actor-manager, who liked "the promise that it showed" +and asked Hall Caine to write a play to his order. At that time he +looked upon himself as a dramatist, and indeed still hopes to +achieve as such—when he shall have tired of the novel as a +vehicle and shall have learned, the present object of his closest +study, the technicalities of the stage—a success as great as +that which has attended his novels. Many of his friends, indeed, +hope for even better things from him as a dramatist; and Blackmore, +for instance, hardly ever writes to him without repeating that, +great as has been his success as a novelist, it will be nothing to +his success when he gets possession of the stage.</p> +<br /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:70%;"> +<img width="500" src="images/086-1.jpg" alt= +"SIR W.L. DRINKWATER, THE PRESENT FIRST DREMSTER OF THE ISLE OF MAN." /> + +<h5>SIR W.L. DRINKWATER, THE PRESENT FIRST DREMSTER OF THE ISLE OF +MAN.</h5> +From a photograph by J. E. Bruton, Douglas, Isle of Man.</div> +<h4>CAINE'S ASSOCIATION WITH ROSSETTI.</h4> +<p>Till the age of twenty-four he remained in Liverpool, earning +his living in a builder's office, lecturing, starting societies, +working as secretary of the Society for the Protection of Ancient +Buildings, and writing for the papers. His lectures on Shakespeare +attracted the attention of Lord Houghton, who expressed a desire to +meet him. A meeting was arranged at the house of Henry Bright (the +H.A.B, of Hawthorne); and the first thing that Lord Houghton, the +biographer of Keats, said when Hall Caine came into the room was: +"You have the head of Keats." He predicted that the young author +would become a great critic. Another of Hall Caine's lectures, +delivered during this period, "The Supernatural in Poetry," brought +a long letter of eulogy from Matthew Arnold. His lecture on +Rossetti won him the friendship of this great man, a correspondence +ensued, and when Caine was twenty-five years old, Rossetti wrote +and asked him to come up to London to see him. Caine went and was +received most cordially.</p> +<p>"He met me on the threshold of his house," he relates, "with +both hands outstretched, and drew me into his studio. That night he +read me 'The King's Tragedy.'"</p> +<p>During the evening Rossetti asked him to remove to London and +invited him to his house; at the same time—it may be to +prepare him for their common life—he showed him, to Caine's +horror, what a slave he had become to the chloral habit.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/086-2.jpg" alt= +"BISHOP'S COURT, WHERE DAN MYLREA IN 'THE DREMSTER'" /> +<h5>BISHOP'S COURT, WHERE DAN MYLREA IN "THE DREMSTER" WAS +REARED.</h5> +</div> +<p>It was not until many months later that Hall Caine determined to +accept Rossetti's invitation, and went to share his monastic +seclusion in his gloomy London house. In the meanwhile, and in this +Rossetti had helped him by correspondence, he had edited for Elliot +Stock an anthology of English sonnets, which was published under +the title of "Sonnets of Three Centuries." For his work in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page89" id="page89"></a>[pg +89]</span> connection with this volume Hall Caine received no +remuneration. Indeed, at this period in his career the earnings of +the writer who can to-day command the highest prices in the market, +were very small indeed. His average income was two hundred and +sixty pounds (thirteen hundred dollars), and of this two hundred +pounds was earned as a draughtsman. When he went to live with +Rossetti he had about fifty pounds (two hundred and fifty dollars) +of money saved, to which he was afterwards able to add a sum of one +hundred pounds, which Rossetti insisted on his accepting as his +commission on the sale of Rossetti's picture, "Dante's Dream." It +may be mentioned, to dispel certain misstatements, that this was +the only financial transaction which took place between the two +friends. His life in Rossetti's house was the life of a monk, +seeing nobody except Burne-Jones (whom, as Ruskin will have it, he +resembles closely), going nowhere and doing little. "I used to get +up at noon," he says, "and usually spent my afternoon in walking +about in the garden. I did not see Rossetti till dinner-time, but +from that hour till three or four in the morning we were +inseparable." It has been stated that Caine owed much of his +success in literature to Rossetti. This is only partly true. His +introduction to literary society in London under Rossetti's wing +was harmful rather than advantageous to him, for it prejudiced +people against him; and his connection with Rossetti, which was +that of a spiritual son with a spiritual father, was +misrepresented. He was spoken of as Rossetti's secretary, even as +Rossetti's valet. On the other hand, so young a man could not but +derive benefit from the society of so refined an artist, who had no +thought nor ambition outside his art. And, in a practical way, +Rossetti also benefited him. When he first came to Rossetti's house +he was under an engagement to deliver twenty-four lectures on +"Prose Fiction" in Liverpool, and in preparation of these lectures +began studying the English novelists.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/087.jpg" alt= +"KIRK MAUGHOLD, WHICH FIGURES IN 'THE BONDSMAN'" /> +<h5>KIRK MAUGHOLD, WHICH FIGURES IN "THE BONDMAN" AND "THE +MANXMAN."</h5> +</div> +<p>"One day Rossetti suggested that, instead of reading these +novels alone, I should read them aloud to him. From that day on, +night after night, for months and months, I used to read to him. I +read Fielding and Smollett, Richardson, Radcliffe, 'Monk' Lewis, +Thackeray, and Dickens, under a running fire of comment and +criticism from Rossetti. It was terrible labor, this reading for +hours night after night, till dawn came and I could drag myself +wearily upstairs to bed. But it was a very useful study, and this +is indeed the debt which I owe to Rossetti."</p> +<p>Rossetti died on Easter Day, 1882, at the seashore, near +Margate, in Hall Caine's arms. It shows the extent of their +friendship that, the bungalow being crowded that night, Caine +readily offered to sleep in the death-chamber. "It is Rossetti," he +said.</p> +<br /> +<h4>HALL CAINE'S FIRST NOVEL.</h4> +<p>Hall Caine then returned to London, and whilst continuing to +contribute to various papers, and notably to the "Liverpool +Mercury," to which he was attached for years, he wrote his +"Recollections of Rossetti," which brought him forty pounds (two +hundred dollars) and attracted some attention in literary circles, +without, however, enhancing his reputation with the general public. +This was followed by "Cobwebs of Criticism," the title he gave to a +collection of critical essays, originally delivered as lectures. +This book did nothing for him in any way. All this while he had +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page90" id="page90"></a>[pg +90]</span> been hankering after novel-writing, and, though Rossetti +had always urged him to become a dramatist, he had also encouraged +him to write novels, advising him to become the novelist of +Manxland. "There is a career there," he used to say, "for nothing +is known about this land." The two friends had discussed Hall +Caine's plot of "The Shadow of a Crime," which Rossetti had found +"immensely powerful but unsympathetic," and it was with this novel +that Hall Caine began his career as a writer of fiction. He had +married in the meanwhile, and with forty pounds (two hundred +dollars) in the bank and an assured income of a hundred (five +hundred dollars) a year from the "Liverpool Mercury," he went with +his wife to live in a small house in the Isle of Wight, to write +his book. "I labored over it fearfully," he says, "but not so much +as I do now over my books. At that time I only wanted to write a +thrilling tale. Now what I want in my novels is a spiritual intent, +a problem of life." "The Shadow of a Crime" appeared first in +serial form in the "Liverpool Mercury," and was published in book +form by Chatto & Windus in 1885. For the book rights Hall Caine +received seventy-five pounds (three hundred and seventy-five +dollars), which, with the one hundred pounds (five hundred dollars) +from the "Liverpool Mercury," is all that he has ever received from +a book which is now in its seventeenth edition. "It had a +distinguished reception," he says. "Indeed, it was received with a +burst of eulogy from the press; but at the time it produced no +popular success, and made no difference in my market value."</p> +<p>There is no man living, perhaps, who has more contempt for money +than Hall Caine, revealing himself in this also a true artist; yet +to exemplify to a <i>confrère</i> the practical value of +what he calls the "literary statesmanship" which he has practised +throughout his career, he will sometimes show the little book in +which are entered the receipts from his various works. No more +striking argument in favor of conscientiousness and literary +dignity could be found than that afforded by a comparison between +the first page of this account book and the last.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/088.jpg" alt= +"LEZAYRE CHURCH, WHERE PETE AND KATE WERE MARRIED IN 'THE MANXMAN'" /> + +<h5>LEZAYRE CHURCH, WHERE PETE AND KATE WERE MARRIED IN "THE +MANXMAN."</h5> +</div> +<br /> +<h4>BEATING THE STREETS OF LONDON IN SEARCH OF WORK.</h4> +<p>A time of need followed, during which Hall Caine beat the +streets of London in search of work. He offered himself as a +publisher's reader in various houses, and was roughly turned away. +He suffered slights and humiliations; but these only strengthened +his resolve. In this respect he reminds one of Zola, whom slights +and humiliations only strengthened also; and in this connection it +may be mentioned that there hangs in Hall Caine's drawing-room, in +Peel, a pen-and-ink portrait which one mistakes for that of Emile +Zola, till one is told that it is the picture of Hall Caine.</p> +<p>The reverses, which it now pleases him to remember, in no wise +daunted him. There was his wife and "Sunlocks," his little son, to +be provided for; and with fine determination he set to work. In the +year 1886 he wrote a "Life of Coleridge" and finished his second +novel, "A Son of Hagar." On the fly-leaf of his copy of the "Life +of Coleridge" are written the words: "N.B—This book was begun +October 8, 1886. It was not touched after that date until October +15th or 16th, and was finished down to last two chapters by +November 1st. Completed December 4th to 8th—about three weeks +in all. H.C." It is an excellent piece of work, but Caine regrets +now that he threw away on a book of this kind all his knowledge of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page91" id="page91"></a>[pg +91]</span> his subject. "<i>I</i> could have written <i>the</i> +Life of Coleridge," he says.