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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of McClure's Magazine December, 1895
+Edited by Ida M. Tarbell
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: McClure's Magazine December, 1895
+
+Author: Edited by Ida M. Tarbell
+
+Release Date: May 4, 2004 [EBook #11548]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE DECEMBER, 1895 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sandra Brown and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE.
+
+
+Vol. VI. DECEMBER, 1895. No. I.
+
+
+
+
+ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
+
+
+EDITED BY IDA M. TARBELL.
+
+
+II.
+
+
+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.
+
+
+INDIANA REMINISCENCES OF LINCOLN.
+
+Abraham Lincoln 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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."
+
+[Illustration: REV. ALLEN BROONER.
+
+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."]
+
+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.
+
+Others remembered his quick-wittedness in helping his friends.
+
+"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.'"
+
+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."
+
+[Illustration: JOHN W. LAMAR.
+
+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.]
+
+[Illustration: LINCOLN IN 1860.
+
+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.]
+
+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:
+
+  "'Good boys who to their books apply
+  Will all be great men by and by.'"
+
+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 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."
+
+There is one other testimony to his character as a boy which should
+not be omitted. It is that of his step-mother:
+
+"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."
+
+[Illustration: WILLIAM JONES.
+
+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.]
+
+[Illustration: PIGEON CREEK CHURCH.
+
+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.]
+
+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 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.
+
+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."
+
+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 _heroes_."
+
+[Illustration: ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
+
+From a photograph in the collection of T.H. Bartlett, of Boston,
+Massachusetts.[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.]
+
+[Footnote A: 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.]
+
+
+THE LINCOLNS DECIDE TO LEAVE INDIANA.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+After they were gone James Gentry planted the cedar tree which now
+marks the site of the Lincoln home.[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.
+
+[Footnote A: See November number of MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE, page 502.]
+
+[Illustration: GREEN B. TAYLOR.
+
+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."]
+
+[Illustration: THE HILL NEAR GENTRYVILLE FROM WHICH THE LINCOLNS TOOK
+THEIR LAST LOOK AT THEIR INDIANA HOME.]
+
+[Illustration: SAMUEL CRAWFORD.
+
+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."]
+
+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]
+
+[Footnote A: 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.]
+
+[Illustration: JOHN E. ROLL.
+
+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."]
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: SANGAMON TOWN IN 1831.
+Drawn by J. McCan Davis with the aid of Mr. John E. Roll, a former
+resident.]
+
+
+FROM INDIANA TO ILLINOIS.
+
+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 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."
+
+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."
+
+[Illustration: LINCOLN, OFFUTT, AND GREEN ON THE FLATBOAT AT NEW
+SALEM.
+
+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.--_Note prepared by
+J. McCan Davis_.]
+
+[Illustration: LINCOLN'S AXE.
+
+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.]
+
+
+A NEW HOME.
+
+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]
+
+[Illustration: MODEL OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S DEVICE FOR LIFTING VESSELS
+OVER SHOALS.
+
+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.]
+
+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 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.
+
+[Footnote A: 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.]
+
+[Illustration: LINCOLN IN 1857.
+
+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.]
+
+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!" 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 _measure_ 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.
+
+[Illustration: NEW SALEM.
+
+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.--_Note prepared by J.
+McCan Davis._]
+
+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 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."
+
+[Illustration: THE NEW SALEM MILL TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO
+
+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.]
+
+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.
+
+
+FIRST INDEPENDENT WORK.
+
+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]
+
+"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."
+
+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. 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.'"
+
+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."
+
+[Footnote A: 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.]
+
+[Illustration: PRESENT SITE OF NEW SALEM.]
+
+
+LINCOLN'S POPULARITY IN SANGAMON.
+
+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.
+
+
+AN EXCITING ADVENTURE.
+
+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 scene,
+tells the story as follows:
+
+"It was the spring following the winter of the deep snow.[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.
+
+"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
+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
+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."
+
+[Footnote A: 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."]
+
+[Illustration: A MATRON OF NEW SALEM IN 1832.
+
+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.]
+
+[Illustration: MAP OF NEW SALEM.
+
+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.--_Note prepared by J. McCan Davis_.]
+
+
+A SECOND ADVENTURE.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: WILLIAM G. GREENE.
+
+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.]
+
+
+NEW ORLEANS IN 1831.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.'"
+
+Mr. Herndon gives John Hanks as his authority for this statement. But
+this is plainly an error, for, according to Mr. 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]
+
+[Footnote A: "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."--_Personal
+Reminiscences of 1840-1890, by L.E. Chittenden._]
+
+[Illustration: MENTOR GRAHAM.
+
+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.]
+
+
+LINCOLN SETTLES IN NEW SALEM.
+
+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] 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."
+
+[Illustration: VIEW FROM THE HILL ABOVE SANGAMON RIVER, LOOKING TOWARD
+THE SITE OF NEW SALEM.]
+
+"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 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 get over
+the dam) by resorting to the miraculous expedient of boring a hole in
+the bottom."[B]
+
+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.
+
+[Footnote A: "Abraham Lincoln. Complete Works." Edited by John G.
+Nicolay and John, Hay. Volume I.]
+
+[Footnote B: 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.]
+
+[Illustration: LINCOLN'S FIRST VOTE.]
+
+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 _viva voce_ method.
+The people did try voting by ballot, but the experiment was unpopular.
+It required too much "book larnin," and in 1829 the _viva voce_ 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.--_Note furnished by J. McCan
+Davis_.]
+
+_(To be continued.)_
+
+
+
+
+THE LOVE OF THE PRINCE OF GLOTTENBERG.
+
+
+BY ANTHONY HOPE,
+
+Author of "The Prisoner of Zenda," "The Dolly Dialogues," etc.
+
+
+I.
+
+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:
+
+"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?"
+
+"There are many forms of love," smiled the king. "This is such love as
+a prince and a princess may most properly feel."
+
+"I do not call it love at all," said Osra, with a pout.
+
+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:
+
+"I had rather it lay in watching my face;" and then, ashamed, she
+turned away from him.
+
+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."
+
+She turned round on him with flushed cheek and trembling lips:
+
+"Yes, but I had rather it were spent in getting joy from me."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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:
+
+"Cousin, you have won the fairest lady in the world. Behold, her
+brother says it!"
+
+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.
+
+"And will you not come with me and find her?" cried the king, with a
+merry look.
+
+"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."
+
+King Rudolf looked at him, a smile curling on his lips; and he said,
+in one of his gusts of impatience:
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"You have had many lovers, sister Osra, and now comes a husband."
+
+"Yes, now a husband," she murmured, catching swiftly at his hand; and
+her voice was half caught in a sudden sob.
+
+"So goes the world--our world," said the king, knitting his brows and
+seeming to fall for a moment into a sad reverie.
+
+"I am frightened," she whispered. "Should I be frightened if I loved
+him?"
+
+"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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+"Well, Christian," said she, "have you something to say to me?"
+
+For answer he pointed to a small house that stood among the trees,
+some way from the road, and he said:
+
+"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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+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:
+
+"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.
+
+"I will not wait an hour," she cried. "I cannot wait an hour."
+
+"Then I will ride, and bring you word. You must not go," he urged.
+
+"Nay; if I go alone, I will go," said she. "Yes, I will go, and myself
+fling his falseness in his teeth."
+
+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 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.
+
+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:
+
+"He shall not live, if it prove true."
+
+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.
+
+"The king must know of it," he said.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Yes, madam," said he. She knew well that he was her friend.
+
+"Kill him for me, then! Kill him for me!"
+
+"I cannot kill him," said the bishop. "I pray God it may prove
+untrue."
+
+"You are not my friend if you will not kill him," said Osra; and she
+turned her face away, and rode yet more quickly.
+
+[Illustration: "KILL HIM FOR ME, THEN! KILL HIM FOR ME!"]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Let me go alone, madam," he implored.
+
+"Give me your sword, and I will go alone," she answered.
+
+"Here, then, is the path," said the bishop; and he led the way by the
+moonlight that broke fitfully here and there through the trees.
+
+"He swore that all his life should be mine," she whispered. "Yet I
+knew that he did not love me."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"Hark! there are voices," whispered Osra to the bishop, raising her
+hand above her head, as they two stood motionless.
+
+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.
+
+"It is true, then," she breathed from between her teeth. "My God, it
+is true!"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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!"
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: "IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM STOOD THE PRINCE OF
+GLOTTENBERG; AND ... CLINGING TO HIM ... WAS A GIRL OF SLIGHT AND SLENDER
+FIGURE."]
+
+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 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:
+
+"Who is this woman, sir? Or is she one of those that have no names?"
+
+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:
+
+"Kill him, my lord, kill him!"
+
+And the sword of the Bishop of Modenstein was half-way out of the
+scabbard.
+
+
+II.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Who is she?" asked the princess.
+
+But Ludwig's eyes had wandered back to the couch, and he answered
+only:
+
+"My God, it will kill her!"
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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:
+
+"Is there no physician in the house or near?"
+
+"None, madam," said the prince.
+
+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.
+
+"It was your duty," she said. "But it is none of mine."
+
+"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."
+
+"Who is she?" broke again from Osra's lips.
+
+"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:
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"No," said Osra; and she moved her hand near to the lady's hand.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+Thus half an hour passed; then the bishop stole softly out, and
+presently returned, saying:
+
+"God has spared her the long, painful path, and has taken her straight
+to his rest."
+
+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:
+
+"Forgive me! Forgive me!"
+
+"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:
+
+"Is she dead?"
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+[Illustration: "OSRA ... SUDDENLY THREW HERSELF ON THE FLOOR AT HIS
+FEET, CRYING, 'FORGIVE ME! FORGIVE ME!'"]
+
+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?"
+
+"Madam, farewell," said he again; and, kneeling before her, he kissed
+her hand.
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"You heard what she bade me do?"
+
+"Yes, madam, I know her wish."
+
+"And you would do it?" she asked.
+
+"Madam, my struggle was fought before she died. But now you know that
+my love was not yours."
+
+"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:
+
+"If I loved I would wait for you to love. Now what is the love that I
+cannot feel?"
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"Madam, I would most faithfully serve you, and you would be the
+nearest and dearest to me of all living women."
+
+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:
+
+"It is not enough."
+
+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.
+
+Osra stood on one side of the body, and stretched her hand out to the
+prince, who stood on the other side.
+
+"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.
+
+"He does not think of me," she said to the bishop.
+
+"His thoughts are still with her, madam," he answered.
+
+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:
+
+"My lord, what is it? Do you know it?"
+
+"Yes, madam, I have known it," answered the bishop.
+
+"Yet you are a churchman!"
+
+"True, madam," said he, and he smiled sadly.
+
+She seemed to consider, fixing her eyes on his; but he turned his
+aside.
+
+"Could you not make me understand?" she asked.
+
+"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:
+
+"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!"
+
+"It will come," said the bishop.
+
+"Does it come, then, to every one?"
+
+"To most," he answered.
+
+"Heigho, will it ever come to me?" she sighed.
+
+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.
+
+"For none will tell me, not even the Bishop of Modenstein," said she.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: P.A.J. DAGNAN-BOUVERET, A LIVING FRENCH PAINTER.]
+
+
+MADONNA AND CHILD IN ART.
+
+
+BY WILL H. LOW.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+  "Fair shines the gilded aureole
+  In which our highest painters place
+  Some living woman's simple face."
+
+sings Rossetti; and the "highest painter," pious monk, as in the 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.
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. TITIAN (ITALIAN: BORN 1477; DIED
+1576).]
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: MADONNA AND CHILD. MURILLO (SPANISH: BORN 1618?; DIED
+1682).
+
+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. 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.
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD, MURILLO (SPANISH: BORN 1618?; DIED
+1682).]
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: HOLY FAMILY. NICOLAS POUSSIN (FRENCH: BORN 1594; DIED
+1665).]
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. LANDELLE. A LIVING FRENCH PAINTER.]
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. UNKNOWN EARLY FLEMISH PAINTER.]
+
+[Illustration: THE MADONNA WITH THE DIADEM. RAPHAEL (ITALIAN: BORN
+1483; DIED 1520).]
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. RUBENS (FLEMISH: BORN 1577; DIED
+1640).]
+
+[Illustration: VIRGIN, INFANT JESUS, AND ST. JOHN. BOTTICELLI
+(ITALIAN: BORN 1447; DIED 1515).]
+
+[Illustration: THE REPOSE OF THE HOLY FAMILY. CANTARINI (ITALIAN: BORN
+1612; DIED 1648).]
+
+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
+_abandon_ of the sleeping child--surely no painter ever wrought
+better, nor, we may be sure, more devoutly!
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. P.A.J. DAGNAN-BOUVERET, A LIVING
+FRENCH PAINTER.]
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. N. BARABINO, A LIVING ITALIAN
+PAINTER.]
+
+[Illustration: HOLY FAMILY. SIR ANTHONY VAN DYCK (FLEMISH: BORN 1599;
+DIED 1641).]
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. CARLO DOLCI (ITALIAN: BORN 1616; DIED
+1686).]
+
+[Illustration: HOLY FAMILY. BONIFAZIO (ITALIAN: BORN 1494; DIED
+1563).]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. N. BARABINO, A LIVING ITALIAN
+PAINTER.]
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: LA VIERGE AU COUSSIN VERT--MADONNA OF THE GREEN
+CUSHION. ANDREA DA SOLARIO (ITALIAN: BORN 1458; DIED 1530).]
+
+[Illustration: LA VIERGE AUX CERISES--MADONNA OF THE CHERRIES.
+ANNIBALE CARRACCI (ITALIAN: BORN 1560; DIED 1609).]
+
+[Illustration: JESUS ASLEEP. L. DESCHAMPS, A LIVING FRENCH PAINTER.]
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. S.H. LYBAERT, A LIVING GERMAN
+PAINTER.]
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. E. VAN HOVE, A LIVING FRENCH
+PAINTER.]
+
+[Illustration: THE HOLY NIGHT. F. ROEBER, A LIVING GERMAN PAINTER.]
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. ITALIAN SCHOOL OF THE SIXTEENTH
+CENTURY; ARTIST UNKNOWN.]
+
+[Illustration: THE ADORATION OF THE MAGI. SPAGNOLETTO (SPANISH: BORN
+1588; DIED 1656).]
+
+[Illustration: THE MADONNA OF THE TEMPI FAMILY. RAPHAEL (ITALIAN: BORN
+1483; DIED 1520).]
+
+[Illustration: HOLY FAMILY. REMBRANDT (DUTCH: BORN 1607; DIED 1669).]
+
+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."
+
+[Illustration: MADONNA, INFANT JESUS, AND ST. JOHN. VOUET (FRENCH:
+BORN 1590; DIED 1649).]
+
+[Illustration: LA VIERGE À LA GRAPPE--MADONNA OF THE GRAPES. PIERRE
+MIGNARD (FRENCH: BORN 1610; DIED 1695).]
+
+[Illustration: LA VIERGE AU LAPIN--MADONNA OF THE RABBIT. TITIAN
+(ITALIAN: BORN 1477; DIED 1576).]
+
+[Illustration: THE FOND MOTHER. GABRIEL GUAY, A LIVING FRENCH
+PAINTER.]
+
+[Illustration: ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS.
+
+From a photograph by Mr. Benjamin Kimball, Boston.]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTERS FROM A LIFE.
+
+I.
+
+BY ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS,
+
+Author of "The Gates Ajar," "The Madonna of the Tubs," etc.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"There is ----, who has written a charming series of personal
+reminiscences, and ---- ----, and ----.
+
+"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."
+
+"I suppose I _might_," I sigh. The answer is faint; but the deed is
+decreed. Shall I be sorry for it?
+
+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.
+
+A stranger to my chart, I, doubtful, put about, and make the untried
+coast.
+
+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 _you_ 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 _you_
+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.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+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.
+
+Of this latter kind is mine.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 _did_ she get it?"
+conservative friends used to wail, whenever I was seen to have tumbled
+into the last new and unfashionable reform.)
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS, HER MOTHER, AND HER INFANT
+BROTHER. AFTERWARDS PROFESSOR M. STUART PHELPS.]
+
+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:
+
+"No; nor none of our folks!"
+
+How the Connecticut parson on whom this mysterious infliction fell
+ever came out of it _not_ 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.
+
+But, as nearly as I can make it out, on the whole, he liked his Bible
+better.
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The only personal prophecy ever strictly fulfilled in my life was--I
+am not certain whether I ought to feel embarrassed in 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.
+
+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.
+
+"You can't help it," the publisher said; "you come of a family of
+large circulations."
+
+One day I was at school with my brother,--a little, private school,
+down by what were called the English dormitories in Andover.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: PROFESSOR PHELPS'S HOUSE AT ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS, THE
+HOUSE IN WHICH ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WAS REARED.]
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: PROFESSOR AUSTIN PHELPS, FATHER OF ELIZABETH STUART
+PHELPS.
+
+From an early photograph.]
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 cannot
+remember one hour in which her children needed her and did not find
+her.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+[Illustration: ELM ARCH, ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS.]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+In these different days, when,
+
+  "Pealing, the clock of time
+  Has struck the Woman's Hour,"
+
+[Illustration: THE REV. DR. E. PHELPS, GRANDFATHER OF ELIZABETH
+STUART PHELPS.]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+I said it was impossible to be her daughter and not to write. Rather,
+I should say, impossible to be _their_ daughter and not to have
+something to say, and a pen to say it.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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
+reader, too much repetition of a loving credit which it would not be
+possible altogether to omit from this chapter.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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
+_work_."
+
+"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:
+
+  "'Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
+  Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and fears;'
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+I felt that the fact that he was my Sunday-school teacher detracted
+from the importance of the occasion, but did not extinguish it.
+
+It was perhaps half-past eight, and, obediently to law and gospel, I
+had gone upstairs.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+This was in the days when even the "Companion," that oldest and most
+delightful of children's journals, printed things like these:
+
+   "_Why Julia B. loved the Country_.
+
+   "Julia B. loved the country because whenever she walked out she
+   could see God in the face of Nature."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: VIEW FROM THE WESTERN WINDOW OF THE STUDY IN PROFESSOR
+AUSTIN PHELPS'S HOUSE, ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS.]
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+THE UNDERSTUDY.
+
+
+BY ROBERT BARR,
+
+Author of "In the Midst of Alarms," "A Typewritten Letter," etc.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Good gracious!" cried Cromwell, impatiently, "what have I won?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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?"
+
+This question sounded more natural from the lips of the king than did
+the answer from the lips of Cromwell.
+
+"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."
+
+[Illustration: IT WAS A YEAR AFTER THE DISAPPEARANCE THAT A WAN LIVING
+SKELETON STAGGERED OUT OF THE WILDERNESS IN AFRICA.]
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"And what is to be the outcome of it all?" cried Charles. "What is
+your object?"
+
+"Fame, my boy, fame," cried Cromwell enthusiastically, flinging the
+chair from under him and pacing the narrow room.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+A day or two after, the London papers announced in large type,
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"What did you say?" he asked gently.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+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."
+
+"What!" cried the girl in amazement, "not Sidney Ormond, the African
+traveller?"
+
+The young man turned his wan face and large, melancholy eyes upon his
+questioner.
+
+"I am certainly Sidney Ormond, an African traveller, but I don't think
+I deserve the '_the_,' you know. I don't imagine any one has heard of
+me through my travelling any more than through my acting."
+
+"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!"
+
+"It is very strange," said Ormond gloomily; and his eyes again sought
+the horizon, and he seemed to relapse into his usual melancholy.
+
+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."
+
+Ormond looked up at the girl with a smile, and said:
+
+"You might say with truth, so ill as I look now."
+
+"Oh, the voyage has done you good. You look ever so much better than
+when you came on board."
+
+"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.
+
+The girl sat down beside him, and watched his face, glancing from it
+to the book.
+
+"It seems to me," she said at last, "that the coincidence is becoming
+more and more striking. Have you ever seen that portrait before?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+Ormond shook his head slowly and said:
+
+"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."
+
+The girl made a quick gesture of impatience.
+
+"Such things," she said, "cannot be explained. You must confront him,
+and expose him."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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: "Don't you think
+you could walk the deck for a little?"
+
+"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."
+
+He rose somewhat unsteadily, and she took his arm.
+
+"You must look upon me as your physician," she said, cheerfully, "and
+I shall insist that my orders are obeyed."
+
+"I shall be delighted to be under your charge," said Ormond, "but may
+I not know my physician's name?"
+
+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.
+
+"My name is Mary Radford," she said.
+
+"_Miss_ Mary Radford?" inquired Ormond.
+
+"Miss Mary Radford."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I don't think so," replied Ormond. "I will try to get something to
+do, and live quietly for awhile."
+
+"Oh," answered the girl, "I have no patience with you."
+
+"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."
+
+"Oh!" cried the girl breathlessly, turning her head away.
+
+"Do you think I would have any chance?" asked Ormond.
+
+"Of making a living?" inquired the girl, after a moment's silence.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Perhaps that was the case--at first--but it is far from being the
+truth now--Sidney."
+
+The young man made a motion to approach nearer to her, but the girl
+drew away, whispering:
+
+"There are other people besides ourselves on deck, remember."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+The young man shook his head.
+
+"No. Fame has jilted me once. I won't give her another chance."
+
+So those who were twain sailed gently into Southampton docks resolved
+to be one when the gods were willing.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Will you take a note to him if I write it?" asked the girl.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The girl barely entered the room, and, closing the door, stood with
+her back against it. He was the first to speak.
+
+"I thought Sidney had told me everything. I never knew he was
+acquainted with a young lady, much less engaged to her."
+
+"You admit, then, that you are not the true Sidney Ormond?"
+
+"I admit it to you, of course, if you were to have been his wife."
+
+"I am to be his wife, I hope."
+
+"But Sidney, poor fellow, is dead--dead in the wilds of Africa."
+
+"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."
+
+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--
+
+"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?"
+
+"He has been very ill."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Mary Radford."
+
+"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."
+
+"I haven't very much either," said Mary, with a sigh.
+
+Jimmy jumped up and paced the room in great glee, laughing and
+slapping his thigh.
+
+"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."
+
+The messenger put his head into the room, and said the mayor and the
+corporation were waiting.
+
+"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."
+
+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; _that_ 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."
+
+There were tears in the girl's eyes as she rose and took Jimmy's hand.
+
+"No man has ever been so true a friend to his friend as you have
+been," she said.
+
+"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."
+
+
+
+
+THE HEROINE OF A FAMOUS SONG.
+
+THE TRUE STORY OF "ANNIE LAURIE."
+
+
+BY FRANK POPE HUMPHREY.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.":
+
+"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,"
+
+Her father was Sir Robert Laurie, first baronet, and her mother was
+Jean Riddell.
+
+[Illustration: MAXWELTON HOUSE, ANNIE LAURIE'S BIRTHPLACE.]
+
+Maxwelton House was originally the castle of the earls of Glencairn.
+It was bought in 1611 by Stephen Laurie, the founder of the Laurie
+family. Stephen was a Dumfries merchant. The castle was a turreted
+building. In it Annie Laurie was born.
+
+[Illustration: ANNIE LAURIE.
+
+From a painting now preserved at Maxwelton House.]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 _blue_ e'e."
+
+[Illustration: Alexander Ferguson, Annie Laurie's husband. From a
+painting now preserved at Maxwelton House.]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+But to the important letter.
+
+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.
+
+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 _they're na the
+words my grandfather wrote_." Then she repeated the first stanza as
+she knew it.
+
+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.