</p> +<p>"A Son of Hagar" produced three hundred pounds (fifteen hundred +dollars), and has now achieved an immense success, but its +reception at the time was a feeble one. Hall Caine ground his teeth +and clenched his fist and said: "I will write one more book; I will +put into it all the work that is in me, and if the world still +remains indifferent and contemptuous, I will never write another." +In the meanwhile he had decided to follow Rossetti's advice, to +write a Manx novel; and having thought out the plot of "The +Deemster," went to the Isle of Man to write it. It was written in +six months, in one of the lodging-houses on the Esplanade at +Douglas, in a fever of wounded pride. "I worked over it like a +galley-slave; I poured all my memories into it," he says. In the +meanwhile he maintained his family by journalism, being now +connected with the best papers in London. "The Deemster" was sold +for one hundred and fifty pounds (six hundred dollars), the serial +rights having produced four hundred pounds (two thousand dollars). +He would be glad to-day to purchase the copyright back for one +thousand pounds. He had great faith in this book.</p> +<p>"Long after we are both dead," he said to his publisher, when +they were discussing terms, "this book will be alive." "I was +indifferent to its reception," he relates; "I said, that if the +public did not take it, that would only prove its damnable folly," +Its reception was immense, and "then began for me something like +fame."</p> +<br /> +<h4>THE BEGINNING OF PROSPERITY.</h4> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:70%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/089.jpg" alt= +"INTERIOR OF 'THE COTTAGE BY THE WATER-TROUGH'" /> +<h5>INTERIOR OF "THE COTTAGE BY THE WATER-TROUGH," KIRKNEO, NEAR +RAMSEY, ISLE OF MAN, WHERE LIVED "BLACK TOM," THE GRANDFATHER OF +PETE, IN "THE MANXMAN."</h5> +</div> +<p>Offers came in from all sides; the little house in Kent, where +he was then living, became the pilgrimage of the publishers. Irving +read the book in America, and seeing that there was here material +for a splendid play, with himself in the part of the Bishop, +hesitated about cabling to the author. In the meanwhile Wilson +Barrett had also read the book, and had telegraphed to Kent to ask +Hall Caine to come up to London to discuss its dramatization. Hall +Caine started, but was forced to leave the train at Derby because a +terrible fog rendered travelling impossible. He spent the next ten +days in the Isaac Walton Inn, at Dovedale, near Derby, waiting for +the fog to lift, and whilst so waiting wrote the first draft of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page92" id="page92"></a>[pg +92]</span> play, which he entitled "Ben-my-Chree," Barrett was +enthusiastic about it, and "Ben-my-Chree" was duly produced for the +first time at the Princess Theatre, on May 14, 1888, before a +packed house, in which every literary celebrity in London was +present. "The reception was enthusiastic; the next day I was a +famous man." Notwithstanding its great success on the first night +and the splendid eulogies of the press, "Ben-my-Chree" failed to +draw in London, and after running for one hundred nights, at a +great loss to the management, was withdrawn. It was then taken to +the provinces, and was very successful, both there and in America, +holding the stage for seven years. It was afterwards reproduced, +with some success, in London. This play brought Hall Caine in a sum +of one thousand pounds (five thousand dollars), and out of this he +bought himself a house in Keswick, where he remained in residence +for four years. Having now given up journalism, he devoted himself +entirely to fiction and play-writing.</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:60%;"> +<img width="500" src="images/090.jpg" alt= +"THE ORIGINAL OF KATE IN 'THE MANXMAN'" /> +<h5>THE ORIGINAL OF KATE IN "THE MANXMAN."</h5> +</div> +<p>In 1889, he went with his wife to Iceland and spent two months +there, for the purpose of studying certain scenes which he wished +to introduce into "The Bondman," on which he was then working. +Documentation is as much Hall Caine's care in his novels as it is +Emile Zola's. "The Bondman," which had been begun in March, 1889, +at Aberleigh Lodge, Bexley Heath, Kent, a house of sinister +memory—for Caine narrowly escaped being murdered there one +night—was finished in October, at Castlerigg Cottage, +Keswick, and was published by Heinemann in 1890, with a success +which is far from being exhausted even to-day. In this year Hall +Caine experienced a great disappointment. He had been commissioned +by Sir Henry Irving to write a play on "Mahornet," and had written +three acts of it, when such an outcry was made in the press against +Irving's proposal to put "Mahomet" on the stage, to the certain +offence of British Mohammedans, that Sir Henry telegraphed to him +to say that the plan could not be carried out. He offered to +compensate Hall Caine for his labor. "I refused, however, to accept +one penny," says Caine, "and after relieving my feelings by +spitting on my antagonists in an angry article in 'The Speaker,' I +finished the play." It was accepted by Willard for production in +America, but has not yet been played. "This was a great +disappointment," says Caine, "and I had little heart for much work +in 1890. I did nothing in that year beyond a hasty 'Life of +Christ,' which has never been printed. I had read Renan's 'Life of +Christ,' and had been deeply impressed by it, and I had said that +there was a splendid chance for a 'Life of Christ' as vivid and as +personal from the point of belief as Renan's was from the point of +unbelief." This book he wrote, but was not satisfied with it, and +has refused to publish it, although only last year a firm of +publishers offered him three thousand pounds (fifteen thousand +dollars) for the manuscript. "No, I was not satisfied, though I had +brought to bear on it faculties which I had never used in my +novels. It was human, it was most dramatic, but it fell far short +of what I had hoped to do, and I put it away in my cupboard. I hope +to rewrite it some day."</p> +<p>In 1891 Hall Caine began to work on "The Scapegoat," and in the +spring of that year went to Morocco to fit the scenes to his idea. +He suffered there from very bad health, from severe neurosthenia. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page93" id="page93"></a>[pg +93]</span> "I was a 'degenerate,' he says, "à la Nordau." No +sooner had "The Scapegoat" been published, than the chief rabbi +wrote to him to ask him to go to Russia, to write about the +persecutions of the Jews in that country, and in 1892 he started on +this mission, which he fulfilled entirely at his own expense, +declining all the offers of subsidies made to him by the Jewish +Committee. He carried with him for protection against the Russian +authorities, a letter from Lord Salisbury to H. M.'s Minister at +St. Petersburg, to be delivered only in case of need; and as an +introduction to the possibly hostile Jewish Communities, a letter +in Hebrew to be presented to the rabbis in the various towns. +Lord's Salisbury's letter was never used, but the chief rabbi's +introduction secured him everywhere a most hospitable +reception.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:90%;"> +<img width="482" src="images/091.jpg" alt= +"'BLACK TOM' BEFORE 'THE COTTAGE BY THE WATER-TROUGH.'" /> +<h5>"BLACK TOM" BEFORE "THE COTTAGE BY THE WATER-TROUGH."</h5> +</div> +<p>"I went through the pale of settlement," he relates, "and saw as +much of frontier life amongst the Jews as possible and found them +like hunted dogs. I, however, got no further than the frontier +towns, for cholera had broken out, numerous deaths took place every +day, my own health was getting queer, and, to speak plainly, I was +frightened. So we turned our faces back and returned home. On my +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page94" id="page94"></a>[pg +94]</span> return to London I delivered a lecture before the Jewish +Workmen's Club in the East End, in a hall crammed to suffocation. I +shall never forget the enthusiasm of the audience, the tears, the +laughter, the applause, the wild embraces to which I was +subjected."</p> +<p>This was the only use that Hall Caine ever made of all his +experiences of his tour in Russia in 1892, which had lasted many +months, for when he returned to Cumberland to write the story which +was to be called "The Jew," he found the task impossible. "I worked +very hard at it, I turned it over in every direction in my mind, +but I felt I could not do it. I wanted the experience of a life; I +could not enter into competition in their own field with the great +Russian novelists. I found it could not be done."</p> +<br /> +<h4>THE WRITING OF "THE MANXMAN."</h4> +<p>In the meanwhile, circumstances had obliged him to give up +Castlerigg Cottage in disgust, and he accordingly removed to the +Isle of Man, with the determination of fixing his residence there +definitely. For the first six months he lived at Greeba Castle, a +very pretty but very lonely house, about half-way between Peel and +Douglas, on the Douglas road—and it was there that most of +"The Manxman" was written.</p> +<p>"I turned my Jewish story into a Manx story, and 'The Jew' +became 'The Manxman.' In my original scheme, Philip was to be a +Christian, governor of his province in Russia; Pete, Cregeen, and +Kate were to be Jews. I thought that the racial difference between +the two rivals would afford greater dramatic contrast than the +class difference, and it was only reluctantly that I altered the +scheme of my story."</p> +<p>Hall Caine, in speaking of the genesis of "The Manxman," may be +induced to show his little pocket-diary for 1893. Against each day +during the whole of January and part of February are written the +words: "The Jew."</p> +<p>"That means," he will explain, "that all those days I was +working at my story in my head."</p> +<p>"The Manxman" was finished at the house in Marine Parade in Peel +where Hall Caine is now temporarily residing—a large brick +house, which was built for a boarding-house and is certainly not +the house for an artist. As he has determined to make his home in +the island, he is at present hesitating whether to purchase Greeba +Castle, or to build himself a house on the Creg Malin headland at +Peel, than which no more wondrous site for a poet's home could be +found in the Queen's dominions, overlooking the bay, with the +rugged pile of Peel Castle, memory haunted, beyond.</p> +<p>He loves the Manx and they love him. At first "society" in the +island objected to his disregard of the conventions. Now he is as +popular at Government House, or at the Deemster's, as he is in +Black Tom's cottage. But his warmest friends are amongst the +peasants and fishermen, from one end of the island to the other. +"They are such good fellows," he says, "and such excellent subjects +for study for my books. They are current coin for me." So he asks +them to supper, and visits them in their houses, and has taught +himself their language and their strange intonations as they +speak.</p> +<p>In June and July of 1894, whilst in London, Hall Caine wrote a +dramatic version of "The Manxman" and offered it to Tree, who, +however, refused it, as unlikely to appeal to the sympathies of the +fashionable audiences of the Haymarket Theatre. In this version +Philip was the central figure. The version which has been played +with much success both in America and in the provinces, was written +by Wilson Barrett, with Pete as the central figure. It was +originally produced in Leeds, on August 20, 1894, and has met with +a good reception everywhere except in Manchester and New York. The +critics in the latter city wrote that it was a disgrace to the +book.