+
+She explained that her grandfather, Douglas of Fingland, was
+desperately in love with Annie Laurie when he wrote the song. "But,"
+she added, "he did na get her after a'."
+
+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 _that_ was the truth.
+
+Questioned as to the authenticity of the lines she had given, she
+said:
+
+"Oh, _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:
+
+  "'Maxwelton's banks are bonnie,
+     They're a' clad owre wi' dew,
+  Where I an' Annie Laurie
+     Made up the bargain true.
+  Made up the bargain true,
+     Which ne'er forgot s'all be,
+  An' for bonnie Annie Laurie
+    I'd lay me down an' dee.'
+
+  "I mind na mair.
+
+  [Signed] "Clark Douglas.
+
+  "August 30, 1854."
+
+In the common version this stanza reads:
+
+  "Maxwelton's braes are bonnie
+    Where early fa's the dew,
+  And it's there that Annie Laurie
+    Gie'd me her promise true;
+  Gie'd me her promise true,
+    Which ne'er forgot will be,
+  An' for bonnie Annie Laurie
+    I'd lay me down an' dee."
+
+In the original song there were but two stanzas, and this is the
+second:
+
+  "She's backit like the peacock,
+    She's breistit like the swan,
+  She's jimp around the middle,
+    Her waist ye weel micht span--
+  Her waist ye weel micht span--
+    An' she has a rolling e'e,
+  An' for bonnie Annie Laurie
+    I'd lay me down an' dee."
+
+As I have said, the "rolling e'e" has been changed, and wrongly, into
+one of "dark blue."
+
+Who added the third stanza is not known; but no lover of the song
+would willingly dispense with it:
+
+  "Like dew on the gowan lying
+    Is the fa' o' her fairy feet;
+  Like summer breezes sighing,
+    Her voice is low an' sweet--
+  Her voice is low an' sweet--
+    An' she's a' the world to me,
+  An' for bonnie Annie Laurie
+    I'd lay me down an' dee."
+
+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.
+
+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, _Virtus semper viridis_. Below the grandfather's marriage stone
+is cut in the lintel the following:
+
+_Except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain who build it_.
+
+Looking up the glen from Maxwelton, the chimneys of Craigdarrock House
+are seen.
+
+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.
+
+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).
+
+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.
+
+The present proprietor of Craigdarrock is Captain Robert Ferguson, of
+the fourth generation in direct descent from Annie Laurie.
+
+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:
+
+  "Douglas of Stenhouse, _Laurie of Maxwelton_,
+  Caused Count Baillie give me martyrdom."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+   "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:
+
+   "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.
+
+   "ANN. LAURIE,
+   "JO. WILSON, Witness.
+   "JOHN HOAT, Witness."
+
+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.
+
+In following up the "fairy" footsteps of Annie Laurie I came upon
+others wholly different, but of equal interest--those of Robert Burns.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+A POINT OF KNUCKLIN' DOWN.
+
+
+BY ELLA HIGGINSON,
+
+Author of "The Takin' in of Old Mis' Lane" and other stories.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"It's goin' to be a fine Christmas, Emarine," he said, and sighed
+unconsciously. There was a wistful and careworn look on his face.
+
+"Beautiful!" said Emarine vivaciously. "Goin' down-town, Orville?"
+
+"Yes." Want anything?"
+
+"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."
+
+Her husband smiled as he finished the list. "You're a wonderful
+housekeeper, Emarine," he said.
+
+Then his face grew grave. "Got a present for your mother yet,
+Emarine?"
+
+"Oh, yes, long ago. I got 'er a black shawl down t' Charman's. She's
+b'en wantin' one."
+
+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?"
+
+"No," she replied, with cold distinctness. "I ain't."
+
+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.
+
+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?"
+
+"No," said Emarine.
+
+"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."
+
+She drew back and looked at him. He knew the look that flashed into
+her eyes, and shrank from it.
+
+"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!"
+
+He put on his hat and went without a word.
+
+Mrs. Palmer took the saucepan from the stove and set it on the 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.
+
+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--"
+
+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--"
+
+"No," said Emarine. "Did Orville stop by an' tell you to hurry up?"
+
+"Yes. What's the matter of him? Is he sick?"
+
+"Not as I know of. Why?"
+
+"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."
+
+"How does he look? I don't see 's he looks so turrable."
+
+"Why, Emarine Parmer! Ev'rybody in town says he looks _so_! I only
+hope they don't know what ails him!"
+
+"What _does_ ail him?" cried out Emarine, fiercely. "What are you
+hintin' at?"
+
+"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."
+
+Emarine turned white. Sheet lightning played in her eyes.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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!"
+
+She sat down with a sigh of defeat.
+
+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.
+
+"Oh, Emarine, here comes old gran'ma Eliot herself! Run an' open the
+door fer 'er. She's limpin' worse 'n usual."
+
+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.
+
+Emarine's face softened when she kissed her. "I'm so glad to see you,"
+she said, and her voice was tender.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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 _me_ alone. Fixin' fer Christmas dinner,
+Emarine dear?"
+
+"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?"
+
+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 comfort a
+daughter-in-law is when you get old an' feeble!"
+
+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.
+
+"An' I never will," said Mrs. Endey, grimly.
+
+"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."
+
+The knife in Emarine's hand slipped, and she uttered a little cry.
+
+"Hurt you?" demanded her mother, sternly.
+
+Emarine was silent, and did not turn.
+
+"Cut you, Emarine? Why don't you answer me? Aigh?"
+
+"A little," said Emarine. She went into the pantry, and presently
+returned with a narrow strip of muslin which she wound around her
+finger.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"I stopped at Orville's mother's as I come along, Emarine."
+
+"How?" Emarine turned in a startled way from the table.
+
+"I say I stopped at Orville's mother's as I come along."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"She well?" asked Mrs. Endey.
+
+"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."
+
+There was quite a silence. Then Mrs. Endey said, "What she b'en cryin'
+about?"
+
+"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."
+
+Mrs. Endey smiled. "What she say to that?"
+
+"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
+_wishful_ 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."
+
+When Mrs. Eliot had gone limping down the path, Mrs. Endey said: "You
+got your front room red up, Emarine?"
+
+"No; I ain't had time to red up anything."
+
+"Well, I'll do it. Where's your duster at?"
+
+"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!"
+
+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.'
+
+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?"
+
+There was no reply. Emarine was at the table making tarts. Her back
+was to mother.
+
+"I didn't mean what I said about bein' sorry I egged you on, Emarine.
+I'm glad you turned her out. She'd _ort_ to be turned out."
+
+Emarine dropped a quivering ruby of jelly into a golden ring of pastry
+and laid it carefully on a plate.
+
+"Gran'ma Eliot can go talkin' about her daughter-'n-law Sidonie all
+she wants, Emarine. You keep a stiff upper lip."
+
+"I can 'tend to my own affairs," said Emarine, fiercely.
+
+"Well, don't flare up so. Here comes Orviile. Land, but he does look
+peakid!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+After supper, when her mother had gone home for the night, Emarine put
+on her hat and shawl.
+
+Her husband was sitting by the fireplace, looking thoughtfully at the
+bed of coals.
+
+"I'm goin' out," she said briefly. "You keep the fire up."
+
+"Why, Emarine, it's dark. Don't choo want I sh'u'd go along?"
+
+"No; you keep the fire up."
+
+He looked at her anxiously, but he knew from the way she set her heels
+down that remonstrance would be useless.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"It's Miss Presly," said Emarine, resentfully, under her breath. "Old
+gossip!"
+
+"--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?"
+
+"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."
+
+Emarine opened the door and walked in. Mrs. Palmer arose slowly,
+grasping the back of her chair. "Orville's dead?" she said solemnly.
+
+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?"
+
+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."
+
+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 come just
+at eleven. I must run right back now. Good-night."
+
+"Well, I declare!" said Miss Presly. "That girl gits prettier ev'ry
+day o' her life. Why, she just looked full o' _glame_ to-night!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+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!"
+
+"Yes, I know," said Emarine, calmly. "I ast her to dinner."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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. "_Mother!_" he
+cried; then he gave a frightened, tortured glance at his wife. Emarine
+smiled at him, but it was through tears.
+
+"Emarine ast me, Orville--she ast me to dinner o' herself! An' she
+give me this shawl. I'm--cryin'--fer--joy--"
+
+"I ast her to dinner," said Emarine, "but she ain't ever goin' back
+again. She's goin' to _stay_. I expect we've both had enough of a
+lesson to do us."
+
+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.
+
+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!"
+
+But there was something in her eyes, too, that made them beautiful.
+
+
+
+
+THE SUN'S HEAT.
+
+
+BY SIR ROBERT BALL,
+
+Lowndean Professor of Astronomy and Geometry at Cambridge, England;
+formerly Royal Astronomer of Ireland.
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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."
+
+[Illustration: THE SUN: FROM A PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN BY LEWIS M. RUTHERFURD
+IN NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER 22, 1870.
+
+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.]
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: SIR ROBERT BALL. From a photograph by Russel & Sons,
+London.]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 cherishing this immediate world of ours, then all
+we can say is that nature carries on its business in the most
+outrageously wasteful manner.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: A TYPICAL SUN-SPOT.
+
+By permission of Longmans, Green & Co., from "Old and New Astronomy,"
+by Richard A. Proctor.]
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+HALL CAINE.
+
+STORY OF HIS LIFE AND WORK, DERIVED FROM CONVERSATIONS.
+
+
+BY ROBERT HARBOROUGH SHERARD.
+
+
+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 _vates_ amongst the Romans, of a prophet in Israel.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: BALLAVOLLEY COTTAGE, BALLAUGH, ISLE OF MAN, WHERE HALL
+CAINE LIVED AS A LITTLE BOY.]
+
+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 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 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.
+
+[Illustration: From a photograph by Barraud, London.]
+
+[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF HALL CAINE'S MANUSCRIPT, FROM "THE
+MANXMAN." AN ADDITION MADE IN REVISING PROOFS.]
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: MRS. HALL CAINE. From a photograph by Alfred Ellis,
+London.]
+
+
+CHILDHOOD IN A MANX COTTAGE.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: HALL CAINE'S LIBRARY. From a photograph by Barton.]
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: GREEBA CASTLE, ISLE OF MAN, WHERE MR. CAINE WROTE MOST
+OF "THE MANXMAN."
+From a photograph by Abel Lewis, Douglas, Isle of Man.]
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: PEEL CASTLE, ISLE OF MAN.]
+
+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 determined
+to continue in the architect's office." He accordingly attached
+himself as pupil or apprentice to Richard Owens, the architect.
+
+[Illustration: 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.]
+
+
+FIRST WRITINGS FOR THE PUBLIC.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: R.E. MORRISON. R.H.SHERARD. HALL CAINE.
+
+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.]
+
+
+CAINE'S ASSOCIATION WITH ROSSETTI.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: BISHOP'S COURT, WHERE DAN MYLREA IN "THE DREMSTER" WAS
+REARED.]
+
+[Illustration: SIR W.L. DRINKWATER, THE PRESENT FIRST DREMSTER OF THE
+ISLE OF MAN.
+From a photograph by J. E. Bruton, Douglas, Isle of Man.]
+
+"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.'"
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: KIRK MAUGHOLD, WHICH FIGURES IN "THE BONDMAN" AND "THE
+MANXMAN."]
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+
+HALL CAINE'S FIRST NOVEL.
+
+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 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."
+
+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 _confrère_ 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.
+
+[Illustration: LEZAYRE CHURCH, WHERE PETE AND KATE WERE MARRIED IN
+"THE MANXMAN."]
+
+
+BEATING THE STREETS OF LONDON IN SEARCH OF WORK.
+
+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.
+
+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 his subject. "_I_ could have written _the_
+Life of Coleridge," he says.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+
+THE BEGINNING OF PROSPERITY.
+
+[Illustration: 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."]
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: THE ORIGINAL OF KATE IN "THE MANXMAN."]
+
+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."
+
+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. "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.
+
+[Illustration: "BLACK TOM" BEFORE "THE COTTAGE BY THE WATER-TROUGH."]
+
+"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 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."
+
+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."
+
+
+THE WRITING OF "THE MANXMAN."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+"That means," he will explain, "that all those days I was working at
+my story in my head."
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 thinking, when, his success and
+personal popularity being what they are, he has many temptations to
+worldliness.
+
+He attributes his success in part to the fact that he has always been
+a great reader of the Bible.
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+NEIGHBOR KING.
+
+
+BY
+COLLINS SHACKELFORD.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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'.
+
+Oh, dear! Oh, dear! The loved face was cold and white, an' I give one
+scream an' fell beside him, knowin' nothin'. Yes, Micah was
+dead--gone to sleep never to waken, passed from life with little
+Hannah snuggled in his arms.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+I answered nothin'; but put up my hand an' pulled back the sheet from
+the dear dead face.
+
+"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.
+
+"Madam, forgive me! I never dreamed of such a thing," he cried at
+last, recoverin' himself; "an' when an' how did it happen?"
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: "MRS. CHALLEN HELD ME IN HER ARMS."]
+
+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 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?
+
+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.
+
+The mornin' after the funeral neighbor King was round bright an'
+early, findin' me red-eyed an' weakly.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+[Illustration: "THE MORNIN' AFTER THE FUNERAL NEIGHBOR KING WAS ROUND
+BRIGHT AN' EARLY."]
+
+"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 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."
+
+[Illustration: "THERE WAS HARDLY A DAY HE DID NOT RIDE OVER THE LITTLE
+FARM TO SEE HOW THINGS WERE GOIN'."]
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+Neighbor King (his other name was Horace, I found out 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.
+
+[Illustration: "HE DIDN'T STOP, AS WAS HIS HABIT, BUT CANTERED BY,
+HEAD DOWN AND REINS LOOSE."]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: "ONE OF HIS MEN BROUGHT ME A LETTER--THE FIRST I'D HAD
+FOR YEARS"]
+
+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.
+
+   CHICAGO, _August 17, 187-._
+
+   MRS. PYNCHEON: I find that my wife has been dead a year.
+
+   HORACE KING.
+
+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."
+
+"I thought, you might not be comin' back," I whispered, with quiverin'
+lips.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+
+
+
+THROUGH THE DARDANELLES.
+
+
+BY CY WARMAN,
+
+Author of "A Thousand-mile Ride on the Engine of a 'Flyer.'"
+
+
+  Soul of Sappho, if, to-night,
+    When my boat is drifting near
+  Your fair island, spirit bright--
+    If I sing, and if you hear,
+  From your island in the sea,
+  Soul of Sappho, speak to me.
+
+  Soul of Sappho, they have said
+    That your hair, a heap of gold,
+  Made a halo for your head;
+    And your eyes, I have been told,
+  Were like stars. Oh, from the sea,
+  Soul of Sappho, speak to me!
+
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: SACRED DOGS, CONSTANTINOPLE.]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 children. Of course one sympathizes with these
+poor, miserable people, but one does not want their secrets.
+
+[Illustration: THE RAILROAD STATION AT CONSTANTINOPLE.]
+
+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.
+
+The ship's doctor, who was my guide, at every landing-place kindly
+pointed out the many points of interest.
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"See that island over there? That was the home of Sappho."
+
+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 _café_
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 me there
+are no fairer stretches of water for a glorious day's sail than the
+Dardanelles.
+
+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.
+
+
+THE FIRST RAILROAD IN ASIA MINOR.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: JAFFA FROM THE HARBOR.]
+
+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 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.
+
+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."
+
+[Illustration: A CREW OF JAFFA BOATMEN.]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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,
+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.
+
+[Illustration: A STREET SCENE IN JERUSALEM.]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Jump," they would say to the Christians; "don't be afraid; Christ
+will save you!"
+
+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 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.
+
+
+JERUSALEM.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: LEPERS IN JERUSALEM.]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+One day in a narrow street we met two women who nearly blocked the
+way.
+
+"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.
+
+
+
+
+THE EARLIEST PORTRAIT OF LINCOLN
+
+LETTERS IN REGARD TO THE FRONTISPIECE OF THE NOVEMBER MCCLURE'S.
+
+
+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.
+
+ANN ARBOR, MICHIGAN, _October 24, 1895._
+
+MR. S.S. MCCLURE, _New York City_.
+
+_Dear Sir_: 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.
+
+Very respectfully yours,
+
+THOMAS M. COOLEY.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM HERBERT B. ADAMS, Professor of History in Johns Hopkins
+University.
+
+JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY, BALTIMORE, MARYLAND, _October 24, 1895._
+
+S.S. MCCLURE, ESQ., 30 _Lafayette Place, New York City_.
+
+_My Dear Mr. McClure_: 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 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.
+
+Very sincerely yours,
+
+H.B. ADAMS.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+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.
+
+BEACHMONT, MASSACHUSETTS, _October 24, 1895._
+
+_My Dear Sir_: 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 _manliness_ 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 _latest_ 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.
+
+Yours,
+
+HENRY C. WHITNEY.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM THE HON. HENRY B. BROWN, Associate Justice of the Supreme Court
+of the United States.
+
+WASHINGTON, _October 23, 1895._
+
+S.S. MCCLURE, _New York_.
+
+_Dear Sir_: 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.
+
+Very truly yours,
+
+H.B. BROWN.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM MAJOR J.W. POWELL, of the United States Geological Survey.
+
+WASHINGTON, _October 24, 1895._
+
+_My Dear McClure_: 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.
+
+Yours cordially,
+
+J.W. POWELL.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM MR. JOHN C. ROPES, author of "The First Napoleon" and
+"The Story of the Civil War."
+
+99 MOUNT VERNON STREET, BOSTON, _October 24, 1895._
+
+S. S. MCCLURE, ESQ.
+
+_My Dear Sir_: 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.
+
+With renewed thanks, I am,
+
+Very truly yours,
+
+J. C. ROPES.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM WOODROW WILSON, Professor of Finance and Political Economy at
+Princeton.
+
+PRINCETON, NEW JERSEY, _October 23, 1895._
+
+MR. S. S. MCCLURE.
+
+_My Dear Mr. McClure_: 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.
+
+Very sincerely yours,
+
+WOODROW WILSON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM C. R. MILLER, editor of the New York "Times."
+
+NEW YORK, _October 24, 1895._
+
+S. S. MCCLURE, ESQ., _City_.
+
+_Dear Mr. McClure_: 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.
+
+Yours very truly,
+
+C. R. MILLER.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM THE HON. DAVID J. BREWER, Associate Justice of the Supreme Court
+of the United States.
+
+WASHINGTON, _October 24, 1895._
+
+S. S. MCCLURE, ESQ., _New York_.
+
+_My Dear Sir_: 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.
+
+Yours truly,
+
+DAVID J. BREWER.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM MURAT HALSTEAD, for many years editor of the Cincinnati
+"Commercial Gazette," and now editor of the Brooklyn "Standard-Union."
+
+BROOKLYN STANDARD-UNION, _October 23, 1895._
+
+_S. S. MCCLURE_.
+
+_My Dear Sir_: 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.
+
+MURAT HALSTEAD.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM GENERAL FRANCIS A. WALKER, President of the Massachusetts
+Institute of Technology.
+
+BOSTON, _October 24, 1895._
+
+S. S. MCCLURE, ESQ., _30 Lafayette Place, New York City_.
+
+_Dear Mr. McClure_: 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 _explains_ Mr.
+Lincoln far more than the most elaborate line-engraving which has been
+produced.
+
+Very truly yours,
+
+FRANCIS A. WALKER.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER.
+
+HARTFORD, _October 24, 1895._
+
+_My Dear Mr. McClure_: 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.
+
+For the study of the man's development, I think this new old portrait
+has a peculiar value.
+
+Yours sincerely,
+
+CHAS. DUDLEY WARNER.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of McClure's Magazine December, 1895
+Edited by Ida M. Tarbell
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE DECEMBER, 1895 ***
+
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of McClure's Magazine December, 1895
+Edited by Ida M. Tarbell
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: McClure's Magazine December, 1895
+
+Author: Edited by Ida M. Tarbell
+
+Release Date: May 4, 2004 [EBook #11548]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE DECEMBER, 1895 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sandra Brown and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+<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.&mdash;REMOVAL TO ILLINOIS.&mdash;LINCOLN STARTS
+OUT IN LIFE FOR HIMSELF AT TWENTY-ONE.&mdash;THE BUILDING OF THE
+FLATBOAT AND THE TRIP TO NEW ORLEANS.&mdash;LINCOLN HIRES OUT AS A
+GROCERY CLERK IN NEW SALEM.&mdash;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&mdash;that is, thrashing them&mdash;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&mdash;, 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&mdash;seemed to read it out of the book as he went
+along&mdash;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&mdash;a mother&mdash;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&mdash;what little I had&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;John Hanks, a cousin of Dennis&mdash;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&mdash;married to one of Lincoln's
+step-sisters&mdash;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&mdash;the first one Thomas Lincoln had ever
+owned, it is said&mdash;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.&mdash;<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&mdash;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&mdash;natives of Kentucky and Tennessee&mdash;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.&mdash;<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&mdash;rail-splitting, ploughing, lumbering, boating,
+store-keeping&mdash;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&mdash;Offutt&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;a genuine Leghorn&mdash;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 &amp;
+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&mdash;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 &amp; 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
+&amp; 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 &amp; Lincoln. John
+Cameron, one of the founders of the town, was a Presbyterian
+preacher and a highly esteemed citizen.&mdash;<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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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.&mdash;<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 &mdash;&mdash; 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."&mdash;<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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;so I came. Next
+week I am&mdash;I was to take the veil, and I came here to see him
+once again&mdash;God pardon me for it&mdash;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"&mdash;she paused
+here, and for a moment hid her face with her hand&mdash;"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&mdash;ah, my heart so proud!&mdash;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&mdash;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,&mdash;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 D&uuml;rer. 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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;MADONNA OF THE GREEN CUSHION." />
+<h5>LA VIERGE AU COUSSIN VERT&mdash;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&mdash;MADONNA OF THE CHERRIES." />
+<h5>LA VIERGE AUX CERISES&mdash;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&mdash;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 &Agrave; LA GRAPPE--;MADONNA OF THE GRAPES. PIERRE MIGNARD (FRENCH: BORN 1610; DIED 1695)." />
+
+<h5>LA VIERGE &Agrave; LA GRAPPE&mdash;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&mdash;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 &mdash;&mdash;, who has written a charming series of
+personal reminiscences, and &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;, and
+&mdash;&mdash;.</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,&mdash;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&mdash;I do not deny that it may be morally
+invigorating&mdash;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&mdash;it must have been a little more than a
+year after that&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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!)&mdash;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&mdash;a request which has been repeated till I am fain to
+put an end to it&mdash;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,&mdash;in fact, by temperament, perhaps
+inclining to hope that such phenomena may be tamed and yoked, and
+made to work for human happiness,&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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,&mdash;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&mdash;I am sure we did not cry&mdash;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&mdash;too
+fast&mdash;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&mdash;Wordsworth, I remember most often&mdash;"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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;for her practical ingenuity was unlimited&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;or was in my case. I felt that I had suddenly
+acquired value&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;as
+most talk is&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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"&mdash;the girl hesitated&mdash;"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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;at first&mdash;but it is far
+from being the truth now&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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"&mdash;in which Jimmy had enacted the
+noble savage&mdash;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&mdash;</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&mdash;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,&mdash;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&mdash;Glencairn. Her home
+was in the heart of the most pastorally lovely of Scottish
+shires&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;it
+is difficult to say whether brown or deep hazel. I incline to the
+latter. Whoever doctored the second verse of the original
+song&mdash;I heard it credited to "Mrs. Grundy" by a grandnephew of
+Burns&mdash;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&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">Her waist ye weel micht span&mdash;</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&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">Her voice is low an' sweet&mdash;</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&mdash;it was September&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;an eminent lawyer, and who must, I think,
+have been a grandson of Annie Laurie&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the Falls of the
+Willamette&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;git 'em stunned, Orville; a pound o' sooet&mdash;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&mdash;that
+is&mdash;I reckon yuh ain't picked out any present fer&mdash;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"&mdash;his voice broke; he came a step nearer&mdash;"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&mdash;"</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&mdash;"</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&mdash;he's gawn right on. My land! I wonder
+'f it ain't old gran'ma Eliot: she had a bad spell&mdash;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&mdash;the one who is bound by the tenderest
+ties to both&mdash;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>"&mdash;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"&mdash;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&mdash;she ast me to dinner o' herself!