</p> +<p>For some years past, Hall Caine has devoted himself to literary +public affairs. He is Sir Walter Resant's best supporter in his +noble efforts to protect authors and to advance their interests. +His ability as a public speaker and a politician of letters is +great, and in recognition of this he was asked—a most +distinguished honor—in November of last year to open the +Edinburgh Literary and Philosophical Institution for the winter +session, his predecessors having been John Morley and Mr. Goschen. +He is at this writing in America on behalf of the Authors' Society, +in connection with the Canadian copyright difficulty. He possesses +in a marked degree that sense of solidarity amongst men of letters +in which most successful authors are so singularly lacking, and the +great power with which his world-wide popularity has vested him is +used by him rather in the general interest of the craft than to own +advantage.</p> +<p>His life in his home in Peel, in the midst of his +family—the old parents, the pretty young wife, and the two +bonny lads—is noble in its simplicity, a life of high +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page95" id="page95"></a>[pg +95]</span> thinking, when, his success and personal popularity +being what they are, he has many temptations to worldliness.</p> +<p>He attributes his success in part to the fact that he has always +been a great reader of the Bible.</p> +<p>"I think," he says, "that I know my Bible as few literary men +know it. There is no book in the world like it, and the finest +novels ever written fall far short in interest of the stories it +tells. Whatever strong situations I have in my books are not of my +creation, but are taken from the Bible. 'The Deemster' is the story +of the prodigal son. 'The Bondman' is the story of Esau and Jacob, +though in my version sympathy attaches to Esau. 'The Scapegoat' is +the story of Eli and his sons, but with Samuel as a little girl. +'The Manxman' is the story of David and Uriah. My new book also +comes out of the Bible, from a perfectly startling source."</p> +<p>Hall Caine does not begin his books with a character or group of +characters, like Dickens or Scott, nor with a plot, like Wilkie +Collins, nor with a scene, like Black, but with an idea, a +spiritual intent. In all his books the central motive is always the +same. "It is," he says, "the idea of justice, the idea of a Divine +Justice, the idea that righteousness always works itself out, that +out of hatred and malice comes Love. My theory is that a novel, a +piece of imaginative writing, must end with a sense of justice, +must leave the impression that justice is inevitable. My theory is +also—on the matters which divide novelists into realists and +idealists—that the highest form of art is produced by the +artist who is so far an idealist that he wants to say something and +so far a realist that he copies nature as closely as he can in +saying it."</p> +<p>His methods of work are particular to himself. It is difficult +for a visitor in Hall Caine's house to find pens or ink. As a +matter of fact, his writing is done with a stylograph pen, which he +always carries in his pocket.</p> +<p>"I don't think," he says, "that I have sat down to a desk to +write for years. I write in my head to begin with, and the actual +writing, which is from memory, is done on any scrap of paper that +may come to hand; and I always write on my knee. My work is as +follows: I first get my idea, my central moral; and this usually +takes me a very long time. The incidents come very quickly, for the +invention of incidents is a very easy matter to me. I then labor +like mad in getting knowledge. I visit the places I propose to +describe. I read every book I can get bearing on my subject. It is +elaborate, laborious, but very delightful. I then make voluminous +notes. Then begins the agony. Each day it besets me, winter or +summer, from five in the morning till breakfast time. I awake at +five and lie in bed, thinking out the chapter that is to be written +that day, composing it word for word. That usually takes me up till +seven. From seven till eight I am engaged in mental revision of the +chapter. I then get up and write it down from memory, as fast as +ever the pen will flow. The rest of the morning I spend in lounging +about, thinking, thinking, thinking of my book. For when I am +working on a new book I think of nothing else; everything else +comes to a standstill. In the afternoon I walk or ride, thinking, +thinking. In the evenings, when it is dark, I walk up and down my +room constructing my story. It is then that I am happiest. I do not +write every day—sometimes I take a long rest, as I am doing +at present—and when I do write, I never exceed fifteen +hundred words a day. I do not greatly revise the manuscript for +serial publication, but I labor greatly over the proofs of the +book, making important changes, taking out, putting in, recasting. +Thus, after 'The Scapegoat' had passed through four editions and +everybody was praising the book, I felt uneasy because I felt I had +not done justice to my subject; so I spent two months in rewriting +it and had the book reset and brought out again. The public feeling +was that the book had not been improved, but I felt that I had +lifted it up fifty per cent."</p> +<p>"I am convinced," he continued, "that my system of writing the +book in my head first is a good one. It shows me exactly what I +want to say. The mental strain is, of course, immense, and that +forces you to go straight to your point; for the mind is not strong +enough to indulge in flirtations, in excursions at a tangent, as +the pen is apt to do."</p> +<p>Hall Caine was accused, when he began writing, of obscurity, of +a predilection for tortuous phrases. "I think that now I have +almost gone too far in the other direction," he says; "the critics +blame me for a neglect of style. But—you remember the story +of Gough and his diamond ring—I am determined not to let any +diamond ring get between me and my audience. Writing should not get +between the reader and the picture. I take a great joy in sheer +lucidity, and if any sentence of mine does not at the very first +sight express my meaning, I rewrite it. Obscurity of style +indicates that the writer is not entirely master of what he has to +say."</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page96" id="page96"></a>[pg +96]</span> +<a name="NEIGHBOR" id="NEIGHBOR"></a> +<div class="figure" style="width:100%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/094.jpg" alt= +"Neighbor King by Collins Shackelford" /> +<h2>NEIGHBOR KING.</h2> +<h3>By Collins Shackelford.</h3> +</div> +<p>When my husband, Micah Pyncheon, died he left me alone with our +baby girl, the farm, an' the grasshoppers. It happened in Kansas, +in '76.</p> +<p>You don't mind my crying now, do you? 't seems as though I'd +never get the tears all out of me. The time ain't so far away, nor +me so old, but that those days spread out before me like a +panorama, nat'ral as life. I can feel that hot summer sun, not a +cloud in the sky, an' the smell of the bakin' earth movin' all the +time in waves of heat until you got dizzy with the motion an' the +scent. An' the grasshoppers! You can't know how they came a-flyin' +by day an' by night in great brown clouds; how they crept an' +crawled an' squirmed through the wheat an' the corn an' the grass, +bitin' an' chewin' every green thing, leavin' nothin' but black an' +dry shreds, an' the earth more desolate than if a fire had swept +over it. They were everywhere out-of-doors; they came into the +house—down the chimney when they couldn't get in through the +door—an' I've picked their bony bodies out of my pockets many +a time, an' knocked 'em off the table so as I might put down a +dish. If you killed one, a thousand came to the funeral. All day +an' all night you heard the click, click, click of their bodies as +they walked about, jumped here an' there, or rubbed against one +another. An' poor Micah's body under the blanket—they were +all about it, an' I havin' to brush 'em away. Anybody would 'a' +cried if they'd been in my place, such a dreary day was +that—me an' baby all alone, with the village ten miles off, +an' not a soul nearer than neighbor King, three miles away.</p> +<p>Seems to me I don't know how Micah died, it was all so sudden +like. All day he'd been out in the sun a-fightin' the hoppers, an' +tryin' to work when he wasn't fightin'; an' he came in with his +head a hangin' forward an' not a smile on his lips as he put up his +hat an' rolled down his sleeves.</p> +<p>"I'm downright discouraged, Miranda," he said at last, lookin' +out of the window. "There's no use in standin' up agin natur an' +the hoppers. They eat faster'n I can kill 'em, an' in a week the +crops 'ull be about all gone. It looks as though when winter comes +we won't have anythin' to eat. I b'lieve I've killed ten thousand +of those creatures to-day, an' yet they came faster'n drops in a +rain-storm."</p> +<p>Then he picked up little Hannah an' lay down on the bed with her +in his arms, sayin' no more. I bustled 'round—speakin' +nothing, an' as quiet as possible, knowin' how tired in mind an' +body the poor man was—an' fixed up a nice supper. When the +table was all set, an' the food on it, an' everything as cheerful +an' encouragin' as the hoppers would let me make it, I called +Micah. But he didn't answer; so I stepped across the room an' put +my hand on his face, so as to wake him gently, as I was used to +doin'.</p> +<p>Oh, dear! Oh, dear! The loved face was cold and white, an' I +give one scream an' fell beside him, knowin' nothin'. Yes, Micah +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page97" id="page97"></a>[pg +97]</span> was dead—gone to sleep never to waken, passed from +life with little Hannah snuggled in his arms.</p> +<p>No wonder I cry when I remember that lonesome night, holdin' the +little one in my arms an' watchin' the still face on the bed, +knowin' that nevermore those eyes would look into mine, nevermore +those cold lips would speak to me. An' when the mornin' came, gray +an' hopeless, there was no one but me an' the baby an' poor Micah's +body; an' the hoppers a-creepin' an' a-crawlin' all through the +house as if they were a-buyin' of it at auction, a-rustlin' their +wings an' a-hustlin' their bodies until I thought theie was a cool +wind instead of a hot, breathless mornin'. I covered up the dear +face, an', kneelin' by his side, prayed an' cried, an' cried an' +prayed. It was all I could do for my husband of three years. I +don't know what else I did, what else I thought. I saw nothin', +heard nothin', until somebody's hand fell upon my shoulder.</p> +<p>"Why, Mrs. Pyncheon!" was the cry, an' lookin' up through my +tears I saw neighbor King a-standin' by me. "I was goin' up the +road," he said, "an' thought I'd stop an' say good-mornin'. Where's +Micah? In the field, an' you a-cryin' for lonesomeness?"</p> +<p>I answered nothin'; but put up my hand an' pulled back the sheet +from the dear dead face.</p> +<p>"My God!" was all he said, an' he staggered back to a chair an' +sat in it for five minutes without a word, his face in his +hands.</p> +<p>"Madam, forgive me! I never dreamed of such a thing," he cried +at last, recoverin' himself; "an' when an' how did it happen?"</p> +<p>I told him the story between sobs, breakin' down every few +words. Thank Heaven! it wasn't a long story, or I should have gone +crazy before it was told. He was silent for quite a spell, as if he +was a-meditatin' over the situation, lookin' mostly at poor Micah +as if drawin' ideas from the cold lips.</p> +<p>"Now, Mrs. Pyncheon!" he said finally, in his solemn voice an' +grave, slow way of talkin',—"now, Mrs. Pyncheon, you must +trust everythin' to me. You're beat out. I've no women folks in my +house, as you know; but I'll ride to town an' get an old lady, a +friend of mine, to come out an' help you through. I'll see, too, +that poor Micah has a coffin an' a minister. Be the brave little +woman, Mrs. Pyncheon, that Micah would tell you to be, if he could +speak. By sun-down I'll have somebody you can talk to an' who'll +cheer you up better than I can. To-morrow—to-morrow we'll +bury the poor man!"</p> +<p>When he said this it set me to cryin'. Then it was so still that +I looked up an' found myself alone. A-down the road was a line of +dust, an' I heard the muffled footfalls of neighbor King's horse on +his way to the village.</p> +<p>An' "to-morrow we'll bury him" were words that all that long, +lonesome, hot day kept soundin' in my ears as if some one was +callin' 'em out with the tickin' of the clock. "Bury him"—an' +Micah dead only a few hours! I couldn't believe it, an' would stop +an' listen for his whistle at the barn, his talk to the horses, his +rattle at the pump, his footfall at the door, until, crazy with +waitin,' I'd go over to the bed, pull back the sheet, an' in the +still face read why I should never hear those happy sounds +again—never again.</p> +<p>Ah, well! The sun went down at last; the long, dreary day was +ended, an' in the twilight came back my good neighbor with motherly +Mrs. Challen—an'—an'—it hurts me even now to tell +it—the coffin for. Micah. In it those two good people softly +placed him, an' all that night I watched its shape between me an' +the window.</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:50%;"> +<img width="400" src="images/095.jpg" alt= +"MRS. CHALLEN HELD ME IN HER ARMS." /> +<h5>"MRS. CHALLEN HELD ME IN HER ARMS."</h5> +</div> +<p>The next day, in the mornin', under the trees in the little +grove across from the house, my Micah was laid to rest +forever—placed so that when I looked out of the window or the +door I could see the mound of earth between the fence of tree limbs +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page98" id="page98"></a>[pg +98]</span> woven around it, an' seem' it, know that in that spot +was buried one who in my young life was more to me than earth or +heaven. I never understood how I got through those two terrible +days. I can't remember distinctly. It's all dream-like, as if in a +thin, grayish fog. I know that Mrs. Challen held me in her +arms—for I was a fragile, girlish thing—like a mother; +that the minister said words I never heard; that the strange faces +of a few farm people from miles away looked at me; that the +grasshoppers were under foot an' in the air an' even on the coffin; +but, above all else, I recall, movin' among the other people like +somebody from another world, the tall, straight form and sad face +of neighbor King. It was neighbor King who managed everything from +the minute his hand fell upon my shoulder that mornin' until the +last limb was knit into the rough fence around the lonely grave. +What would have happened to me without him?</p> +<p>I'm only a woman—one of the weak ones, I s'pose—for +I broke down entirely the night after poor Micah was buried, Mrs. +Challen said I went crazy; that I'd kneel down at the side of the +bed an' cry as if my heart would break; that again an' again I went +to the front door an' looked up an' down the lonely, treeless road, +an' then to the back door, where I would call "Micah!" +"Micah!"—just as I'd been used to callin' him to his meals, +an' I'd listen, with my hand to my ear, to hear him answer. Last of +all, worst of all, she said, I went staggerin' across the street, +an', pushin' through the rough fence, threw myself upon the grave +an' begged of the Great Father to give me back the dead that had +been so much to me when he was living. I don't wonder at my losing +my head. Micah an' I were both so young, an' we had loved each +other so much, as common folks often do, that to lose him was +robbin' my life of all its brightness an' sweetness.</p> +<p>The mornin' after the funeral neighbor King was round bright an' +early, findin' me red-eyed an' weakly.</p> +<p>"Well! well! Mrs. Pyncheon," he began, in what was for him a +cheery voice, "what are we a-goin' to do now besides summin' up a +little? Are we goin' to our relations?"</p> +<p>"No, Mr. King," I answered, havin' thought over the matter a +little, "no, I'm goin' to stay here. I have no relation I want to +bother. Here's the place for me an' Hannah. The farm is paid for, +an' all I have is here an'—an' over there," turnin' my face +to the spot where Micah lay. "If the grasshoppers 'ull let me, I +stay."</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:90%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/096.jpg" alt= +"THE MORNIN' AFTER THE FUNERAL NEIGHBOR KING WAS ROUND BRIGHT AN' EARLY." /> + +<h5>"THE MORNIN' AFTER THE FUNERAL NEIGHBOR KING WAS ROUND BRIGHT +AN' EARLY."</h5> +</div> +<p>"Quite right, madam. Very sensible. But, of course, while you +can do a good deal, you can't work the farm all alone. That's +impossible. I've been givin' the matter some thought, an' intend to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page99" id="page99"></a>[pg +99]</span> help you out, if you'll let me. Suppose we work it on +shares? You name my share, ma'am, an' I'll take care that my men +look after the hard work for you. The hoppers won't leave much for +this year; but what there is you shall have, an' I'll get my share +for this year out of next year's crops. I'm glad that suits you. +Now, you must not live here alone. One of my men has a sister in +the village, a stout, healthy, willin' girl, who wants a home. +She'll be glad to come here. I'll try to superintend affairs for +you, if you're willin', an' make the best of everything. Oh, we'll +keep you in good shape, never fear; but you mustn't mind my askin' +questions, so that I can get a knowledge of affairs. Now, don't +thank me. I'd rather you wouldn't. Just keep cheerful, an' as long +as we've got to live, let's make the best of life."</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:95%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/097.jpg" alt= +"THERE WAS HARDLY A DAY HE DID NOT RIDE OVER THE LITTLE FARM TO SEE HOW THINGS WERE GOIN'." /> + +<h5>"THERE WAS HARDLY A DAY HE DID NOT RIDE OVER THE LITTLE FARM TO +SEE HOW THINGS WERE GOIN'."</h5> +</div> +<p>This was very good from neighbor King—somethin' you +wouldn't expect from such a sad or solemn-lookin' man, a man so +quiet, so reserved, appearin' always as if he had some grief of his +own, so that he could sympathize with others in misery. He must +have been forty years old, for his dark brown hair was showin' gray +around the temples, an' there were deep wrinkles around the corners +of his mouth, an' lots of little ones around his deep, sunken brown +eyes. It always seemed to me as if he'd been constructed for a +minister or a lawyer, an' stopped half way as a farmer. He was no +half-acre farmer, but a worker of hundreds of acres; an' my little +homestead was only a potato patch alongside of his. The queerest +thing about his place was that there wasn't a woman on it. All the +work, cookin' an' everything was done by men. Well, girls was +scarce in those days an' those parts, an' perhaps that was the +reason. Maybe, again, he was afraid of women, an' didn't want 'em +bossin' around his work. I didn't know an' didn't care. It was no +concern of mine. I only knew he was mighty good to me in my +affliction—the truest, steadiest, most unselfish friend a +forlorn woman could have; an' every night I prayed for that same +neighbor King, askin' the Lord to bless him for the goodness an' +kindness he had shown to me.</p> +<p>True enough, the grasshoppers didn't leave me much that year, +just enough to keep soul and body together, with economy. The pesky +things eat everything from pussly to leaves. I b'lieve they'd 'a' +eaten the green out of the sky if they could 'a' got at it. Why, +the earth looked as if the devil had gone over it with a brush of +brown paint, missin' a spot here an' there that come up green after +the critters had got away. There was only one thing they didn't +eat, an' that was themselves—more's the pity!</p> +<p>Neighbor King (his other name was Horace, I found out +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page100" id="page100"></a>[pg +100]</span> afterwards) watched my farm matters pretty closely the +second year. He tended to my interests before his own, because, as +he said, I was a widow an' must not suffer. There was hardly a day +he did not ride over the little farm to see how things were goin', +always stopping at the door to have a cheerful talk, or to give me, +when comin' from the village, a crumb or two of news of the big +world so far away; an' often he left a newspaper, that I might read +myself what was a-goin' on. This man did everything, in his grave, +soothin' way, to smooth down my sorrow—not to lead me to +forget, for that was impossible—an' make the roadway of my +life as pleasant as a country lane hedged in with sweet-smellin' +flowers an' alive with birds nestlin' and twitterin' among the buds +and blossoms. In this quiet, restful, peaceful way neighbor King +came, in three years, to build his life into mine, until, thinkin' +matters over, I realized that he was necessary to make that life +pleasant. I didn't forget poor Micah—how could I? At the same +time I felt that I could not go on alone the balance of my life +with the hunger in my heart for some one to love an' to love me. +An' he? Well, not a word out of line had been spoken; but I read +the change in his eyes, his looks, his manners, in the tones of his +voice. Women read where there's neither print nor writin'. I +couldn't tell why he should love me, though as women go I was +young—fifteen years younger than he, an' fair lookin', an' a +worker. I was companionable an' in sympathy with him. Put yourself +in my place an' be the lonesome, forlorn creature I was, an' see if +you wouldn't love the man who put aside the dark clouds an' gave +you sunshine to drown despair, an' a cheerful voice instead of +silence. Neither of us spoke. It wasn't necessary. We understood. +An' because of that to me the skies were brighter, an' the earth +more beautiful, the days fuller of nature's music, an' there was +hope an' quiet joy everywhere.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:95%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/098.jpg" alt= +"HE DIDN'T STOP, AS WAS HIS HABIT, BUT CANTERED BY, HEAD DOWN AND REINS LOOSE." /> + +<h5>"HE DIDN'T STOP, AS WAS HIS HABIT, BUT CANTERED BY, HEAD DOWN +AND REINS LOOSE."