+An' she give me this shawl.
+I'm&mdash;cryin'&mdash;fer&mdash;joy&mdash;"</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&mdash;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 &amp; 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 &amp; 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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;his second
+son&mdash;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&mdash;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"&mdash;it was a pet name she had given to
+him&mdash;"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&mdash;where children went to bed when it was dark, so
+that candles should not be burned&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;"a whole library for each chapter"&mdash;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&mdash;indeed this had been pointed out to me&mdash;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&mdash;so they seem
+then&mdash;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.&nbsp; &nbsp;R.H.SHERARD.&nbsp;&nbsp;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&mdash;Phoenix cottage&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;it may be to
+prepare him for their common life&mdash;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 &amp; 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>confr&egrave;re</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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;for Caine narrowly escaped being murdered there one
+night&mdash;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, "&agrave; 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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;a most
+distinguished honor&mdash;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&mdash;the old parents, the pretty young wife, and the two
+bonny lads&mdash;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&mdash;on the matters which divide novelists into realists and
+idealists&mdash;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&mdash;sometimes I take a long rest, as I am doing
+at present&mdash;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&mdash;you remember the story
+of Gough and his diamond ring&mdash;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&mdash;down the chimney when they couldn't get in through the
+door&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;speakin'
+nothing, an' as quiet as possible, knowin' how tired in mind an'
+body the poor man was&mdash;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&mdash;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',&mdash;"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&mdash;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"&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;an'&mdash;an'&mdash;it hurts me even now to tell
+it&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;for I was a fragile, girlish thing&mdash;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&mdash;one of the weak ones, I s'pose&mdash;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!"&mdash;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'&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;not to lead me to
+forget, for that was impossible&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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"&mdash;an' great tears came into his
+eyes&mdash;"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&mdash;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,&mdash;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&mdash;THE FIRST I'D HAD FOR YEARS" />
+
+<h5>"ONE OF HIS MEN BROUGHT ME A LETTER&mdash;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&mdash;the first
+I'd had for years&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;</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&mdash;both inspectors of revenue for the Turkish
+government, and splendid fellows&mdash;a Belgian, and the writer.
+We entered a <i>caf&eacute;</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&mdash;a hollow-chested, long-haired
+fellow&mdash;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&mdash;for there is a prison,
+here&mdash;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 Sa&iuml;d 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 Sa&iuml;d, then from Port
+Sa&iuml;d 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&mdash;for they were nearly all women&mdash;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 ca&ntilde;on 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&mdash;the beggars
+that hound you&mdash;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&mdash;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&nbsp;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&mdash;always a highly
+intellectual looking man&mdash;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&mdash;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" />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of McClure's Magazine December, 1895
+Edited by Ida M. Tarbell
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE DECEMBER, 1895 ***
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of McClure's Magazine December, 1895
+by Edited by Ida M. Tarbell
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: McClure's Magazine December, 1895
+
+Author: Edited by Ida M. Tarbell
+
+Release Date: May 4, 2004 [EBook #11548]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE DECEMBER, 1895 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sandra Brown and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE.
+
+
+Vol. VI. DECEMBER, 1895. No. I.
+
+
+
+
+ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
+
+
+EDITED BY IDA M. TARBELL.
+
+
+II.
+
+
+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.
+
+
+INDIANA REMINISCENCES OF LINCOLN.
+
+Abraham Lincoln 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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."
+
+[Illustration: REV. ALLEN BROONER.
+
+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."]
+
+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.
+
+Others remembered his quick-wittedness in helping his friends.
+
+"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.'"
+
+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."
+
+[Illustration: JOHN W. LAMAR.
+
+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.]
+
+[Illustration: LINCOLN IN 1860.
+
+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.]
+
+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:
+
+  "'Good boys who to their books apply
+  Will all be great men by and by.'"
+
+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 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."
+
+There is one other testimony to his character as a boy which should
+not be omitted. It is that of his step-mother:
+
+"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."
+
+[Illustration: WILLIAM JONES.
+
+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.]
+
+[Illustration: PIGEON CREEK CHURCH.
+
+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.]
+
+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 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.
+
+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."
+
+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 _heroes_."
+
+[Illustration: ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
+
+From a photograph in the collection of T.H. Bartlett, of Boston,
+Massachusetts.[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.]
+
+[Footnote A: 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.]
+
+
+THE LINCOLNS DECIDE TO LEAVE INDIANA.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+After they were gone James Gentry planted the cedar tree which now
+marks the site of the Lincoln home.[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.
+
+[Footnote A: See November number of MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE, page 502.]
+
+[Illustration: GREEN B. TAYLOR.
+
+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."]
+
+[Illustration: THE HILL NEAR GENTRYVILLE FROM WHICH THE LINCOLNS TOOK
+THEIR LAST LOOK AT THEIR INDIANA HOME.]
+
+[Illustration: SAMUEL CRAWFORD.
+
+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."]
+
+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]
+
+[Footnote A: 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.]
+
+[Illustration: JOHN E. ROLL.
+
+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."]
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: SANGAMON TOWN IN 1831.
+Drawn by J. McCan Davis with the aid of Mr. John E. Roll, a former
+resident.]
+
+
+FROM INDIANA TO ILLINOIS.
+
+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 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."
+
+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."
+
+[Illustration: LINCOLN, OFFUTT, AND GREEN ON THE FLATBOAT AT NEW
+SALEM.
+
+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.--_Note prepared by
+J. McCan Davis_.]
+
+[Illustration: LINCOLN'S AXE.
+
+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.]
+
+
+A NEW HOME.
+
+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]
+
+[Illustration: MODEL OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S DEVICE FOR LIFTING VESSELS
+OVER SHOALS.
+
+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.]
+
+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 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.
+
+[Footnote A: 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.]
+
+[Illustration: LINCOLN IN 1857.
+
+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.]
+
+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!" 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 _measure_ 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.
+
+[Illustration: NEW SALEM.
+
+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.--_Note prepared by J.
+McCan Davis._]
+
+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 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."
+
+[Illustration: THE NEW SALEM MILL TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO
+
+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.]
+
+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.
+
+
+FIRST INDEPENDENT WORK.
+
+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]
+
+"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."
+
+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. 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.'"
+
+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."
+
+[Footnote A: 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.]
+
+[Illustration: PRESENT SITE OF NEW SALEM.]
+
+
+LINCOLN'S POPULARITY IN SANGAMON.
+
+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.
+
+
+AN EXCITING ADVENTURE.
+
+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 scene,
+tells the story as follows:
+
+"It was the spring following the winter of the deep snow.[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.
+
+"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
+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
+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."
+
+[Footnote A: 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."]
+
+[Illustration: A MATRON OF NEW SALEM IN 1832.
+
+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.]
+
+[Illustration: MAP OF NEW SALEM.
+
+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.--_Note prepared by J. McCan Davis_.]
+
+
+A SECOND ADVENTURE.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: WILLIAM G. GREENE.
+
+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.]
+
+
+NEW ORLEANS IN 1831.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.'"
+
+Mr. Herndon gives John Hanks as his authority for this statement. But
+this is plainly an error, for, according to Mr. 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]
+
+[Footnote A: "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."--_Personal
+Reminiscences of 1840-1890, by L.E. Chittenden._]
+
+[Illustration: MENTOR GRAHAM.
+
+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.]
+
+
+LINCOLN SETTLES IN NEW SALEM.
+
+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] 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."
+
+[Illustration: VIEW FROM THE HILL ABOVE SANGAMON RIVER, LOOKING TOWARD
+THE SITE OF NEW SALEM.]
+
+"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 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 get over
+the dam) by resorting to the miraculous expedient of boring a hole in
+the bottom."[B]
+
+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.
+
+[Footnote A: "Abraham Lincoln. Complete Works." Edited by John G.
+Nicolay and John, Hay. Volume I.]
+
+[Footnote B: 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.]
+
+[Illustration: LINCOLN'S FIRST VOTE.]
+
+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 _viva voce_ method.
+The people did try voting by ballot, but the experiment was unpopular.
+It required too much "book larnin," and in 1829 the _viva voce_ 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.--_Note furnished by J. McCan
+Davis_.]
+
+_(To be continued.)_
+
+
+
+
+THE LOVE OF THE PRINCE OF GLOTTENBERG.
+
+
+BY ANTHONY HOPE,
+
+Author of "The Prisoner of Zenda," "The Dolly Dialogues," etc.
+
+
+I.
+
+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:
+
+"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?"
+
+"There are many forms of love," smiled the king. "This is such love as
+a prince and a princess may most properly feel."
+
+"I do not call it love at all," said Osra, with a pout.
+
+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:
+
+"I had rather it lay in watching my face;" and then, ashamed, she
+turned away from him.
+
+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."
+
+She turned round on him with flushed cheek and trembling lips:
+
+"Yes, but I had rather it were spent in getting joy from me."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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:
+
+"Cousin, you have won the fairest lady in the world. Behold, her
+brother says it!"
+
+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.
+
+"And will you not come with me and find her?" cried the king, with a
+merry look.
+
+"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."
+
+King Rudolf looked at him, a smile curling on his lips; and he said,
+in one of his gusts of impatience:
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"You have had many lovers, sister Osra, and now comes a husband."
+
+"Yes, now a husband," she murmured, catching swiftly at his hand; and
+her voice was half caught in a sudden sob.
+
+"So goes the world--our world," said the king, knitting his brows and
+seeming to fall for a moment into a sad reverie.
+
+"I am frightened," she whispered. "Should I be frightened if I loved
+him?"
+
+"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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+"Well, Christian," said she, "have you something to say to me?"
+
+For answer he pointed to a small house that stood among the trees,
+some way from the road, and he said:
+
+"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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+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:
+
+"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.
+
+"I will not wait an hour," she cried. "I cannot wait an hour."
+
+"Then I will ride, and bring you word. You must not go," he urged.
+
+"Nay; if I go alone, I will go," said she. "Yes, I will go, and myself
+fling his falseness in his teeth."
+
+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 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.
+
+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:
+
+"He shall not live, if it prove true."
+
+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.
+
+"The king must know of it," he said.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Yes, madam," said he. She knew well that he was her friend.
+
+"Kill him for me, then! Kill him for me!"
+
+"I cannot kill him," said the bishop. "I pray God it may prove
+untrue."
+
+"You are not my friend if you will not kill him," said Osra; and she
+turned her face away, and rode yet more quickly.
+
+[Illustration: "KILL HIM FOR ME, THEN! KILL HIM FOR ME!"]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Let me go alone, madam," he implored.
+
+"Give me your sword, and I will go alone," she answered.
+
+"Here, then, is the path," said the bishop; and he led the way by the
+moonlight that broke fitfully here and there through the trees.
+
+"He swore that all his life should be mine," she whispered. "Yet I
+knew that he did not love me."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"Hark! there are voices," whispered Osra to the bishop, raising her
+hand above her head, as they two stood motionless.
+
+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.
+
+"It is true, then," she breathed from between her teeth. "My God, it
+is true!"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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!"