</h5> +</div> +<p>Ah, me! I didn't know it; but behind this sunny life, back of +this bit of heaven that came down all around me, was a big, black +cloud full of storm. I remember well the evenin' it first began to +show itself. I saw neighbor King comin' down the road from the +village, on his pony. He didn't stop, as was his habit, but +cantered by, head down and reins loose. Then, as if he'd forgotten +somethin', he wheeled the horse sharp around, trotted back, threw +the bridle over a fence-post, an' came in. I saw somethin' was the +matter from the absent-minded way he talked an' by his lookin' +mostly at the floor.</p> +<p>Strange, too, he began about crops an' prices; then he had +somethin' to say about the village, and from that to livin' in big +cities, an' how such places changes people's natures, makin' women +different creatures—more bold, more forgetful of friends, +less kindly to their sex, than those of the country; an' he said it +all as slowly an' softly an' solemnly as those ministers pray who +don't think the Lord's deaf. He seemed to be tryin' to get at +somethin' by goin' round it; an' I thought that somethin' was +me.</p> +<p>"Neighbor King," I said finally, "you always speak so kindly of +women folks that it seems odd to me that you never have a woman on +your farm; an' odder still that you've never married."</p> +<p>"Mrs. Pyncheon," his face lightin' up like the sky just before +sunrise, "you an' I are old an' tried friends, an' I know you'll +respect an' keep secret what I'm going to tell you, an' what, to be +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page101" id="page101"></a>[pg +101]</span> plain, I came to tell you. I knew, an' I didn't wonder, +that you thought it strange I'd never married. The Lord only knows +how I hunger for a woman's love, a woman's talk, a woman's presence +where I can see her. I would give all I am worth if I could take a +good woman by the hand as my wife, an' go forth even to begin life +over again. Hunger an' thirst are terrible; but they are easily +borne in comparison with the hunger an' thirst for a woman's love +that I have endured for years. No one can realize my lonesomeness, +Mrs. Pyncheon;" an' reachin' out he caught my hands in his. "I've +been your friend for years. You know it. I believe you've been +mine. Will you continue such when I keep from you a truth I dare +not tell, an' give you in its place a fact that you must know? I +know you to be brave an' strong. You'll be so now, an' secret, +too—for no one here knows what I'm goin' to tell you. Mrs. +Pyncheon, I am a married man."</p> +<p>I couldn't help it; but the news was so sudden an' so startlin' +that my hands came away from his with a wrench, an' I drew away, +feelin' hurt an' shamed, if not guilty; an' I felt a flush of anger +burnin' my cheeks.</p> +<p>"There! there! don't misjudge me, Mrs. Pyncheon. Pity me, +instead. I've made no attempt to deceive you. I've been silent, +because I could not talk about a matter that was sad an' sacred. +Yes, I'm married; but"—an' great tears came into his +eyes—"my wife has been hopelessly insane for ten years. You +buried Micah an' mourned for him, knowin' he was dead; I buried my +wife alive, God knows whether I've grieved for her. She is in an +insane asylum. For years I could not break away an' leave her; it +seemed so heartless to desert one who had been the joy an' pride of +my youth. But the doctor told me that it was death for me if I +stayed; that I could not last more than a year goin' on as I'd been +livin'. Now you can understand why I am here, solitary an' +hopeless, without a friend—unless I can call you one?"</p> +<p>"You never had a truer one, neighbor King," my heart speakin' +out its gratitude. "When I think of what you've done for me, an' +how you've thought of me, all when the world was the +darkest,—why, it seems as if my life was too short in which +to say all my prayers for you."</p> +<p>Perhaps I spoke particularly quick an' spirited, an' perhaps my +eyes showed more'n I spoke; for he looked very queerly at me for a +minute, his face lightin' up in a way it was unused to, an' then he +said, "Thank you, Mrs. Pyncheon; I think I understand. I shall not +forget this meetin'. Good-by." An', before I knew what he meant to +do, he stooped an' kissed my forehead, an' was out of the house +before I could speak.</p> +<p>I wasn't angry; I wasn't hurt. If the truth was given, I was +delighted; for I, too, was hungry an' thirsty for a little love. I +was woman enough to know what that kiss meant. At the same time I +grieved for the poor man, chained, so to speak, to a crazy person, +bearin' his unseen burden so uncomplainingly, an' doin' God-like +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page102" id="page102"></a>[pg +102]</span> work all the year round. But the more I thought over +that kiss, the more I realized that between neighbor King an' +myself had been suddenly put up a high wall, he on one side, I on +the other; an' that in the future I should see him very seldom.</p> +<p>It happened as I thought. Days passed, an' neighbor King came +not. The thumpety-thump of his pony no longer sounded along the +road. Mornin's and evenin's came an' went, an' not a "howdy-do" in +his pleasant voice. I wasn't surprised; I expected as much for a +time. Finally, one of the hired men said he'd gone away. Then I put +my lips together in a dogged way an' settled down to a lonesome +life, cheered a little by the prattle of little Hannah, an' kept +from rustin' by the farm work. I was lonesome, very lonesome, when +the evenin' shadows crept over the ground, an' the crickets began +to sing, the katydids to scold, an' the hoot owl to give his +mournful cry over in the grove where Micah lay.</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:35%;"> +<img width="324" src="images/099.jpg" alt= +"ONE OF HIS MEN BROUGHT ME A LETTER—THE FIRST I'D HAD FOR YEARS" /> + +<h5>"ONE OF HIS MEN BROUGHT ME A LETTER—THE FIRST I'D HAD FOR +YEARS".</h5> +</div> +<p>There was daybreak at last, though nearly a month after neighbor +King had gone. One of his men brought me a letter—the first +I'd had for years—an' I looked at it a long time before I +opened it, wondering what strange news it had for me to know, why I +should have it, an' what I should do with it now it had come. I +knew the writin'. It was neighbor King's. Was it good news, or news +to shrivel my heart up as with fire? I tore off an end an' pulled +out the sheet. It didn't take long to read it.</p> +<blockquote> +<p class="works">Chicago, <i>August 17, 187-</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Pyncheon:</span> I find that my +wife has been dead a year.</p> +<p class="signed">Horace King.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The letter dropped from my hand. It was the heart-breaking end +of a love story—the closin' up of one of those little +tragedies which the world seldom hears about. Such love stories are +happening all the while among poor people, an' so are too common +for the way-up world; yet they are full of heartaches, an' hot, +droppin' tears, an' great sobs that are like moans. An' so my +neighbor King had come to the end of his tragedy; had found the +idol of his young life an' love put away in her grave, an' the +waitin' an' hopin' was at an end. What that good man must have +suffered durin' those ten long years, nobody but himself could +know. Now that he was free, possibly he would sell his farm an' go +back to the city to live, an' I, to whom he had been so good an' +grand, would soon be forgotten. Ah! that was a bitin' thought. It +almost crazed me, now that I knew how much I loved him, to think of +being left alone to grow old an' wrinkled an' withered, an' no +words of comfort to cheer me up along the path walked by nobody but +myself. I knew he was too great a man to plough his talents into +the soil or to hide the light of his intellect in the jungles of +his fields of wheat or corn. That letter made me feel, somehow, +that everything was suddenly changed; that my little world was not +the same as it had been ten minutes before. The tears came into my +eyes, an' I'm not sure but I was sobbin' under a forlorn, lonesome +feelin', when I heard a step behind me, an' before I could put away +the letter or wipe my eyes, a hand was softly laid upon my +shoulder. I sprang to my feet, too frightened to speak. Instantly +there was an arm around my neck an' a kiss upon my cheek, an' I +heard neighbor King say, with a happy laugh, "It's only me, +Miranda. I find I'm here as soon as my letter."</p> +<p>"I thought, you might not be comin' back," I whispered, with +quiverin' lips.</p> +<p>"Why, my darling, I've come back for you," he said, bendin' over +an' kissin' me again. "Didn't you understand me when I was here +last?"</p> +<p>"I thought I did, but wasn't sure. The kiss was a sort of +mystery. But it's all plain now, an' I'm so happy;" an' like a +little fool was off to cryin' again, this time for gladness, an' he +a-holdin' me close in his arms.</p> +<p>This may not read like much of a love story, yet it was a bitter +story for me, all in all, during the years from Micah's death to +the golden mornin' that brought such sweet relief an' rest. The +thought troubles me now an' then, but I don't believe that Micah, +if he sees from the other world what I've done, blames me for the +change. He knows I can't forget him, an' would not if I could.</p> +<p>Through months an' years of loneliness, of heartaches, of hopin' +an' expectin', of draggin' along for no particular purpose, save to +keep body an' soul together; with few joys, an' but little else +than sighin'; an' the great world made no more for me than a little +farm, a little house, an' a voiceless sky above me—what +blame, then, have I, if I brightened an' happified my life an' his +by makin' neighbor King my husband?</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page103" id="page103"></a>[pg +103]</span> <a name="DARDANELLES" id="DARDANELLES"></a> +<h2>THROUGH THE DARDANELLES.</h2> +<h3>by Cy Warman,</h3> +<p class="works">Author of "A Thousand-mile Ride on the Engine of +a 'Flyer.'"</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Soul of Sappho, if, to-night,</p> +<p class="i4">When my boat is drifting near</p> +<p class="i2">Your fair island, spirit bright—</p> +<p class="i4">If I sing, and if you hear,</p> +<p class="i2">From your island in the sea,</p> +<p class="i2">Soul of Sappho, speak to me.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Soul of Sappho, they have said</p> +<p class="i4">That your hair, a heap of gold,</p> +<p class="i2">Made a halo for your head;</p> +<p class="i4">And your eyes, I have been told,</p> +<p class="i2">Were like stars. Oh, from the sea,</p> +<p class="i2">Soul of Sappho, speak to me!</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Constantinople may be considered as the end of the railway +system of the earth. Here, if you wish to see more of the Orient, +you must take to the sea. There is, to be sure, a projected railway +out of the Sultan's city into the interior, but only completed to +Angora, three hundred and sixty-five miles. The intention of the +projectors was to continue the road down to Bagdad, on the river +Tigris, through which they could reach the Persian Gulf.