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: "IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM STOOD THE PRINCE OF
+GLOTTENBERG; AND ... CLINGING TO HIM ... WAS A GIRL OF SLIGHT AND SLENDER
+FIGURE."]
+
+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 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:
+
+"Who is this woman, sir? Or is she one of those that have no names?"
+
+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:
+
+"Kill him, my lord, kill him!"
+
+And the sword of the Bishop of Modenstein was half-way out of the
+scabbard.
+
+
+II.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Who is she?" asked the princess.
+
+But Ludwig's eyes had wandered back to the couch, and he answered
+only:
+
+"My God, it will kill her!"
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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:
+
+"Is there no physician in the house or near?"
+
+"None, madam," said the prince.
+
+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.
+
+"It was your duty," she said. "But it is none of mine."
+
+"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."
+
+"Who is she?" broke again from Osra's lips.
+
+"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:
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"No," said Osra; and she moved her hand near to the lady's hand.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+Thus half an hour passed; then the bishop stole softly out, and
+presently returned, saying:
+
+"God has spared her the long, painful path, and has taken her straight
+to his rest."
+
+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:
+
+"Forgive me! Forgive me!"
+
+"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:
+
+"Is she dead?"
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+[Illustration: "OSRA ... SUDDENLY THREW HERSELF ON THE FLOOR AT HIS
+FEET, CRYING, 'FORGIVE ME! FORGIVE ME!'"]
+
+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?"
+
+"Madam, farewell," said he again; and, kneeling before her, he kissed
+her hand.
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"You heard what she bade me do?"
+
+"Yes, madam, I know her wish."
+
+"And you would do it?" she asked.
+
+"Madam, my struggle was fought before she died. But now you know that
+my love was not yours."
+
+"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:
+
+"If I loved I would wait for you to love. Now what is the love that I
+cannot feel?"
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"Madam, I would most faithfully serve you, and you would be the
+nearest and dearest to me of all living women."
+
+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:
+
+"It is not enough."
+
+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.
+
+Osra stood on one side of the body, and stretched her hand out to the
+prince, who stood on the other side.
+
+"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.
+
+"He does not think of me," she said to the bishop.
+
+"His thoughts are still with her, madam," he answered.
+
+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:
+
+"My lord, what is it? Do you know it?"
+
+"Yes, madam, I have known it," answered the bishop.
+
+"Yet you are a churchman!"
+
+"True, madam," said he, and he smiled sadly.
+
+She seemed to consider, fixing her eyes on his; but he turned his
+aside.
+
+"Could you not make me understand?" she asked.
+
+"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:
+
+"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!"
+
+"It will come," said the bishop.
+
+"Does it come, then, to every one?"
+
+"To most," he answered.
+
+"Heigho, will it ever come to me?" she sighed.
+
+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.
+
+"For none will tell me, not even the Bishop of Modenstein," said she.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: P.A.J. DAGNAN-BOUVERET, A LIVING FRENCH PAINTER.]
+
+
+MADONNA AND CHILD IN ART.
+
+
+BY WILL H. LOW.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+  "Fair shines the gilded aureole
+  In which our highest painters place
+  Some living woman's simple face."
+
+sings Rossetti; and the "highest painter," pious monk, as in the 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.
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. TITIAN (ITALIAN: BORN 1477; DIED
+1576).]
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: MADONNA AND CHILD. MURILLO (SPANISH: BORN 1618?; DIED
+1682).
+
+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. 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.
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD, MURILLO (SPANISH: BORN 1618?; DIED
+1682).]
+
+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 Duerer.
+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.
+
+[Illustration: HOLY FAMILY. NICOLAS POUSSIN (FRENCH: BORN 1594; DIED
+1665).]
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. LANDELLE. A LIVING FRENCH PAINTER.]
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. UNKNOWN EARLY FLEMISH PAINTER.]
+
+[Illustration: THE MADONNA WITH THE DIADEM. RAPHAEL (ITALIAN: BORN
+1483; DIED 1520).]
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. RUBENS (FLEMISH: BORN 1577; DIED
+1640).]
+
+[Illustration: VIRGIN, INFANT JESUS, AND ST. JOHN. BOTTICELLI
+(ITALIAN: BORN 1447; DIED 1515).]
+
+[Illustration: THE REPOSE OF THE HOLY FAMILY. CANTARINI (ITALIAN: BORN
+1612; DIED 1648).]
+
+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
+_abandon_ of the sleeping child--surely no painter ever wrought
+better, nor, we may be sure, more devoutly!
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. P.A.J. DAGNAN-BOUVERET, A LIVING
+FRENCH PAINTER.]
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. N. BARABINO, A LIVING ITALIAN
+PAINTER.]
+
+[Illustration: HOLY FAMILY. SIR ANTHONY VAN DYCK (FLEMISH: BORN 1599;
+DIED 1641).]
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. CARLO DOLCI (ITALIAN: BORN 1616; DIED
+1686).]
+
+[Illustration: HOLY FAMILY. BONIFAZIO (ITALIAN: BORN 1494; DIED
+1563).]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. N. BARABINO, A LIVING ITALIAN
+PAINTER.]
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: LA VIERGE AU COUSSIN VERT--MADONNA OF THE GREEN
+CUSHION. ANDREA DA SOLARIO (ITALIAN: BORN 1458; DIED 1530).]
+
+[Illustration: LA VIERGE AUX CERISES--MADONNA OF THE CHERRIES.
+ANNIBALE CARRACCI (ITALIAN: BORN 1560; DIED 1609).]
+
+[Illustration: JESUS ASLEEP. L. DESCHAMPS, A LIVING FRENCH PAINTER.]
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. S.H. LYBAERT, A LIVING GERMAN
+PAINTER.]
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. E. VAN HOVE, A LIVING FRENCH
+PAINTER.]
+
+[Illustration: THE HOLY NIGHT. F. ROEBER, A LIVING GERMAN PAINTER.]
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD. ITALIAN SCHOOL OF THE SIXTEENTH
+CENTURY; ARTIST UNKNOWN.]
+
+[Illustration: THE ADORATION OF THE MAGI. SPAGNOLETTO (SPANISH: BORN
+1588; DIED 1656).]
+
+[Illustration: THE MADONNA OF THE TEMPI FAMILY. RAPHAEL (ITALIAN: BORN
+1483; DIED 1520).]
+
+[Illustration: HOLY FAMILY. REMBRANDT (DUTCH: BORN 1607; DIED 1669).]
+
+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."
+
+[Illustration: MADONNA, INFANT JESUS, AND ST. JOHN. VOUET (FRENCH:
+BORN 1590; DIED 1649).]
+
+[Illustration: LA VIERGE A LA GRAPPE--MADONNA OF THE GRAPES. PIERRE
+MIGNARD (FRENCH: BORN 1610; DIED 1695).]
+
+[Illustration: LA VIERGE AU LAPIN--MADONNA OF THE RABBIT. TITIAN
+(ITALIAN: BORN 1477; DIED 1576).]
+
+[Illustration: THE FOND MOTHER. GABRIEL GUAY, A LIVING FRENCH
+PAINTER.]
+
+[Illustration: ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS.
+
+From a photograph by Mr. Benjamin Kimball, Boston.]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTERS FROM A LIFE.
+
+I.
+
+BY ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS,
+
+Author of "The Gates Ajar," "The Madonna of the Tubs," etc.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"There is ----, who has written a charming series of personal
+reminiscences, and ---- ----, and ----.
+
+"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."
+
+"I suppose I _might_," I sigh. The answer is faint; but the deed is
+decreed. Shall I be sorry for it?
+
+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.
+
+A stranger to my chart, I, doubtful, put about, and make the untried
+coast.
+
+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 _you_ 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 _you_
+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.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+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.
+
+Of this latter kind is mine.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 _did_ she get it?"
+conservative friends used to wail, whenever I was seen to have tumbled
+into the last new and unfashionable reform.)
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS, HER MOTHER, AND HER INFANT
+BROTHER. AFTERWARDS PROFESSOR M. STUART PHELPS.]
+
+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:
+
+"No; nor none of our folks!"
+
+How the Connecticut parson on whom this mysterious infliction fell
+ever came out of it _not_ 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.
+
+But, as nearly as I can make it out, on the whole, he liked his Bible
+better.
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The only personal prophecy ever strictly fulfilled in my life was--I
+am not certain whether I ought to feel embarrassed in 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.
+
+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.
+
+"You can't help it," the publisher said; "you come of a family of
+large circulations."
+
+One day I was at school with my brother,--a little, private school,
+down by what were called the English dormitories in Andover.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: PROFESSOR PHELPS'S HOUSE AT ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS, THE
+HOUSE IN WHICH ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WAS REARED.]
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: PROFESSOR AUSTIN PHELPS, FATHER OF ELIZABETH STUART
+PHELPS.
+
+From an early photograph.]
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 cannot
+remember one hour in which her children needed her and did not find
+her.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+[Illustration: ELM ARCH, ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS.]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+In these different days, when,
+
+  "Pealing, the clock of time
+  Has struck the Woman's Hour,"
+
+[Illustration: THE REV. DR. E. PHELPS, GRANDFATHER OF ELIZABETH
+STUART PHELPS.]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+I said it was impossible to be her daughter and not to write. Rather,
+I should say, impossible to be _their_ daughter and not to have
+something to say, and a pen to say it.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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
+reader, too much repetition of a loving credit which it would not be
+possible altogether to omit from this chapter.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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
+_work_."
+
+"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:
+
+  "'Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
+  Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and fears;'
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+I felt that the fact that he was my Sunday-school teacher detracted
+from the importance of the occasion, but did not extinguish it.
+
+It was perhaps half-past eight, and, obediently to law and gospel, I
+had gone upstairs.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+This was in the days when even the "Companion," that oldest and most
+delightful of children's journals, printed things like these:
+
+   "_Why Julia B. loved the Country_.
+
+   "Julia B. loved the country because whenever she walked out she
+   could see God in the face of Nature."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: VIEW FROM THE WESTERN WINDOW OF THE STUDY IN PROFESSOR
+AUSTIN PHELPS'S HOUSE, ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS.]
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+THE UNDERSTUDY.
+
+
+BY ROBERT BARR,
+
+Author of "In the Midst of Alarms," "A Typewritten Letter," etc.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Good gracious!" cried Cromwell, impatiently, "what have I won?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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?"
+
+This question sounded more natural from the lips of the king than did
+the answer from the lips of Cromwell.
+
+"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."
+
+[Illustration: IT WAS A YEAR AFTER THE DISAPPEARANCE THAT A WAN LIVING
+SKELETON STAGGERED OUT OF THE WILDERNESS IN AFRICA.]
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"And what is to be the outcome of it all?" cried Charles. "What is
+your object?"
+
+"Fame, my boy, fame," cried Cromwell enthusiastically, flinging the
+chair from under him and pacing the narrow room.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+A day or two after, the London papers announced in large type,
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"What did you say?" he asked gently.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+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."
+
+"What!" cried the girl in amazement, "not Sidney Ormond, the African
+traveller?"
+
+The young man turned his wan face and large, melancholy eyes upon his
+questioner.
+
+"I am certainly Sidney Ormond, an African traveller, but I don't think
+I deserve the '_the_,' you know. I don't imagine any one has heard of
+me through my travelling any more than through my acting."
+
+"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!"
+
+"It is very strange," said Ormond gloomily; and his eyes again sought
+the horizon, and he seemed to relapse into his usual melancholy.
+
+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."
+
+Ormond looked up at the girl with a smile, and said:
+
+"You might say with truth, so ill as I look now."
+
+"Oh, the voyage has done you good. You look ever so much better than
+when you came on board."
+
+"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.
+
+The girl sat down beside him, and watched his face, glancing from it
+to the book.
+
+"It seems to me," she said at last, "that the coincidence is becoming
+more and more striking. Have you ever seen that portrait before?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+Ormond shook his head slowly and said:
+
+"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."
+
+The girl made a quick gesture of impatience.