</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:70%;"> +<img width="500" src="images/101.jpg" alt= +"SACRED DOGS, CONSTANTINOPLE." /> +<h5>SACRED DOGS, CONSTANTINOPLE.</h5> +</div> +<p>I had arranged to go to Angora, but found a ten-days' quarantine +five miles out of Constantinople, and backed into town, and then +made an effort to secure from the office of the titled German who +stands for the railway company, some idea of the road, its +prospects, probable cost, and estimated earnings, but had my +letters returned without a line.</p> +<p>To show them that I was acting in good faith, and willing to pay +for what I got, I went with Vincent, the guide (the only guide I +ever had), and asked them for some printed matter or photographs, +or anything that would throw a little light along the line of their +plague-stricken railway; but they still refused to talk. No wonder +it has taken these dreamers ten years to build three hundred and +sixty miles of very cheap railroad.</p> +<p>It was my misfortune to fall into a little old Austrian-Lloyd +steamer called the "Daphne." Before we lifted anchor in the Golden +Horn I learned that her boilers had not been overhauled for ten +years; and before we reached the Dardanelles I concluded that the +sand had not been changed in the pillows for a quarter of a +century. I have slept in the American Desert for a period of thirty +nights, between the earth and the heavens, and found a better bed +than was made by the ossified mattress and petrified pillows of the +"Daphne." It was bad enough to breathe the foul air that came up +from the camping pilgrims on the main deck; but the first day out +we learned that these ugly Armenians, greasy Greeks, and buggy +Bedouins would be allowed to come up on the promenade deck and +mingle with those who had paid for first-class passage. Poorly +clad, half-starved, poverty-stricken people, headed for the Holy +Land, came and rubbed elbows with American and European women and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page104" id="page104"></a>[pg +104]</span> children. Of course one sympathizes with these poor, +miserable people, but one does not want their secrets.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:85%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/102.jpg" alt= +"THE RAILROAD STATION AT CONSTANTINOPLE." /> +<h5>THE RAILROAD STATION AT CONSTANTINOPLE.</h5> +</div> +<p>We left the Bosporus at twilight, crossed the Sea of Marmora +during the night, and the next morning were at Gallipoli, where the +bird-seeds come from. The day broke beautifully, and the little sea +was as calm as a summer lake. By ten o'clock we were drifting down +the Dardanelles, which resembles a great river, for the land is +always near on either side.</p> +<p>The ship's doctor, who was my guide, at every landing-place +kindly pointed out the many points of interest.</p> +<p>"Those pyramids over there," he would say, "were erected by the +Turks, to commemorate a victory. Here is where Byron swam the sea +from Europe to Asia; and over there is where King Midas lived, +whose touch turned piastres to napoleons, and flounders to +goldfish. Here, to the left, on that hill, stood ancient Troy."</p> +<p>All things seemed to work together to make the day a most +enjoyable one, and just at nightfall the doctor came to me and +said:</p> +<p>"See that island over there? That was the home of Sappho."</p> +<p>An hour later we anchored in a little natural harbor, and five +of us went ashore. Besides the ship's doctor (whose uniform was a +sufficient passport for all), there were in our party a Pole and a +Frenchman—both inspectors of revenue for the Turkish +government, and splendid fellows—a Belgian, and the writer. +We entered a <i>café</i> concert, where one man and five or +six girls sat in a sort of balcony at one end of the building and +played at "fiddle." The main hall was filled with small tables, at +which were Greeks, Arabs, Armenians, Turks, and negroes as black as +a hole in the night. Between acts the girls were expected to come +down, distribute themselves about, and consume beer and other fluid +at the expense of the frequenters.</p> +<p>The girls were nearly all Germans, plain, honest, tired-looking +creatures, who seemed half embarrassed at seeing what they call +Europeans. One very pretty girl, with peachy checks, who, as we +learned, had for several evenings been in the habit of drinking +beer with a Greek, sat this evening with a dark Egyptian, almost +jet-black. The Greek—a hollow-chested, long-haired +fellow—came in, and, the moment he saw the girl with the +chalk-eyed Egyptian, turned red, then white, and then whipping out +a pistol levelled it at the girl. Nearly all the lights went out, +and the girl dropped from the chair. When the smoke and excitement +cleared away, it was found that the bullet had only parted the +girl's hair, and she was able to take her fiddle and beer when time +was called.</p> +<p>At midnight we were rowed back to the boat, with all the poetry +knocked out of the isle of Sappho, hoisted anchor, and steamed +away. On the whole, however, the day had been most delightful. To +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page105" id="page105"></a>[pg +105]</span> me there are no fairer stretches of water for a +glorious day's sail than the Dardanelles.</p> +<p>When we dropped anchor again, ten hours later, it was at Smyrna, +the garden of Asia Minor. Here I went ashore with my faithful guide +the doctor, and found a real railway.</p> +<br /> +<h4>THE FIRST RAILROAD IN ASIA MINOR.</h4> +<p>The Ottoman Railway, whose headquarters are at Smyrna, was the +first in Asia Minor, and was begun by the English company which +continues to do business, thirty-six years ago. William Shotton, +the locomotive superintendent, showed us through the shops and +buildings. One does not need to be told that this property is +managed by an English company. I saw here the neatest, cleanest +shops that I have ever seen in any country. There were in the car +shops some carriages just completed, designed and built by native +workmen who had learned the business with the company, and I have +not seen such artistic cars in England or France.</p> +<p>Mr. Shotton explained to me that they found it necessary to ask +an applicant his religion before employing him, so as to keep the +Greeks and Catholics about equally divided; otherwise, the faction +in the majority would lord it over the weaker band to the detriment +of the service. An occasional Mohammedan made no difference, but +the Greeks and Catholics have it "in" for each other.</p> +<p>The Ottoman Railway Company has three hundred and fifty miles of +good railroad, and hope some day to be able to continue across to +Bagdad, though it is hinted by people not interested that the +Sultan's government favors the sleepy German company, to the +embarrassment of the Smyrna people, who have done so much for the +development of this marvellously blessed section.</p> +<p>We spent a pleasant day at Smyrna, with its watermelons, Turkish +coffee, and camels, and twenty-four hours later we were at the Isle +of Rhodes, where the great Colossus was. It was a dark, dreary, +windy night, and the Turks fought hard for the ship's ladder; for +we had on board a wise old priest from Paris, with a string of six +or eight young priests, who were to unload at Rhodes. Despite the +cold, raw wind and rain, men came aboard with canes, beads, and +slippers made of native wood—for there is a prison, +here—and offered them for sale at very low prices.</p> +<p>For the next forty-eight hours our little old ship was walloped +about in a boisterous sea, and when we stopped again it was at +Mersina, where a little railway runs up to Tarsus. As we arrived at +this place after sunset, which ends the Turkish day, we were +obliged to lie here twenty-four hours to get landing. An hour +before sunset it is twenty-three o'clock, an hour after it is one. +That's the way the Turks tell time.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:75%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/103.jpg" alt= +"JAFFA FROM THE HARBOR." /> +<h5>JAFFA FROM THE HARBOR.</h5> +</div> +<p>On the morning of the second day after our arrival at this +struggling little port, our anchor touched bottom in the beautiful +bay of Alexandretta. Here they show you the quiet nook where the +whale "shook" Jonah. That was a sad and lasting lesson for the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page106" id="page106"></a>[pg +106]</span> whale, for not one of his kind has been seen in the +Mediterranean since. All day we watched them hoist crying sheep and +mild-eyed cattle, with a derrick, from row-boats, up over the deck, +by the feet, and drop them down into the ship just as carelessly as +a boy would drop a string of squirrels from his hand to the ground. +The next morning we rode into the only harbor on the Syrian coast, +and anchored in front of the beautiful city of Beyrout.</p> +<p>It would take too long to describe this place, even if I had the +power. To tell of the road to Damascus, the drives to the hills of +Lebanon, through the silk farms; the genial and obliging American +consul, and the American college. Here, after nine days and nights, +we said "good-by" to the obliging crew of the poor old +"Daphne."</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:95%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/104.jpg" alt= +"A CREW OF JAFFA BOATMEN." /> +<h5>A CREW OF JAFFA BOATMEN.</h5> +</div> +<p>For nearly a week the steamers had been passing Jaffa without +landing, and the result was that Beyrout and Port Saïd were +filled with passengers and pilgrims for the Holy Land. All day the +Russian steamer, which we were to take, had been loading with deck +or steerage passengers, poorer and sicker and hungrier, if +possible, than those on the "Daphne." It was dark when they had +finished, and when we steamed out of the harbor we had seven +hundred patches of poverty piled up on the deck.</p> +<p>It began to rain shortly, that cold, damp rain that seems to go +with a rough sea just as naturally as red liquor goes with crime. +For a week or more these miserable, misguided beggars had been +carried by Jaffa, from Beyrout to Port Saïd, then from Port +Saïd to Beyrout, unable to land. The good captain caused a +canvas to be stretched over the shivering, suffering mob that +covered the deck, but the pitiless rain beat in, and the wind +moaned the rigging, and the ship rolled and pitched and ploughed +through the black sea, and the poor pilgrims regretted the trip, in +each other's laps. All night, and till nearly noon the next day, +they lay there, more dead than alive, and the hardest part of their +pilgrimage was yet before them.</p> +<p>If you have ever seen a flock of hungry gulls around a floating +biscuit, you can form a very faint idea of a mob of native boatmen +storming a ship at Jaffa. Of course, the ladders are filled first, +then those who have missed the ladders drive bang against the ship, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page107" id="page107"></a>[pg +107]</span> grab a rope or cable, or anything they can grasp, and +run up the iron, slippery side of the ship as a squirrel runs up a +tree.