+
+"Such things," she said, "cannot be explained. You must confront him,
+and expose him."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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: "Don't you think
+you could walk the deck for a little?"
+
+"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."
+
+He rose somewhat unsteadily, and she took his arm.
+
+"You must look upon me as your physician," she said, cheerfully, "and
+I shall insist that my orders are obeyed."
+
+"I shall be delighted to be under your charge," said Ormond, "but may
+I not know my physician's name?"
+
+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.
+
+"My name is Mary Radford," she said.
+
+"_Miss_ Mary Radford?" inquired Ormond.
+
+"Miss Mary Radford."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I don't think so," replied Ormond. "I will try to get something to
+do, and live quietly for awhile."
+
+"Oh," answered the girl, "I have no patience with you."
+
+"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."
+
+"Oh!" cried the girl breathlessly, turning her head away.
+
+"Do you think I would have any chance?" asked Ormond.
+
+"Of making a living?" inquired the girl, after a moment's silence.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Perhaps that was the case--at first--but it is far from being the
+truth now--Sidney."
+
+The young man made a motion to approach nearer to her, but the girl
+drew away, whispering:
+
+"There are other people besides ourselves on deck, remember."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+The young man shook his head.
+
+"No. Fame has jilted me once. I won't give her another chance."
+
+So those who were twain sailed gently into Southampton docks resolved
+to be one when the gods were willing.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Will you take a note to him if I write it?" asked the girl.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The girl barely entered the room, and, closing the door, stood with
+her back against it. He was the first to speak.
+
+"I thought Sidney had told me everything. I never knew he was
+acquainted with a young lady, much less engaged to her."
+
+"You admit, then, that you are not the true Sidney Ormond?"
+
+"I admit it to you, of course, if you were to have been his wife."
+
+"I am to be his wife, I hope."
+
+"But Sidney, poor fellow, is dead--dead in the wilds of Africa."
+
+"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."
+
+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--
+
+"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?"
+
+"He has been very ill."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Mary Radford."
+
+"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."
+
+"I haven't very much either," said Mary, with a sigh.
+
+Jimmy jumped up and paced the room in great glee, laughing and
+slapping his thigh.
+
+"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."
+
+The messenger put his head into the room, and said the mayor and the
+corporation were waiting.
+
+"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."
+
+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; _that_ 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."
+
+There were tears in the girl's eyes as she rose and took Jimmy's hand.
+
+"No man has ever been so true a friend to his friend as you have
+been," she said.
+
+"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."
+
+
+
+
+THE HEROINE OF A FAMOUS SONG.
+
+THE TRUE STORY OF "ANNIE LAURIE."
+
+
+BY FRANK POPE HUMPHREY.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.":
+
+"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,"
+
+Her father was Sir Robert Laurie, first baronet, and her mother was
+Jean Riddell.
+
+[Illustration: MAXWELTON HOUSE, ANNIE LAURIE'S BIRTHPLACE.]
+
+Maxwelton House was originally the castle of the earls of Glencairn.
+It was bought in 1611 by Stephen Laurie, the founder of the Laurie
+family. Stephen was a Dumfries merchant. The castle was a turreted
+building. In it Annie Laurie was born.
+
+[Illustration: ANNIE LAURIE.
+
+From a painting now preserved at Maxwelton House.]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 _blue_ e'e."
+
+[Illustration: Alexander Ferguson, Annie Laurie's husband. From a
+painting now preserved at Maxwelton House.]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+But to the important letter.
+
+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.
+
+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 _they're na the
+words my grandfather wrote_." Then she repeated the first stanza as
+she knew it.
+
+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.
+
+She explained that her grandfather, Douglas of Fingland, was
+desperately in love with Annie Laurie when he wrote the song. "But,"
+she added, "he did na get her after a'."
+
+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 _that_ was the truth.
+
+Questioned as to the authenticity of the lines she had given, she
+said:
+
+"Oh, _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:
+
+  "'Maxwelton's banks are bonnie,
+     They're a' clad owre wi' dew,
+  Where I an' Annie Laurie
+     Made up the bargain true.
+  Made up the bargain true,
+     Which ne'er forgot s'all be,
+  An' for bonnie Annie Laurie
+    I'd lay me down an' dee.'
+
+  "I mind na mair.
+
+  [Signed] "Clark Douglas.
+
+  "August 30, 1854."
+
+In the common version this stanza reads:
+
+  "Maxwelton's braes are bonnie
+    Where early fa's the dew,
+  And it's there that Annie Laurie
+    Gie'd me her promise true;
+  Gie'd me her promise true,
+    Which ne'er forgot will be,
+  An' for bonnie Annie Laurie
+    I'd lay me down an' dee."
+
+In the original song there were but two stanzas, and this is the
+second:
+
+  "She's backit like the peacock,
+    She's breistit like the swan,
+  She's jimp around the middle,
+    Her waist ye weel micht span--
+  Her waist ye weel micht span--
+    An' she has a rolling e'e,
+  An' for bonnie Annie Laurie
+    I'd lay me down an' dee."
+
+As I have said, the "rolling e'e" has been changed, and wrongly, into
+one of "dark blue."
+
+Who added the third stanza is not known; but no lover of the song
+would willingly dispense with it:
+
+  "Like dew on the gowan lying
+    Is the fa' o' her fairy feet;
+  Like summer breezes sighing,
+    Her voice is low an' sweet--
+  Her voice is low an' sweet--
+    An' she's a' the world to me,
+  An' for bonnie Annie Laurie
+    I'd lay me down an' dee."
+
+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.
+
+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, _Virtus semper viridis_. Below the grandfather's marriage stone
+is cut in the lintel the following:
+
+_Except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain who build it_.
+
+Looking up the glen from Maxwelton, the chimneys of Craigdarrock House
+are seen.
+
+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.
+
+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).
+
+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.
+
+The present proprietor of Craigdarrock is Captain Robert Ferguson, of
+the fourth generation in direct descent from Annie Laurie.
+
+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:
+
+  "Douglas of Stenhouse, _Laurie of Maxwelton_,
+  Caused Count Baillie give me martyrdom."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+   "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:
+
+   "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.
+
+   "ANN. LAURIE,
+   "JO. WILSON, Witness.
+   "JOHN HOAT, Witness."
+
+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.
+
+In following up the "fairy" footsteps of Annie Laurie I came upon
+others wholly different, but of equal interest--those of Robert Burns.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+A POINT OF KNUCKLIN' DOWN.
+
+
+BY ELLA HIGGINSON,
+
+Author of "The Takin' in of Old Mis' Lane" and other stories.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"It's goin' to be a fine Christmas, Emarine," he said, and sighed
+unconsciously. There was a wistful and careworn look on his face.
+
+"Beautiful!" said Emarine vivaciously. "Goin' down-town, Orville?"
+
+"Yes." Want anything?"
+
+"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."
+
+Her husband smiled as he finished the list. "You're a wonderful
+housekeeper, Emarine," he said.
+
+Then his face grew grave. "Got a present for your mother yet,
+Emarine?"
+
+"Oh, yes, long ago. I got 'er a black shawl down t' Charman's. She's
+b'en wantin' one."
+
+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?"
+
+"No," she replied, with cold distinctness. "I ain't."
+
+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.
+
+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?"
+
+"No," said Emarine.
+
+"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."
+
+She drew back and looked at him. He knew the look that flashed into
+her eyes, and shrank from it.
+
+"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!"
+
+He put on his hat and went without a word.
+
+Mrs. Palmer took the saucepan from the stove and set it on the 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.
+
+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--"
+
+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--"
+
+"No," said Emarine. "Did Orville stop by an' tell you to hurry up?"
+
+"Yes. What's the matter of him? Is he sick?"
+
+"Not as I know of. Why?"
+
+"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."
+
+"How does he look? I don't see 's he looks so turrable."
+
+"Why, Emarine Parmer! Ev'rybody in town says he looks _so_! I only
+hope they don't know what ails him!"
+
+"What _does_ ail him?" cried out Emarine, fiercely. "What are you
+hintin' at?"
+
+"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."
+
+Emarine turned white. Sheet lightning played in her eyes.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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!"
+
+She sat down with a sigh of defeat.
+
+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.
+
+"Oh, Emarine, here comes old gran'ma Eliot herself! Run an' open the
+door fer 'er. She's limpin' worse 'n usual."
+
+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.
+
+Emarine's face softened when she kissed her. "I'm so glad to see you,"
+she said, and her voice was tender.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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 _me_ alone. Fixin' fer Christmas dinner,
+Emarine dear?"
+
+"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?"
+
+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 comfort a
+daughter-in-law is when you get old an' feeble!"
+
+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.
+
+"An' I never will," said Mrs. Endey, grimly.
+
+"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."
+
+The knife in Emarine's hand slipped, and she uttered a little cry.
+
+"Hurt you?" demanded her mother, sternly.
+
+Emarine was silent, and did not turn.
+
+"Cut you, Emarine? Why don't you answer me? Aigh?"
+
+"A little," said Emarine. She went into the pantry, and presently
+returned with a narrow strip of muslin which she wound around her
+finger.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"I stopped at Orville's mother's as I come along, Emarine."
+
+"How?" Emarine turned in a startled way from the table.
+
+"I say I stopped at Orville's mother's as I come along."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"She well?" asked Mrs. Endey.
+
+"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."
+
+There was quite a silence. Then Mrs. Endey said, "What she b'en cryin'
+about?"
+
+"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."
+
+Mrs. Endey smiled. "What she say to that?"
+
+"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
+_wishful_ 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."
+
+When Mrs. Eliot had gone limping down the path, Mrs. Endey said: "You
+got your front room red up, Emarine?"
+
+"No; I ain't had time to red up anything."
+
+"Well, I'll do it. Where's your duster at?"
+
+"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!"
+
+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.'
+
+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?"
+
+There was no reply. Emarine was at the table making tarts. Her back
+was to mother.
+
+"I didn't mean what I said about bein' sorry I egged you on, Emarine.
+I'm glad you turned her out. She'd _ort_ to be turned out."
+
+Emarine dropped a quivering ruby of jelly into a golden ring of pastry
+and laid it carefully on a plate.
+
+"Gran'ma Eliot can go talkin' about her daughter-'n-law Sidonie all
+she wants, Emarine. You keep a stiff upper lip."
+
+"I can 'tend to my own affairs," said Emarine, fiercely.
+
+"Well, don't flare up so. Here comes Orviile. Land, but he does look
+peakid!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+After supper, when her mother had gone home for the night, Emarine put
+on her hat and shawl.
+
+Her husband was sitting by the fireplace, looking thoughtfully at the
+bed of coals.
+
+"I'm goin' out," she said briefly. "You keep the fire up."
+
+"Why, Emarine, it's dark. Don't choo want I sh'u'd go along?"
+
+"No; you keep the fire up."
+
+He looked at her anxiously, but he knew from the way she set her heels
+down that remonstrance would be useless.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"It's Miss Presly," said Emarine, resentfully, under her breath. "Old
+gossip!"
+
+"--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?"
+
+"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."
+
+Emarine opened the door and walked in. Mrs. Palmer arose slowly,
+grasping the back of her chair. "Orville's dead?" she said solemnly.
+
+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?"
+
+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."
+
+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 come just
+at eleven. I must run right back now. Good-night."
+
+"Well, I declare!" said Miss Presly. "That girl gits prettier ev'ry
+day o' her life. Why, she just looked full o' _glame_ to-night!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+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!"
+
+"Yes, I know," said Emarine, calmly. "I ast her to dinner."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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. "_Mother!_" he
+cried; then he gave a frightened, tortured glance at his wife. Emarine
+smiled at him, but it was through tears.
+
+"Emarine ast me, Orville--she ast me to dinner o' herself! An' she
+give me this shawl. I'm--cryin'--fer--joy--"
+
+"I ast her to dinner," said Emarine, "but she ain't ever goin' back
+again. She's goin' to _stay_. I expect we've both had enough of a
+lesson to do us."
+
+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.
+
+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!"
+
+But there was something in her eyes, too, that made them beautiful.
+
+
+
+
+THE SUN'S HEAT.
+
+
+BY SIR ROBERT BALL,
+
+Lowndean Professor of Astronomy and Geometry at Cambridge, England;
+formerly Royal Astronomer of Ireland.
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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."
+
+[Illustration: THE SUN: FROM A PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN BY LEWIS M. RUTHERFURD
+IN NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER 22, 1870.
+
+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.]
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: SIR ROBERT BALL. From a photograph by Russel & Sons,
+London.]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 cherishing this immediate world of ours, then all
+we can say is that nature carries on its business in the most
+outrageously wasteful manner.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: A TYPICAL SUN-SPOT.
+
+By permission of Longmans, Green & Co., from "Old and New Astronomy,"
+by Richard A. Proctor.]
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+HALL CAINE.
+
+STORY OF HIS LIFE AND WORK, DERIVED FROM CONVERSATIONS.
+
+
+BY ROBERT HARBOROUGH SHERARD.
+
+
+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 _vates_ amongst the Romans, of a prophet in Israel.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: BALLAVOLLEY COTTAGE, BALLAUGH, ISLE OF MAN, WHERE HALL
+CAINE LIVED AS A LITTLE BOY.]
+
+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 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 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.
+
+[Illustration: From a photograph by Barraud, London.]
+
+[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF HALL CAINE'S MANUSCRIPT, FROM "THE
+MANXMAN." AN ADDITION MADE IN REVISING PROOFS.]
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: MRS. HALL CAINE. From a photograph by Alfred Ellis,
+London.]
+
+
+CHILDHOOD IN A MANX COTTAGE.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: HALL CAINE'S LIBRARY. From a photograph by Barton.]
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: GREEBA CASTLE, ISLE OF MAN, WHERE MR. CAINE WROTE MOST
+OF "THE MANXMAN."
+From a photograph by Abel Lewis, Douglas, Isle of Man.]
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: PEEL CASTLE, ISLE OF MAN.]
+
+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 determined
+to continue in the architect's office." He accordingly attached
+himself as pupil or apprentice to Richard Owens, the architect.
+
+[Illustration: 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.]
+
+
+FIRST WRITINGS FOR THE PUBLIC.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: R.E. MORRISON. R.H.SHERARD. HALL CAINE.
+
+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.]
+
+
+CAINE'S ASSOCIATION WITH ROSSETTI.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: BISHOP'S COURT, WHERE DAN MYLREA IN "THE DREMSTER" WAS
+REARED.]
+
+[Illustration: SIR W.L. DRINKWATER, THE PRESENT FIRST DREMSTER OF THE
+ISLE OF MAN.
+From a photograph by J. E. Bruton, Douglas, Isle of Man.]
+
+"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.'"
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: KIRK MAUGHOLD, WHICH FIGURES IN "THE BONDMAN" AND "THE
+MANXMAN."]
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+
+HALL CAINE'S FIRST NOVEL.
+
+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 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."
+
+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 _confrere_ 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.
+
+[Illustration: LEZAYRE CHURCH, WHERE PETE AND KATE WERE MARRIED IN
+"THE MANXMAN."]
+
+
+BEATING THE STREETS OF LONDON IN SEARCH OF WORK.
+
+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.
+
+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 his subject. "_I_ could have written _the_
+Life of Coleridge," he says.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+
+THE BEGINNING OF PROSPERITY.
+
+[Illustration: 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."]
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: THE ORIGINAL OF KATE IN "THE MANXMAN."]
+
+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."
+
+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. "I was
+a 'degenerate,' he says, "a 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.
+
+[Illustration: "BLACK TOM" BEFORE "THE COTTAGE BY THE WATER-TROUGH."]
+
+"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 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."
+
+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."
+
+
+THE WRITING OF "THE MANXMAN."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+"That means," he will explain, "that all those days I was working at
+my story in my head."
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 thinking, when, his success and
+personal popularity being what they are, he has many temptations to
+worldliness.
+
+He attributes his success in part to the fact that he has always been
+a great reader of the Bible.
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+NEIGHBOR KING.
+
+
+BY
+COLLINS SHACKELFORD.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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'.
+
+Oh, dear! Oh, dear! The loved face was cold and white, an' I give one
+scream an' fell beside him, knowin' nothin'. Yes, Micah was
+dead--gone to sleep never to waken, passed from life with little
+Hannah snuggled in his arms.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+I answered nothin'; but put up my hand an' pulled back the sheet from
+the dear dead face.
+
+"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.
+
+"Madam, forgive me! I never dreamed of such a thing," he cried at
+last, recoverin' himself; "an' when an' how did it happen?"
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: "MRS. CHALLEN HELD ME IN HER ARMS."]
+
+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 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?
+
+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.
+
+The mornin' after the funeral neighbor King was round bright an'
+early, findin' me red-eyed an' weakly.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+[Illustration: "THE MORNIN' AFTER THE FUNERAL NEIGHBOR KING WAS ROUND
+BRIGHT AN' EARLY."]
+
+"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 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."
+
+[Illustration: "THERE WAS HARDLY A DAY HE DID NOT RIDE OVER THE LITTLE
+FARM TO SEE HOW THINGS WERE GOIN'."]
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+Neighbor King (his other name was Horace, I found out 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.
+
+[Illustration: "HE DIDN'T STOP, AS WAS HIS HABIT, BUT CANTERED BY,
+HEAD DOWN AND REINS LOOSE."]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: "ONE OF HIS MEN BROUGHT ME A LETTER--THE FIRST I'D HAD
+FOR YEARS"]
+
+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.
+
+   CHICAGO, _August 17, 187-._
+
+   MRS. PYNCHEON: I find that my wife has been dead a year.
+
+   HORACE KING.
+
+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."
+
+"I thought, you might not be comin' back," I whispered, with quiverin'
+lips.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+
+
+
+THROUGH THE DARDANELLES.
+
+
+BY CY WARMAN,
+
+Author of "A Thousand-mile Ride on the Engine of a 'Flyer.'"
+
+
+  Soul of Sappho, if, to-night,
+    When my boat is drifting near
+  Your fair island, spirit bright--
+    If I sing, and if you hear,
+  From your island in the sea,
+  Soul of Sappho, speak to me.
+
+  Soul of Sappho, they have said
+    That your hair, a heap of gold,
+  Made a halo for your head;
+    And your eyes, I have been told,
+  Were like stars. Oh, from the sea,
+  Soul of Sappho, speak to me!
+
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: SACRED DOGS, CONSTANTINOPLE.]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 children. Of course one sympathizes with these
+poor, miserable people, but one does not want their secrets.
+
+[Illustration: THE RAILROAD STATION AT CONSTANTINOPLE.]
+
+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.
+
+The ship's doctor, who was my guide, at every landing-place kindly
+pointed out the many points of interest.
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"See that island over there? That was the home of Sappho."
+
+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 _cafe_
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 me there
+are no fairer stretches of water for a glorious day's sail than the
+Dardanelles.
+
+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.
+
+
+THE FIRST RAILROAD IN ASIA MINOR.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: JAFFA FROM THE HARBOR.]
+
+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 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.
+
+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."
+
+[Illustration: A CREW OF JAFFA BOATMEN.]
+
+For nearly a week the steamers had been passing Jaffa without landing,
+and the result was that Beyrout and Port Said 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.
+
+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 Said, then from Port Said 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.
+
+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,
+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.
+
+[Illustration: A STREET SCENE IN JERUSALEM.]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Jump," they would say to the Christians; "don't be afraid; Christ
+will save you!"
+
+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 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.
+
+
+JERUSALEM.
+
+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.
+
+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 canon 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.
+
+[Illustration: LEPERS IN JERUSALEM.]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+One day in a narrow street we met two women who nearly blocked the
+way.
+
+"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.
+
+
+
+
+THE EARLIEST PORTRAIT OF LINCOLN
+
+LETTERS IN REGARD TO THE FRONTISPIECE OF THE NOVEMBER MCCLURE'S.
+
+
+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.
+
+ANN ARBOR, MICHIGAN, _October 24, 1895._
+
+MR. S.S. MCCLURE, _New York City_.
+
+_Dear Sir_: 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.
+
+Very respectfully yours,
+
+THOMAS M. COOLEY.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM HERBERT B. ADAMS, Professor of History in Johns Hopkins
+University.
+
+JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY, BALTIMORE, MARYLAND, _October 24, 1895._
+
+S.S. MCCLURE, ESQ., 30 _Lafayette Place, New York City_.
+
+_My Dear Mr. McClure_: 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 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.
+
+Very sincerely yours,
+
+H.B. ADAMS.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+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.
+
+BEACHMONT, MASSACHUSETTS, _October 24, 1895._
+
+_My Dear Sir_: 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 _manliness_ 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 _latest_ 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.
+
+Yours,
+
+HENRY C. WHITNEY.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM THE HON. HENRY B. BROWN, Associate Justice of the Supreme Court
+of the United States.
+
+WASHINGTON, _October 23, 1895._
+
+S.S. MCCLURE, _New York_.
+
+_Dear Sir_: 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.
+
+Very truly yours,
+
+H.B. BROWN.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM MAJOR J.W. POWELL, of the United States Geological Survey.
+
+WASHINGTON, _October 24, 1895._
+
+_My Dear McClure_: 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.
+
+Yours cordially,
+
+J.W. POWELL.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM MR. JOHN C. ROPES, author of "The First Napoleon" and
+"The Story of the Civil War."
+
+99 MOUNT VERNON STREET, BOSTON, _October 24, 1895._
+
+S. S. MCCLURE, ESQ.
+
+_My Dear Sir_: 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.
+
+With renewed thanks, I am,
+
+Very truly yours,
+
+J. C. ROPES.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM WOODROW WILSON, Professor of Finance and Political Economy at
+Princeton.
+
+PRINCETON, NEW JERSEY, _October 23, 1895._
+
+MR. S. S. MCCLURE.
+
+_My Dear Mr. McClure_: 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.
+
+Very sincerely yours,
+
+WOODROW WILSON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM C. R. MILLER, editor of the New York "Times."
+
+NEW YORK, _October 24, 1895._
+
+S. S. MCCLURE, ESQ., _City_.
+
+_Dear Mr. McClure_: 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.
+
+Yours very truly,
+
+C. R. MILLER.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM THE HON. DAVID J. BREWER, Associate Justice of the Supreme Court
+of the United States.
+
+WASHINGTON, _October 24, 1895._
+
+S. S. MCCLURE, ESQ., _New York_.
+
+_My Dear Sir_: 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.
+
+Yours truly,
+
+DAVID J. BREWER.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM MURAT HALSTEAD, for many years editor of the Cincinnati
+"Commercial Gazette," and now editor of the Brooklyn "Standard-Union."
+
+BROOKLYN STANDARD-UNION, _October 23, 1895._
+
+_S. S. MCCLURE_.
+
+_My Dear Sir_: 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.
+
+MURAT HALSTEAD.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM GENERAL FRANCIS A. WALKER, President of the Massachusetts
+Institute of Technology.
+
+BOSTON, _October 24, 1895._
+
+S. S. MCCLURE, ESQ., _30 Lafayette Place, New York City_.
+
+_Dear Mr. McClure_: 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 _explains_ Mr.
+Lincoln far more than the most elaborate line-engraving which has been
+produced.
+
+Very truly yours,
+
+FRANCIS A. WALKER.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER.
+
+HARTFORD, _October 24, 1895._
+
+_My Dear Mr. McClure_: 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.
+
+For the study of the man's development, I think this new old portrait
+has a peculiar value.
+
+Yours sincerely,
+
+CHAS. DUDLEY WARNER.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of McClure's Magazine December, 1895
+by Edited by Ida M. Tarbell
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE DECEMBER, 1895 ***
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