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:90%;"> +<img width="600" src="images/105.jpg" alt= +"A STREET SCENE IN JERUSALEM." /> +<h5>A STREET SCENE IN JERUSALEM.</h5> +</div> +<p>From the top of the ship they began to fire the bags, bundles, +and boxes of the deck passengers down into the broad boats that lay +so thick at the ship's side as to hide the sea entirely. When they +had thrown everything overboard that was loose at one end, they +began on the poor pilgrims.</p> +<p>Women, old and young, who were scarcely able to stand up, were +dragged to the ladders and down to the last step. Here they were +supposed to wait for the boat into which the Arabs were preparing +to pitch them, for the sea was still very rough. Now the bottom +step of the ladder was in the water, now six feet above, but what +did these poor ignorant Russians know about gymnastics? When the +rolling sea brought the row-boats up, the pilgrim usually +hesitated, while the bare-armed and bare-legged boatmen yelled and +wrenched her hands from the chains. By the time the Mohammedans had +shaken her loose, and the victim had crossed herself, the ladder +was six or eight feet from the small boat; but it was too late to +stay her now, even if the Arabs had wished to, but they did not. +When she made the sign of the cross, that decided them, and they +let her drop. Some waiting Turks made a feeble attempt to catch the +sprawling woman, but not much. Sometimes, before one could rise, +another woman—for they were nearly all women—would drop +upon her bent back. Sometimes, when the first boat was filled, an +Arab would catch the pilgrim on his neck, and she could then be +seen riding him away, as a woman rides a bicycle. From one boat to +another he would leap with his helpless victim, and finally pitch +her forward, over his own head, into an empty boat, where she would +lie limp and helpless, and regret it some more.</p> +<p>I saw one poor girl, with great heavy boots on her feet, with +horse-shoe nails in the heels, fall into the bottom of a boat, and, +before she could get up, three large women were dropped in her lap. +Just then the boat, being full, pulled off, and I saw her faint; +her head fell back, and her deathlike face showed how she suffered. +It was rare sport for the Mohammedans.</p> +<p>"Jump," they would say to the Christians; "don't be afraid; +Christ will save you!"</p> +<p>It was four P.M. when the last of these miserable people, who +ought to have been at home hoeing potatoes, left the ship. An hour +later a long dark line of smoke was stretching out across the plain +of Sharon, behind a locomotive drawing a train of stock cars. These +cars held the seven hundred pilgrims bound for Jerusalem. It will +be midnight when they arrive at the Holy City, and they will have +no money and no place to sleep. Ah, I forgot. They will go to the +Russian hospice, where they will find free board and lodging. It is +kind and thoughtful in the Russian church people to care for those +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page108" id="page108"></a>[pg +108]</span> poor pilgrims, now that they are here, but it is not +right nor kind to encourage them to come. It will be strangely +interesting to them at first, but when they have seen it all, there +will be nothing for them but idleness. Nothing to do but walk, +walk, up the valley of Jehoshaphat and down the road to +Bethlehem.</p> +<br /> +<h4>JERUSALEM.</h4> +<p>Nearly all the "places of interest" in and about Jerusalem have +been collected together, and are now exhibited under one roof, in +the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Most travellers go there first, +but they should not. One should go first to the Mount of Olives, +survey, and try to understand the country. It is easy to believe +that this is the original mount. There, at your feet, is the Garden +of Gethsemane, and beyond the gulch of Jehoshaphat (for it is not a +valley) is the dome of the marvellous Mosque of Omar. It is easy to +believe, also, that the dome of this mosque covers the rock where +Abraham was about to offer up his son, for it is surely the highest +point on Mount Moriah.</p> +<p>Looking along the wall you can see the Golden Gate, with the +decay of which, the Mohammedans say, will come the fall of Islam, +just as the Sultan's power shall pass away when the last sacred dog +dies. Looking down the cañon you see the old King's Garden, +the pool of Siloam, the Virgin's Well, and, farther down, some poor +houses where the lepers live. Still farther, fourteen miles away, +and four thousand feet below you, lies the deep Dead Sea, beyond +which are the hills of Moab. If you have been lucky enough to come +up here without a guide or dragoman with a bosom full of +ivory-handled revolvers and long knives, you will sit for hours +spellbound. The guide tries too hard to give you your money's +worth. He will not allow you to muse over these things, which are +reasonably real and true, but will tell you the most marvellous +stories, which you cannot believe. He will show you the grave of +Moses, and I am told that the Scriptures say, "No man knoweth where +his grave is;" yet, if you doubt, the guide feels hurt. He will ask +you to harken to the "going in the mulberries," and if you say you +don't hear he is surprised.</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:70%;"> +<img width="400" src="images/106.jpg" alt= +"LEPERS IN JERUSALEM." /> +<h5>LEPERS IN JERUSALEM.</h5> +</div> +<p>I made no notes of Jerusalem, for I did not and do not intend to +write of it. It was well done long ago by a man equally innocent +and more abroad, and has not changed much since. The Turks are +still on guard at the cradle and the grave of Christ, to try and +keep the devout Christians from spattering up the walls with each +other's blood. The lamps have been carefully and nearly equally +divided between the Greeks, Catholics, and Armenians, as well as +the space around and the time for worship.</p> +<p>What strikes the traveller most forcibly on seeing Jerusalem for +the first time is the littleness of everything. The Mount of Olives +is a little mound; Mount Moriah is a scarcely perceptible rise of +ground; Mount Zion is a gentle hill; the valley of Jehoshaphat is a +deep, ugly gulch, with scarcely enough water in it to wet a postage +stamp: and the Tyropoeon Valley is an alley. Then you look at the +unspeakable poverty, the dreariness, the miles of piles of hueless +rocks, and are interested. The desert is interesting because it is +desolate, but it is an awful interest. The people—the beggars +that hound you—are as poor, as dwarfed and deformed as the +gnarled trees that try to live on the naked rocks.</p> +<p>One day in a narrow street we met two women who nearly blocked +the way.</p> +<p>"They are lepers!" cried the guide, pushing me by them. I +started to run, for never had the voice of man thrilled and filled +me with such fear; but, remembering my photographic machine, I had +the guide throw them some coin, and made a picture, but not a good +one. I was surprised that the poor beggar near whose feet the money +fell made no effort to pick it up, but continued to pray to us, and +waited for her companion. Then I saw that there were no fingers on +her hands.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page109" id="page109"></a>[pg +109]</span> <a name="LETTERS" id="LETTERS"></a> +<h2>THE EARLIEST PORTRAIT OF LINCOLN</h2> +<h3>LETTERS IN REGARD TO THE FRONTISPIECE OF THE NOVEMBER +McCLURE'S.</h3> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>FROM THE HON. THOMAS M. COOLEY, for many years Chief Justice of +the Supreme Court of Michigan, and the first Chairman of the +Inter-State Commerce Commission.</p> +<p class="letter">ANN ARBOR, MICHIGAN, <i>October 24, 1895.</i></p> +<p>MR. S.S. McCLURE, <i>New York City</i>.</p> +<p class="dearsir"><i>Dear Sir</i>: I have received the +daguerreotype likeness you sent me on the 19th inst., and which you +understand to be the first ever taken of Mr. Lincoln. I am +delighted to have the opportunity to see and inspect it. I think it +a charming likeness; more attractive than any other I have seen, +principally perhaps because of the age at which it was taken. The +same characteristics are seen in it which are found in all +subsequent likenesses—the same pleasant and kindly eyes, +through which you feel, as you look into them, that you are looking +into a great heart. The same just purposes are also there; and, as +I think, the same unflinching determination to pursue to final +success the course once deliberately entered upon. And what +particularly pleases me is that there is nothing about the picture +to indicate the low vulgarity that some persons who knew Mr. +Lincoln in his early career would have us believe belonged to him +at that time. The face is very far from being a coarse or brutal or +sensual face. It is as refined in appearance as it is kindly. It +seems almost impossible to conceive of this as the face of a man to +be at the head of affairs when one of the greatest wars known to +history was in progress, and who could push unflinchingly the +measures necessary to bring that war to a successful end. Had it +been merely a war of conquest, I think we can see in this face +qualities that would have been entirely inconsistent with such a +course, and that would have rendered it to this man wholly +impossible. It is not the face of a bloodthirsty man, or of a man +ambitious to be successful as a mere ruler of men; but if a war +should come involving issues of the very highest importance to our +common humanity, and that appealed from the oppression and +degradation of the human race to the higher instincts of our +nature, we almost feel, as we look at this youthful picture of the +great leader, that we can see in it as plainly as we saw in his +administration of the government when it came to his hands that +here was likely to be neither flinching nor shadow of turning until +success should come.</p> +<p class="yours">Very respectfully yours,</p> +<p class="letter">THOMAS M. COOLEY.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>FROM HERBERT B. ADAMS, Professor of History in Johns Hopkins +University.</p> +<p class="letter">JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY, BALTIMORE, MARYLAND, +<i>October 24, 1895.</i></p> +<p>S.S. McCLURE, ESQ., 30 <i>Lafayette Place, New York +City</i>.</p> +<p class="dearsir"><i>My Dear Mr. McClure</i>: I thank you for a +copy of the new portrait of Abraham Lincoln, which I shall promptly +have framed and exhibited to my historical students. Indeed, I +called it to their attention this morning, and they are all greatly +interested in this remarkable likeness of the Saviour of his +Country. The portrait indicates the natural character, strength, +insight, and humor of the man before the burdens of office and the +sins of his people began to weigh upon him. The prospect of a new +life of Lincoln, revealing the Man as well as the Statesman, is +most pleasing. From the previous work of Miss Tarbell on Napoleon, +and from her preliminary sketches of Lincoln's boyhood, I am +confident that this new series which you have undertaken to publish +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page110" id= +"page110"></a>[pg 110]</span> will have unique interest for +the American people, and prove an unqualified success. The +illustrations of the first number are worthy of the subject-matter. +You have secured a wonderful combination of literary skill and +artistic excellence in the presentation of Lincoln's life.</p> +<p class="yours">Very sincerely yours,</p> +<p class="letter">H.B. ADAMS.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>FROM HENRY C. WHITNEY, an associate of Lincoln's on the circuit +in Illinois, whose unpublished notes have saved from oblivion the +great "lost speech" made by Lincoln at Bloomington in 1856, at the +first meeting for organizing the Republican party in Illinois. Mr. +Whitney's account of this speech will appear later in this +Magazine.</p> +</blockquote> +<blockquote> +<p class="letter">BEACHMONT, MASSACHUSETTS, <i>October 24, +1895.</i></p> +<p class="dearsir"><i>My Dear Sir</i>: I am greatly obliged for +your early picture of Abraham Lincoln, which I regard as an +important contribution to history. It is without doubt authentic +and accurate; and dispels the illusion so common (but never shared +by me) that Mr. Lincoln was an ugly-looking man. In point of fact, +Mr. Lincoln was always a noble-looking—always a highly +intellectual looking man—not handsome, but no one of any +force ever thought of that. All pictures, as well as the living +man, show <i>manliness</i> in its highest tension—this as +emphatically as the rest. This picture was a surprise and pleasure +to me. I doubt not it is its first appearance. It will be hailed +with pleasure by friends of Mr. Lincoln. You ought to put his +<i>latest</i> picture (the one I told Miss Tarbell about) with it. +This picture was probably taken between December, 1847, and March, +1849, while he was in Congress. I never saw him with his hair +combed before.</p> +<p class="yours">Yours,</p> +<p class="letter">HENRY C. WHITNEY.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>FROM THE HON. HENRY B. BROWN, Associate Justice of the Supreme +Court of the United States.</p> +<p class="letter">WASHINGTON, <i>October 23, 1895.</i></p> +<p>S.S. McCLURE, <i>New York</i>.</p> +<p class="dearsir"><i>Dear Sir</i>: Accept my thanks for the +engraving of the earliest picture of Mr. Lincoln. I recognized it +at once, though I never saw Mr. Lincoln, and know him only from +photographs of him while he was President. I think you were +fortunate in securing the daguerreotype from which this was +engraved, and it will form a very interesting contribution to the +literature connected with this remarkable man. From its resemblance +to his later pictures I should judge the likeness must be an +excellent one.</p> +<p class="yours">Very truly yours,</p> +<p class="letter">H.B. BROWN.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>FROM MAJOR J.W. POWELL, of the United States Geological +Survey.</p> +<p class="letter">WASHINGTON, <i>October 24, 1895.</i></p> +<p class="dearsir"><i>My Dear McCLURE</i>: I am delighted with the +proof of the portrait of Lincoln from a daguerreotype. His pictures +have never quite pleased me, and I now know why. I remember Lincoln +as I saw him when I was a boy; after he became a public man I saw +him but few times. This portrait is Lincoln as I knew him best: his +sad, dreamy eye, his pensive smile, his sad and delicate face, his +pyramidal shoulders, are the characteristics which I best remember; +and I can never think of him as wrinkled with care, so plainly +shown in his later portraits. This is the Lincoln of Springfield, +Decatur, Jacksonville, and Bloomington.</p> +<p class="yours">Yours cordially,</p> +<p class="letter">J.W. POWELL.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page111" id="page111"></a>[pg +111]</span> +<blockquote> +<p>FROM MR. JOHN C. ROPES, author of "The First Napoleon" and "The +Story of the Civil War."</p> +<p class="letter">99 MOUNT VERNON STREET, BOSTON, <i>October 24, +1895.</i></p> +<p>S.S. McCLURE, ESQ.</p> +<p class="dearsir"><i>My Dear Sir</i>: I thank you for the +engraving of the daguerreotype portrait of Mr. Lincoln. It is +assuredly a most interesting portrait. The expression, though +serious and earnest, is devoid of the sadness which characterizes +the later likenesses. There is an appearance of strength and +self-confidence in this face, and an evident sense of humor. This +picture is a great addition to our portraits of Mr. Lincoln.</p> +<p>With renewed thanks, I am,</p> +<p class="yours">Very truly yours,</p> +<p class="letter">J.C. ROPES.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>FROM WOODROW WILSON, Professor of Finance and Political Economy +at Princeton.</p> +<p class="letter">PRINCETON, NEW JERSEY, <i>October 23, +1895.</i></p> +<p>MR. S. S. McCLURE.</p> +<p class="dearsir"><i>My Dear Mr. McCLURE</i>: I thank you very +much for the portrait of Lincoln you were kind enough to send me, +reproduced from an early daguerreotype. It seems to me both +striking and singular. The fine brows and forehead, and the pensive +sweetness of the clear eyes, give to the noble face a peculiar +charm. There is in the expression the dreaminess of the familiar +face without its later sadness. I shall treasure it as a notable +picture.</p> +<p class="yours">Very sincerely yours,</p> +<p class="letter">WOODROW WILSON.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>FROM C. R. MILLER, editor of the New York "Times."</p> +<p class="letter">NEW YORK, <i>October 24, 1895.</i></p> +<p>S. S. McCLURE, ESQ., <i>City</i>.</p> +<p class="dearsir"><i>Dear Mr. McCLURE</i>: I thank you for the +privilege you have given me of looking over some of the text and +illustrations of your new Life of Lincoln. The portraits are of +extraordinary interest, especially the "earliest" portrait, which I +have never seen before. It is surprising that a portrait of such +personal and historic interest could so long remain +unpublished.</p> +<p class="yours">Yours very truly,</p> +<p class="letter">C. R. MILLER.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>FROM THE HON. DAVID J. BREWER, Associate Justice of the Supreme +Court of the United States.</p> +<p class="letter">WASHINGTON, <i>October 24, 1895.</i></p> +<p>S. S. McCLURE, ESQ., <i>New York</i>.</p> +<p class="dearsir"><i>My Dear Sir</i>: I have yours of 19th inst., +accompanied by an engraving of an early picture of Abraham Lincoln. +Please accept my thanks for your kindness. The picture, if a +likeness, must have been taken many years before I saw him and he +became the central figure in our country's life. Indeed, I find it +difficult to see in that face the features with which we are all so +familiar. It certainly is a valuable contribution to any biography +of Mr. Lincoln, and I wish that in some way the date at which it +was taken could be accurately determined.</p> +<p class="yours">Yours truly,</p> +<p class="letter">DAVID J. BREWER.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page112" id="page112"></a>[pg +112]</span> +<blockquote> +<p>FROM MURAT HALSTEAD, for many years editor of the Cincinnati +"Commercial Gazette," and now editor of the Brooklyn +"Standard-Union."</p> +<p class="letter">BROOKLYN STANDARD-UNION, <i>October 23, +1895.</i></p> +<p><i>S. S. McCLURE</i>.</p> +<p class="dearsir"><i>My Dear Sir</i>: I am under obligations to +you for the artist's proof of the engraving of Abraham Lincoln as a +young man. It is a surprising good fortune that you have this most +interesting and admirable portrait. It is the one thing needed to +tell the world the truth about Lincoln. The old daguerreotype was, +after all, the best likeness, in the right light, ever made. This +is incredibly fine. It shows Lincoln to have been in his youth very +handsome, and the stamp of a manhood of noble promise is in this. +There is manifest, too, intellectuality. The head is grand, the +mouth is tender, the expression composed and pathetic. One sees the +possibility of poetry and romance in it. The dress is not careless, +but neat and elegant. The elaborate tie of the cravat is most +becoming. The chin is magnificent. The length of neck is shaded +away by the collars and the voluminous necktie. This young man +might do anything important. I cannot understand how this wonderful +picture should have been private property so long. It is at once +the first and last chapter of the life of Lincoln. The young face +of Lincoln, thus far unknown to the world, will be the most famous +of all his portraits. It will be multiplied by the million, and be +found in every house inhabited by civilized men.</p> +<p class="letter">MURAT HALSTEAD.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>FROM GENERAL FRANCIS A. WALKER, President of the Massachusetts +Institute of Technology.</p> +<p class="letter">BOSTON, <i>October 24, 1895.</i></p> +<p>S. S. McCLURE, ESQ., <i>30 Lafayette Place, New York +City</i>.</p> +<p class="dearsir"><i>Dear Mr. McCLURE</i>: I am in receipt of your +picture of Lincoln. Having seen Mr. Lincoln in the war time, I have +not been so dependent upon photographs and engravings as have most +of the men of my generation for an impression of Mr. Lincoln's +personality. I can, however, say that the present picture has +distinctly helped me to understand the relation between Mr. +Lincoln's face and his mind and character, as shown in his life's +work. It is, far away, the most interesting presentation of the man +I have ever seen. To my eye it <i>explains</i> Mr. Lincoln far more +than the most elaborate line-engraving which has been produced.</p> +<p class="yours">Very truly yours,</p> +<p class="letter">FRANCIS A. WALKER.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr /> +<blockquote> +<p>FROM CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER.</p> +<p class="letter">HARTFORD, <i>October 24, 1895.</i></p> +<p class="dearsir"><i>My Dear Mr. McCLURE</i>: The engraving you +sent me of an authentic picture of Abraham Lincoln is of very great +interest and value. I wish the date could be ascertained. The +change from the Lincoln of this portrait to the Lincoln of history +is very marked, and shows a remarkable development of character and +expression. It must be very early. The deep-set eyes and mouth +belong to the historical Lincoln, and are recognizable as his +features when we know that this is a portrait of him. But I confess +that I should not have recognized the likeness. I was familiar with +his face as long ago as 1857, '58, '59. I used often to see him in +the United States Court room in Chicago, and hear him, sitting with +other lawyers, talk and tell stories. He looked then essentially as +he looked when I heard him open in Chicago the great debate with +Douglas, and when he was nominated. But the change from the Lincoln +of this picture to the Lincoln of national fame is almost radical +in character, and decidedly radical in expression.</p> +<p>For the study of the man's development, I think this new old +portrait has a peculiar value.</p> +<p class="yours">Yours sincerely,</p> +<p class="letter">CHAS. DUDLEY WARNER.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr class="full" /> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11548 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |