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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Galaxy, by Various
+
+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: The Galaxy
+       Vol. XXIII--March, 1877.--No. 3
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: January 29, 2011 [EBook #35112]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GALAXY ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Carol Ann Brown, Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier
+and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+https://www.pgdp.net.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  THE GALAXY.
+
+
+
+
+  VOL. XXIII.--MARCH, 1877.--No. 3.
+
+
+Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by SHELDON &
+CO., in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
+
+
+
+
+  THE ENGLISH PEERAGE.
+
+
+More than one reader must have felt impatient with Milton for spoiling
+the fine epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester with such unfortunate
+lines as "A Viscount's daughter, an Earl's heir," and "No Marchioness,
+but now a queen." Probably the expressions sounded less absurd to his
+contemporaries than they do to us, for titles of nobility, however
+unworthily conferred, had more significance in the reign of James I.
+than they bear in the reign of Queen Victoria. The memorable despatch in
+which Collingwood announced the victory of Trafalgar, and which has been
+described by great writers as a masterpiece of simple narration began
+with these words: "Sir: The ever to be lamented death of Vice Admiral
+Lord Viscount Nelson, in the moment of victory," etc. Now peers of all
+ranks, except the highest, are commonly spoken of under the general
+designation of "Lord So-and-So," and are rarely accorded in conversation
+the honors of "my lord," or "your lordship." Generally speaking, it may
+be said that in England titles, like decorations, are still greedily
+sought after, but when won are not openly displayed. They are felt by
+their bearers to be an anachronism, though no doubt a sufficiently
+agreeable one to those most immediately concerned.
+
+Successive governments give as large a share of patronage to the peers
+and baronets, and their kinsfolk, as they reasonably can; while the
+Premier is only too glad to select men of rank as his colleagues in the
+Cabinet, if they are only possessed of decent abilities, and will
+work--for a minister must be a hard worker in these days. Thus, Mr.
+Gladstone's administration, the first which was ever designated as
+"Radical," contained a large proportion of the aristocratic element in
+its ranks, though it was even made a charge against Mr. Gladstone by
+conservative and pseudo-liberal papers, that he unjustly deprived the
+peerage of its due representation in the Cabinet.
+
+As a matter of fact, when the Cabinet resigned it consisted of sixteen
+members. Of these, eight were peers or sons of peers. Of the remaining
+thirty-six Parliamentary members of the administration, fourteen were
+peers or sons of peers. Mr. Disraeli's Cabinet numbers but twelve
+ministers. Of these six are peers, another is heir presumptive to a
+dukedom; while an eighth is a baronet; and of the remaining members of
+the administration, nineteen out of thirty-eight are peers, baronets, or
+sons of peers. In the army and navy, in the diplomatic service, the
+peerage equally secures its full share of prizes; and even in the legal
+profession it is far from being a disadvantage to a young barrister that
+his name figures in the pages of Burke. In the Church a large proportion
+of the best livings are held by members of the same privileged class,
+and even the Stock Exchange lately showed itself eager to confer such
+honors as were in its gift on a duke's son, who had been courageous
+enough to "go into trade."
+
+The British aristocracy is still, therefore, "a fact," if a favorite
+term of Mr. Carlyle's may be permitted in such a connexion, as it
+probably may, for the author of "The French Revolution" has himself been
+one of the latest eulogists of the governing families of England, and
+perhaps a few notes on the origin and history of some of the principal
+houses may not be unacceptable to American readers.
+
+The House of Lords, as at present constituted, consists of something
+less than five hundred temporal peers. The first in order of hereditary
+precedence, after the princes of the blood royal, is the Duke of
+Norfolk, a blameless young gentleman of eight-and-twenty years, and a
+zealous Catholic, as it is generally supposed that a Howard is compelled
+to be by a mysterious law of his nature. As a matter of fact, however,
+no family in England has changed its religion so often. Henry Charles,
+thirteenth duke, seceded from the Church of Rome on the occasion of the
+papal aggression. He declared himself convinced that "ultramontane
+opinions were totally incompatible with allegiance to the sovereign and
+the Constitution." The Duke's expression of opinion might have had more
+weight with his coreligionists had his own reputation for wisdom stood
+higher. But it stood very low. His Grace had made himself very
+conspicuous during the agitation for the repeal of the corn laws by
+recommending a curry powder of his own manufacture as a substitute for
+bread, which singular piece of advice to a starving people earned him
+the sobriquet of "Curry Norfolk." Charles, eleventh duke, also renounced
+the old faith about the year 1780. He had not yet succeeded to his
+title, but was known as the Earl of Surrey; was immediately returned to
+Parliament for one of his father's boroughs. (The dukes of Norfolk had
+eleven boroughs at their disposition before the passing of the reform
+bill.) He was a notable personage in his day, and acted in concert with
+the party of Fox. For giving the toast of "The people, our Sovereign,"
+at a public dinner he was deprived of his lord-lieutenancy and of his
+colonelcy of militia. He was remarkable, too, for a dislike of clean
+linen, which his friends were grieved to see him carry to excess.[A]
+Three other Howards of the same stock are more honorably distinguished
+in their country's annals. They are the victor of Flodden and two of his
+grandsons; the one the Surrey of history and romance, the other, Charles
+Lord Howard of Effingham, the conqueror of the Spanish Armada. The
+origin of the family is involved in obscurity, some maintaining that it
+sprung from the famous Hereward, the Wake, of whose name they affirm
+Howard to be a corruption; while others assert that the word Howard is
+neither more nor less than a euphonious form of Hogward, and that the
+premier duke and hereditary Earl Marshal of England might ultimately
+trace his descent to a swineherd if he were disposed so to do. The first
+Howard of whom genealogists can take serious cognizance was a
+respectable judge of the court of common pleas in the reigns of Edward
+I. and Edward II. (1297-1308). His descendant was ennobled in the reign
+of Edward IV.
+
+[Footnote A: "Did your Grace ever try a clean shirt?" Abernethy is said
+to have asked the Duke, who had consulted him on some ailment.]
+
+Next on the roll of the Lords to the Duke of Norfolk is Edward St. Maur,
+the Duke of Somerset, an extremely clever man, "with a passion for
+saying disagreeable things." He recently published a smart attack on the
+evidences of Christianity, which occasioned not a little difficulty to
+some worthy editors. They were sincere Christians, but it jarred against
+their feelings to speak harshly of a duke. The St. Maurs (or Seymours)
+are of genuine Norman descent, and began to be heard of in the
+thirteenth century. They apparently remained estimable till the time of
+Henry VIII., when that uxorious monarch married Jane, the daughter of
+Sir John Seymour, by whom he became the father of Edward VI. Strangely
+enough, Jane's brother, Lord Seymour of Sudeley, afterward married
+Henry's widow, and the knot of family relationships becomes a little
+complicated in consequence. More inauspicious unions were never
+contracted. Lord Seymour was executed by order of his brother, the
+Protector (and first Duke of Somerset), and three years later the
+Protector's death-warrant was signed by his own nephew. From the close
+of this short chronicle of blood, the Seymours practically disappear
+from the pages of English history, though Macaulay has left a graphic
+picture of that Sir Edward Seymour who was Speaker of the House of
+Commons under Charles II., and who proudly replied to William III., when
+asked if he belonged to the Duke of Somerset's family, that "the Duke of
+Somerset belonged to his family." Francis, fifth duke, was the occasion
+of a few days' gossip and much scandal. During his travels in Italy he
+visited the convent of the Augustinians at Lerice, where he was foolish
+enough to offer an impertinence to some ladies of the family of Botti,
+and was shot by an angry Signor Botti a few hours later. His brother
+Charles, who succeeded him, is the hero of a less tragic story. His
+second wife, Lady Charlotte Finch, once tapped him with her fan, when he
+is said to have rebuked her in these terms: "Madam, my first wife was a
+Percy, and she never ventured to take such a liberty." He was known
+among his contemporaries as "the proud Duke of Somerset."
+
+The next of the ducal houses in order of precedence traces its descent
+from Charles II. and Louisa de Querouaille, "whom our rude ancestors
+called Madam Carwell." The Dukes of Richmond have always been known as
+honorable gentlemen, but they have left no mark on the political history
+of England. The present Duke is perhaps the most distinguished man of
+his family, being leader of the Conservative party in the House of
+Lords, and, as is generally thought, Mr. Disraeli's destined successor
+in the Premiership. The third Duke held high office in the early part of
+the reign of George III.; while his nephew, Colonel Lennox, who
+afterward succeeded him in the title, had the honor of fighting a duel
+with a son of George III. Neither of the combatants suffered any hurt,
+and Colonel Lennox was reserved for the most melancholy of deaths;
+falling, thirty years after, a victim to hydrophobia, caused by the bite
+of a dog. His royal antagonist was Frederic, Duke of York, who
+subsequently became Commander-in-Chief of the British army in the most
+inglorious period of its annals. Indeed, so disgraceful was his Royal
+Highness's conduct of the campaign of 1794, that Pitt demanded one of
+two things from the King; viz., either that the Prince should be brought
+before a court-martial, or that the Prime Minister should in future have
+the right of appointing to great military commands. It must have cost
+George III. a bitter pang to accept the latter alternative.
+
+The Duke of Grafton, who holds the fourth place on Garter's Roll, is
+equally descended from his Majesty, King Charles II., of happy memory.
+Henry Fitzroy, son of Barbara Villiers (created Duchess of Cleveland),
+was raised to the highest rank in the peerage, as Duke of Grafton, in
+1675. He was one of the first to desert his uncle's cause in 1688, and
+two years later he died a soldier's death under the walls of Cork,
+fighting for William III. and the liberties of England. His great
+grandson was Augustus Henry, third Duke of Grafton, who may still be
+seen gibbeted in the pages of Junius. His Grace was a member of
+Chatham's second ministry, and succeeded his chief in the Premiership.
+Of other Dukes of Grafton history makes no special mention.
+
+The fifth of the dukes in order of precedence quarters the royal arms of
+France and England, but without the baton sinister. Henry Charles
+Fitzroy Somerset, Duke of Beaufort, is lineally descended from "_old_
+John of Gaunt, time-honored Lancaster" (third son of Edward III.) and
+Catherine Swinford. John of Gaunt's children by this union were
+afterward legitimatized by act of Parliament. Henry, the second son,
+took holy orders, and became Bishop of Lincoln, and afterward of
+Winchester, as well as Cardinal and Lord Chancellor. He is the Cardinal
+Beaufort who figures in the stately Gallery of Shakespeare. He and his
+brothers took the name they bore from the Castle of Beaufort, in Anjou,
+the place of their nativity. The Cardinal's elder brother was created
+Earl and afterward Marquis of Somerset. His descendant, Henry Beaufort,
+Duke of Somerset, fell into the hands of the Yorkists, at the battle of
+Hexham, and was succeeded in the family honors by his brother Edmund,
+who was soon to share the same fate. With him the legitimate male line
+of John of Gaunt became extinct. Duke Henry, however, had left a natural
+son, who was called Charles Somerset, and who, to use the appropriate
+language of chronological dictionaries, "flourished" in the reigns of
+Henry VII. and Henry VIII. He was a brave soldier and a skilful
+diplomatist; having been chosen a Knight of the Garter; he was also
+appointed captain of the King's Guards for his services. Sir Charles
+Somerset obtained in marriage Elizabeth, daughter and heiress of William
+Herbert, Earl of Huntingdon, and Lord Herbert of Rayland, Chepston, and
+Gower; and, in his wife's right, was summoned to Parliament as Lord
+Herbert, in the first year of Henry VIII. In 1514 he was advanced to the
+Earldom of Worcester, having previously been constituted Lord
+Chamberlain for life, as a reward for the distinguished part he had in
+the taking of Terouenne and Tournay. He died in 1526, and was succeeded
+by his son. Little is heard of the Somersets--Earls of Worcester--during
+the sixteenth century, though the marriage of two ladies of that house
+called forth the well-known Epithalamium of Spenser. Henry, the fifth
+earl, created Marquis of Worcester by Charles I., is celebrated in
+English history for his defence of Rayland castle against the forces of
+the Parliament, under Sir Thomas Fairfax. On this subject, Mr. George
+MacDonald's last novel of "St. George and St. Michael" may be consulted
+with advantage.
+
+The brave old cavalier did not long survive the surrender and
+destruction of his ancestral home. The same year he died, and was
+succeeded in his title by his son Edward, the famous author of the
+"Century of Inventions." It is scarcely too much to say that had this
+man been divested of rank and fortune, and had he been furnished with
+the requisite motive for exertion, he might have anticipated the work of
+Watt and Stephenson. As it was, the discoveries he made served but to
+amuse his leisure hours. The Marquis of Worcester was well-nigh the last
+of his race about whose doings his countrymen would much care to be
+informed. His son was created Duke of Beaufort in 1682, and with the
+attainment of the highest rank in the peerage came a cessation of mental
+activity in the family. One more Somerset, however, deserves honorable
+mention--Fitzroy, who was aide-de-camp to Wellington, and lost an arm at
+Waterloo. Raised to the peerage in 1852 as Lord Raglan, he was named two
+years later to the command of the English army in the Crimea. What he
+did, and what he did not, in that post, is still remembered. In truth he
+was a gallant soldier, distracted by contradictory instructions, feeling
+keenly the criticisms of newspaper writers, who complained that one of
+the strongest fortresses in the world was not taken in a few weeks. The
+siege had lasted eight months, when Lord Raglan resolved to make one
+desperate effort to carry the place by assault on the 18th of June, the
+fortieth anniversary of Waterloo. The attack failed, and the allies were
+repulsed with severe loss. Ten days later the English general succumbed
+to sickness and chagrin.
+
+The Dukes of St. Albans enjoy precedence after the Dukes of Beaufort.
+William Amelius Aubrey De Vere Beauclerk, present and tenth duke, is
+lineally descended from the Merry Monarch and Nell Gwynn, and through
+the marriage of the first duke, from the De Veres, Earls of Oxford. His
+Grace is Hereditary Grand Falconer, a pleasant little sinecure of some
+$6,000 a year. Of the Dukes of Saint Albans history has nothing to say.
+The ninth duke married the widow of Mr. Thomas Coutts, of banking
+renown.
+
+Next on Garter's roll comes the Duke of Leeds, lineally descended from
+Thomas Osborne, Earl of Danby and Lord High Treasurer under Charles II.,
+whom Dutch William afterward made Duke of Leeds. Danby (for he is better
+known by this title than by the one which he dishonored) must be
+considered to have been an average statesman, and even a patriot, as
+public spirit then went. He steadily opposed French influence under
+Charles II., and afterward contributed to the success of the Revolution.
+He was subsequently impeached by the Commons for taking bribes, but the
+principal witness on whom the House relied to substantiate the charge
+mysteriously disappeared when most wanted. From that day, however, the
+Duke of Leeds was morally extinguished. The subsequent Dukes led worthy
+and honorable lives, but were not otherwise notable. The seventh married
+(24th of April, 1828) an American lady, Louisa Catharine, third daughter
+of Mr. Richard Caton of Maryland, and widow of Sir Felton Bathurst
+Hervey.
+
+The two next of the ducal houses, those of Bedford and Devonshire, are
+invested by Whig writers with almost a halo of glory, though in truth
+they have produced respectable rather than great men. The beginnings of
+the house of Russell are somewhat curious. One of the earliest ancestors
+of the family of whom anything is accurately known was Speaker of the
+House of Commons in the second and tenth years of Henry VI. His
+grandson, John Russell, a gentleman of property, resided at Berwick,
+about four miles from Bridport, in the county of Dorset. He was a
+bookish man, and would probably never have gone to seek out fortune; but
+fortune, as is her wont, came to him in the person of the Archduke
+Philip of Austria. This Prince, the son of the reckless Maximilian,
+having encountered a violent hurricane in his passage from Flanders to
+Spain, was driven into Weymouth, where he landed, and was hospitably
+received by a Sir Thomas Trenchard, who immediately wrote to court for
+instructions. Meanwhile he deputed his first cousin, Mr. Russell, to
+wait upon the Prince. His Highness was so fascinated by the conversation
+of Mr. Russell, that he begged that gentleman to accompany him to
+Windsor, where he spoke of him in such high terms to the King (Henry
+VII.), that the monarch at once took him into his favor. He subsequently
+accompanied Henry VIII. in his French wars, and afterward becoming a
+supple instrument of his master's ecclesiastical policy, was rewarded
+with a peerage and a grant of the Abbey of Tavistock, and the extensive
+lands thereto belonging. To these possessions the Protector Somerset
+added the monastery of Woburn and the Earldom of Bedford. Nor did the
+star of John Russell grow dim under the reign of the Catholic Mary, who
+named him Lord Privy Seal, and Ambassador to Spain, to conduct Philip
+II. to England. He died in 1555. From him were descended various
+Russells who enjoyed as many of the good things of this life as they
+could decently lay hands upon, and two of whom were famous men in their
+day. William, Lord Russell, is best known to posterity as the husband of
+the admirable Rachael Wriothesley, daughter of Thomas, Earl of
+Southampton, and widow of Francis, Lord Vaughan. With respect to his
+execution there has been some difference of opinion; but the probability
+is that it was a judicial murder of the worst kind. Immediately after
+the Revolution, Lord Russell's attainder was reversed by Parliament. His
+widow survived him forty years, and lived to see George I. on the throne
+and the Protestant succession firmly established. What is not so
+generally known, perhaps, is that the mother of Lord Russell was the
+daughter of Carr, Earl of Somerset, by the divorced wife of Essex. She
+was herself a virtuous lady, and is said to have fallen down in a fit
+when she first learned the horrible details of her family history.
+
+Lord Russell's cousin was the victor of La Hogue, created Earl of Orford
+in 1697. He died in 1727 without issue, when the title became
+extinct--to be renewed fifteen years later in favor of Sir Robert
+Walpole.
+
+Lord Russell's father was created Duke of Bedford by William III., May
+11, 1694. He was succeeded by his grandson, Wriothesley, who was married
+at the ripe age of fourteen and elevated to a separate peerage the same
+year. He had previously been requested to come forward as a candidate
+for the county of Middlesex; but the prudent Lady Russell refused to
+allow him. In the then state of public opinion he would have been
+elected without opposition.
+
+The eighteenth century was the golden age of Whig families, at least
+till George III. became king, and the house of Russell continued to
+provide the country with a succession of dignified placemen. John IV.,
+Duke of Bedford, was Lord Lieutenant of Ireland in 1756. In 1762 his
+Grace, as the plenipotentiary of England, signed the preliminaries of
+peace at Fontainebleau with France and Spain--a work on which he can
+scarcely be congratulated, seeing that by it England was juggled out of
+nearly every advantage she had won by seven years of victory. The Duke's
+son, Francis, called by courtesy Marquis of Tavistock, married Lady
+Elizabeth Keppel, who literally died of grief when her husband was
+killed by a fall from his horse. Dr. Johnson's characteristic comment on
+this event was that if her ladyship had been a poor washerwoman with
+twelve children to mind, she would have had no time to die of grief.
+Lord Tavistock left three sons, Francis and John, successively fifth and
+sixth Dukes of Bedford, and William (posthumous), the unfortunate
+nobleman who, within living memory, was murdered by his French valet
+Courvoisier.
+
+John, Earl Russell, the distinguished statesman who "upset the coach,"
+is a son of the sixth duke, Lord Odo Russell, one of the ablest of
+modern diplomatists, a grandson of the same peer.
+
+On the day after the head of the house of Russell was raised to ducal
+rank, the head of the Cavendishes received the same honor, being created
+Marquis of Hartington and Duke of Devonshire. This family claims descent
+from Sir John Cavendish, Lord Chief Justice of England in 1366, 1373,
+and 1377. "In the fourth year of Richard II. his lordship was elected
+chancellor of the university of Cambridge, and was next year
+commissioned, with Robert de Hales, treasurer of England, to suppress
+the insurrection raised in the city of York, in which year the mob,
+having risen to the number of fifty thousand, made it a point,
+particularly in the county of Suffolk, to plunder and murder the
+lawyers; and being incensed in a more than ordinary degree against the
+Chief Justice Cavendish, his son John having killed the notorious Wat
+Tyler, they seized upon and dragged him, with Sir John of Cambridge,
+prior of Bury, into the marketplace of that town, and there caused both
+to be beheaded." Thus far Burke, who has small sympathy to bestow on Wat
+Tyler, albeit that reformer was murdered in a cowardly way, whether it
+were Walworth or Cavendish who struck the blow. "For William Walworth,
+mayor of London, having arrested him (Wat Tyler), he furiously struck
+the mayor with his dagger, but being armed [_i.e._ the mayor being in
+armor], hurt him not; whereupon the mayor, drawing his baselard,
+grievously wounded Wat in the neck; in which conflict an esquire of the
+King's house, called John Cavendish, drew his sword and wounded him
+twice or thrice, even unto death. For which service Cavendish was
+knighted in Smithfield, and had a grant of L40 per annum from the King."
+The great-great-grandson of this Sir John Cavendish was gentleman usher
+to Cardinal Wolsey; after the death of his master King Henry took him
+into his own employment, to reward him for the fidelity with which he
+had served his former patron. His elder brother William was in 1530
+appointed one of the commissioners for visiting and taking the
+surrenders of divers religious houses. Needless to add that from that
+day Mr. Cavendish had but to do as the King told him and make his
+fortune. Before his death he had begun to build the noble seat of
+Chatsworth, in Derbyshire, which his descendants still possess. His
+second son, and eventual heir, was created Earl of Devonshire by King
+James I. in 1618. The first earl's nephew was the renowned cavalier
+general created Marquis and subsequently Duke of Newcastle. He was at
+one time governor of the Prince of Wales (afterward Charles II.), and
+there is a touching epistle extant in which his youthful charge entreats
+the Marquis that he may not be compelled to take physic, which he feels
+sure would do him no good.
+
+William, fourth earl of Devonshire, although raised to a dukedom by
+William III., distinguished himself, as did his son, the Marquis of
+Hartington, in the House of Commons, by vehement opposition to the
+King's retention of his Dutch guards after the conclusion of peace in
+1697; and for this uncourtly conduct the country owes them a deep debt
+of gratitude. The Dutch guards were not likely to do much harm, but
+foreign troops have no business in a free state.
+
+Henry Cavendish, the eminent chemist and philosopher, was grandson to
+the second duke (who married Rachel, daughter of William, Lord Russell).
+The present duke was senior wrangler of his year; his eldest son is
+leader of the Liberal party in the House of Commons.
+
+Of the dukes of Marlborough, who are next on the list, it is unnecessary
+to say much. All the world knows the strange history of John Churchill,
+the noblest and the meanest of mankind. The great duke's only son died
+of the smallpox while yet a boy; but his honors were made perpetual in
+the female as well as the male line. The present duke is lineally
+descended on the father's side from a most worthy country gentleman, Sir
+Robert Spencer, of Althorp, raised to the peerage as Lord Spencer by
+James I. Lord Spencer's name should be dear to every American for the
+friendship he showed his neighbors the Washingtons. The Washingtons had
+at one time rather a severe struggle to make both ends meet, but they
+saw better days. John Washington, the heir of the house, was knighted
+and fought for Charles I. in the civil war. Disgusted with the
+commonwealth, he emigrated to America, hearing that men were more loyal
+on the other side of the Atlantic. He is commonly believed to have been
+the ancestor of George Washington. Such is the irony of fate.
+
+The second Duke of Marlborough who, when unwell, would limit himself to
+a bottle of brandy a day, proved a real source of danger to his country.
+When he succeeded to his grandfather's honors in 1733, the faults of the
+victor of Blenheim were forgotten and only his surpassing military
+achievements remembered. King and people were alike determined to honor
+the man who bore his name, and, it was fondly deemed, inherited his
+qualities. He was made lord lieutenant of two counties, a knight of the
+garter, and promoted to high military command. Having conducted himself
+without discredit at Dettingen, he was thought equal to anything, and in
+the year 1758 Pitt, who felt kindly toward the Churchills, and who had
+been left L10,000 by Duchess Sarah, was so rash as to name him
+commander-in-chief of all the British forces in Germany destined to act
+under Prince Ferdinand. After all, the appointment did no harm, for the
+Duke died the same year. _Exeunt_ the Dukes of Marlborough into infinite
+space. Henceforth they and their doings have no more human interest.
+
+The Dukes of Rutland are another family dating their greatness from a
+share in the spoil of the monasteries. Thomas Manners, first Earl of
+Rutland, drew one of the best repartees ever made from Sir Thomas More,
+then Lord Chancellor. "_Honores mutant mores_," said the Earl to Sir
+Thomas in resent for some fancied affront. "Nay, my lord," replied More;
+"the pun is better translated into English--Honors change Manners."
+Among the descendants of this nobleman two are worthy a passing notice;
+viz., John, Marquis of Granby, the most dashing of cavalry officers,
+whose bluff features may still be seen on the signboards of many taverns
+in England; and Lord John Manners, heir-presumptive to the Dukedom of
+Rutland, and a member of the present Cabinet. Lord John is chiefly
+famous as the author of a poem in which occur the oft-quoted lines:
+
+  Let arts and learning, laws and commerce die,
+  But keep us still our old nobility--
+
+perhaps the most remarkable sentiment ever uttered even by a young man.
+It is fair to Lord John Manners to add that he was a fairly successful
+Minister of Public Works under two administrations, showing indeed a
+good deal of taste and no contempt at all for the arts. Another Manners
+was Archbishop of Canterbury from 1805 to 1828; but beyond having an
+income of something like $130,000 punctually during nearly a quarter of
+a century, this prelate cannot be considered to have done anything
+noteworthy. The Archbishop's son was Speaker of the House of Commons
+from 1817 to 1834, and was raised to the peerage in 1835 as Viscount
+Canterbury--a peerage being the invariable termination of a modern
+Speaker's career. The present Lord Canterbury (his son) has been
+Governor of Victoria and two or three other colonies; for men do not
+belong to a ducal family for nothing.
+
+There are but eleven Dukes of England properly so called; that is, Dukes
+sitting in the House of Lords as such, and deriving their titles from
+creations before the union with Scotland. The Duke of Norfolk, as before
+stated, is the first of these, and the Duke of Rutland the last in order
+of precedence. The patent of the latter as Duke bears date March 29,
+1703. There are also Dukes of Great Britain and of the United Kingdom,
+as well as of Scotland and Ireland; but those of the two sister kingdoms
+sit by inferior titles among their peers, and all the Dukes not of
+England take precedence among each other by somewhat intricate rules of
+precedence, into which it is not worth while to enter. The dukedoms are
+twenty-eight in all, exclusive of those held by princes of the blood
+royal. The honor has been very sparingly bestowed in late years. The
+last conferred by George III. was that of Northumberland, the King
+refusing to make any more creations, except in favor of his own
+descendants. The Prince Regent made Lord Wellington a duke, and after
+his accession to the throne raised Lord Buckingham to the same dignity.
+William IV. made two more, and her present Majesty has added an equal
+number to the list.
+
+The history of one ducal family is the history of all. They generally
+boast a founder of some abilities, and produce one or two men, seldom
+more, who leave their mark on the annals of their country. It would be
+strange if it were otherwise, considering the enormous opportunities
+which a title, joined to fair means, gives to its possessor in England.
+The privileges with which acts of Parliament and courtly lawyers in
+bygone ages invested the nobility have long since become nominal. A peer
+has now no right as such to tender advice to the Queen. If libelled, he
+can no more terrify the offender with the penalties of _scandalum
+magnatum_, but must content himself with the same remedies as do other
+folk; if he cannot be arrested for debt, he shares that privilege with
+all the Queen's subjects; and if he continues to be a hereditary member
+of the Legislature, it is because the chamber in which he sits has been
+reduced to a moderating committee of the sovereign assembly. But the
+nameless privileges of persons of rank are great indeed. The army, the
+navy, the Church are filled with them or their dependents. Till within
+the last few years, the diplomatic service was regarded as their
+peculiar property. In the present House of Commons, the second elected
+by household suffrage, fully one-third of the members are sons of peers,
+baronets, or closely allied by marriage, or otherwise, to the titled
+classes. A fair proportion of these are Liberals; the Queen's
+son-in-law, Lord Lorne, member for Argyllshire, being a professor of
+"Liberal" opinions, as also Lord Stafford, son of the Duke of
+Sutherland, and Lord de Gray, son of the Marquis of Ripon. Such Liberals
+serve the useful function of "watering" the creed of their party, which
+might otherwise prove too strong for the Constitution. Mr. Gladstone and
+Mr. Bright would doubtless have gone much further in the path of reform
+if unfettered by ducal retainers.
+
+And yet, though England is still very far from the realization of that
+political equality which American citizens enjoy among themselves, and
+which is perhaps one of the few ascertainable benefits Frenchmen have
+derived from the revolution, there can be no doubt as to the direction
+in which England is advancing. Democracy is the goal of the future, and
+it is even in sight, though a long way off. For instance, considerable
+as is the parliamentary influence of certain noblemen in the present
+day, it is influence and no more. Before the Reform act of 1832, the
+parliamentary "influence" of a peer, as it was euphemistically termed,
+meant that he had the absolute disposal of one or more seats in the
+House of Commons. The Duke of Norfolk, as before mentioned, returned
+eleven members, the Duke of Richmond three, Lord Buckingham six, the
+Duke of Newcastle seven. In the year 1820, out of the twenty-six
+prelates sitting in the House of Lords, only six were not directly or
+indirectly connected with the peerage; while the value of some of the
+sees was enormous. Now public opinion is too formidable to allow of
+jobbery that is not very discreetly managed, and a great deal no doubt
+is thus managed. But appearances must be kept up.
+
+                   E. C. GRENVILLE MURRAY.
+
+
+
+
+MISS MISANTHROPE.
+
+BY JUSTIN MCCARTHY.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+"OH, MUCH DESIRED PRIZE, SWEET LIBERTY!"
+
+
+The summer had gone and much even of the autumn, and Miss Grey and her
+companion were settled in London. Minola had had everything planned out
+in her mind before they left Dukes-Keeton, and little Miss Blanchet was
+positively awed by her leader's energy, knowledge, and fearlessness. The
+first night of their arrival in town they went to a quiet, respectable,
+old-fashioned hotel, well known of Keeton folk, where Miss Grey's father
+used to stay during his visits to London for many years, and where his
+name was still well remembered. Then the two strangers from the country
+set out to look for lodgings, and Miss Grey was able to test her
+knowledge of London, and satisfy her pride of learning, by conducting
+her friend straightway to the region in which she had resolved to make a
+home for herself. She had been greatly divided in mind for a while
+between Kensington and the West Centre; between the neighborhood of the
+South Kensington Museum, the glades of the gardens, and all the charms
+of the old court suburb, and the temptations of the National Gallery,
+the British Museum, and the old-fashioned squares and houses around the
+latter. She decided for the British Museum quarter. Miss Blanchet would
+have preferred the brightness and air of fashion which belonged to
+Kensington, but Miss Grey ruled that to live somewhere near the British
+Museum was more like living in London, and she energetically declared
+that she would rather live in Seven Dials than out of London.
+
+To find a pleasant and suitable lodging would ordinarily have been a
+difficulty; for the regular London lodging-house keeper detests the
+sight of women, and only likes the gentleman who disappears in the
+morning and returns late at night. But luckily there are Keeton folk
+everywhere. As a rule nobody is born in London, "except children," as a
+lady once remarked. Come up to London from whatever little Keeton you
+will, you can find your compatriots settled everywhere in the
+metropolis. Miss Grey obtained from the kindly landlady of the
+hotel--who had herself been born in Keeton, and was married to a Glasgow
+man--a choice of Keeton folk willing to receive respectable and
+well-recommended lodgers--"real ladies" especially. Miss Grey, being
+cordially vouched for by the landlady as a real lady, found out a Keeton
+woman in the West Centre who had a drawing-room and two bedrooms to let.
+
+Had Miss Grey invented the place it could not have suited her better. It
+was an old-fashioned street, running out of a handsome old-fashioned
+square. The street was no thoroughfare. Its other end was closed by a
+solemn, sombre structure with a portico, and over the portico a plaster
+bust of Pallas. This was an institution or foundation of some kind which
+had long outlived the uses whereto it had been devoted by its pious
+founder. It now had nothing but a library, a lecture hall, an enclosed
+garden (into which, happily for her, the windows of Miss Grey's bedroom
+looked), an old fountain in the garden, considerable funds, a board of
+trustees, and an annual dinner. This place lent an air of severe dignity
+to the street, and furthermore kept the street secluded and quiet by
+blocking up one of its ends and inviting no traffic. The house in which
+our pair of wanderers was lodging was itself old-fashioned, and in a
+manner picturesque. It had broad old staircases of stone, and a large
+hall and fine rooms. It had once been a noble mansion, and the legend
+was that its owner had entertained Dr. Johnson there and Sir Joshua
+Reynolds, and that Mrs. Thrale had often been handed up and down that
+staircase. Minola loved association with such good company, and it may
+be confessed went up and down the stairs several times for no other
+purpose whatever than the pleasure of fancying herself following in the
+footsteps of bright Mrs. Thrale, with whose wrongs Miss Grey, as a
+misanthrope, was especially bound to sympathize.
+
+The drawing-room happily looked at least aslant over the grass and the
+trees of the square. Minola's bedroom, as has been said, looked into the
+garden of the institution, with its well-kept walks, its shrubs, and its
+old-fashioned fountain, whose quiet plash was always heard in the
+seclusion of the back of the house. Had the trunks of the trees been
+just a little less blackened by smoke our heroine might well have
+fancied, as she looked from her bedroom window of nights, that she was
+in some quaint old abode in a quiet country town. But in truth she did
+not desire to encourage any such delusion. To feel that she was in the
+heart of London was her especial delight. This feeling would have
+brightened and glorified a far less attractive place. She used to sit
+down alone in her bedroom of nights in order to think quietly to
+herself, "Now I am at last really in London; not visiting London, but
+living in it." There at least was one dream made real. There was one
+ambition crowned. "Come what will," she said to herself, "I am living in
+London." In London and freedom she grew more and more healthy and happy.
+As a wearied Londoner might have sought out say Keeton, and found new
+strength and spirits there, so our Keeton girl, who was somewhat pale
+and thin when she sat on the steps of the ducal mausoleum, grew stronger
+and brighter every day in the West Centre regions of London.
+
+A happier, quieter, freer life could hardly be imagined, at least for
+her. She spent hours in the National Gallery and the Museum; she walked
+with Mary Blanchet in Regent's Park, and delighted to find out new
+vistas and glimpses of beauty among the trees there, and to insist that
+it was ever so much better than any place in the country. As autumn came
+on and the trees grew barer and the skies became of a heavier silver
+gray, Minola found greater charms in their softened half tones than the
+brighter lights of summer could give. Even when it rained--and it did
+rain sometimes--who could fail to see the beauty, all its own, of the
+green of grass, and the darker stems and branches of trees, showing
+faintly through the veil of the mist and the soft descending shower? It
+was, indeed, a delightful Arcadian life. Its simplicity can hardly be
+better illustrated than by the fact that our adventurous pair of women
+always dined at one o'clock--when they dined at all--off a chop, except
+on Sundays, when they invariably had a cold fowl.
+
+Much as Miss Grey loved London, however, it was still a place made up of
+men whom she considered herself bound to dislike, and of women who
+depended far too much on these men. Therefore she made studies of scraps
+of London life, and amused herself by satirizing them to her friend.
+
+"I have accomplished a chapter of London, Mary," she said one evening
+before their reading had set in. "I have completed my social studies of
+our neighbors in Gainsborough Place"--a little street of shops near at
+hand. "I am prepared to give you a complete court guide as to the grades
+of society there, Mary, so that you may know at once how to demean
+yourself to each and all."
+
+"Do tell me all about it; I should very much like to know."
+
+"Shall we begin with the highest or the lowest?"
+
+"I think," Miss Blanchet said with a gentle sigh, expressive of no great
+delight in the story of the lower classes, "I would rather you begin low
+down, dear, and get done with them first."
+
+"Very well; now listen. The lowest of all is the butcher. He is a
+wealthy man, I am sure, and his daughter, who sits in the little office
+in the shop, is a good-looking girl, I think. But in private life nobody
+in Gainsborough Place mixes with them on really cordial terms. Their
+friends come from other places; from butchers' shops in other streets.
+They do occasionally interchange a few courtesies with the family of the
+baker; but the baker's wife, though not nearly so rich, rather
+patronizes and looks down upon Mrs. Butcher."
+
+"Dear me!" said the poetess. "What odd people!"
+
+"Well, the pastry-cook's family will have nothing to do, except in the
+way of business, with butcher or baker; but they are very friendly with
+the grocer, and they have evenings together. Now the two little old
+maids, who keep the stationer's shop where the post-office is, are very
+genteel, and have explained to me more than once that they don't feel at
+home in this quarter, and that their friends are in the West End. But
+they are not well off, poor things, I fear, and they like to spend an
+evening now and then with the family of the grocer and the pastry-cook,
+who are rather proud to receive them, and can give them the best tea and
+Madeira cake; and both the little ladies assure me that nothing can be
+more respectable than the families of the pastry-cook and the
+grocer--for their station in life, they always add."
+
+"Oh, of course," Miss Blanchet said, who was listening with great
+interest as to a story, having that order of mind to which anything is
+welcome that offers itself in narrative form, but not having any
+perception of a satirical purpose in the whole explanation. Minola
+appreciated the "of course," and somehow became discouraged.
+
+"Well," she said, "that's nearly all, except for the family of the
+chemist, who live next to the little ladies of the post-office, and who
+only know even them by sufferance, and would not for all the world have
+any social intercourse with any of the others. It's delightful, I think,
+to find that London is not one place at all, but only a cluster of
+little Keetons. This one street is Keeton to the life, Mary. I want to
+pursue my studies deeper though; I want to find out how the gradations
+of society go between the mothers of the boy who drives the butcher's
+cart, the baker's boy, and pastry-cook's boy."
+
+"Oh, Minola dear!"
+
+"You think all this very unpoetic, Mary, and you are shocked at my
+interest in these prosaic and lowly details. But it is a study of life,
+my dear poetess, and it amuses and instructs me. Only for chance, you
+know, I might have been like _that_, and it is a grand thing to learn
+one's own superiority."
+
+"You never could have been like that, Minola; you belong to a different
+class."
+
+"Yes, yes, dear, that is quite true. I belong to the higher classes
+entirely; my father was a country architect, my stepfather is a
+Nonconformist minister--these are of the aristocracy everywhere."
+
+"You are a lady--a woman of education, Minola," the poetess said almost
+severely. She could not understand how even Miss Grey herself could
+disparage Miss Grey and her parentage in jest.
+
+"I can assure you, dear, that one of the pastry-cook's daughters, whom I
+talked with to-day, is a much better educated girl than I am. You should
+hear her talk French, Mary. She has been taught in Paris, dear, and
+speaks so well that I found it very hard to understand her. She plays
+the harp, and knows all about Wagner. I don't. I like her very much, and
+she is coming here to take tea with us."
+
+The poetess was not delighted with this kind of society, but she never
+ventured to contradict her leader.
+
+"You can talk to every one I do really believe," she said. "I find it so
+hard to get on with people--with some people."
+
+"I feel so happy and so free here. I can say all the cynical things that
+please me--_you_ don't mind--and I can like or dislike as I choose."
+
+"I am afraid you dislike more than you like, Minola."
+
+"I think I could like any one who had some strong purpose in life; not
+the getting of money, or making a way in society. There are such, I
+suppose; I don't know."
+
+"When you meet my brother I am sure you will acknowledge that he has a
+purpose in life which is not the getting of money," said Miss Blanchet.
+"But you don't like men."
+
+Minola made no reply. Poor little Miss Blanchet felt so kindly to all
+the race of men that she did not understand how any woman could really
+dislike them.
+
+"I am going to do something that will please you to-morrow," Miss Grey
+said, feeling that she owed her companion some atonement for not warming
+to the mention of her brother. "I am positively going to hunt out Lucy
+Money. They must have returned by this time."
+
+This was really very pleasant news for Miss Blanchet. She had been
+longing for her friend to renew her acquaintance with Miss Lucy Money,
+about whom she had many dreams. It did not occur to Mary Blanchet to
+question directly even in her own mind the decrees of Miss Grey, or to
+say to herself that the course of life which they were leading was not
+the most delightful that could be devised. But, if the little poetess
+could have ventured to translate vague yearnings into definite thoughts,
+she would, perhaps, have acknowledged to herself a faint desire that the
+brilliant passages of the London career she had marked out for herself
+in anticipation should come rather more quickly than they just now
+seemed likely to do. At present there was not much difference
+perceptible to her between London and Duke's-Keeton. Nobody came to see
+them. Even her brother had not yet presented himself. Her poem did not
+make much progress; there was no great incentive to poetic work. Minola
+and she did not know any poets, or artists, or publishers. Mary
+Blanchet's poetic tastes were of a somewhat old-fashioned school, and
+did not include any particular care for looking at trees, and fields,
+and water, and skies, although these objects of natural beauty were made
+to figure in the poems a good deal in connection with, and illustrative
+of, the emotions of the poetess. Therefore the rambles in the park were
+not so delightful to her as to her leader; and when the evening set in,
+and Minola and she read to each other, Mary Blanchet was always rather
+pleased if an opportunity occurred for interrupting the reading by a
+talk. She was particularly anxious that Minola should renew her
+acquaintance with her old schoolfellow, Miss Lucy Money, whose father
+she understood to be somehow a great sort of person, and through whom
+she saw dimly opening up a vista, perhaps the only one for her, into
+society and literature. But the Money family were out of town when our
+friends came to London, and Miss Blanchet had to wait; and, even when it
+was probable that they had returned, Miss Grey did not seem very eager
+to renew the acquaintance. Indeed, her resolve to visit Miss Money now
+was entirely a good-natured concession to the evident desire of Mary
+Blanchet. Minola saw her friend's little ways and weaknesses clearly,
+and smiled now and then as she thought of them, and liked her none the
+less for them--rather, indeed, felt her breast swell with kindliness and
+pity. It pleased her generous heart to gratify her companion in every
+way, to find out things that she liked and bring them to her, to study
+her little innocent vanities, that she might gratify them. What little
+dainties Mary Blanchet liked to have with her tea, what pretty ribbons
+she thought it became her to wear--these Miss Grey was always perplexing
+herself about. When she found that she liked to be alone sometimes, that
+she must have a long walk unaccompanied, that she must have thoughts
+which Mary would not care to hear, then she felt a pang of remorse, as
+if she were guilty of a breach of true _camaraderie_, and she could not
+rest until she had relieved her soul by some special mark of attention
+to her friend. On the other hand, Mary Blanchet, for all her dreams and
+aspirations, was a sensible and managing little person, who got for Miss
+Grey about twice the value that she herself could have obtained out of
+her money. This was a fact which Minola always took care to impress upon
+her companion, for she dreaded lest Miss Blanchet should feel herself a
+dependent. Miss Blanchet, however, in a modest way, knew her value, and
+had besides one of the temperaments to which dependence on some really
+loved being comes natural, and is inevitable.
+
+So Minola set out next day, about three o'clock, to look up her
+schoolfellow, Miss Lucy Money. She went forth on her mission with some
+unwillingness, and with a feeling as if she were abandoning some purpose
+or giving up a little of a principle in doing so. "I came to London to
+live alone and independent," she said to herself sometimes, "and already
+I am going out to seek for acquaintances. Why do I do that? I want
+strength of purpose. I am just like everybody else"; and she began, as
+was her wont, to scrutinize her own weaknesses, and bear heavily on
+them. For, absurd as it may seem, this odd young woman really did
+propose to live alone--herself and Mary Blanchet--in London until they
+died--alone, that is, so far as social life and acquaintanceships in
+society were concerned. Vast and vague schemes for doing good to her
+neighbors, and for striving in especial to give a helping hand to
+troubled women, were in Miss Grey's plans of life; but society, so
+called, was to have no part in them. It did not occur to her that she
+was far too handsome a girl to be allowed to put herself thus under an
+extinguisher or behind a screen. When people looked after her as she
+passed through the streets, she assumed that they noticed some rustic
+peculiarity in her dress or her hat, and she felt a contempt for them.
+Her love of London did not imply a love of Londoners, whom in general
+she thought rude and given to staring. But even if she had thought
+people were looking at her because of her figure, her face, her eyes,
+her superb hair, she would have felt a contempt for them all the same.
+She had a proud indifference to personal beauty, and looked down upon
+men whose judgment could be affected by the fact that a woman had finer
+eyes, or brighter hair, or a more shapely mould than other women.
+
+Once Minola was positively on the point of turning back, and renouncing
+all claim on the acquaintanceship of her former school companion. She
+suddenly remembered, however, that in condemning her own fancied
+weakness she had forgotten that her visit was undertaken to oblige Mary
+Blanchet. "Poor Mary! I have only one little acquaintanceship that has
+anything to do with society, and am I to deny her that chance if she
+likes it?" She went on rapidly and resolutely. Sometimes she felt
+inclined to blame herself for bringing Mary Blanchet away from Keeton,
+although Mary had for years been complaining of her life and her work
+there, and beseeching Miss Grey not to leave her behind when she went to
+live in London.
+
+It was a beautiful autumn day. London looks to great advantage on one of
+these rare days, and Miss Grey felt her heart swell with mere delight as
+she looked from the streets to the sky and from the sky to the streets.
+She passed through one or two squares, and stopped to see the sun,
+already going down, send its light through the bare branches of the
+trees. The western sky was covered with gray, silver-edged clouds, which
+brightened into blots of golden fire as they came closer in the track of
+the sun. The air was mild, soft, and almost warm. All poets and painters
+are full of the autumnal charms of the country; but to certain oddly
+constituted minds some street views in London on a fine autumn day have
+an unspeakable witchery. Miss Grey walked round and round one of the
+squares, and had to remind herself of her purpose on Mary Blanchet's
+behalf in order to impel herself on.
+
+The best of the day had gone, and the early evening was looking somewhat
+chill and gloomy between the huge ramparts of the Victoria street houses
+by the time that Miss Grey stood in that solemn thoroughfare, and her
+heart sank a little as she reached the house where her old school friend
+lived.
+
+"Perhaps Lucy Money is altogether changed," Miss Grey said to herself as
+she came up to the door. "Perhaps she won't care about me; perhaps I
+shan't like her any more; and perhaps her mamma will think me a dreadful
+person for not honoring my stepfather and stepmother. Perhaps there are
+brothers--odious, slangy young men, who think girls fall in love with
+them. Oh, yes, here is one of them."
+
+For just as she had rung the bell a hansom cab drove up to the door, and
+a tall, dark-complexioned young man leaped out. He raised his hat with
+what seemed to Miss Grey something the manner of a foreigner when he saw
+her standing at the door, and she felt a momentary thrill of relief,
+because, if he was a foreigner, he could not be Lucy Money's brother.
+Besides, she knew very well that the great houses in Victoria street
+were occupied by several tenants, and there was good hope that the young
+man might have business with the upper story, and she with the ground
+floor.
+
+The young man was about to ring the bell, when he stopped and said:
+
+"Perhaps you have rung already?"
+
+"Yes, I have rung," Miss Grey coldly replied.
+
+"This is Mr. Money's, I suppose?"
+
+"Mr. Money lives here," she answered, with the manner of one resolute to
+close the conversation. The young man did not seem in the least
+impressed by her tone.
+
+"Perhaps I have the honor of speaking to Miss Money?" he began, with
+delighted eagerness.
+
+"No. I am not Miss Money," she answered, still in her clear monotone.
+
+No words could say more distinctly than the young man's expression did,
+"I am sorry to hear it." Indeed, no young man in the world going to
+visit Mr. Money could have avoided wishing that the young lady then
+standing at the door might prove to be Miss Money.
+
+The door opened, and the young man drew politely back to give Miss Grey
+the first chance. She asked for Miss Lucy Money, and the porter rang a
+bell for one of Mr. Money's servants. Miss Grey had brought a card with
+her, on which she had written over her engraved name, "For Lucy Money,"
+and beneath it, "Nola," the short rendering of "Minola," which they used
+to adopt at school.
+
+Then the porter looked inquiringly at the other visitor.
+
+"If Mr. Money is at home," said the latter, "I should be glad to see
+him. I find I have forgotten my card case, but my name is Heron--Mr.
+Victor Heron; and do, please, try to remember it, and to say it
+rightly."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+MISS GREY'S FIRST CALL.
+
+
+Mr. Money's home, like Mr. Money himself, conveyed to the intelligent
+observer an idea of quiet, self-satisfied strength. Mr. Money had one of
+the finest and most expensive suites of rooms to be had in the great
+Victoria street buildings, and his rooms were furnished handsomely and
+richly. He had servants in sober livery, and a carriage for his wife and
+daughters, and a little brougham for himself. He made no pretence at
+being fashionable; rather indeed seemed to say deliberately, "I am a
+plain man and don't care twopence about fashion, and I despise making a
+show of being rich; but I am rich enough for all I want, and whatever
+money can buy for me I can buy." He would not allow his wife and
+daughters to aim at being persons of fashion had they been so inclined,
+but they might spend as much money as ever they pleased. He never made a
+boast of his original poverty, or the humbleness of his bringing up, nor
+put on any vulgar show of rugged independence. The impression he made
+upon everybody was that of a completely self-sufficing--we do not say
+self-sufficient--man. It was not very clear how he had made his money.
+He had been at the head of one of the working departments under the
+Government, had somehow fancied himself ill treated, resigned his place,
+and, it was understood, had entered into various contracts to do work
+for the governments of foreign States. It was certain that Mr. Money was
+not a speculator. His name never appeared in the directors' list of any
+new company. He could not be called a city man. But it was certain that
+he was rich.
+
+Mr. Money was in Parliament. He was a strong radical in theory, and was
+believed to have much stronger opinions than he troubled himself to
+express. There was a rough, scornful way about him, as of one who dearly
+considered all our existing arrangements merely provisional, and who in
+the mean time did not care to occupy himself overmuch with the small
+differences between this legislative proposition and that. It was not on
+political subjects that he usually spoke. He was a very good speaker,
+clear, direct, and expressive in his language, always using plain,
+effective words, and always showing a perfect ease in the finishing of
+his sentences. There was a savor of literature about him, and it was
+evident in many indirect ways that he knew Greek and Latin much better
+than most of the university men. The impression he produced was that of
+a man who on most subjects knew more than he troubled himself to
+display. It seemed as if it would take a very ready speaker indeed to
+enter into personal contest with Mr. Money and not get the worst of it.
+
+He was believed to be very shrewd and clever, and was known to be
+liberal of his money. People consulted him about many things, and to
+some extent admired him; some were a little afraid of him, and, in
+homely phrase, fought shy of him. Perhaps he was thought to be
+unscrupulous; perhaps his blunt way of going at the very heart of a
+scruple in others made them fancy that he rather despised all moral
+conventionalities. Whatever the reason was, a certain class of persons
+always rather distrusted Mr. Money, and held aloof even while asking his
+advice. No one who had come in his way even for a moment forgot him, or
+was confused as to his identity, or failed to form some opinion about or
+could have put clearly into words an exact statement of the opinion he
+had formed.
+
+On this particular day of autumn Mr. Money was in his study reading
+letters. He was talking to himself in short, blunt sentences over each
+letter as he read it, and put it into a pigeonhole, or tore it and threw
+it into the waste-paper basket. His sentences were generally concise
+judgments pronounced on each correspondent. "Fool." "Blockhead." "Just
+so; I expected that of you!" "Yes, yes, he's all right." "That will do."
+Sometimes a comment, begun rather gruffly, ended in a good-natured
+smile, and sometimes Mr. Money, having read a letter to the close with a
+pleased and satisfied expression, suddenly became thoughtful, and leaned
+upon his desk, drumming with the finger tips of one hand upon his teeth.
+
+A servant interrupted his work by bringing him a message and a name. Mr.
+Money looked up, said quickly, "Yes, yes; show him in!" and Mr. Victor
+Heron was introduced.
+
+Mr. Money advanced to meet his visitor with an air of cordial welcome.
+One peculiarity of Mr. Money's strong, homely face was the singular
+sweetness of the smile which it sometimes wore. The full lips parted so
+pleasantly, the white teeth shone, and the eyes, that usually seemed
+heavy, beamed with so kindly an air, that to youth at least the
+influence was for the moment irresistible. Victor Heron's emotional face
+sparkled with responsive expression.
+
+"Well, well; glad to see you, glad to see you. Knew you would come.
+Shove away those blue books and sit down. We haven't long got back; but
+I tried to find you, and couldn't get at your address. They didn't know
+at the Colonial Institute even. And how are you, and what have you been
+doing with yourself?"
+
+"Not much good," Heron replied, thinking as usual of his grievance. "I
+couldn't succeed in seeing anybody."
+
+"Of course not, of course not. I could have told you so. People are not
+yet coming back to town, except hard working fellows like me. Have you
+been cooling your heels in the antechambers of the Colonial office?"
+
+"Yes, I have been there a little; not much. I saw it was no use just
+yet, and that isn't a kind of occupation I delight in." The young man's
+face reddened with the bare memory of his vexation. "I hate that sort of
+thing."
+
+"To go where you know people don't want to see you? Yes, it tries young
+and sensitive people a good deal. They've put you off?"
+
+"As I told you, I have seen nobody yet. But I mean to persevere. They
+shall find I am not a man to be got rid of in that way."
+
+Mr. Money made no observation on this, but went to a drawer in his desk
+and took out a little book with pages alphabetically arranged.
+
+"I have been making inquiries about you," he said, "of various people
+who know all about the colonies. Would you like to hear a summary
+description of your personal character? Don't be offended--this is a way
+I have; the moment a person interests me and seems worth thinking about,
+I enter him in my little book here, and sum up his character from my own
+observation and from what people tell me. Shall I read it for you? I
+wouldn't, you may be sure, if I thought you were anything of a fool."
+
+This compliment, of course, conquered Heron, who was otherwise a good
+deal puzzled. But there was something in Mr. Money's manner with those
+in whom he took any interest, that prevented their feeling hurt by his
+occasional bluntness.
+
+"I don't know myself," Heron said.
+
+"Of course you don't. What busy man, who has to know other people, could
+have time to study himself? That work might do for philosophers. I may
+teach you something now, and save you the trouble."
+
+"I suppose I ought to make my own acquaintance," said Heron resignedly,
+while much preferring to talk of his grievance.
+
+"Very good. Now listen.
+
+"Heron, Victor.--Formerly in administration of St. Xavier's settlements.
+Got into difficulty; dropped down. Education good, but literary rather
+than businesslike. Plenty of pluck, but wants coolness. Egotistic, but
+unselfish. Good deal of talent and go. Very honest, but impracticable. A
+good weapon in good hands, but must take care not to be made a
+plaything."
+
+Heron laughed. "It's a little like the sort of thing phrenologists give
+people," he said, "but I think it's very flattering. I can assure you,
+however, no one shall make a plaything of _me_," he added with emphasis.
+
+"So we all think, so we all think," Mr. Money said, putting away his
+book. "Well, you are going on with this then?"
+
+"I am going to vindicate my conduct, and compel them to grant me an
+inquiry, if you mean that. Nothing on earth shall keep me from that."
+
+"So, so. Very well. We'll talk about that another time--many other
+times; and I may give you some advice, which you needn't take if you
+don't like, and I shan't be offended. Now, I want to introduce you to my
+wife and my girls, and you must have a cup of tea. Odd, isn't it, to
+find men drinking tea at five o'clock in the afternoon? Up at the club,
+any day about that hour, you might think we were a drawing-room full of
+old spinsters, to hear the rattling of teacups that goes on all around."
+
+He took Heron's arm in a friendly, dictatorial way, and conducted him to
+the drawing-room on the same floor.
+
+The drawing-room was entered, not by opening a door, but by withdrawing
+some folds of a great, heavy, dark-green curtain. Mr. Money drew aside
+part of the curtain to make way for his friend; and they both stopped a
+moment on the threshold. A peculiar, sweet, half melancholy smile gave a
+strange dignity for the moment to Mr. Money's somewhat rough face, and
+he gently let the curtain fall.
+
+"Wasn't there some great person, Mr. Heron--Burke, was it?--who used to
+say that whatever troubles he had outside all ceased as he stood at his
+own door? Well, I always feel like that when I lift this curtain."
+
+It was a pretty sight, as he again raised the curtain and led Heron in.
+The drawing-room was very large, and was richly, and, as it seemed to
+Heron, somewhat oddly furnished. The light in the lower part was faint
+and dim, a sort of yellowish twilight, procured by softened lamps. The
+upper extremity was steeped in a far brighter light, and displayed to
+Heron, almost as on a stage, a little group of women, among whom his
+quick eye at once saw the girl who had come up to the door at the same
+time with him. She was, indeed, a very conspicuous figure, for she was
+seated on a sofa, and one girl sat at her feet, while another stood at
+the arm of the sofa and bent over her. An elderly lady, with voluminous
+draperies that floated over the floor, was reclining on a low arm-chair,
+with her profile turned to Heron. On a fancy table near, a silver
+tea-tray glittered. A daintily dressed waiting-maid was serving tea.
+
+"Take care of the floors as you come along," said Money. "We like to put
+rugs, and rolls of carpet, and stools now in all sorts of wrong places,
+to trip people up. That shows how artistic we are! Theresa, dear, this
+is my friend, Mr. Heron."
+
+"I am glad to see you, Mr. Heron," said a full, deep, melancholy voice,
+and a tall, slender lady partly rose from her chair, then sank again
+amid her draperies, bowed a head topped by a tiny lace cap, and held out
+to Heron a thin hand covered with rings, and having such bracelets and
+dependent chainlets that when Heron gave it even the gentlest pressure,
+they rattled like the manacles of a captive.
+
+"We saw you in Paris, Mr. Heron," the lady graciously said, "but I think
+you hardly saw us."
+
+"These are my daughters, Mr. Heron, Theresa and Lucy. I think them good
+girls, though full of nonsense," said Mr. Money.
+
+Lucy, who had been on a footstool at Miss Grey's feet, gathered herself
+up, blushing. She was a pretty girl, with brown, frizzy hair, and wore a
+dress which fitted her so closely from neck to hip that she might really
+have been, to all seeming, melted or moulded into it. The other young
+lady, Theresa, slightly and gravely inclined her head to Mr. Heron, who
+at once thought the whole group most delightful and beautiful, and found
+his breast filled with a new pride in the loved old England that
+produced such homes and furnished them with such women.
+
+"Dear, darling papa," exclaimed the enthusiastic little Lucy, swooping
+at her father, and throwing both arms round his neck, "we have had such
+a joy to-day, such a surprise! Don't you see anybody here? Oh, come now,
+do use your eyes."
+
+"I see a young lady whom I have not yet the pleasure of knowing, but
+whom I hope you will help me to know, Lucelet."
+
+Mr. Money turned to Miss Grey with his genial smile. She rose from the
+sofa and bowed and waited. She did not as yet quite understand the Money
+family, and was not sure whether she ought to like them or not. They
+impressed her at first as being far too rich for her taste, and odd and
+affected, and she hated affectation.
+
+"But this is Nola Grey, papa--my dearest old schoolfellow when I was at
+Keeton; you must have heard me talk of Nola Grey a thousand times."
+
+So she dragged her papa up to Nola Grey, whose color grew a little at
+this tempestuous kind of welcome.
+
+"Dare say I did, Lucelet, but Miss Grey, I am sure will excuse me if I
+have forgotten; I am very glad to see you, Miss Grey--glad to see any
+friend of Lucelet's. So you come from Keeton? That's another reason why
+I should be glad to see you, for I just now want to ask a question or
+two about Keeton. Sit down."
+
+Miss Grey allowed herself to be led to a sofa a little distance from
+where she had been sitting. Mr. Money sat beside her.
+
+"Now, Lucelet, I want to ask Miss Grey a sensible question or two, which
+I don't think you would care twopence about. Just you go and help our
+two Theresas to talk to Mr. Heron."
+
+"But, papa darling, Miss Grey won't care about what you call sensible
+subjects any more than I. She won't know anything about them."
+
+"Yes, dear, she will; look at her forehead."
+
+"Oh, I have looked at it! Isn't it beautiful?"
+
+"I didn't mean that," Mr. Money said with a smile; "I meant that it
+looked sensible and thoughtful. Now, go away, Lucelet, like a dear
+little girl."
+
+Miss Grey sat quietly through all this. She was not in the least
+offended. Mr. Money seemed to her to be just what a man ought to
+be--uncouth, rough, and domineering. She was amused meanwhile to observe
+the kind of devotion and enthusiasm with which Mr. Heron was entering
+into conversation with Mrs. Money and her elder daughter. That, too, was
+just what a man ought to be--a young man--silly in his devotion to
+women, unless, perhaps, where the devotion was to be accounted for
+otherwise than by silliness, as in a case like the present, where the
+unmarried women might be presumed to have large fortunes. So Miss Grey
+liked the whole scene. It was as good as a play to her, especially as
+good as a play which confirms all one's own theories of life.
+
+"England, Mr. Heron," said Mrs. Money in her melancholy voice, "is near
+her fall."
+
+"Oh, Mrs. Money, pray pardon me--England! you amaze me--I _am_
+surprised--do forgive me--to hear an Englishwoman say so; our England
+with her glorious destiny!" The young man blushed and grew confused. One
+might have thought his mother had been called in question or his
+sweetheart.
+
+Mrs. Money shook her head and twirled one of her bracelets.
+
+"She is near her fall, Mr. Heron! You cannot know. You have lived far
+away, and do not see what _we_ see. She has proved faithless to her
+mission."
+
+"Something--yes--there I agree," Mr. Heron eagerly interposed, thinking
+of the St. Xavier's settlements.
+
+"She was the cradle of freedom," Mrs. Money went on. "She ought to have
+been always its nursery and home. What have we now, Mr. Heron? A people
+absolutely in servitude, the principle of caste everywhere
+triumphant--corruption in the aristocracy--corruption in the city. No
+man now dares to serve his country except at the penalty of suffering
+the blackest ingratitude!"
+
+Mr. Heron was startled. He did not know that Mrs. Money was arguing only
+from the assumption that her husband was a very great man, who would
+have done wonderful things for England if a perverse and base ruling
+class had not thwarted him, and treated him badly.
+
+"England," Theresa Money said, smiling sweetly, but with a suffusion of
+melancholy, "can hardly be regenerated until she is once more dipped in
+the holy well."
+
+"You see we all think differently, Mr. Heron," said the eager Lucy.
+"Mamma thinks we want a republic. Tessy is a saint, and would like to
+see roadside shrines."
+
+"And you?" Heron asked, pleased with the girl's bright eyes and winning
+ways.
+
+"Oh--I only believe in the regeneration of England through the
+renaissance of art. So we all have our different theories, you see, but
+we all agree to differ, and we don't quarrel much. Papa laughs at us all
+when he has time. But just now I am taken up with Nola Grey. If I were a
+man, I should make an idol of her. That lovely, statuesque face, that
+figure--like the Diana of the Louvre!"
+
+Mr. Heron looked and admired, but one person's raptures about man or
+woman seldom awaken corresponding raptures in impartial breasts. He saw,
+however, a handsome, ladylike girl, who conveyed to him a sort of
+chilling impression.
+
+"She was my schoolfellow at Keeton," Lucy went on, "and she was so good
+and clever that I adored her then, and I do now again. She has come to
+London to live alone, and I am sure she must have some strange and
+romantic story."
+
+Meanwhile Mr. Money, who prefaced his inquiries by telling Miss Grey
+that he was always asking information about something, began to put
+several questions to her concerning the local magnates, politics, and
+parties of Keeton. Minola was rather pleased to be talked to by a man as
+if she were a rational creature. Like most girls brought up in a
+Nonconformist household in a country town, she had been surrounded by
+political talk from her infancy, but unlike most girls, she had
+sometimes listened to it and learned to know what it was all about. So
+she gave Mr. Money a good deal of information, which he received with an
+approbatory "Yes, yes" or an inquiring "So, so" every now and then.
+
+"You know that there's likely to be a vacancy soon in the
+representation-member of Parliament," he added by way of explanation.
+
+"I know what a vacancy in the representation means," Miss Grey answered
+demurely, "but I didn't know there was likely to be one just now. I
+don't keep up much correspondence with Keeton. I don't love it."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know."
+
+He smiled.
+
+"You are smiling because you think that a woman's answer? So it is, Mr.
+Money, and I am afraid it isn't true; but I really didn't think of what
+I was saying. I _do_ know why I don't care much about Keeton."
+
+"Yes, yes; well, I dare say you do. But to return, as the books say--do
+you know a Mr. Augustus Sheppard?"
+
+She could not help coloring slightly. "Yes, I know him," and a faint
+smile broke over her face in spite of herself.
+
+"Is he strong in Keeton?"
+
+"Strong?"
+
+"Well liked, respectable, a likely kind of man to get good Conservative
+support if he stood for Keeton? You don't know, perhaps?"
+
+"Yes, I think I do know. I believe he wishes to get into Parliament, and
+I am sure he is thought highly of. He is a very good man--a man of very
+high character," she added emphatically, anxious to repair the mental
+wrong doing of thinking him ridiculous and tiresome.
+
+Just at this moment Mr. Heron rose to take his leave, and Mr. Money left
+the room with him, so that the conversation with Miss Grey was broken
+off. Then Lucy came to Nola again, and Nola was surrounded by the three
+women, who began to lay out various schemes for seeing her often and
+making London pleasant to her. Much as our lonely heroine loved her
+loneliness, she was greatly touched by their spontaneous kindness, but
+she was alarmed by it too.
+
+A card was brought to Mrs. Money, who passed it on to Lucy.
+
+"Oh, how delightful!" Lucy exclaimed. "So glad he has come, mamma. Nola,
+dear, a poet--a real poet!"
+
+But Nola would not prolong her visit that day even for a poet. A very
+handsome, tall, dark-haired man, who at a distance seemed boyishly
+young, and when near looked worn and not very young, was shown in. For
+the moment or two that she could see him, Minola thought she had never
+seen so self-conceited and affected a creature. She did not hear his
+name nor a word he said, but his splendid, dark eyes, deeply set in
+hollows, took in every outline of her face and form. She thought him the
+poet of a schoolgirl's romance made to order.
+
+Minola tore herself from the clinging embraces of Lucy, with less
+difficulty, perhaps, because of the poet's arrival, to whose society
+Lucy was clearly anxious to hasten back. It so happened that Mr. Money
+had kept Mr. Heron for a few minutes in talk, and the result was that
+exactly as Miss Grey reached the door Mr. Heron arrived there too. They
+both came out together, and in a moment they were in the gray
+atmosphere, dun lines of houses, and twinkling gaslights of Victoria
+street. Minola would much rather have been there alone.
+
+Victor Heron, however, was full of the antique ideas of man's chivalrous
+duty and woman's sweet dependence, which still lingered in the
+out-of-the-way colony where he had spent so much of his time. Also, it
+must be owned that he had not yet quite got rid of the sense of
+responsibility and universal dictatorship belonging to the chief man in
+a petty commonwealth. For some time after his return to London he could
+hardly see an omnibus horse fall in the street without thinking it was
+an occasion which called for some intervention on his part. Therefore,
+when Miss Grey and he stood in the street together Mr. Heron at once
+assumed that the young woman must, as a matter of course, require his
+escort and protection.
+
+He calmly took his place at her side. Miss Grey was a little surprised,
+but said nothing, and they went on.
+
+"Do you live far from this, Miss Money?" he began.
+
+"I am not Miss Money. My name is Grey."
+
+"Of course, yes--I beg your pardon for the mistake. It was only a
+mistake of the tongue, for I knew very well that you were not Miss
+Money."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+"And your first name is so very pretty and peculiar that I could not
+have easily forgotten it."
+
+"I am greatly obliged to my godfathers and godmothers."
+
+"Did you say that you lived in this quarter, Miss Grey?"
+
+"No--I did not make any answer; I had not time."
+
+"I hope you do not live very near," the gallant Heron observed.
+
+"Why do you hope that?" Miss Grey said, turning her eyes upon him with
+an air of cold resolution, which would probably have proved very trying
+to a less sincere maker of compliments, even though a far more dexterous
+person than Mr. Heron.
+
+"Of course, because I should have the less of your company."
+
+"But there is no need of your coming out of your way for me. I don't
+require any escort, Mr. Heron."
+
+"I couldn't think of letting a lady walk home by herself. That would
+seem very strange to me. Perhaps you think me old-fashioned or
+colonial?"
+
+"I have heard that you are from the colonies. In London people have not
+time to keep up all these pretty forms and ceremonies. We don't any
+longer pretend to think that a girl needs to be defended against giants,
+or robbers, or mad bulls, when crossing two or three streets in open
+day."
+
+"Well, it is hardly open day now; it is almost quite dark."
+
+"The lamps are lighted," Miss Gray observed.
+
+"Yes, if you call that being lighted! You have such bad gas in London.
+Why does not somebody stir up people here, and put things to rights? You
+seem to me the most patient people in all the world. I wish they would
+give me the ruling of this place for about a twelvemonth."
+
+"I wish they would."
+
+"Do you?" and he looked at her with a glance of genuine gratitude in his
+dark eyes, for he thought she meant to express her entire confidence in
+his governing power, and her wish to see him at the head of affairs.
+Miss Grey, however, only meant that if he were engaged in directing the
+municipal government of London he probably would be rather too busy to
+walk with her.
+
+"Yes," he went on, "you should soon see a change. For instance"--they
+were now at the end of Victoria street, near the Abbey--"I would begin
+by having a great broad street, like this, running right up from here to
+the British Museum. You know where the British Museum is, of course?"
+
+"Yes; I live near it."
+
+"Do you really? I am so glad to hear that. I have been there lately very
+often. How happy you Londoners are to have such glorious places. In that
+reading-room I felt inclined to bless England."
+
+Miss Grey was now particularly sorry that she had said anything about
+her place of residence. Still it did not seem as if much would have been
+gained by any reticence unless she could actually dismiss her companion
+peremptorily. Mr. Heron was evidently quite resolved to be her escort
+all the way along. He was clearly under the impression that he was
+making himself very agreeable. The good-natured youth believed he was
+doing quite the right thing, and meant it all for the very best, and
+therefore could not suppose that any nice girl could fail to accept his
+attendance in a kindly spirit. That Miss Grey must be a nice girl he was
+perfectly certain, for he had met her at Mr. Money's, and Money was
+evidently a fine fellow--a very fine fellow. Miss Grey was very handsome
+too, but that did not count for very much with Heron. At least he would
+have made himself just as readily, under the circumstances, the escort
+of little Miss Blanchet.
+
+So he talked on about various things--the Moneys, and what charming
+people they were! the British Museum, what a noble institution! the
+National Gallery, how hideous the building!--why on earth didn't anybody
+do something?--the glorious destiny of England--the utter imbecility of
+the English Government.
+
+It was not always quite easy to keep up with his talk, for the streets
+were crowded and noisy, and Mr. Heron talked right on through every
+interruption. When they came to crossings where the perplexed currents
+and counter-currents of traffic on wheels would have made a nervous
+person shudder, Mr. Heron coolly took Miss Grey's hand and conducted her
+in and out, talking all the while as if they were crossing a ball-room
+floor. Minola made it a point of honor not to hesitate, or start, or
+show that she had nerves. But when he began to run into politics he
+always pulled himself up, for he politely remembered that young ladies
+did not care about politics, and so he tried to find some prettier
+subject to talk about. Miss Grey understood this perfectly well, and was
+amused and contemptuous.
+
+"I suppose this man must be a person of some brains and sense," she
+thought. "He was in command of something somewhere, and I suppose even
+the Government he calls so imbecile would not have put him there if he
+were a downright fool. But because he talks to a woman, he feels bound
+only to talk of trivial things."
+
+At last the walk came to an end. "Ah, I beg pardon. You live here," Mr.
+Heron said. "May I have the honor of calling on your family? I sometimes
+come to the Museum, and if I might call, I should be delighted to make
+their acquaintance."
+
+"Thank you," Miss Grey said coldly. "I have no family. My father and
+mother are dead."
+
+"Oh, I am so sorry! I wish I had not asked such a question." He looked
+really distressed, and the expression of his eyes had for the first time
+a pleasing, softening effect upon Miss Grey.
+
+"We lodge here all alone--a lady--an old friend of mine--and I. We have
+no acquaintances, unless Lucy Money's family may be called so. We read
+and study a great deal, and don't go out, and don't see any one."
+
+"I can quite understand," Mr. Heron answered with grave sympathy. "Of
+course you don't care to be intruded on by visitors. I thank you for
+having allowed me the pleasure of accompanying you so far."
+
+He spoke in tones much more deferential than before, for he assumed that
+the young lady was lonely and poor. There was something in his manner,
+in his eyes, in his grave, respectful voice, which conveyed to Minola
+the idea of genuine sympathy, and brought to her, the object of it, a
+new conviction that she really was isolated and friendless, and the
+springs of her emotions were touched in a moment, and tears flashed in
+her eyes. Perhaps Mr. Heron saw them, and felt that he ought not to see
+them, for he raised his hat and instantly left her.
+
+Minola lingered for a moment on the doorstep, in order that she might
+recover her expression of cheerfulness before meeting the eyes of Miss
+Blanchet. But that little lady had seen her coming to the door, and seen
+and marvelled at her escort, and now ran herself and opened the door to
+receive her.
+
+"My dear Minola, do tell me who that handsome young man was! What lovely
+dark eyes he had! Where did you meet him? Is he young Mr. Money?"
+
+The poetess's susceptible bosom still thrilled and throbbed at the
+sight, or even the thought, of a handsome young man. She could not
+understand how anybody on earth could avoid liking handsome young men.
+But in this case a certain doubt and dissatisfaction suddenly dissolved
+away into her instinctive gratification at the sight of Minola's escort.
+A handsome and young Mr. Money might prove an inconvenient visitor just
+at present.
+
+Minola briefly told her when they were safe in their room. Miss Blanchet
+was relieved to find that he was not a young Mr. Money, for a young Mr.
+Money, if there were one, would doubtless be rich.
+
+"Isn't he wonderfully handsome! Such a smile!"
+
+"I hardly know," Minola said distressedly; "perhaps he is. I really
+didn't notice. He goes to the Museum, and I must exile myself from the
+place for evermore, or I shall be always meeting him, and be forced to
+listen politely to talk about nothing. Mary Blanchet, our days of
+freedom are gone! We are getting to know people. I foresaw it. What
+shall we do? We must find some other lodgings ever so far away."
+
+"Do you like Miss Money, dear?" Mary Blanchet asked timidly.
+
+"Lucy? Oh, yes, very much. But there is Mr. Money; and they are going to
+be terribly kind to us; and they have all manner of friends; and what is
+to become of my independence? Mary Blanchet, I will _not_ bear it! I
+_will_ be independent!"
+
+"I have news for you, dear," Miss Blanchet said.
+
+"If it please the destinies, not news of any more friends! Why, we shall
+be like the hare in Gay's fable if we go on in this way."
+
+"Not of any more friends, darling, but of one friend. My brother has
+been here."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"Yes; and he is longing to see you."
+
+Minola sincerely wished she could say that she was longing to see him.
+But she could not say it, even to please her friend and comrade.
+
+"You don't want to see him," said Mary Blanchet in piteous reproach.
+
+"But you do, dear," Miss Grey said; "and I shall like to see any one, be
+sure, who brightens your life."
+
+This was said with full sincerity, although at the very moment the
+whimsical thought passed through her, "We only want Mr. Augustus
+Sheppard now to complete our social happiness."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+IS THIS ALCESTE?
+
+
+Minola's mind was a good deal disturbed by the various little events of
+the day, the incidents and consequences of her first visit in London.
+She began to see with much perplexity and disappointment that her life
+of lonely independence was likely to be compromised. She was not sure
+that she could much like the Moneys, and yet she felt that they were
+disposed and determined to be very kind to her. There was something
+ridiculous and painful in the fact that Mr. Augustus Sheppard's name was
+thrust upon her almost at the first moment of her crossing for the first
+time a strange threshold in London; then there was Mary Blanchet's
+brother turning up; and Mary Blanchet herself was evidently falling off
+from the high design of lonely independence. Again, there was Mr. Heron,
+who now knew where she lived, and who often went to the British Museum,
+and who might cross her path at any hour. Sweet, lonely freedom, happy
+carelessness of action, farewell!
+
+Mr. Heron was especially a trouble to Minola. The kindly, grave
+expression on his face when he heard of her living alone declared, as
+nearly as any words could do, that he considered her an object of pity.
+Was she an object of pity? Was that the light in which any one could
+look at her superb project of playing at a lifelong holiday? And if
+people chose to look at it so, what did that matter to her? Are women,
+then, the slaves of the opinion of people all around them? "They are,"
+Minola said to herself in scorn and melancholy--"they are; we are. I am
+shaken to the very soul, because a young man, for whose opinion on any
+other subject I should not care anything, chooses to look at me with
+pity!"
+
+The night was melancholy. When the outer world was shut out, and the gas
+was lighted, and the two women sat down to work and talk, nothing seemed
+to Minola quite as it had been. The evident happiness and passing high
+spirits of the little poetess oppressed her. Mary Blanchet was so glad
+to be making acquaintances, and to have some prospect of seeing the
+inside of a London home. Then Minola's kindlier nature returned to her,
+and she thought of Mary's delight at seeing her brother, and how unkind
+it would be if she, Minola, did not try to enter into her feelings. Her
+mind went back to her own brother, to their dear early companionship,
+when nothing seemed more natural and more certain than that they two
+should walk the world arm-in-arm. Now all that had come to an end--faded
+away somehow; and he had gone into the world on his own account, and
+made other ties, and forgotten her. But if he were even now to come
+back, if she were to hear in the street the sound of the peculiar
+whistle with which he always announced his coming to her--oh, how, in
+spite of all his forgetfulness and her anger, she would run to him and
+throw her arms around his neck! Why should not Mary Blanchet love her
+brother, and gladden when he came?
+
+"What is your brother like, Mary, dear?" she said gently, anxious to
+propitiate by voluntarily entering on the topic dearest to her friend.
+
+"Oh, very handsome--very, very handsome!"
+
+Miss Grey smiled in spite of herself.
+
+"Now, Minola, I know what you are smiling at; you think it is my
+sisterly nonsense, and all that; but wait until you see."
+
+"I'll wait," Minola said.
+
+Miss Grey did not go out the next day as usual, although it was one of
+the soft, amber-gray, autumnal days that she loved, and the Regent's
+Park would have looked beautiful. She remained nearly all the morning in
+her own room, and avoided even Mary Blanchet. Some singular change had
+taken place within her, for which she could not account, otherwise than
+by assuming that it was begotten of the fear that she would be drawn,
+willingly or unwillingly, into uncongenial companionship, and must
+renounce her liberty. She was forced into a strange, painful,
+self-questioning mood. Was the whole fabric of her self-appointed
+happiness and independence only a dream, or, worse than a dream, an
+error? So soon to doubt the value and the virtue of the emancipation she
+had prayed for and planned for during years? Not often, perhaps, has a
+warm-hearted, fanciful, and spirited girl been pressed down by such
+peculiar relationship as hers at Keeton lately; a twice removed
+stepfather and stepmother, absolutely uncongenial with her, causing her
+soul and her youth to congeal amid dull repression. What wonder that to
+her all happiness seemed to consist in mere freedom and unrestricted
+self-development? And now--so soon--why does she begin to doubt the
+reality, the fulfilment of her happiness? Only because an impulsive and
+kindly young man, whom she saw for the first time, looked pityingly at
+her. This, she said to herself, is what our self-reliance and our
+emancipation come to after all.
+
+It was a positive relief to her, after a futile hour or so of such
+questioning, when Mary Blanchet ran up stairs, and with beaming eyes
+begged that Minola would come and see her brother. "He is longing to see
+you--and you will like him--oh, you will like him, Minola dearest?" she
+said beseechingly.
+
+Miss Gray went down stairs straightway, without stopping to give one
+touch to her hair, or one glance at the glass. The little poetess was
+waiting a moment, with an involuntary look toward the dressing table, as
+if Miss Grey must needs have some business there before she descended,
+but Miss Grey thought nothing of the kind, and they went down stairs
+together.
+
+Minola expected, she could not tell why, to see a small and withered man
+in Mary Blanchet's brother. When they were entering the drawing-room, he
+was looking out of the window, and had his back turned, and she was
+surprised to see that he was decidedly tall. When he turned around she
+saw not only that he was handsome, but that she had recognized the fact
+of his being handsome before. For he was unmistakably the ideal poet of
+schoolgirls whom she had met at Mr. Money's house the day before.
+
+The knowledge produced a sort of embarrassment to begin with. Minola was
+about to throw her soul into the sacrifice, and greet her friend's
+brother with the utmost cordiality. But she had pictured to herself a
+sort of Mary Blanchet in trousers, a gentle, old-fashioned, timid
+person, whom, perhaps, the outer world was apt to misprize, if not even
+to snub, and whom therefore it became her, Minola Grey, as an enemy and
+outlaw of the common world, to receive with double consideration. But
+this brilliant, self-conceited, affected, oppressively handsome young
+man, on whom she had seen Lucy Money and her mother hanging devotedly,
+was quite another sort of person. His presence seemed to overcharge the
+room; the scene became all compound of tall, bending form and dark eyes.
+
+"I am glad to see you, Mr. Blanchet," Miss Grey began, determined not to
+be put out by any self-conceited poet and ideal of schoolgirls. "I must
+be glad to see you, because you are Mary's brother."
+
+"You ought rather to be not glad to see me for that reason," he said,
+with a deprecating bow and a slight shrug of the shoulders, "for I have
+been a very neglectful brother to Mary."
+
+"So I have heard," Miss Grey said, "but not from Mary. She always
+defended you. But I have seen you before, Mr. Blanchet, have I not?"
+
+"At Mrs. Money's yesterday? Oh, yes; I only saw you, Miss Grey. I went
+there to see you, and only in the most literal way got what I wanted."
+
+"But, Herbert, you never told me that you were going, or that you knew
+Mrs. Money," his sister interposed.
+
+"No, dear; that was an innocent deceit on my part. You told me that Miss
+Grey had gone there, and as I knew the Moneys I hurried away there
+without telling you. I wanted to know what you were like, Miss Grey,
+before seeing my sister again. I hope you are not angry? She is so
+devoted to you that she painted you in colors the most bewitching; but I
+was afraid her friendship was carrying her away, and I wanted to see for
+myself when she was not present."
+
+Miss Grey remained resolutely silent. She thought this beginning
+particularly disagreeable, and began to fear that she should never be
+able to like Mary Blanchet's brother. "Oh, why do women have brothers?"
+she asked herself. There seemed something dishonest in Mr. Blanchet's
+proceeding despite the frank completeness of his confession.
+
+"Well, Herbert, confess that I didn't do her justice; didn't do her
+common justice," the enthusiastic Mary exclaimed.
+
+"If Miss Grey would not be offended," her brother said, "I would say
+that I see in her just the woman capable of doing the kind and generous
+things I have heard of."
+
+"Yes; but we mustn't talk about it," the poetess said, with tears of
+gratefulness blinking in her eyes; "and we'll not say a word more about
+it, Minola; not a word, indeed, dear." And she put a deprecating little
+hand upon Minola's arm.
+
+Then they all sat down, and Herbert Blanchet began to talk. He talked
+very well, and he seemed to have put away most of the airs of
+affectation which, even in her very short opportunity of observation,
+Minola had seen in him when he was talking to the Money girls.
+
+"You have travelled a great deal," Miss Grey said. "I envy you."
+
+"If you call it travelling. I have drifted about the world a good deal,
+and seen the wrong sides of everything. I make it pay in a sort of way.
+When any place that I know is brought into public notice by a war or
+something of the kind, I write about it. Or if a place is not brought
+into any present notice by anything, I write about it, and take a
+different view from anybody else. I have done particularly well with
+Italy, showing that Naples is the ugliest place in all the world; that
+the Roman women have shockingly bad figures, and that the climate is
+wretched from the Alps to the Straits of Messina.
+
+"But you don't think that?" Mary Blanchet said wonderingly.
+
+"Don't I? Well, I don't know. I almost think I do for the moment. One
+can get into that frame of mind. Besides, I really don't care about
+scenery. I don't observe it as I pass along. And I like to say what
+other people don't say, and to see what they don't see. Of course I
+don't put my name to any of these things; they are only done to make a
+living. I live _on_ such stuff as that. I live _for_ Art."
+
+"It is glorious to live for art," his sister exclaimed, pressing her
+thin, tiny hands together.
+
+Mr. Blanchet did not seem to care much about his sister's approval.
+
+"My art isn't yours, Mary," he said, with a pitying smile. "Pictures of
+flowers and little children saying their prayers, and nice poems about
+good young men and women, are your ideas of painting and poetry, I am
+sure. You are a lover of the human race, I know."
+
+"I hope I love my neighbors," Mary said earnestly.
+
+"I hope you do, dear. All good little women like you ought to do that.
+Do _you_ love your neighbor, Miss Grey?"
+
+"I don't care much for any one," Miss Grey answered decisively, "except
+Mary Blanchet. But I have no particular principle or theory about it,
+only that I don't care for people."
+
+Although Miss Grey had Alceste for her hero, she did not like sham
+misanthropy, which she now fancied her visitor was trying to display.
+Perhaps too she began to think that his misanthropy rather caricatured
+her own.
+
+Miss Blanchet, on the contrary, was inclined to argue the question, and
+to pelt her brother with touching commonplaces.
+
+"The more we know people," she emphatically declared, "the more good we
+see in them. In every heart there is a deep spring of goodness. Oh,
+yes!"
+
+"There isn't in mine, I know," he said. "I speak for myself."
+
+"For shame, Herbert! How else could you ever feel impelled to try and do
+some good for your fellow creatures?"
+
+"But I don't want to do any good to my fellow creatures. I don't care
+about my fellow creatures, and I don't even admit that they are my
+fellow creatures, those men and those women too that one sees about. Why
+should the common possession of two legs make us fellow creatures with
+every man, more than with every bird? No, I don't love the human race at
+all."
+
+"This is nonsense, Minola; you won't believe a word of it," the little
+poetess eagerly said, divided between admiration and alarm.
+
+"You good, little, innocent dear, is it not perfectly true? What did I
+ever do for you, let me ask? There, Miss Grey, you see as kind an elder
+sister as ever lived. I remember her a perfect mother to me. I dare say
+I should have been dead thirty years ago but for her, though whether I
+ought to thank her for keeping me alive is another thing. Anyhow, what
+was my way of showing my gratitude? As soon as I could shake myself
+free, I rambled about the world, a very vagrant, and never took any
+thought of her. We are all the same, Miss Grey, believe me--we men."
+
+"I can well believe it," Miss Grey said.
+
+"Of course you can. In all our dealings with you women we are just the
+same. Our sisters and mothers take trouble without end for us, and cry
+their eyes out for us, and we--what do we care? I am not worse than my
+neighbors. But if you ask me, do I admire my fellow man, I answer
+frankly, no. Not I. What should I admire him for?"
+
+"One must live for something," the poetess pleaded, much perplexed in
+her heart as to what Miss Grey's opinion might be about all this.
+
+"Of course one must live for art; for music and poetry, and colors and
+decoration."
+
+"And Nature?" Mary Blanchet gently insinuated.
+
+"Nature--no! Nature is the buxom sweetheart of ploughboy poets. We only
+affect to admire Nature because people think we can't be good if we
+don't. No one really cares about great cauliflower suns, and startling
+contrasts of blazing purple and emerald green. There is nothing really
+beautiful in Nature except her decay; her rank weeds, and dank grasses,
+and funereal evening glooms."
+
+While he talked this way he was seated on the piano stool, with his face
+turned away from the piano, on whose keys he touched every now and then
+with a light and seemingly careless hand, bringing out only a faint note
+that seemed to help the conversation rather than to interrupt it. He was
+very handsome, Minola could not help thinking, and there was something
+in his colorless face and deep eyes that seemed congenial with the talk
+of glooms and decay. Still, true to her first feeling toward all men,
+Minola was disposed to dislike him, the more especially as he spoke with
+an air of easy superiority, as one who would imply that he knew how to
+maintain his place above women in creation.
+
+"I thought all you poets affected to be in love with Nature," she said.
+"I mean you younger poets," and she emphasized the word "younger" with a
+certain contemptuous tone, which made it just what it meant to
+be--"smaller poets."
+
+"Why younger poets?"
+
+"Well, because the elder ones I think really were in love with Nature,
+and didn't affect anything."
+
+He smiled pityingly.
+
+"No," he said decisively, "we don't care about Nature--our school."
+
+"I am from the country; I don't think I know what your school is."
+
+"We don't want to be known in the country; we couldn't endure to be
+known in the country."
+
+"But fame?" Minola asked--"does fame not go outside the twelve-mile
+radius?"
+
+"Oh, Miss Grey, do pray excuse me, but you really don't understand us;
+we don't want fame. What is fame? Vulgarity made immortal."
+
+"Then what do you publish for?"
+
+He rose from his seat and seized his hair with both hands; then
+constrained himself to endurance, and sat down again.
+
+"My dear young lady, we don't publish; we don't intend to publish. No
+man in his senses would publish for us if we were never so well
+inclined. No one could sell six copies. The great, thick-headed public
+couldn't understand us. We are satisfied that the true artist never does
+have a public--or look for it. The public can have their Tennysons, and
+Brownings, and Swinburnes, and Tuppers, and all that lot----"
+
+"That lot!" broke in Miss Blanchet, mildly horrified--"that lot!
+Browning and Tupper put together!"
+
+"My dear Mary, I don't know one of these people from another; I never
+read any of them now. They are all the same sort of thing to me. These
+persons are not artists; they are only men trying to amuse the public.
+Some of them, I am told, are positively fond of politics."
+
+"Don't your school care for politics?" Miss Grey asked, now growing
+rather amused.
+
+"Oh, no; we never trouble ourselves about such things. What can it
+matter whether the Reform bill is carried--is there a Reform bill going
+on now?--I believe there always is--or what becomes of the Eastern
+Question, or whether New Zealand has a constitution? These are questions
+for vestrymen, not artists; we don't love man."
+
+"There I am with you," Miss Grey said; "if that alone were qualification
+enough, I should be glad to be one of your fraternity, for I don't love
+man; I think he is a poor creature at his best."
+
+"So do I," said the poet, turning toward her with eyes in which for the
+moment a deep and genuine feeling seemed to light up; "the poorest
+creature, at his best! Why should any one turn aside for a moment from
+his path to help such a thing? What does it matter, the welfare of him
+and his pitiful race? Let us sing, and play, and paint, and forget him
+and the destiny that he makes such a work about. Wisdom only consists in
+shutting our ears to his cries of ambition, and jealousy, and pain, and
+being happy in our own way and forgetting him."
+
+Their eyes met for a moment, and then Minola lowered hers. In that
+instant a gleam of sympathy had passed from her eyes into his, and he
+knew it. She felt a little humiliated somehow, like a proud fencer
+suddenly disarmed at the first touch of his adversary. For, as he was
+speaking scorn of the human race, she was saying to herself, "This man,
+I do believe, has suffered deeply. He has found people cold, and mean,
+and selfish--as _I_ have--and he feels it, and cannot hide it. I did him
+wrong; he is not a fribble or sham cynic, only a disappointed dreamer."
+The sympathy which she felt showed itself only too quickly in her very
+eloquent eyes.
+
+Herbert Blanchet rose after an instant of silence and took his leave,
+asking permission to call again, which Miss Grey would have gladly
+refused if she could have stood up against the appealing looks of Mary.
+So she had to grant him the permission, thinking as she gave it that
+another path of her liberty was closed.
+
+Mary went to the door with her brother, and, much to Minola's
+gratification, remained a long time talking with him there.
+
+Miss Grey went to the piano and began to sing; softly to herself, that
+she might not be heard outside. The short autumnal day was already
+closing in London. Out in the country there would be two hours yet of
+light before the round, red sun went down behind the sloping fields,
+with the fresh upturned earth, and the clumps of trees, but here, in
+West-Central regions of London, the autumn day dies in its youth. The
+dusk already gathered around the singer, who sang to please or to soothe
+herself. In any troubled mood Miss Grey had long been accustomed to
+clear her spirits by singing to herself; and on many a long, dull Sunday
+at home--in the place that was called her home--she had committed the
+not impious fraud of singing her favorite ballads to slow, slow time,
+that they might be mistaken for hymns and pass unreproved. Her voice and
+way of singing made the song seem like a sweet, plaintive recitative,
+just the singing to hear in the "gloaming," to draw a few people hushed
+around it, and hold them in suspense, fearful to lose a single note, and
+miss the charm of expression. In truth, the charm of it sprang from the
+fact that the singer sang to express her own emotions, and thus every
+tone had its reality and its meaning. When women sing for a listening
+company, they sing conventionally, and in the way that some teacher has
+taught, or in what they believe to be the manner of some great artist;
+or they sing to somebody or at somebody, and in any case they are away
+from that truthfulness which in art is simply the faithful expression of
+real emotion. With Minola Grey singing was an end rather than a means; a
+relief in itself, a new mood in itself; a passing away from poor and
+personal emotions into ideal regions, where melancholy, if it must be,
+was always divine; and pain, if it would intrude, was purifying and
+ennobling. So, while the little poetess talked with her brother in the
+dusk, at the doorway, with the gas lamps just beginning to light the
+monotonous street, Minola was singing herself into the pure blue ether,
+above the fogs, and clouds, and discordant, selfish voices.
+
+She came back to earth with something like a heavy fall, as Mary
+Blanchet ran in upon her in the dark and exclaimed--
+
+"Now, do tell me--how do you like my brother?"
+
+To say the truth, Miss Grey did not well know. "I wonder is he an
+Alceste?" she asked herself. On the whole, his coming had made an
+uncomfortable, anxious, uncanny impression upon her, and she looked back
+with a kind of hopeless regret on the days when she had London all to
+herself, and knew nobody.
+
+
+
+
+WORDSWORTH'S CORRECTIONS.
+
+
+When an author, in his later editions, departs from his earlier text, he
+is apt to reveal some traits of his method and genius that might not
+otherwise have been so evident, and a poet's corrections may thus have
+more than a merely curious interest. Take Mr. Tennyson's, for instance:
+"The Princess," to say nothing of his shorter emended poems, has been,
+one might say, rewritten since the first edition, and his corrections
+are always interesting. Yet they spring, I think, from a narrower range
+of motive than Wordsworth's; they are directed more exclusively toward
+the object of artistic finish; they commonly show the poet busied in
+casting perfume upon the lily. Take this example from "The Miller's
+Daughter." In the first version of that poem, as it appeared in 1842, we
+are told that before the heroine's reflection became visible in the
+mill-pool--
+
+  A water-rat from off the bank
+    Plunged in the stream.
+
+Later editions give us this more graceful version of what occurred:
+
+  Then leapt a trout. In lazy mood
+    I watch'd the little circles die;
+  They passed into the level flood,
+    And there a vision caught my eye.
+
+Unquestionably that is an improvement, and of a sort which Wordsworth
+was continually making. But Wordsworth's corrections do not merely
+illustrate the effort to reach artistic finish, though very many of them
+are made with that intent; they have a relation to his theories, tastes,
+creeds, to his temperament and training, to his manner of receiving
+friendly or hostile criticism; and in comparing these textual variations
+we seem to watch the artist at his work--to enter in some sort into his
+very consciousness--as we see him manipulating the form or the thought
+of his verses:
+
+  Ta de torneuei, ta de kollomelei,
+  Kai gnomotupei, k'autonomazei.
+
+Nor is this to consider too curiously; Wordsworth himself has invited us
+to the task. In his letters as well as in the notes to his poems,
+frequent mention is made of these labors of emendation. Writing in 1837
+to Edward Quillinan, he asks him to "take the trouble ... of comparing
+the corrections in my last edition [that of 1836] with the text in the
+preceding one," "in the correction of which I took great pains," as he
+had written to Prof. Reed a month before. And there is ample opportunity
+of this sort; I do not know an ampler one of the kind in the works of
+any other poet. Tasso's _variae lectiones_ are numerous, but they were
+mostly made to conciliate his critics; Milton's are of great interest,
+but they are comparatively few in number, and Gray's are fewer still:
+Pope's are numerous, but not often interesting; while Tennyson's, as I
+have intimated, seem to me to spring from a less serious poetic faculty
+than Wordsworth's, and are therefore less significant. But I am anxious
+not to claim too much significance for Wordsworth's corrections, for I
+can do little more here than to point out some of them, leaving for the
+most part their interpretation to the reader. To attempt more than this
+would be to enter upon an analysis of Wordsworth's genius, for which
+this is not the occasion.
+
+And yet we shall see, I think, that his genius might be in some sort
+"restored," as naturalists say, were it necessary, from these
+fragmentary data, for Wordsworth's corrections cover the whole term of
+his literary activity. He preferred, one might say, to correct after
+publication rather than before; and, revising his youthful writing
+during a second and a third generation following, his final texts had
+received the benefit of more than half a century of criticism by himself
+and others. From the year 1793, in which his first volumes appeared, the
+"Evening Walk" and the "Descriptive Sketches," to the year of his death,
+1850, he put forth not fewer than twenty-four separate publications in
+verse, each of which contained more or less of poetry previously
+unpublished; and in the greater number of these texts may be found
+variations from the previous readings. The larger part of them, indeed,
+are slight--the change of single words, the alteration of phrases, the
+transposition of verses or stanzas. And yet few of them, I think, are
+quite without interest for persons in whose reading, as Wordsworth
+himself expresses it, "poetry has continued to be comprehended as a
+study." I have noted some thousands of his corrections; but a copious
+citation of them might weary all but actual students of poetic
+_technique_, a class that is hardly as numerous, I suspect, as that of
+the actual practitioners of poetry, and I will therefore keep mainly to
+such _variae lectiones_ as may be referred to motives of more general
+interest.[B]
+
+[Footnote B: After the early poems just mentioned and the "Lyrical
+Ballads," 1798 to 1802, the chief editions to be consulted for the
+changes of text are the complete editions of 1807, 1815, and 1836, and
+the original issues of "The Excursion" (1814), of "The White Doe of
+Rylston" (1815), of "Peter Bell," and of "The Waggoner" (1819).
+Unfortunately I have not been able to get access to Mr. W. Johnston's
+useful collection of Wordsworth's "Earlier Poems" (London, 1857): it
+would have lightened the task of collecting the _variantes_, the more
+important of which, for the period covered by the collection, are given
+in it. But, having gone in nearly every case to the original texts, I
+need hardly say that I have been careful to quote them accurately in the
+present article.]
+
+The first question which we naturally ask about Wordsworth's corrections
+is this: Were they improvements? My readers will decide for themselves;
+for my own part, it seems to me that they generally were improvements;
+that Wordsworth bettered his text three times out of four when he
+changed it. Nor is this surprising; few admirers of Wordsworth's poetry
+will deny that there were many passages quite susceptible of amendment
+in it; for that task there was ample room. But on the other hand, it
+happened not infrequently, as we might expect, that when the poet
+returned, in the critical mood, to mend his first form of expression, he
+marred it instead. In the poem, for instance, beginning, "Strange fits
+of passion have I known," the second stanza as originally published ran
+thus:
+
+  When she I loved was strong and gay,
+    And like a rose in June,
+  I to her cottage bent my way,
+    Beneath the evening moon.
+         --_Lyrical Ballads_, 1800.
+
+The passage stood thus for many years, and was finally altered to read:
+
+  When she I loved looked every day
+    Fresh as a rose in June,
+  I to her cottage bent my way,
+    Beneath an evening moon.
+
+Is there not some loss of vividness here? The later reading is perhaps
+the more graceful, and yet the picture seems to me brighter in the early
+version. This, too, seems a doubtful improvement; it occurs in "The
+Farmer of Tilsbury Vale." Wordsworth wrote at first:
+
+  His staff is a sceptre--his gray hairs a crown:
+  Erect as a sunflower he stands, and the streak
+  Of the unfaded rose is expressed on his cheek.
+                   --1815.
+
+In later editions we read:
+
+  His bright eyes look brighter, set off by the streak
+  Of the unfaded rose that still blooms on his cheek.
+
+Here the last line is bettered; but I, for one, am sorry to lose the
+sunflower comparison; it is picturesque, and it aptly describes this
+hearty child of the earth.
+
+Look now at the poem "We are Seven," as it began in the "Lyrical
+Ballads":
+
+  A simple child, dear brother Jim,
+    That lightly draws its breath,
+  And feels its life in every limb--
+    What should it know of death?
+
+It is now sixty years since "dear brother Jim" was dismissed from his
+place in these lines--dismissed, perhaps, with the less compunction
+because the stanza was written by another hand--Coleridge's--as an
+introduction to the rest of the poem. But I think the lines were better
+as the young poets first sent them forth. "Brother Jim" had, perhaps, no
+clearly demonstrable business in the poem; and yet, having been there,
+we miss him now that he is gone. That homely apostrophe had in it the
+primitive impulses of the Lake school feeling; the phrase refuses to be
+forgotten, and seems to have a persistent life of its own. I have seen
+the missing words restored, in pencil marks, to their rightful place in
+the text of copies belonging to old-fashioned gentlemen who remembered
+the original reading. Nor can we easily deny existence to our "dear
+brother Jim"; his name still lingers in our memories, haunting about the
+page from which it was excluded long ago; he lives, and deserves to
+live, as the symbol of immortal fraternity.
+
+But as I have said, Wordsworth mended his text oftener than he marred
+it, and first by refining upon his descriptions of outward nature. Among
+the cases in point, one occurs in a poem entitled "Influences of Natural
+objects in calling forth and strengthening the Imagination in Boyhood
+and early Youth"--a cumbrous heading enough. May I digress for a moment
+upon the unlucky titles which Wordsworth so often prefixed to his poems,
+and the improvements occasionally made in them? Surely a less convenient
+caption than the one just quoted is not often met with, or a less
+attractive one than this other, prefixed to an inscription not very many
+times longer than itself:
+
+"Written at the Request of Sir George Beaumont, Bart., and in his Name,
+for an Urn, placed by him at the termination of a newly-planted Avenue
+in the same Grounds."
+
+Titles like these are not only fatiguing in the very reading, a
+preliminary disenchantment, but they are not properly names at all; they
+are headings, rubrics, captions which do not name. Wordsworth seems to
+send forth these unlucky children of the muse with a full description of
+their eyes, hair, and complexion, but forgets to christen them; and I
+believe that this oversight, though it may not appear a very serious
+one, has interfered more than a little with the effectiveness of his
+minor poetry, and consequently with the fame and influence of the poet.
+For it makes reference to them difficult, almost impossible: how is one
+to refer to a favorite passage, for instance, in a poem "Written at the
+Request of Sir George Beaumont, Bart., and in his Name, for an Urn,
+placed by him at the termination of a newly-planted Avenue in the same
+Grounds"? These titles are fit to discourage even the admirers of
+Wordsworth, and to repel his intending students; nor will they attract
+any one, for they are formless; they are the abstracts of essays, the
+_precis_ of an argument, rather than fit designations for works of
+poetic art. A considerable number, too, of Wordsworth's minor pieces
+remain without name, title, or description of any kind whatever. If that
+desirable thing, a satisfactory edition of his poems, should ever
+appear, it will be given us by some editor who shall be sensitive to
+this northern formlessness, and who may venture, perhaps, to improve the
+state of Wordsworth's titles.
+
+Let me end this digression by noting another singular title, with its
+emendation. In the "Lyrical Ballads" of 1798 appeared a poem with this
+extraordinary caption:
+
+"Anecdote for Fathers, shewing how the art of Lying may be taught."
+
+Now, certainly, Wordsworth did not intend to teach the art of lying, yet
+nothing can be clearer than his declaration. He failed to see the
+ludicrous meaning of these words, and it took him thirty years,
+apparently, to find out what he had said; but he saw it at last, and
+dropped the explanatory clause of the title, quoting in its place an apt
+motto from Eusebius; and we now read:
+
+"Anecdote for Fathers. _Retine vim istam, falsa enim dicam, si coges_;"
+and the charming story professes no longer to show how boys may be
+taught to lie, but to point out the danger of making them lie when you
+press them to give reasons for their sentiments.
+
+And now, returning to the corrections of text in the descriptive
+passages, let us note a curious change in the poem already mentioned,
+"On the Influence of Natural Objects," etc. Wordsworth is describing the
+pleasures of skating; and these are some of them, according to the
+passage as originally published in "The Friend":
+
+  Not seldom from the uproar I retired
+  Into a silent bay--or sportively
+  Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng
+ _To cut across the image of a Star
+  That gleamed upon the ice._
+
+To do this is of course impossible, and the lines which I have
+italicized are mere closet description. We cannot skate across the
+reflection of a star until we can skate into the end of a rainbow; and
+the curious thing is that the so-called "poet of nature" should ever
+have fancied, even for a moment at his desk, that he had ever done it.
+Clearly, Wordsworth's study was not always out of doors, to use a
+favorite phrase of his; on the contrary, this passage is so unreal that
+a critic unacquainted with the personal history of the poet might argue
+that he had never been on skates--as Coleridge wrote the "Hymn in the
+Valley of Chamouni" without ever visiting that valley. But Wordsworth
+seems to have found out that his description was false; for he made a
+compromise, in the later editions, with the optical law of incidence and
+reflection; and we now see him attempting merely, but not achieving, the
+impossible thing:
+
+    ----Leaving the tumultuous throng
+  To cut across the reflex of a star
+  That fled, and, flying still before me, gleamed
+  Upon the glassy plain.
+
+But Wordsworth held stoutly, in the main, to his own experience, his own
+impressions; and he did this even to the injury of his descriptions. He
+was never, for instance, in sailor's phrase, "off soundings"; he never
+saw the mid-ocean; and consequently, when he described Leonard, in the
+first edition of "The Brothers," as sailing in mid-ocean, he says that
+he gazed upon "the broad green wave and sparkling foam." But he found
+out his mistake at last; he was fond of reading voyages and travels, and
+he seems to have become convinced finally, perhaps by the testimony of
+his sailor brother, that the deep sea was really blue and not green;
+that the common epithet was the true one; for he corrected the line to
+read "the broad blue wave."
+
+Let us now examine some of those curiously prosaic passages which
+Wordsworth strove faithfully to convert into poetry, and strove with
+various success. And first, those famous arithmetical passages in "The
+Thorn," one of which stands to-day as it stood in the "Lyrical Ballads."
+We still read there, indeed, of
+
+  A beauteous heap, a hill of moss,
+  Just half a foot in height,
+
+the precise altitude that Wordsworth gave it in 1798; not an inch to the
+critics, he seems to have said. But these other peccant lines in the
+preceding stanza he recast, and in a way that is curious to follow:
+
+  And to the left, three yards beyond,
+  You see a little muddy Pond
+  Of water never dry:
+  I've measured it from side to side:
+  'Tis three feet long, and two feet wide.
+
+Of these lines Crabb Robinson said to Wordsworth that "he dared not read
+them aloud in company." "They ought to be liked," rejoined the poet.
+Well, we may not like them; but they are interesting, for they present a
+really instructive specimen of bad art. Clearly enough, here is a poet
+in difficulties. The "little muddy pond" was not a pond in nature, but a
+pool; and a pool it would have been in verse, but for the particular
+exigency--the necessity of rhyming with the word _beyond_. Note now the
+honesty of our poet. For rhyme's sake he has temporarily sacrificed
+accuracy; he has called a pool a pond; but to show what the piece of
+water actually was, that actually it was a pool, though the exigencies
+of rhyme had forced him to call it provisionally by another name, he
+goes on to give us its accurate measurement, not only from "side to
+side," but from end to end as well. "'Tis three feet long and two feet
+wide," he tells us; and now his northern conscience is satisfied; he
+seems to say, "I was unfortunately compelled to use the wrong word in
+this passage, but I make amends at once; these are the precise
+dimensions of the object, and you can give it the right name yourself."
+This devotion to the topographical truth of the matter was abated,
+however, in later editions, perhaps by the derision of the critics.
+Wordsworth rewrote the passage, one would say, to please the graces
+rather than the mathematical verities; and the lines now read thus:
+
+  You see a little muddy pond
+  Of water, never dry,
+  Though but of compass small, and bare
+  To thirsty suns and parching air.
+
+Another considerable improvement was made, a little further on, in the
+same poem. These are the lines as they ran in the "Lyrical Ballads":
+
+  Poor Martha! on that woful day
+  A cruel, cruel fire, they say,
+  Into her bones was sent;
+  It dried her body like a cinder,
+  And almost turned her brain to tinder.
+                   --1798.
+
+Certainly there was room for improvement here; and in the edition of
+1815 we find the lines recast as follows:
+
+  A pang of pitiless dismay
+  Into her soul was sent;
+  A Fire was kindled in her breast,
+  Which might not burn itself to rest.
+
+Or see again this prosaic passage from "The Brothers," as first
+published in the "Lyrical Ballads." The lines describe the parting of
+James from his companions at a certain rock:
+
+    ----By our shepherds it is call'd the Pillar.
+  James, pointing to its summit, over which
+  They all had purposed to return together,
+  Inform'd them that he there would wait for them;
+  They parted, and his comrades pass'd that way
+  Some two hours after, but they did not find him
+  At the appointed place, a circumstance
+  Of which they took no heed.
+                   --1800.
+
+It would occur to few readers to call this poetry were it not visibly
+divided into verse; and Wordsworth himself seems to have thought as
+much, for after many years he rewrote the passage, condensing and
+poetizing it as follows:
+
+  ----By our shepherds it is called THE PILLAR.
+  Upon its airy summit crowned with heath
+  The loiterer, not unnoticed by his comrades,
+  Lay stretched at ease; but, passing by the place
+  On their return, they found that he was gone.
+  No ill was feared.
+
+There are hundreds of corrections in this style; and we naturally ask
+what made it necessary for Wordsworth to weed his poetic garden so
+often, to amend with care and trouble what some other poets would have
+done well at first? We need not hold with some of his critics that
+Wordsworth had in any peculiar sense a dual nature, to explain the
+amount of prosaic poetry, if I may call it so, that he wrote. No real
+poet ever wrote, as I take it, a greater amount of prosaic poetry than
+he; and no real poet ever published a greater number of verses that
+might fairly be called not only poor poetry, but considered as proof
+that their author could not write good poetry at all.
+
+What critic would believe before the proof, that the poet who had
+written the lines just quoted from "The Thorn," and others like them,
+could have written also the "Lines to H. C." and "She Was a Phantom of
+Delight"? But to inquire at length into this contrast is to inquire into
+the deepest traits of Wordsworth's genius. One cause of his prosaic
+verse, however, may be mentioned here. Wordsworth had injurious habits
+of composition; he dictated his prose to an amanuensis, and he composed
+his poems in the fields as he walked. He was thus a libertine of
+opportunity, and though he strictly economized his subjects, and made
+the least yield him up its utmost, yet he was prodigal in the quantity
+of his expression. He did not wait for what are called moments of
+inspiration; he was always ready to compose, and thus he composed too
+much; he made verses whenever he was out of doors, "murmuring them out"
+to the astonishment of the rustics. Doubtless the first factor of genius
+is this abundance of power. But, on the other hand, the control, the
+direction of power is the first essential to the beauty of the work of
+art. "Good men may utter whatever comes uppermost; good poets may not,"
+says Landor; and the aphorism touches upon a serious fault of
+Wordsworth's method. He lacked due power of self-repression; he was too
+much interested in his own thoughts to make a sufficiently jealous
+choice among them when he came to write them down. Two qualities,
+indeed, of his nature he kept in such abeyance, the amative and the
+humorous--and he was not without a humorous side--as to express but
+little of them in his writings. But he seems to have recorded almost
+everything, not humorous or amatory, that came into his mind; and, in
+consequence, we feel that his poetry comes perilously near being a
+verbatim transcript of his processes of consciousness. But no man's
+thought is always sufficiently valuable for a shorthand report; and we
+often wish that Wordsworth had reflected, with Herrick, that the poet is
+not fitted every day to prophesy:
+
+  No; but when the spirit fills
+  The fantastic pannicles
+  Full of fire--then I write
+  As the Godhead doth indite.
+
+Does it seem an invidious task to recall the unhappy readings that I
+have mentioned--readings abandoned by Wordsworth long ago, and unknown
+to many of his younger students? To do it with slighting intent, or from
+mere curiosity, would be unworthy; nor will the routine mind be
+persuaded that there is anything more than a merely curious interest in
+the comparison of editions. We, thinking that Wordsworth cannot really
+be understood in a single edition, must leave the routine mind to its
+conviction that one text contains all that there is of value in his
+poetry. And to offset the ungraceful verses that we have just
+considered, let us look at some changes by which Wordsworth has made
+fine passages finer still. Of the sonnets published in 1819 with "The
+Waggoner," none is more striking, as I think, than the one beginning,
+"Eve's lingering clouds extend in solid bars." In it at first he spoke
+as follows of the reflection of the heavens at night in perfectly still
+water:
+
+  Is it a mirror?--or the nether sphere
+  Opening its vast abyss, while fancy feeds
+  On the rich show?--But list! a voice is near;
+  Great Pan himself low-whispering through the reeds.
+
+In the later editions this passage is enriched by a grand stroke of
+imagination:
+
+  Is it a mirror?--or the nether sphere
+  Opening to view the abyss in which she feeds
+  Her own calm fires?--But list! a voice is near;
+  Great Pan himself low-whispering through the reeds.
+
+The following change is from the same sonnets; the passage describes a
+bright star setting:
+
+          Forfeiting his bright attire,
+  He burns, transmuted to a sullen fire
+  That droops and dwindles; and, the appointed debt
+  To the flying moments paid, is seen no more.
+
+So in 1819; in later editions we find the passage as follows:
+
+  He burns, transmuted to a dusty fire,
+  Then pays submissively the appointed debt
+  To the flying moments, and is seen no more.
+
+That is scarcely an improvement; but the alteration of epithet is
+curious: the substitution of fact for fancy in changing the low star's
+"sullen fire" into a "dusty fire."
+
+Here, again, is a case where the new reading has a fresher phrase than
+the old. It occurs in the last stanza of "Rob Roy's Grave," where
+Wordsworth spoke thus of the hero's virtues:
+
+  ----Far and near, through vale and hill,
+  Are faces that attest the same;
+  And kindle, like a fire new-stirred,
+  At sound of ROB ROY's name.
+
+Later, a new line was substituted as follows:
+
+  ----Far and near, through vale and hill,
+  Are faces that attest the same;
+  The proud heart flashing through the eyes
+  At sound of ROB ROY's name.
+
+And Wordsworth insisted, quite as strongly as his severest critics, upon
+finish, upon literary art as discriminable from the substance. While he
+was blaming Byron, Campbell, and other eminent poets for its lack, his
+assailants were loud in the same charge against him; they protested that
+whatever other merits the new poetry might have, that of artistic finish
+was surely not one. Jeffrey wrote in 1807 that Wordsworth "scarcely ever
+condescended to give the grace of correctness or melody to his
+versification." But Wordsworth, in a letter lately first published,
+criticises Campbell's "Hohenlinden" in a way that shows him by no means
+unstudious of form. He writes thus to Mr. Hamilton:[C] "I remember
+Campbell says, in a composition that is overrun with faulty language,
+'And dark as winter was the _flow_ of Iser rolling rapidly'; that is,
+'flowing rapidly.' The expression ought to have been 'stream' or
+'current.' ... These may appear to you frigid criticisms," he adds; "but
+depend upon it, no writings will live in which these rules are
+disregarded." This is good doctrine, and we have seen Wordsworth
+striving to realize it in his practice. He did realize it to a certain
+extent; if his style was not always eloquent, not always poetical, it
+was generally better English than that of his popular contemporaries.
+And yet a critic in "The Dial," following, as recently as 1843, the lead
+of Jeffrey in this blame of Wordsworth, could write of him as
+follows:[D] "He has the merit of just moral perception, but not that of
+deft poetic execution. How would Milton curl his lip at such slip-shod
+newspaper style! Many of his poems, as for example the 'Rylstone Doe,'
+might be all improvised.... These are such verses as in a just state of
+culture should be _vers de Societe_, such as every gentleman could
+write, but none would think of printing." That passage is worth reading
+twice; note the condescension of the praise, the flippancy of the blame,
+the inaccurate English and French; and what a jaunty misquotation of
+Wordsworth's title! It was not very profitable censure; but Wordsworth
+received much criticism by which he was glad to profit. Let us look at
+some of the cases in which he turned the strictures of friends or of
+enemies to account. The changes that he made in deference to criticism
+are striking, and so too are some of the cases in which he refused to
+profit by criticism. I will speak of both.
+
+[Footnote C: "Prose Works," III., 302.]
+
+[Footnote D: "The Dial," Vol. III., p. 514.]
+
+Of the former kind are the corrections in "Laodamia." That poem appeared
+first in 1815, having been suggested during a course of classical
+reading which Wordsworth had taken up for the purpose of directing the
+studies of his son. Landor criticised this poem in the first volume of
+his "Imaginary Conversations," and in the main very favorably; he makes
+Porson say that parts of it "might have been heard with shouts of
+rapture in the regions he describes"; he calls it "a composition such as
+Sophocles might have delighted to own." But he points out blemishes in
+two stanzas, the first and the seventeenth; he blames the execution of
+one and the thought of the other. Wordsworth rewrote both of them, and I
+quote the second passage as affording the more interesting change. In
+the first edition Protesilaus, says the poet, returning from the shades
+to visit Laodamia,
+
+  Spake, as a witness, of a second birth
+  For all that is most perfect upon earth.
+
+On this Landor remarks, putting the words into Porson's mouth:
+
+    How unseasonable is the allusion to _witness_ and _second_
+    birth, which things, however holy and venerable in
+    themselves, come stinking and reeking to us from the
+    conventicle. I desire to see Laodamia in the silent and
+    gloomy mansion of her beloved Protesilaus; not elbowed by
+    the godly butchers in Tottenham court road, nor smelling
+    devoutly of ratafia among the sugar bakers' wives at
+    Blackfriars.
+
+Wordsworth dropped these lines; and we now read instead, that the hero
+
+  Spake of heroic arts in graver mood
+  Revived, with finer harmony pursued.
+
+In the first volume of his "Imaginary Conversations" Landor said of
+Wordsworth: "Those who attack him with virulence or with levity are men
+of no morality and no reflection." In a later volume, however, Landor
+attacks him thus himself, with both virulence and levity, as I fear we
+must say, and Wordsworth declined to profit by these later gibing
+criticisms, though some of them, and especially those upon the "Anecdote
+for Fathers," were valuable, and suggested real improvements of text. In
+this attack, which is contained in the second conversation of Southey
+and Porson, Landor had noticed Wordsworth's adoption of his earlier
+criticism of Laodamia; and this circumstance was probably a reason why
+Wordsworth refused to receive further critical favors at his hands. The
+poem "Goody Blake and Harry Gill," for instance, sharply criticised by
+Landor, stood almost untouched through the editions of fifty years. And
+in a letter of 1843, recently published for the first time,[E]
+Wordsworth speaks thus severely of an attack made upon his son-in-law,
+Edward Quillinan, by Landor: "I should have disapproved of his
+[Quillinan's] condescending to notice anything that a man so deplorably
+tormented by ungovernable passion as that unhappy creature might eject.
+His character may be given in two or three words: a madman, a bad man;
+yet a man of genius, as many a madman is." That criticism seems rather
+more than righteously severe; but Wordsworth, while he cared little for
+the criticism of the reviews, felt keenly the lash of the violent
+Landor. The violent Landor we must call him, for violence was the too
+dominant trait of his noble genius; and he exasperated Wordsworth, as we
+see. But compare what I have just quoted with his familiar remark about
+the small critics: "My ears are stone dead to this idle buzz, and my
+flesh as insensible as iron to these petty stings." That Wordsworth said
+at thirty-six years of age; and here is a striking reminiscence recorded
+during his later years, and published in the "Prose Works." At
+seventy-one he said to Lady Richardson:
+
+    It would certainly have been a great object to me to have
+    reaped the profits I should have done from my writings but
+    for the stupidity of Mr. Gifford and the impertinence of Mr.
+    Jeffrey. It would have enabled me to purchase many books
+    which I could not obtain, and I should have gone to Italy
+    earlier, which I never could afford to do until I was
+    sixty-five, when Moxon gave me a thousand pounds for my
+    writings. This was the only kind of injury Mr. Jeffrey did
+    me, for I immediately perceived that his mind was of that
+    kind that his individual opinion on poetry was of no
+    consequence to me whatever; that it was only by the
+    influence his periodical exercised at the time in preventing
+    my poems being read and sold that he could injure me.... I
+    never, therefore, felt his opinion of the slightest value
+    except in preventing the young of that generation from
+    receiving impressions which might have been of use to them
+    through life.
+
+[Footnote E: "Prose Works," III., 381.]
+
+This is grand self-confidence; and it is in the same tone that elsewhere
+he says:
+
+    Feeling that my writings were founded on what was true and
+    spiritual in human nature, I knew the time would come when
+    they must be known.
+
+In this connexion the English reviews of that time are still interesting
+reading, particularly the "Quarterly" and the "Edinburgh." What was
+Jeffrey saying in his "organ" during the years of Wordsworth's earlier
+fame? In 1807 he described the poem of "The Beggars" as "a very paragon
+of silliness and affectation"; and he said of "Alice Fell," "If the
+printing of such verses be not felt as an insult on the public taste, we
+are afraid it cannot be insulted." Two years later he calls upon the
+patrons of the Lake school of poetry to "think with what infinite
+contempt the powerful mind of Burns would have perused the story of
+Alice Fell and her duffle cloak, of Andrew Jones and the half-crown, or
+of little Dan without breeches and his thievish grandfather." Wordsworth
+dropped the poem of "Andrew Jones," and never restored it--an omission
+almost unique, as we shall see; for he stood by the substance of his
+work, if not always by the form, with great pertinacity. He said of
+"Alice Fell," in his old age, "It brought upon me a world of ridicule by
+the small critics, so that in policy I excluded it from many editions of
+my poems, till it was restored at the request of some of my friends."
+Wordsworth had no stancher friend, his poetry had no more delicate
+critic, than Charles Lamb; and Lamb wrote thus in 1815 to Wordsworth
+about "Alice Fell" and the assailants of the poem. He said: "I am glad
+that you have not sacrificed a verse to those scoundrels. I would not
+have had you offer up the poorest rag that lingered upon the stript
+shoulders of little Alice Fell, to have atoned all their malice: I would
+not have given 'em a red cloak to save their souls."
+
+Jeffrey decried two other pieces that rank among the most perfect of
+Wordsworth's minor poems, as "stuff about dancing daffodils and sister
+Emmelines," and spoke of another, which we count for pure poetry to-day,
+as "a rapturous, mystical ode to the cuckoo, in which the author,
+striving after force and originality, produces nothing but absurdity."
+And he attacked these lines in the "Ode to Duty":
+
+  Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong:
+  And the most ancient heavens through thee are fresh and strong.
+
+This, Jeffrey said, is "utterly without meaning: at least we have no
+sort of conception in what sense Duty can be said to keep the old skies
+_fresh_, and the stars from wrong." We need not be surprised at
+Jeffrey's failing to admire these lines: they are transcendentalism, and
+it would have troubled Wordsworth himself to render them into the plain
+speech which he recommended as the proper diction of poetry. For they
+have not a definite translatable content of thought; and we cannot read
+them as philosophy or ethics; but as poetry we may feel their power; we
+are willing to enjoy them for their own sake, because beauty is enough.
+But this Jeffrey did not admit; Jeffrey was not vulnerable by
+magnificent phrases, and of course he could not foresee what a power
+Wordsworth's transcendentalism was to exert. When the ode "Intimations
+of Immortality" first appeared (with the edition of 1807), Jeffrey
+called it "the most illegible and unintelligible part of the
+publication."[F] The remark need not surprise us. Jeffrey looked for
+logical thought in the poem, and logical thought it had not; whatever
+else it may contain, it will hardly be said to propound any new
+arguments for immortality. But Jeffrey wrote in all sincerity, and later
+in his life he read Wordsworth's poetry a second time, with a view to
+discover, if he could, the merits which he had failed to see when he
+criticised it--the merits which the English public had then found out.
+His effort was a failure: for him the primrose remained a primrose to
+the last, and nothing more. The acute lawyer was not a poet, nor a judge
+of poets; he had an erroneous notion of what the office of poetry is; of
+what it has been and will be--to please, to elevate, to suggest, but not
+to argue or convince; and to the last he did not get beyond his early
+decision, which, in the article just quoted from, runs as follows:
+
+    We think there is every reason to hope that the lamentable
+    consequences which have resulted from Mr. Wordsworth's open
+    violation of the established laws of poetry, will operate as
+    a wholesome warning to those who might otherwise have been
+    seduced by his example, and be the means of restoring to
+    that ancient and venerable code its honor and authority.
+
+
+[Footnote F: "Edinburgh Review," October, 1807.]
+
+But the critic cannot always tell what the new "song is destined to, and
+what the stars intend to do." It is now evident enough where the early
+assailants of Wordsworth were mistaken; and yet which critic of to-day
+would be sure of his ground in a similar case? For the faults of genius
+are old, familiar, and easily to be discerned; while, on the other hand,
+genius itself is always novel, and therefore may be easily mistaken. It
+takes genius to recognize genius; and most of Wordsworth's critics were
+not men of genius. Landor, who was one, made a wise remark upon this
+point. He said, "To compositions of a new kind, like Wordsworth's, we
+come without scales and weights, and without the means of making an
+assay."
+
+But by pointing out his faults, his critics did him and us a service;
+and it was one by which the poet profited, as we have seen, in spite of
+his independence.
+
+Let us now look at some of Wordsworth's multiple readings, if we may
+call them so--passages, namely, in which he has returned, year after
+year, to certain peccant verses, changing them again and again in the
+quest of adequate expression. After repeated experiments he sometimes
+finds a reading to please himself; sometimes, having allowed a
+provisional text to stand throughout many years, he discards it and
+returns to the original form; and sometimes, again, he abandons a
+passage entirely, after scarring it with a lifetime's emendations. Of
+the first sort I will cite three readings of a stanza in "A Poet's
+Epitaph." As first published in the "Lyrical Ballads" of 1800, the poem
+contained this adjuration to the philosopher "wrapped in his sensual
+fleece":
+
+  O turn aside, and take, I pray,
+  That he below may rest in peace,
+  Thy pin-point of a soul away!
+
+Lamb did not like this; and he wrote to Wordsworth: "The 'Poet's
+Epitaph' is disfigured, to my taste, by the coarse epithet of
+'pin-point' in the sixth stanza." In the edition of 1815 the "coarse
+epithet" disappears, and the passage is modified as follows:
+
+
+       ----Take, I pray,
+  That he below may rest in peace,
+  That abject thing, thy soul, away!
+
+The years that "bring the philosophic mind" did not, however, reconcile
+Wordsworth with the particular "philosopher" here in question. (Sir
+Humphrey Davy, as Crabb Robinson, if I am not mistaken, tells us). On
+the contrary, the poet devised a still more injurious epithet for that
+unhappy physicist; and the passage now reads:
+
+  ----Take, I pray,...
+  Thy ever-dwindling soul away!
+
+Another of these multiple corrections has attracted much notice; it
+occurs in the successive descriptions of the craft wherein the "Blind
+Highland Boy" went sailing. In the first edition of that poem Wordsworth
+called it
+
+  A Household Tub, like one of those
+  Which women use to wash their clothes!
+
+It would seem difficult to defend this couplet upon any accepted theory
+of aesthetics, rhyme, or syntax; and the "Household Tub" provoked quite
+naturally a shout of derision from all the critics; it became the
+poetical scandal of the day. Jeffery, mindful of "the established laws"
+of poetic art, protested that there was nothing, down to the wiping of
+shoes, or the evisceration of chickens, which may not be introduced in
+poetry, if this is tolerated. The tub, in short, proved intolerable to
+the reviewers; and when next the poem appeared in a new edition, that of
+1815, Wordsworth transmuted the craft into a green turtle shell, noting
+the change as made "upon the suggestion of a Friend":
+
+  The shell of a green Turtle, thin
+  And hollow: you might sit therein,
+    It was so wide and deep.
+  'Twas even the largest of its kind,
+  Large, thin, and light as birch tree rind;
+  So light a shell that it would swim,
+  And gaily lift its fearless brim
+    Above the tossing waves.
+
+Lamb's comment upon this change was as follows:
+
+    I am afraid lest that substitution of a shell (a flat
+    falsification of the history) for the household implement,
+    as it stood at first, was a kind of tub thrown out to the
+    beast, or rather thrown out for him. The tub was a good
+    honest tub in its place, and nothing could be fairly said
+    against it. You say you made the alteration for the
+    "friendly reader," but the "malicious" will take it to
+    himself. Damn 'em, if you give 'em an inch, etc.
+
+Wordsworth, however, instead of restoring the old text, went on
+amending, and with reason; the reading just given is diffuse. But see
+now the third and final form which he gave to the passage. The
+sublimation of the Household Tub is now completed; it becomes, at last,
+
+  A shell of ample size, and light
+  As the pearly car of Amphitrite,
+    That sportive dolphins draw.
+  And as a Coracle that braves
+  On Vaga's breast the fretful waves,
+  This shell upon the deep would swim.
+
+Here again are some new readings that Wordsworth discarded after long
+trial. A well-known sonnet, one of his earliest, began thus in 1807:
+
+  I grieved for Buonaparte, with a vain
+  And an unthinking grief! The vital blood
+  Of that Man's mind, what can it be? What food
+  Fed his first hopes? What knowledge could he gain?
+
+In 1815 we find the passage rewritten as follows:
+
+  I grieved for Buonaparte, with a vain
+  And an unthinking grief! for, who aspires
+  To genuine greatness but from just desires,
+  And knowledge such as He could never gain?
+
+But in the later editions the first reading was restored, except the
+words "vital blood," and we now read:
+
+          The tenderest mood
+  Of that man's mind, what can it be?
+
+In "The Nightingale" Wordsworth first called that bird "a creature of a
+fiery heart"; but in the edition of 1815 it became "a creature of
+ebullient heart," a flat disenchantment of the verse. The change was
+questioned from the first, as Crabb Robinson tells us, and in later
+editions the first reading was restored. A fortunate correction made in
+the same edition was retained--the change of "laughing company" to
+"jocund company," in "The Daffodils":
+
+  A poet could not but be gay
+  In such a jocund company.
+                   --1815.
+
+The poem "Rural Architecture," in the "Lyrical Ballads" of 1800, was
+curtailed of its closing stanza in the edition of 1815:
+
+  Some little I've seen of blind boisterous works
+  In Paris and London, 'mong Christians and Turks,
+  Spirits busy to do and undo, etc., etc.
+
+But in Lamb's correspondence of the same year he complains to Wordsworth
+that the omission "leaves it [the poem] in my mind less complete," and
+the lines were restored in the later editions. Not to differ hastily
+with Lamb, the lines yet seem lines to be spared. In the same sentence
+he complains that in the new edition there is another "admirable line
+gone (or something come instead of it), 'the stone-chat, and the
+glancing sandpiper,' which was a line quite alive. I demand these at
+your hand." Wordsworth restored the line, and the three versions of the
+passage are worth comparison. It is from the "Lines left upon a Seat in
+a Yew Tree," and describes a wanderer in the solitude of the country:
+
+  His only visitants a straggling sheep,
+  The stone-chat, or the glancing sand-piper:
+  And on these barren rocks, with juniper,
+  And heath, and thistle, thinly sprinkled o'er,
+  Fixing his downcast eye, he many an hour
+ A morbid pleasure nourished.
+                   --"Lyrical Ballads."
+
+In the second reading he corrects a bad assonance thus:
+
+  His only visitants a straggling sheep,
+  The stone-chat, or the sand-lark, restless bird,
+  Piping along the margin of the lake....
+                   --1815.
+
+Here the "line quite alive" is gone--to be restored in deference,
+apparently, to Lamb's request. Another assonance is got rid of in the
+later editions, the "thistle thinly sprinkled o'er," and the passage now
+reads melodiously as follows:
+
+  His only visitants a straggling sheep.
+  The stone-chat, or the glancing sand-piper:
+  And on these barren rocks, with fern and heath,
+  And juniper and thistle, sprinkled o'er,
+  Fixing his downcast eye, he many an hour
+  A morbid pleasure nourished.
+
+Wordsworth struck out many lines and stanzas in the course of his
+revisions, besides main passages of considerable length, as from the
+"Thanksgiving Ode" and the patriotic ode of January, 1816. These
+omissions are too long to quote here; but the following lines dropped
+from the ode on "Immortality" will have interest; they are not to be
+found, I think, in any English edition since that of 1815. Addressing
+the child over whom Immortality, in the language of the ode,
+
+  Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave,
+  A Presence which is not to be put by--
+
+this earlier reading continues:
+
+       To whom the grave
+  Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight
+    Of day or the warm light:
+  A place of thought where we in waiting lie.
+
+Another notable omitted passage is the introduction to "Dion," published
+in 1816:
+
+  Fair is the Swan, whose majesty, prevailing
+  O'er breezeless water on Locarno's lake....
+
+Here nineteen lines full of beauty are sacrificed by Wordsworth in the
+interest of the unity of the poem. He struck out, too, some lines from
+"The Daisy," "The Thorn," and "Simon Lee," and eight stanzas have
+disappeared from "Peter Bell" since the first edition of that poem.
+Among them are these grotesque lines, favorites with Charles Lamb:
+
+  Is it a party in a parlour?
+  Cramm'd just as they on earth were cramm'd--
+  Some sipping punch, some sipping tea,
+  All silent and all damn'd!
+
+And here are some verses that have interest from the glimpse they give
+of Wordsworth's faculty in a field that he declined to cultivate--the
+amatory or "fleshly," as it has been conveniently named for us of late.
+I quote from that rare book, the "Descriptive Sketches" of 1793; and as
+the lines are not included in any edition of his poems, they are
+unfamiliar to most readers. But two copies of this book, so far as I
+know, exist in this country. One of them, which belonged to the late
+Prof. Henry Reed, Wordsworth's American editor, is full of corrections
+in Wordsworth's own handwriting; and it is by the courtesy of its
+present owner that I am enabled to give here the early text with these
+corrections, never before printed. The young Wordsworth takes leave of
+Switzerland, at the conclusion of his pedestrian tour, with this glowing
+apostrophe:
+
+              ye                the
+  Farewell! those forms that in thy noontide shade
+            your
+  Rest near their little plots of oaten glade,
+   Dark
+  Those stedfast eyes, that beating breasts inspire,
+  To throw the "sultry rays" of young Desire;
+                   soft
+  =Those= lips whose ^ tides of fragrance come and go
+  Accordant to the cheek's unquiet glow;
+    Ye                              warm
+  Those shadowy breasts In love's soft light array'd
+  And rising by the moon of passion sway'd.[G]
+
+[Footnote G:
+I venture to note, in passing, a small class of corrections in which the
+poet has cleared his text from certain innocencies of expression that
+were liable to be misread by persons on the alert for double meanings.
+The following are among the Wordsworthian simplicities that have been
+amended in the later editions; the reference is made to the octavos of
+1815, which may be compared with any of the editions since 1836:
+
+Vol. I., page 111, "The Brothers," passage beginning, "James, tired
+perhaps."
+
+Vol. I., page 210, "Michael," passage beginning, "Old Michael, while he
+was a babe in arms."
+
+Vol. I., page 223, "Laodamia," stanza beginning, "Be taught, O faithful
+Consort."]
+
+Wordsworth thus dropped, for one reason or another, many passages from
+his poems. But did he abandon entire poems? That did not often happen.
+He strove patiently to perfect the form of his thought; but he was
+unwilling to let the substance of it go. In the seven volumes of his
+poetry, as they now stand, but two poems are lacking, to the best of my
+knowledge, of all that he ever published. One of these, an unimportant
+piece beginning, "The confidence of youth our only art," was printed
+with the "Memorials of a Tour on the Continent" (1822), and no longer
+appears in the collected editions. The other missing poem, "Andrew
+Jones," was abandoned for reasons, as I think, of considerable critical
+interest. In the "Lyrical Ballads" it began thus:
+
+  I hate that Andrew Jones: he'll breed
+  His children up to waste and pillage:
+  I wish the press-gang or the drum
+  With its tantara sound would come,
+  And sweep him from the village!
+
+This poem may be found (with, slight emendations) as late as the edition
+of 1815; but after that date I meet with it nowhere but in foreign
+reprints. Why was it dropped? It is doubtless a story of unrelieved
+though petty suffering; it corresponds, in small, to what Mr. Matthew
+Arnold calls the "poetically faulty" situation of Empedocles, a
+situation "in which there is everything to be endured, nothing to be
+done." But, on the other hand, that fragment of AEschylus, the
+"Prometheus Bound," in which everything is endured and nothing done, yet
+remains a work of the deepest interest: nor need we think that
+Wordsworth abandoned his little poem for a reason so refined as that
+which led Mr. Arnold to abandon one of his own. There was, as I take it,
+a moral reason which led to Wordsworth's decision; namely, that the
+story of "Andrew Jones" is told with bitterness of feeling from
+beginning to end; and against bitterness of feeling Wordsworth had
+recorded, during his earlier years, a striking protest. We shall read it
+presently; but first let us couple with the poem a sentence from his
+prose--a sentence full of the same feeling, and which was early dropped
+for the same reason. We shall find it in the edition of 1815, in the
+essay supplementary to the famous Preface of that date. There Wordsworth
+turns upon his critics as follows:
+
+"By what fatality the orb of my genius (for genius none of them seem to
+deny me) acts upon these men like the moon upon a certain description of
+patients, it would be irksome to enquire: nor would it consist with the
+respect which I owe myself to take further notice of opponents whom I
+internally despise."
+
+This is not quite in the vein of the serenely meditative poet; and if we
+look back to a time twenty years earlier than this, we shall find that
+Wordsworth had reproved his heat beforehand. In 1795, when he first
+chose definitely the poet's career, he had written these lines:
+
+  If thou be one whose heart the holy forms
+  Of young imagination have kept pure,
+  Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know that pride,
+  Howe'er disguised in its own majesty,
+  Is littleness: that he who feels contempt
+  For any living thing, hath faculties
+  Which he has never used: that thought with him
+  Is in its infancy.
+
+That is the teaching of earlier and serener years, of the time when the
+poet was still quietly embayed in youth, when jealous criticism, and
+envy, and disappointment were still trials of the future. Youth has its
+own passions; but it has also its peculiar serenity; and after
+Wordsworth had passed through the stormy years which gave him fame, we
+see the maturer man recalling the teaching of his calmer self. It was in
+obedience to this, as I believe, that he cancelled the passages that
+have just been mentioned; feeling their discord with the pure song of
+that early time.
+
+Let us now look at some of the passages which Wordsworth has emended,
+not by taking away from the words of his book, but by adding to them. As
+he wrote to Mr. Dyce, he diligently revised the "Excursion," in the
+edition of 1827, and got the sense "in several instances, ... into less
+room"; and minor changes are to be counted by hundreds. But he made some
+additions to this poem, and for significant reasons.
+
+Readers of Christopher North's essay, in the "Recreations," on "Sacred
+Poetry," will remember the long indictment which he there brings against
+the earlier poems of Wordsworth; he complains of them as being
+irreligious. It is interesting to find the earthly Christopher
+displaying the pious zeal of an inquisitor in the matter, declaring that
+in all of Wordsworth's writings, up to the "Excursion," "though we have
+much fine poetry, and some high philosophy, it would puzzle the most
+ingenious to detect much, if any, Christian religion"; and lamenting its
+absence even in the "Excursion," in the story of "Margaret," as told in
+the first book. This tale Christopher North calls "perhaps the most
+elaborate picture he [Wordsworth] ever painted of any conflict within
+any one human heart;" but he adds, with how much sincerity we will not
+now ask, that it "is, with all its pathos, repulsive to every religious
+mind--_that_ being wanting without which the entire representation is
+vitiated.... This utter absence of Revealed Religion ... throws over the
+whole poem to which the tale of Margaret belongs an unhappy suspicion of
+hollowness and insincerity in that poetical religion which at the best
+is a sorry substitute indeed for the light that is from heaven."
+
+That Wordsworth laid to heart this criticism, will appear on comparing
+the original passage, as reprobated by Christopher North, with the form
+which the poet gave it in the latter editions. Originally the peddler,
+finishing the story of "Margaret," moralizes thus:
+
+  My Friend! enough to sorrow you have given;
+  The purposes of wisdom ask no more:
+  Be wise and cheerful, and no longer read
+  The forms of things with an unworthy eye;
+  She sleeps in the calm earth, and peace is here.
+  I well remember that those very plumes,
+  Those weeds, and the high spear-grass on that wall,
+  By mist and silent raindrops silvered o'er,
+  As once I passed, into my heart convey'd
+  So still an image of tranquillity,
+  So calm and still, and look'd so beautiful
+  Amid the uneasy thoughts which fill'd my mind,
+  That what we feel of sorrow and despair
+  From ruin and from change, and all the griefs
+  The passing shows of Being leave behind,
+  Appear'd an idle dream, that could not live
+  Where meditation was. I turn'd away,
+  And walk'd along my road in happiness.
+
+"What meditation?" cries out Christopher North. "Turn thou, O child of a
+day, to the New Testament, and therein thou mayest find comfort." And
+Wordsworth in his revision made the following additions to this fine
+pagan passage:
+
+    ----Enough to sorrow you have given;
+  The purposes of wisdom ask no more:
+  Nor more would she have craved as due to one
+  Who in her worst distress, had often felt
+  The unbounded might of prayer; and learned, with soul
+  Fixed on the cross, that consolation springs
+  From sources deeper far than deepest pain
+  For the meek sufferer. Why then should we read
+  The forms of things with an unworthy eye?
+  She sleeps in the calm earth, and peace is here.
+
+Then follow the beautiful lines about the weeds, the spear-grass, the
+mist and rain-drops, as quoted above; but the close of the passage is
+extended as follows:
+
+                   ----All the griefs
+  That passing shows of Being leave behind,
+  Appeared an idle dream, that could maintain
+  Nowhere dominion o'er the enlightened spirit
+  Whose meditative sympathies repose
+  Upon the breast of Faith. I turned away,
+  And walked along my road in happiness.
+
+It remains to be said that a certain number of Wordsworth's poems--and
+these were, as we might expect, among his best--have stood unchanged in
+all the editions from the first, running the gauntlet of their author's
+critical moods for half a century, and coming out untouched at last. I
+will not call them uncorrected poems, but rather poems in which all the
+needed corrections were made before their first publication, for they
+belong to that exquisite class of creations--too small a class, even in
+the works of the greatest masters--in which the poet has fused
+completely the refractory element of language before pouring it out into
+the mould of poetic form. Among these untouched poems are three from the
+"Lyrical Ballads"--"A slumber did my spirit seal," "Three years she grew
+in sun and shower," and "She dwelt among the untrodden ways"--all
+written at the age of twenty-nine; such are the "Yew Tree," written four
+years later, and "She was a phantom of delight." Several of the best
+sonnets, too, were unchanged; as that on "Westminster Bridge," and
+"Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour."
+
+And lastly, I may mention one or two changes of text which Wordsworth
+did not make, but which belong to the class for which careless editors
+or proofreaders are responsible. An edition well known to the American
+public is especially peccant in this respect; that beautiful line, for
+instance, in "The Pet Lamb"--
+
+  And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears,
+
+becomes,
+
+  That green cord all day is rustling in thy ears.
+
+And here is a really interesting _erratum_; it occurs in the poem of
+"The Idiot Boy," where it has stood unnoticed for twenty years and more.
+Wordsworth's stanzas, describing the boy's night-long ride under the
+moon, "from eight o'clock till five," hearing meanwhile "the owls in
+tuneful concert strive," originally put these words into his mouth, the
+actual words of his hero, as Wordsworth tells us in a note:
+
+  The cocks did crow to-whoo, to-whoo,
+  And the Sun did shine so cold,
+  Thus answered Johnny in his glory.
+
+But this reading puzzled the proofreader. How could the sun shine at
+night? This being clearly impossible, he restored the idiot boy to
+partial sanity. He made him say:
+
+  The cocks did crow to-whoo, to-whoo,
+  And the Moon did shine so cold;
+
+and the only wonder is that he did not also read,
+
+  The cocks did crow cock-a-doodle-doo.
+
+Some one proposes, I believe, a similar emendation in "As You Like It,"
+intending to make the Duke speak better sense than Shakespeare put into
+his mouth. He is to say,
+
+                Sermons in books.
+  Stones in the running brooks, and good in everything.
+
+But while in the main the text of Shakespeare is bettering under
+criticism, Wordsworth is suffering miscorrection; and for the good that
+he has to give us we cannot quite dispense with the original editions.
+
+                   TITUS MUNSON COAN.
+
+
+
+
+PORTRAIT D'UNE JEUNE FEMME INCONNUE,
+
+GALERIE DE FLORENCE.
+
+
+  I saw a picture in a gallery:
+  Go where I will, it still abides with me.
+  The hair rich brown, one lovely golden tress
+  Strayed from the braid and touched the loveliness
+  Of the fair neck, so smooth, so white, so young,
+  It shamed the pearls a prince's hand had strung.
+  The dress is white, with here and there a gleam
+  Of amber brilliant, sunlight on a stream!
+  And hanging on her arm, a scarf; the thing
+  About that glorious head and neck to fling,
+  Protecting from the night, scarlet and black and gold,
+  And gems are woven in each gleaming fold.
+  The picture has that gracious air which tells
+  The hand that painted it was Raphael's.
+  They know she's beautiful, and know no more.
+  Thus questioned I, as many did before:
+  "Why art thou sad, thou delicate, proud face?
+  Thou art a Dame of bright and cheerful race,
+  Thy fortunes grand, thy home this Florence fair.
+  Does an unworthy heart thy palace share?
+  Or with a soft caprice dost turn from joy,
+  And play with sorrow as a costly toy?
+  Or has thy page forgotten, or done worse--
+  Failed he to find the fond expected verse
+  Thy lover promised thee? I know not why
+  I linger near thee, beautiful and sad,
+  Yet with such sorrow, who would have thee glad?"
+  (Is she not gifted with the anointed eye
+  That sees the trouble of the passer-by?)
+  "Is thine that great, that tender sympathy
+  That calls all heart-aches nearer unto thee?
+  Or a great soul with aspirations rife,
+  Feeling the insufficiency of this our life?
+  Thou hast attraction of a grander tone,
+  Some charm more subtle e'en than beauty's own!
+  "Though woman throws no greater lure than this,
+  The lip regretful which we fain would kiss,
+  The eye made softer by the unfallen tear,
+  And sunlight brighter for the shadow near.
+  Why do I ask? will woman ever tell
+  The secret of the charm that fits her well?"
+  She did not answer, sweet, mysterious Dame.
+  I left her sadly, locked in gilded frame.
+
+                   M. E. W. S.
+
+
+
+
+MISS TINSEL.
+
+A GOLD-MINER'S LOVE STORY.--IN FIVE CHAPTERS.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+A GOLD-DIGGING RECLUSE.
+
+
+On a knoll, not far from a running stream, was pitched a rough canvas
+tent. It was of the "wall" sort, and was pegged to the ground with
+strong fastenings. Inside were a hammock, a coarse table, two or three
+stools, and some boxes and barrels. There were likewise a gridiron, a
+"spider," an iron kettle, some tin dishes and cups, and a pair of
+candlesticks of the same material. Outside there was a trench dug, by
+way of drainage, so that the floor within was kept hard and dry; but the
+floor was of earth merely. There was not a flower, or a picture, or the
+least attempt at ornament whatever within the tent. Hence the interior
+looked bare, sordid, and forbidding. And yet, grim as it was, the tent
+had been the solitary abode of its occupant for many months. In the
+midst of gold, in quantity outstripping the wildest dreams of his
+boyhood, this man had chosen to be a miser. In the midst of a society
+whose reckless joviality and wild profusion were perhaps without
+precedent, he had chosen to be a recluse. For this self indulgence he
+had to pay a price. But he consoled himself, remembering that a price
+has to be paid for everything.
+
+Chester Harding came to Bullion Flat about a year before. He had no
+friends and no money. The former he could do without, he thought, but
+the latter was indispensable. So he got work on the Flat, turning a
+spade and plying a rocker for five dollars a day. Such work was then
+better paid as a rule, but Harding, though diligent and strong, was not
+used to toil, and hence was awkward and comparatively inefficient. He
+improved with practice and strove doggedly on, never losing a day,
+saving every penny, spending nothing for drink or good fellowship,
+courting no man's smile, and indifferent to all men's frowns. He was
+savagely bent on achieving independence, and in no long time, after a
+fashion, he got it. Independence, in this sense, consisted in a share of
+a paying claim, and in the whole of a "wall" tent. In the former he dug
+and washed, morosely enough, with five or six partners; but he made up
+for this enforced and distasteful social attrition by living in his tent
+alone.
+
+Harding was a man getting toward middle life, strongly built, but not
+tall, with a grave, handsome face and speech studiously reserved and
+cold. He seemed to fear lest he might be thought educated, and, as if to
+disarm such a suspicion, his few words were apt to be abrupt and homely.
+When he first came to the Flat he had two leathern trunks, and these in
+due time were bestowed in the tent on the knoll. One Sunday Harding
+opened them. The first contained some respectable garments, such as
+might belong to the ordinary wardrobe of a gentleman. There were white
+shirts among the rest, and some pairs of kid gloves. Of all these
+articles Harding made a pile in the rear of his tent and then
+deliberately set them on fire. "I couldn't afford it before," he
+muttered. "They might have bought a meal or two if need were; but
+now----" To be rich enough to gratify a caprice was clearly very
+agreeable to the man; for presently he brought out a number of
+books--old favorites obviously--and treated them in the same incendiary
+manner. The Shakespeare and the Milton, the Macaulay and the Buckle
+spluttered and crackled reproachfully in the flames; yet their destroyer
+never winced, but added to the holocaust heaps of letters, and at last
+two or three miniatures saved for the fire as a final tid-bit, and gazed
+with grim joy as the whole crumbled in the end to powdery ashes. Chester
+Harding reserved nothing but one little volume, bound in velvet with
+gilt clasps, and one faded old daguerreotype, which he replaced in his
+trunk side by side, and then covered quickly so that they should be out
+of sight. It seemed to be his wish to hide and to forget every trace of
+his past life.
+
+That life had been a hard and bitter one. From his earliest childhood
+Harding had been a victim of the weakness and cruelty of others. A
+miserable home, made a hell by drink and contention, was at last broken
+up in ruin, and the young man went forth into the world to meet coldness
+and injustice at every turn. Suspicion and selfishness are among the
+almost certain fruits of an experience like this, and the world is
+naturally more ready to condemn such fruits than to find excuses for
+them. When Harding found himself unpopular and distrusted he as
+naturally shaped his conduct so as to justify its condemnation.
+Surrounded from the beginning of his life by bad influences, and by
+these almost exclusively, he found little to soften his harsh judgment
+of men or to mitigate his resentment for their ill treatment. In time he
+fell in with one who with greater strength and higher wisdom might
+perhaps have led him up to nobler views and a loftier destiny. For he
+loved her deeply and without reservation. But her charms of person found
+no counterparts in her mind or heart, and Harding was cheated and
+betrayed. To escape old thoughts and associations, and to mend if
+possible broken fortunes, he sought the Land of Gold. He had heard that
+men were more generous there than elsewhere, less cunning, tricky, and
+censorious. Perhaps even he might find average acceptance among new
+scenes and among a new people.
+
+But on the day he landed at San Francisco Harding was robbed by a fellow
+traveller, whom he had befriended, of the last penny he had in the
+world. The man had shared his stateroom on board the steamer, and knew
+that he had a draft on the agent of the Rothschilds. When Harding cashed
+his draft he took the proceeds, in gold coin, to his hotel. That night
+he was visited by his shipmate, who contrived to steal the belt
+containing this little fortune, and to escape with it to the mines. Next
+morning Harding sought a near relative, an older man of known wealth,
+his sole acquaintance on the Pacific coast.
+
+"I've come to you," he said, after receiving a somewhat icy greeting,
+"to ask you to help me. A serious misfortune has overtaken me, and----"
+
+"If it's money you want," interrupted the other brusquely, "I've got
+none!"
+
+This was not the usual fashion of the pioneers. Happily most of them
+were made of sweeter and kindlier stuff. But the fates had woven out
+poor Harding's earlier fortune, and it was all destined to be of the
+same harsh, pitiless web. He bowed his head when these words were said
+to him, and with the kind of smile angels must most hate to see on the
+faces of those so near and so little below them, he went forth in
+silence. Next morning he pawned his watch and made his way up into the
+mines.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+"He's cracked; that's what he is," decided Jack Storm. Since the great
+find of gold at Bullion Flat there had been a great rush thither from
+the immediate neighborhood, and among the rest quite a deputation
+arrived from Boone's Bar. Jack was as great a dandy as ever, and still
+wore his gaudy Mexican jacket, with its silver bell buttons, his
+flapping trousers to match, and his gigantic and carefully nourished
+moustache.
+
+"Cracked!" repeated Mr. Copperas suavely. "Not he. He takes too good
+care of his money for that. No, boys, that ain't the trouble. He's been
+'chasing the eagle' in times past; the bird has been too many for him,
+and now he's playing to get even."
+
+"Stuff!" gurgled Judge Carboy, unwilling to part by expectoration with
+even the smallest product of his favorite quid. "He's done sutthin' he's
+ashamed of. No trifle like that, Cop. He's proberly committed a murder
+out East. Bime by we'll hear all about it."
+
+Jack Storm shook his head. "He's worked side by side with me for nigh a
+year, and he wouldn't hurt a fly. Besides, it is his turn next week to
+go to 'Frisco for stores."
+
+"What's that to do with it?" queried Mr. Copperas.
+
+"A durned sight," returned the other. "Ain't they after these cusses
+with a sharp stick who've got in hot water at home? And ain't goin' to
+'Frisco for such chaps jes' like walkin' into the lion's mouth? Why,
+there's honest miners--and them as ain't honest miners, Cop--who'd a
+_leetle_ rather not go down to the Bay jes' now, even among the quiet
+folks over at Boone's Bar."
+
+Mr. Copperas coughed uneasily. "So Harding's going down, is he?" he
+inquired. "Right off?"
+
+"Sartain. You'd better take a trip and keep him company."
+
+There was a murmur of amusement at this. Everybody at the "Bella Union"
+knew that something had been in the air touching chirographic exploits
+of Mr. Copperas a few years back at New Orleans, and before he kept the
+faro bank at Boone's Bar.
+
+"For my part," put in Jim Blair, who liked to hear injustice done to no
+man, "I s'pose there's reasons why a chap might want to live alone, and
+yet mightn't a knifed anybody nor robbed 'em either."
+
+"That's so, Jim," affirmed Judge Carboy oracularly. "No doubt on't. But
+when it's so we usually hear what them reasons is. Now, who knows air a
+word on 'em in the case afore us? Anyhow, I hope he's good--good as
+gold--only we've had our sheer of troubles in the county, and it's well
+to look sharp."
+
+"When I was a little chap," proceeded Jim Blair with retrospective
+deliberation, "I lived in a village on the further side o' the Ohio.
+Most folks did their business on t'other bank, and went over generally
+by the eight o'clock ferry in the mornin.' Now, there was two or three
+that didn't; men whose work lay nigher home, or who went later. But the
+crowd went over reg'lar at eight. Arter awhile they got awful sot agin
+them who didn't go over at the same time. There weren't no hell's
+delights you could think of them fellers didn't lay to the men who
+didn't travel by the eight boat; and at last, damn me if they didn't
+want to lynch 'em!"
+
+"Lynch 'em for not goin' in the eight boat!" cried the Judge, whose
+respect for the majesty of the law always asserted itself, as was meet,
+on hearing any tale of its infringement.
+
+Jim Blair nodded. "Not so much, I reckon, for not goin' in the eight
+boat as for not doin' what other folks did. However, them who ever try
+to trouble Ches Harding'll have a rough time, I guess."
+
+"You think he's sech a game fighter?" inquired Jack Storm with lively
+interest.
+
+"That may be too. But what I meant was, there's them on the Flat who
+believe in Ches for all his lonesome ways, and won't see him put upon.
+For my part I reckon he's more sinned against than sinnin'."
+
+"I guess you're half right, Jim," admitted Judge Carboy with diplomatic
+concession; "more'n half right. But mark my words"--and the Judge's
+voice rose to the orotund swell which denoted his purpose to be more
+than commonly impressive--"thar'll be the devil's own time on the Flat
+some day, and that air duck'll be king pin and starter of it. I never
+know'd no such silent, sulky cuss as that moonin' round but that he
+kicked up pettikiler h-- in the long run."
+
+It will be seen from this that there were differences of opinion
+respecting Chester Harding at Bullion Flat, and it cannot be denied that
+there was some reason for it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+MISS TINSEL.
+
+
+It was in a magnificent theatre that Chester Harding first saw her--a
+theatre grand in size and tasteful in decoration. It had only lately
+been opened, and was one of the lions of the Golden City. Harding went
+there to while away an idle hour, and in order, perhaps, that he might
+see all there was to be seen before leaving San Francisco. His visit was
+one of merest chance, and no trifle had seemed lighter in all his
+California life than his straying that night into the Cosmopolitan
+Theatre.
+
+And yet perhaps it was the turning-point in his existence. Others who
+were there from Bullion Flat said afterward that from that night Harding
+was transfigured. A blaze of chandeliers, with golden fretwork skirting
+the galleries and rich dark velvet framing the boxes, could hardly
+surprise him. Nor was there much to astonish--whatever there might be to
+admire--in the rows of handsomely dressed women who gave brilliancy to
+the audience. Neither could the drama itself, which the manager was
+pleased to style "a grand legendary fairy spectacle," move Harding
+seriously from his equilibrium. All these splendors, together with the
+resonant orchestra, the dazzling scenery, rich in Dutch metal and gold
+foil, the sanguinary and crested Baron, the villain of the play, the
+iridescent youth, its hero, the demons, who went through traps, vampire
+and other--one Blood-Red Demon with a long nose being especially
+conspicuous--the fairies, who brought order out of chaos--of whom the
+"Queen of the Fairy Bower" was the large-limbed and voluptuous
+principal--the "Amazonian Phalanx," who went through unheard-of
+manoeuvres with massive tin battle axes and spears--all these failed, it
+must be owned, to startle Mr. Harding from his propriety. He had seen
+such things, or things very like them, before. And yet he was taken off
+his feet, to use the metaphor, and swept away captive by a very torrent
+of emotion excited by Miss Tinsel.
+
+She was only a _coryphee_; that is, she was but one among the minor
+subordinates of the ballet. Her advent was accomplished as one of the
+"Sprites of the Silver Shower." She had to come chassezing down the
+stage, and she never raised her eyelids--before most demurely cast
+down--until she was close upon the footlights. But when those eyelids
+_did_ go up it was--well, as Judge Carboy afterward used to say, it was
+just like sunrise over the mountains at Boone's Bar! A girl with a mass
+of bright hair, almost red it looked by daylight, and large gray eyes
+that looked as black as soot by the gas, but took on more tender hues by
+day--a girl with a figure that was simply perfection, and yet one who
+with all her archness seemed to have no vanity. She had many dainty
+white skirts, one above another like an artichoke, of fluffy and
+diaphanous texture, and although these, it cannot be denied, were
+perilously short, somehow Miss Tinsel did not look in the least
+immodest.
+
+All the men from Bullion Flat knew it _was_ Miss Tinsel, since the
+"Queen of the Fairy Bower" addressed this charming figure more than once
+as "Zephyrind," and a reference to the play-bill thereupon at once
+established her identity.
+
+What strange magnetism there was about this girl Harding, and indeed all
+who looked at her, found it hard to define. Perhaps, apart from her
+lovely eyes and hair and her exquisite figure, it was because she always
+seemed to be drawing away that she proved so fascinating. Even when she
+advanced straight toward you she seemed for ever to retreat. By what
+subtle and skilful instinct of coquetry Miss Tinsel was enabled to
+convey this impression cannot here be explained. That she did convey it
+was universally admitted. It appeared, however, on inquiry, that her
+dramatic powers were of the slightest. Her beauty and charm were such
+that the manager would gladly have put her forward could he have seen
+his way to do so. But her success had been so moderate, when the
+experiment was tried, in one or two of the "walking ladies" of farces,
+that it was thought wisest to let her be seen as much and heard as
+little as possible.
+
+When Harding last saw her that night she was going up to Paradise on one
+foot, the other pointing vaguely at nothing behind, the intoxicating
+eyes turned up with a charming simulation of pious joy, and the cherry
+lips curled into a smile that showed plenty of pearls below. She
+vanished from his gaze in a glory of red fire, amid the blare of gongs
+and trumpets, while the "Blood-Red Demon" went down to the bad place
+under the stage through a trap, and the "Queen of the Fairy Bower," with
+felicitous compensation, ascended to the heaven of the flies.
+
+After this tremendous catastrophe Harding went to his hotel and
+reflected.
+
+That a Timon like himself--a misogynist indeed of the first
+water--should fall in love at first sight with a ballet girl certainly
+furnished matter for reflection. But reflection did not prevent Timon
+from seeking an interview with his unconscious enslaver the next day.
+Even cold and soured natures may become under some incentives
+enthusiastic and ingenious.
+
+Harding found out where Miss Tinsel lived, learned that she usually came
+from rehearsal at about two, called consequently at three, and coolly
+sent in his name, telling the servant that the young lady would know who
+he was. As he hoped, the device got him admittance. The girl supposed he
+was some one from the theatre whose name she had not caught or had
+forgotten.
+
+It was a very plain and humble room, almost us bare and forbidding
+perhaps as the inside of Harding's tent on the knoll, and yet how
+glorified was the place with the purple atmosphere of romance!
+
+Miss Tinsel was as simply equipped as her room: a gown of dark stuff
+with a bit of color at the throat, and that was all. Harding saw that
+she was not quite so perfect physically as he had thought, and this,
+strange as it may seem, instantly increased his passion for her. Nothing
+could make her figure other than beautiful, or impair the lustre of her
+eyes; but the fair creature had a little range of freckles across her
+delicate nose and cheeks, and her hair by day appeared, as has been said
+before, nearly red. Her natural smile, on the other hand, as
+distinguished from her stage smile, which was merely intoxicating, was
+almost heavenly; and it was not made less so by an occasional look that
+was grave almost to sadness.
+
+"Sit down." He was standing stock still and silent in the middle of the
+room. "You come from the theatre, don't you?"
+
+It was a sweet voice--sweet and low--too low, in truth, which was one of
+the reasons of its failure in the drama--one of those thrilling
+contralto voices, most magnetic and charming when heard by one alone, or
+close by, but which lost their magnetism and charm if strained to fill
+the ears of a crowd.
+
+"No--yes--that is, I was there last night. I saw you there," he replies
+stupidly.
+
+"Last night? Oh, yes. But why do you want to see me to-day?"
+
+This is a hard question to answer; so he tries evasion.
+
+"Did you get a bouquet?"
+
+"A perfect love--a beauty--it was thrown at my feet; but I gave it to
+her of course."
+
+"Gave it to _her_?"
+
+"Miss De Montague--don't you know--the 'Queen of the Fairy Bower?' She
+gets all the bouquets."
+
+"Oh, she does, does she?"
+
+"Certainly. She is the principal, you know. Her engagement calls for all
+the bouquets."
+
+"Even when they are plainly intended for somebody else?"
+
+"Ah, but they oughtn't to be intended for somebody else. If any one is
+so silly as to think somebody else ought to have a bouquet, any one has
+to be punished. Then they forfeit him."
+
+"Forfeit him?"
+
+"Or his flowers. They always forfeit you in theatres--if you're late at
+rehearsal, you know, or if you keep the stage waiting. But then you
+needn't mind. Miss De Montague is a dear, good soul. She took the
+bouquet for the look of the thing, you know; that's business; but she
+gave me half the flowers when we got home."
+
+"Does she live here then?"
+
+"Why, to be sure. You know, we always go to the theatre together. Only
+for her I should be quite alone."
+
+"And do you like this kind of thing?" he asks clumsily.
+
+She bursts into a merry laugh. "Like it? Why, I get my living by it. We
+all have to live, you know, and I've no one to look out for me but
+myself, and----"
+
+She pauses suddenly, having caught his eye fixed upon her with a gaze of
+passionate admiration. This first calls up the look of gravity we have
+spoken of, and then brings the color sharply to her face. It also
+reminds her of the somewhat peculiar character of the interview. The
+instant after she resumes, as if continuing her sentence, "Did you come
+here to ask me that?"
+
+"No," he replies bluntly. "I never thought of the question until the
+moment before I asked it."
+
+"Please tell me, then," she proceeds, with gathering surprise, "what
+_did_ you come for?"
+
+He hesitates a moment, moved by the superstition or the honest feeling
+that he must tell her no word of untruth, and then quietly answers:
+
+"I am not sure that I know."
+
+"Not sure that you know?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Perhaps, then, you'll go away, and when you _are_ sure----"
+
+"Come back again?" hazards he.
+
+"I didn't say that. You look and talk like a gentleman, and if, as I
+hope, you are one, you will know that I can't see strangers--people who
+have no business with me--and so you must excuse me." She has risen and
+moves with some dignity toward the door.
+
+"One moment," he interposes. "Forgive me; you know for your part that it
+is impossible I should wish to offend----"
+
+"How should I? You come here to me a stranger, and refuse to say what
+for."
+
+"No. I did not refuse. I only said I was not sure that I knew why I
+came."
+
+"Then you must be crazy!" she blurts out impulsively.
+
+"Perhaps I am. I begin to think so."
+
+"Then I wish you would go away!" she goes on with apprehension. "I'll
+tell you what, Mr. Bellario is here, and he's--oh, terribly strong!"
+
+"Mr. Bellario?" he echoes.
+
+"Yes. The 'Blood-Red Demon,' you know. Didn't you see him go through the
+traps?"
+
+Harding laughs, very much amused. "And you mean to threaten me with the
+'Blood-Red Demon,' do you?"
+
+"Oh, no," she responds gently, but again edging toward the door--"not
+threaten; but"--in a very conciliatory tone--"if you won't say what you
+come for and won't go away----"
+
+"But I will," he says gravely.
+
+"Will which?"
+
+"Will both. I will say what I came for and then I will go away."
+
+"I don't mean to be rude, you know," she puts in, softening.
+
+"Nor I. Now I will tell you. I came because I could not possibly stay
+away--because you drew me toward you with an irresistible force----"
+
+"I'm sure I didn't!" she protests indignantly.
+
+"Unconsciously, of course. You may think me foolish--wild if you please.
+I can't help that. You will know better in time. I come to you saying
+not a wrong word, thinking not a wrong thought. There is nothing against
+me. At home I was a gentleman. I ask leave to visit you, respectfully as
+a friend, nothing more."
+
+"But why?" she asks, bewildered.
+
+"Because I admire you greatly, inexpressibly, and I must tell you so."
+She turns scarlet now. "But I shall never tell you this--not again--or
+anything else in words you do not choose to hear. All I ask is the leave
+now and then to see and to speak with you."
+
+This was very embarrassing. Had he said he loved her, and at first
+sight, she would have turned him away. She would have distrusted both
+his sincerity and his motives. But he did not say this. On the contrary,
+he offered in explicit terms, it would seem, not to say it. She
+therefore naturally took refuge in generalities.
+
+"But what you ask won't be possible. What would people say? This is a
+very bad, a scandalous country, I mean. What would Miss De Montague
+think, or Mr. Bellario?"
+
+"What people will say or think hardly needs to be considered," said
+Harding steadily, "since in a week I shall have gone to my home in the
+mines. You won't be troubled with me long--twice more perhaps. Only once
+if you prefer it. All shall be exactly as you wish it. Is not that
+fair?"
+
+Miss Tinsel was saved the present necessity for replying to a question
+or coping with a situation both of which she found extremely perplexing,
+since at this juncture the door opened and admitted the "Queen of the
+Fairy Bower" and the "Blood-Red Demon," who had apparently been out for
+a morning walk. To Harding's surprise, the "Queen" was a motherly
+looking woman of forty-five and the "Demon" a weak-eyed young man, with
+a pasty white face, and some fifteen years younger. Both were much
+overdressed, and both stared vigorously at Harding--the "Queen" with an
+air intended to represent fashionable raillery, the "Demon" with haughty
+surprise. But the visitor avoided explanations that might have been
+embarrassing by bowing low to the company and passing from the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+THE CUP AND THE LIP.
+
+
+Her real name was Jane Green. But Jane Green would never do for the
+play-bill; so the manager, exercising his peculiar and traditional
+prerogative, had rechristened the young lady for the histrionic world,
+and she appeared as "Aurora Tinsel." A poor, almost friendless girl, she
+had left the Atlantic States with an aunt who had been the wife of the
+"property man" in the theatre. Soon after the aunt died, and Jane had
+gladly accepted the offer of Miss De Montague to live with her, and, by
+helping that lady with her dresses, to render an equivalent for her
+society and protection.
+
+Harding was a wise man in his generation, foolish as in some respects he
+may appear. We offer no explanation of his swift and unreasoning
+infatuation, because it is just such men who do just such rash and
+impulsive things. But he was sagacious enough to know that a man who
+really wants a woman is less likely to get her by being too quick than
+even by being too slow. Women who are interested always maintain the
+contrary; but this is because they want to bag their game instantly,
+whether they mean to throw it away afterward or not. The sex are not
+apt, however, to err by over-rating the value of what they get too
+easily, and this Harding was philosopher enough to know.
+
+Hence, while he again sought Miss Tinsel twice before his departure, and
+while his admiration, although respectful, was not concealed, he did not
+go so far as to ask the girl to become his wife. It appeared that after
+the run of the current spectacle at the theatre a "great tragedian" was
+to play an engagement there, and the opportunity was to be taken for the
+ballet and pantomime troupe to make a tour of the mines. Miss De
+Montague was to go as a chief attraction, and Miss Tinsel was to go
+also, and among the places they were to visit was Bullion Flat.
+
+These plans left open a space of three months, during which Harding
+could think of what he was at, and Miss Tinsel could think of what he
+meant, and several other persons who were interested could make up their
+minds what to do.
+
+The first step taken by Harding on his return was highly confirmatory,
+in the judgment of the Flat, of the opinion expressed by Jack Storm some
+time before. A contract was made with a builder, and close by the tent
+on the knoll there speedily arose a cottage of fair proportions, which
+was evidently meant to supersede the humbler structure which for a year
+had formed Harding's home. No one doubted his ability prudently to incur
+such an outlay. He had been saving to parsimony, and he had been
+prosperous. But why, when a tent had so long sufficed to him, and when
+he so disliked to part with money, he should go to so needless an
+expense, was so obscure that to accept Jack Storm's solution impugning
+Harding's sanity was the easiest and consequently the most popular way
+of solving the enigma.
+
+The cottage was built notwithstanding, and it was soon the subject of
+general remark that Harding was becoming more genial and "sociable" than
+before. He astonished Judge Carboy and Jim Blair by asking them to drink
+one night at the "Bella Union." He smiled affably and passed the time of
+day with Jack Storm and his other companions when they met to begin work
+on the claim for the day. He ordered champagne for the crowd on the
+evening when a green tree was lashed to the rooftree of his cottage on
+the knoll; and at last he raised wonder and surprise to their perihelion
+by actually giving a housewarming.
+
+"I know'd it all along," affirmed Judge Carboy that night to his
+familiars. They were taking a cocktail at the "Bella Union" by way of
+preface to "bucking" against Mr. Copperas's bank--"I know'd it all
+along. He's got a wife out East, and she's a comin' out to jine him in
+the new house."
+
+"Is that the 'suthin' you talked of that he was ashamed of, Judge?"
+laughed Jim Blair. "It looks like it, for sartin he never said nothin'
+about her."
+
+"A man may git married," retorted the Judge with judicial acumen, "and
+yit do suthin' else to be ashamed of, mayn't he? There's been murderers
+and horse thieves stretched afore now who had wives, hain't there? And
+the last chap the boys hung to a flume up to Redwood, he had three
+wives, didn't he? And they all come to the funeral." And with this
+triumphant vindication of his position the Judge sternly deposited half
+a paper of fine-cut in his mouth and started for the luxurious apartment
+of Mr. Copperas.
+
+Next morning Bullion Flat was in a flurry of excitement and pleasurable
+anticipation. The "Grand Cosmopolitan Burlesque, Ballet, and Spectacle
+Troupe" had arrived, and were to play in the theatre attached to the
+"Bella Union." It was not, however, until the succeeding afternoon that
+Chester Harding called upon Miss Tinsel at the same hotel.
+
+It was a good sign that that young lady crimsoned at the first sight of
+him; what she first said was another:
+
+"You have not been in a hurry," she pouted, "to come and see me."
+
+"I supposed you would be very busy," said he smiling, and devouring her
+with his eyes. "Were you so anxious to have me come?"
+
+"Anxious?" she repeated; and then added, illogically, "I supposed you
+would please yourself."
+
+He nodded. "And how do you like Bullion Flat?"
+
+"I think it ever so pretty--only I don't like the earth all torn up, and
+such ugly holes and scars."
+
+"We have to get at the gold, you know," he explained, "even at such a
+cost. But the hilltops, anyhow, are spared."
+
+She looked through a window and pointed at the most picturesque eminence
+in the neighborhood--the knoll. "That is your house?" she observed
+shyly.
+
+"Yes. Do you like it?"
+
+"I think it lovely--situation and all."
+
+"And how did you know it was mine?"
+
+"Oh," she said, laughing, "we show-folks see a great many
+people--besides being seen by them--and I've heard a lot about you."
+
+Harding's face darkened a little. "Then you've heard that I'm not much
+liked?"
+
+"I've heard that some say so. But what of that? Miss De Montague says
+she wouldn't give a fig for a man everybody speaks well of--and she
+quoted something from a comedy--the 'School for Scandal.'"
+
+"Will you tell me what people say?" he inquired curiously.
+
+"Oh, that you are gloomy, reserved, and live all alone, and that you
+are--are not extravagant, and that you haven't had a very happy life."
+
+"That last at least, if true, is a misfortune rather than a fault."
+
+"It's all misfortune, ain't it?" said the girl sagely. "People don't
+make themselves. There's Mr. Bellario now. He thinks nature really meant
+him for a great warrior--somebody like Napoleon, you know. And instead
+of that he's--well, he calls himself a professional gentleman, but the
+boys call him a tumbler. I suppose it would be much grander to kill
+people than to jump through 'vampire traps'; but you see he didn't get
+his choice--any more than I did."
+
+"Then you didn't want to go on the stage?"
+
+"No, indeed. It was just for bread. Aunty was a 'second old woman'--and
+they got me in for 'utility,' as they call it. There was no one to care
+for me, and I was glad to earn an honest living; but like it! Never!"
+
+"You say there was no one to care for you?" said Harding gently. "Had
+you no friends--no parents?"
+
+Jane reddened painfully, and the sad look came quickly into her face.
+"My mother is dead, you see," she replied, with hesitancy,
+"and--and--I'd rather not speak of this any more, please."
+
+"Surely," he exclaimed hastily, "I've no right to catechize you. Pray
+forgive my asking at all. I ought to have been more careful. I know what
+trouble is, and how to feel for those who suffer."
+
+She looked at him earnestly. "You have suffered yourself, then--they
+were right when they said yours had not been a happy life?"
+
+"I have no right to whine--but happy--no, far from it."
+
+Jane's lovely face took on its softest and tenderest expression.
+
+"They said that lately you have been happier--gayer than ever
+before--and that people liked you--oh, ever so much better than they
+used to. Why is it that people like those the best who seem to need help
+and sympathy the least?"
+
+Jane leaned from the window as she spoke and toyed with some running
+vine that clambered to the casement. The grace and beauty of her figure
+were made conspicuous by the movement, and Harding paused a moment
+before he replied:
+
+"People like to be cheerful, I suppose, and people like others to be
+like themselves, I know. It is true that I have been unhappy--that my
+life has been morose and solitary. How much this has been my own fault
+and how much that of others, need not be said. But it is also true that
+of late I have been far happier. Shall I tell you why?"
+
+His voice was deep and earnest, and something in his eyes made the girl
+crimson again, and turn her own to the distant hills.
+
+"If you please," she faltered, in her low, musical contralto.
+
+"Shall I tell you too why I have built that cottage you are looking at?"
+he went on with increasing earnestness. "It is because it has been my
+hope, my prayer, that this sad, lonely life of mine was nearly over. It
+is because I have believed that after much pain, and doubt, and
+bitterness my trust in men might be brought back through my love for a
+woman. The cottage--it is for you, Jane. I love you, Jane. Do you hear
+me? From the moment I saw you, I loved you. I resolved to ask you to
+marry me. Jane, will you do so?"
+
+While he spoke the color had been fading steadily from her face, and
+when he stopped the girl was ashy pale. He looked at her anxiously and
+impatiently.
+
+"I--I--am--so sorry," she muttered at last, as if each word were a
+separate pain.
+
+"Sorry? God! Why?" Then with swift suspicion, "Jane, do you care
+for--are you engaged to some one?"
+
+She shook her head mournfully.
+
+"Do you see that sun going down over the hills?" She turned her
+beautiful eyes full upon Harding as she spoke, with a look of ineffable
+tenderness and sorrow. "Well, you must let what you have said go down
+with that sun, and never think of it--never speak of it again."
+
+It was Harding's turn to blanch now, and the blood retreated from his
+swarthy cheeks until they looked almost ghastly.
+
+"Why?" and his voice came involuntarily, almost in a whisper.
+
+"Do not ask me--have pity--do not ask me."
+
+"I must ask you," he cried impetuously, "but yet I need not perhaps. You
+care for no one else? Then it must be that you do not, you cannot, care
+for me. Is that it, Jane?"
+
+"That is not it."
+
+"Not it!" he cried joyfully. "Then you _do_ care for me a little--just a
+little, Jane?--a little which is to grow into a great deal by and by!
+Oh, child, child, think how wretched I have been all these years! Think
+how I have waited and waited. I lived for twelve long months, Jane,
+alone, without a soul, without even a dog, in a tent on that knoll; and
+so hungry, Jane--so hungry for sympathy, for love. It comes to me at
+last, dear Jane, what I have longed for and begged for so long. Don't,
+don't--as you hope for mercy, don't take it away again!"
+
+"You are good," she said softly, "whatever they may say. It is good and
+noble of you. Why should I tell you lies? I do like you very much, for
+all," looking down with a faint blush, "we have met and known each other
+so little. But all the same, it cannot be."
+
+"Cannot again," he cried impatiently. "Once more, I ask you, will you
+tell me why not?"
+
+She looked at him half frightened, for there was something of mastery in
+his tone; then, standing erect, and with a positiveness as strong as his
+own, she answered, "Because I should disgrace you."
+
+"Because you are on the stage!" he exclaimed disdainfully. "Is that it?"
+
+"That is something," returned Jane humbly, "but perhaps not much. I am
+hardly important enough to be worth even that sort of reproach. And
+besides the people of California are too liberal to apply it. I know I
+am only a ballet dancer"--and the poor girl tried to smile here--"and a
+pretty bad one at that. But I work hard for an honest living, and no one
+can say I have ever disgraced myself."
+
+"Then how can you disgrace me?"
+
+"I have begged you not to ask me."
+
+"I must!" cried Harding passionately; "and I have the right to do so.
+Would you have me take your cool 'no' when you care for no one else and
+do care for me, and to go my way satisfied? I can't--I won't!"
+
+"You will be sorry," said Jane pitifully.
+
+"Let me be. Anything rather than the doubt. Give me the truth."
+
+"Well then." She turned her back now: and looked from the window with
+her grave, sad face, and spoke in a dull, measured way, like the
+swinging of a pendulum. "I am a convict's daughter. My father is in the
+State prison of New York at Auburn."
+
+"For what crime?"
+
+"Murder. It was in the first degree. The Governor commuted it to
+imprisonment for life. There were extenuating circumstances. I went down
+on my knees and prayed that he might be saved from the gallows."
+
+"And his victim?"
+
+"Was his wife--my mother."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+A MYSTERY AND A PARTING.
+
+
+The troupe of which Miss De Montague and Mr. Bellario were prime spirits
+made a profound impression at Bullion Flat; so profound, in truth, that
+before their three nights were over a fresh engagement was made for
+their return a fortnight later. It was agreed that at that time, and on
+their return from other points, they should appear for an additional
+three nights, and thus afford their admirers opportunities for which the
+first essay had been insufficient. This arrangement was highly agreeable
+to Miss De Montague and Mr. Bellario for reasons largely connected,
+respectively, with the excellent cuisine and bar of the Bella Union.
+"Why, my dear," observed the lady, "when I fust come up to do the
+'legitimate,' fifteen months ago, love nor money could buy a morsel of
+supper after the play. We had to do with a pot of ginger, and dig it out
+with the Macbeth daggers, and wash it down with bad beer."
+
+The arrangement was also satisfactory to Miss Tinsel. It seemed well to
+her that she should be absent for a time; and yet she could not deny a
+feeling of joy over the thought of returning. Her lover had been greatly
+shocked by the dismal tale she had recited; but, to the credit of his
+manliness, he had refused to accept the facts as conclusive arguments
+against his suit. "Was it her fault," argued he, "that her father was a
+scoundrel?" Why should stigma or disability of any sort attach to her
+for that which she had no hand in, and had been powerless to prevent? On
+the contrary, should not the world, or any part of it that might come in
+contact with her, treat a helpless and innocent girl with even greater
+tenderness and commiseration because of the undeserved and terrible
+misfortune that had befallen her?
+
+Jane had resolved that she ought not to be moved by such arguments, and
+yet she could not help liking to hear them. It was in the end agreed
+between them--by Harding's earnest entreaties--that she should think the
+matter over, and that her final decision should be withheld until the
+return of the troupe to perform its second engagement. Jane had talked
+with Miss De Montague, who, in spite of some foibles, was a kind-hearted
+and right-minded woman, and Miss De Montague had strongly urged that
+Jane's sensitiveness was overstrained. If Mr. Harding had been told all
+the truth without reserve and he still wished to make Jane his wife, and
+Jane wished to marry him, that was enough. To stand about and moon over
+it, and wonder or care what people would say, was all fiddle-faddle, and
+all sensible people would call it so. Besides, California was different
+from other places. It was the custom there to give everybody a chance,
+and value them for what they did and what they were _now_--and not for
+what other people, or even they themselves, had done before. It is right
+to admit that the amiable lady's passion for Mr. Bellario--whose similar
+feeling for Miss Tinsel was more than suspected--had something to do
+with inspiring all these sage suggestions; but the suggestions were not
+deprived of good sense by that.
+
+During the fortnight that passed between Jane's departure and her return
+the cottage that Harding designed for her future home fast approached
+completion. Meanwhile its owner's claim was doing better, and his
+coffers were consequently fuller than ever before. He resolved that,
+come what might, Jane should become his wife; and it was in this frame
+of mind that Harding walked out by the riverside on the night the troupe
+returned. As before, he resolved not to hurry in his suit, and therefore
+determined to omit calling until the following day.
+
+The night was clear, the stars shining brightly, and the stream ran
+gurgling forward with a pleasant sound. Suddenly, as Harding strolled
+musing along the bank, some one touched him on the shoulder from behind;
+and turning, he beheld the "Blood-Red Demon," Mr. Bellario. That
+gentleman wore a long cloak, tossed across his breast and left shoulder,
+and a slouched sombrero; and his white, pasty face wore a look of
+inscrutable mystery.
+
+"Hist!" he enjoined in a stage whisper; "all is discovered!" Then he
+drew back, with finger on lip, as if to watch the effect of his
+revelation.
+
+"What's the matter?" said Harding. "What do you mean?"
+
+"Mean! Ha! ha!" and the "Demon" laughed witheringly. "He asks me what I
+mean! Mark me," proceeded he, with a sudden transition, "I know your
+secret!"
+
+"Oh, you do, do you? Which one do you mean?" questioned Harding
+scornfully.
+
+"I have neither time nor heart to trifle," said the "Demon," waving his
+arm with an air of ineffable majesty. "I shall be brief and to the
+point."
+
+"You'll very much oblige me."
+
+"Enough. What prompts me to this midnight deed, 'twere bootless now to
+ask, and idle to reveal. Therefore to my tale. You are in love with
+Aurora--with Miss Tinsel?"
+
+"By what right----"
+
+"Spare your reproaches. I am in love with her too!"
+
+"You?"
+
+"Is that so strange? Long ere you crossed our path I knew and loved
+her. But this is neither here nor there."
+
+"I should think not."
+
+"Professionally," continued the "Demon," with great dignity, "she is, of
+course, my inferior. Socially--well, you know, I think the damning
+family secret----"
+
+"Whatever that may be, it is no sin of hers. I think you may wisely
+leave it a secret--so far, that is, as to omit crying it on the
+housetops."
+
+"Save to yourself and Miss De Montague, no hint of the tragedy has
+passed my lips. But to the business between us----"
+
+"My good sir," said Harding, with irritation, "I know of none, so far.
+If you have anything to say to me, I'll listen. If not, I'll pass on."
+
+"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the "Demon" with bitter mockery. "I come to serve
+ye, and ye would spurn me from yer path! Poor, poor humanity! Why, why
+should I laugh when I should rather weep?"
+
+"I don't know, I'm sure," answered Harding simply, "and I don't want to
+be uncivil. But it certainly isn't asking too much to want to know what
+you mean."
+
+"No," responded the "Demon," with melodious sadness--"not too much.
+Though every word be torture, yet I will e'en go through the ordeal.
+Sir, what I have to say--and it cuts me to the heart to say it--is that
+this lady--this young girl--this Aurora Tinsel--is worthy of neither of
+us."
+
+"What!"
+
+"She is unworthy--lost--and capable of the worst deception!"
+
+"That's false!"
+
+"How, sir?"
+
+"That's false. And you or any one else who says it is a liar!"
+
+The "Demon" drew suddenly back, clapped his hand to an imaginary sword
+hung at his left side--and then thought better of it.
+
+"Pshaw!" he exclaimed lightly, but keeping at a wary distance from
+Harding's reach. "Why should I yield to rage? My prowess is well
+known--and, after all, this worthy gentleman speaks in ignorance. Sir,"
+he added, changing his tone with elaborate and chivalrous grace, "I
+speak of what I know, and speak only with the best of motives. But it is
+due to you that I offer to make good my words. I can absolutely prove
+that what I have said is true."
+
+"Prove it, how?"
+
+"By enabling you to witness for yourself that which justifies what I
+say."
+
+"And you can do this?"
+
+"Almost to a certainty, and probably this very night."
+
+Harding hesitated. To take the course proposed seemed like doubt, and
+doubt was unworthy. To refuse to take that course might subject Jane to
+calumny, which he might on the other hand nip in the bud. Presently he
+spoke:
+
+"What do you propose?"
+
+"That you go with me at once, and judge for yourself. We may fail
+tonight, but if so, our success to-morrow will be all but certainty."
+
+The man's air of conviction was impressive, and Harding, fearful, yet
+hoping that he might unearth some strange mistake or deception, agreed
+to the plan proposed. It was settled that the two should meet an hour
+later at the "Bella Union," and they parted now with that understanding.
+Bellario, however, took occasion before leaving his companion to make
+his insinuations so far specific as to tell him that Miss Tinsel had
+made the acquaintance of a certain handsome, dark-eyed man, who had
+followed the troupe ever since it had last been at Bullion Flat; that
+this man evidently admired the girl very much, and that she had
+encouraged his advances in the most unmistakable manner; that she had
+gone so far as to receive her admirer at her room in the hotel, and that
+at so late an hour as to excite the censure of the not over-prudish Miss
+De Montague; and that, in fine, Miss Tinsel's hitherto spotless name had
+been so tarnished by the events of the last fortnight as to make it
+certain none would ever again think her the pure girl she had always
+hitherto been held to be.
+
+With the blood tingling through every vein, with nerves at extreme
+tension, and a heart full of bitterness, Chester Harding passed away.
+Something told him that the tale, black and dismal as it was, was
+likewise true. When Jane told him the story of her father's crime and
+its punishment, Harding felt as if there had fallen between him and his
+prospect of happiness a veil that made it look doubtful and unreal. The
+girl's firmness in telling him the truth, and the assertion of her
+opinion as to the proper bearing and consequence of that truth on her
+relations with Harding, had assuredly deeply impressed and comforted
+him. It was something to face, after all, and even in California, this
+wedding the child of a murderer and felon. Yet her own perfect goodness
+was the justification and would be the reward of such an act. But when
+Jane's goodness itself was in question it was no wonder that Harding's
+heart sank within him. He was no coward, but his experience had taught
+him distrust; and he waited for the stipulated hour to pass in an agony
+of doubt and pain.
+
+The "Bella Union" had two long wings, perhaps thirty feet apart, running
+at right angles with its facade toward the rear. In the second story of
+one wing there were sleeping rooms. Both stories of the opposite wing
+were occupied by the theatre. The latter was quite dark, and hither
+Bellario conducted Harding after they had met in the saloon below.
+
+"Be silent," whispered the "Demon," when they met--"be silent and
+follow."
+
+Up two winding staircases, then through a long passage, and they stood
+in a gallery over the stage and directly facing the other wing.
+
+"Look!" said the "Demon"; "he's there now!" He still whispered, for the
+night was hot and windows were everywhere open. Through one of these
+directly opposite Harding distinctly saw Miss Tinsel. She was talking
+earnestly with some one not in sight. Harding gazed breathlessly and
+listened. Presently a second figure came between the window and the
+light within. It was that of a tall, handsome man with dark eyes. He
+replied to the girl with earnestness equal to her own, but in tones as
+carefully suppressed. As the eyes of the observers got used to the
+situation, they descried a bed on the further side of the room. On this
+Miss Tinsel, after a time, sat down. The man followed and seated himself
+by her side. A moment or two more, and he took both her hands and
+clasped them in his own. They still talked, obviously with deep feeling,
+and at last Miss Tinsel threw her arms around her companion's neck and
+kissed him.
+
+"Enough," hoarsely exclaimed Harding. "Enough--and more than enough!"
+
+"You'll wait no longer?" asked the other.
+
+"Not an instant. Can't you conceive, man--you who profess yourself to
+have cared for her--what a hell this is?"
+
+"I've been through it before," muttered the "Demon," "and the wound
+isn't quite so fresh."
+
+They descended in silence to the saloon, and there Harding spoke more
+freely:
+
+"See here--you've saved me from a great peril--and although I think I
+had rather you had shot me outright, you deserve no less gratitude. If
+you want help--money--for instance----"
+
+The "Demon" waved his hand in lofty refusal.
+
+"As Claude Melnotte says, sir, I gave you revenge--I did not sell it.
+There are better men than I in the world, and lots of them. But I try to
+do as I would be done by--at least in a scrape like this. I wish you
+good night, and I hope you'll take comfort. After a little it'll seem
+easier to you. Certainly the ill news should come easier even now than
+it would afterward. As Othello says, ''Tis better as it is.'"
+
+He bowed and passed away. Ascending to the apartment of Miss De
+Montague, he made himself so agreeable as to be able to borrow from that
+lady a dozen shining eagles; and, thus provided, descended promptly to
+Mr. Copperas's bank, where he whiled away the night--assisted by copious
+drinks and unlimited cigars--at the enlivening game of faro.
+
+As for Harding, he went to the bar of the saloon and took what was for
+him a stiff glass of brandy. Then he turned abruptly on his heel, and
+without sending his name before him, marched straight up to Miss
+Tinsel's room.
+
+She met him at the door with a glad cry--and then shrank back abashed.
+
+"I see," she murmured, in her low, sweet voice, "you don't care to have
+me repulse you again. You have thought it over--and you agree that it is
+better not."
+
+He came just inside the door, but did not sit, although she motioned him
+to a chair.
+
+"I agree," he repeated mechanically--"I agree--with you that it is
+better not." Then he looked suspiciously around the room. There was no
+one there--but a door opened into another room beyond. Jane followed his
+eyes. "That is Miss De Montague's room," she said; "we are always next
+to each other."
+
+"And she is there now?"
+
+"Yes--with Mr. Bellario--he is calling on her."
+
+Harding paused a minute, and then went on in a hard, constrained voice,
+like one who repeats a disagreeable lesson.
+
+"I have thought it right to see you--now, for the last time--and say I
+think it best--and right--that we should part."
+
+Jane turned very pale, and the old grave look of hopeless pain came over
+her face. But she answered with infinite softness and humility:
+
+"It is right--you know I thought so from the first. You should not marry
+a--a convict's daughter."
+
+"It is not because you are a convict's daughter."
+
+"The reason is sufficient."
+
+"I repel it," he cried vehemently--"I will have none of it--I told you
+so before--I repeat it now. Listen," and he crossed the room swiftly and
+closed both doors.
+
+"I loved you for yourself--dearly--dearly. What did it matter to
+me--what fault was it of yours--what other people did, or what or where
+they were? In this grand, new country, men--some men, at least--have
+grown high enough and strong enough to shake off such paltry prejudices
+as those. To me they are as nothing."
+
+"You led me to think so," Jane said gently.
+
+"Why should I care for your being a ballet-dancer--or for the other
+thing, when you had never disgraced yourself? But now it is different."
+
+"Now it is different!" she echoed in amazement.
+
+"Different in this," pursued he with growing excitement, "that before
+you were a pure girl--pure as snow--everybody said that--and now you
+are--are--compromised."
+
+The blood rushed in a torrent up to her hair.
+
+"Who says it?" she demanded, now first showing warmth--"who dares say
+it?"
+
+"Alas, Jane," he replied, "don't make things worse by deception at
+parting. Let us be at least as we have always been, honest and
+unreserved to each other."
+
+"What you have said just now," said the girl' proudly, "is an insult.
+The time has been when you would not have heard another say such
+words--either to me or of me; and yet they are as little deserved now as
+they have ever been."
+
+"They are, are they?" he retorted. "Then pray tell me who was that man
+you have had here within an hour?"
+
+She turned deadly white, and opened her lips thrice to speak before the
+words would shape themselves.
+
+"That--man?"
+
+"Do you deny having a man with you?"
+
+She shook her head piteously. "No--there was a man here--and with me."
+
+"Ah, you confess it then," cried he, as if her admission made what he
+knew more heinous. "Who was this man? Confess all!"
+
+"He--he--wanted help--asked for money. He saw me in the play at Boone's
+Bar--and thinking me richer than I am, asked me for money."
+
+Harding laughed scornfully. "And do you expect me to believe this?"
+
+"It is true," she hurried on nervously. "He said he was desperate and
+must have money to get away."
+
+"Had he any claim upon you?" he asked, scanning her with cold, searching
+eyes.
+
+She hesitated and made answer, "No--none."
+
+"Yet he pushed his demand with eloquence?"
+
+"He did."
+
+"And with success?"
+
+"I gave him all I had."
+
+"Even although he had no claim on you?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Oh, Jane--Jane!" he cried with a burst of bitter sorrow; "why couldn't
+you have been truthful to the end? Why--why must you make me look
+back--always and only to despise you!"
+
+She looked at him stonily, but made no reply.
+
+"Jane, it cuts me to the heart to say it--but I saw you--do you
+hear?--saw you. He took both your hands in his--you threw your arms
+about his neck and kissed him. Do you deny this?"
+
+She still looked him straight in the face, but two tears brimmed into
+her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks. "No, it is true," she then
+answered.
+
+"You own this too," he cried furiously. "Jane, who is this man?"
+
+She remained silent.
+
+"I ask you again, Jane--and for the last time--who is this man?"
+
+"I cannot tell you."
+
+"You refuse?"
+
+"I must."
+
+"Then farewell. We can meet no more." He turned, and stood with his hand
+on the door, and with the action the girl's overstrained nerves gave
+way.
+
+"Oh, no, no, no! Oh, Chester, I have loved you so! Don't--for mercy's
+sake--don't leave me in anger--when I so need comfort--help--and--p--pity!"
+
+She fell on her knees by the bed, and with her face in her hands, sobbed
+aloud.
+
+As she did so, a burst of strange, mocking laughter resounded from the
+adjoining room, and Harding started as if he had been stung.
+
+"It must be!" he hissed, all that was hardest and worst in his nature
+suddenly possessing him. "After this it would only be torture--to both!"
+He bent suddenly and kissed--not her lips, no longer pure--but her
+forehead, once, twice, thrice, passionately, and then fled away into the
+darkness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+GOOD OUT OF EVIL.
+
+
+Harding went up to his lonely tent. Like a wounded animal, he sought his
+lair, and the memory of the many solitary hours he had passed there,
+even at this sad moment, refreshed his spirit. There he could be
+alone--away from men's eyes--free from their curiosity, from their
+comments, or, what would be worse, from their pity.
+
+He had made himself comparatively rich; he had built up a home, as it
+were, in the wilderness; he had even tried, and with some success, to
+gain men's esteem--and what were all these worth to him now?
+
+Such bitter thoughts as these filled Harding's mind as he arranged his
+coarse pallet, and then, throwing himself upon it, sought to forget his
+grief during the short space that remained before daylight. He was
+awakened, almost instantly, it seemed to him--although, in fact, three
+hours had passed--by the sharp crack of a rifle. Harding leaped up and
+ran to his door.
+
+It was a dull, gray dawn--the sky overcast, but the air free from wind
+or rain. A little below Harding's tent there spread a plain about a mile
+wide. This extended along the bank of the river, and terminated in a
+clump of redwoods which grew far up the mountain beyond. Here and there
+on the plain were scattered a few small trees and copses of manzanita;
+but for the most part it was clear from the outskirts of the village up
+to the redwoods.
+
+On this plain Harding now saw a remarkable sight. A man was running from
+tree to tree, striving always to get nearer the mountain. Perhaps three
+hundred yards behind him were five or six armed pursuers trying to close
+in on the fugitive, and occasionally firing at him. As Harding gazed,
+three shots were discharged in rapid succession. Yet the man still held
+on his way, apparently unhurt, and it looked as if he would quickly gain
+the cover of the forest. But there was one behind him far swifter than
+the rest, who ran like an Indian on the river or further side from
+Harding, and who threatened in a few moments to get dangerously near. It
+was because this man was so distant from himself that Harding did not at
+first recognize his own partner, Jack Storm, although he was in his
+usual well known Mexican dress. Now, Storm was the best rifle shot on
+Bullion Flat.
+
+It appeared that the fugitive knew this. At all events, as if suddenly
+realizing his peril, he turned and ran straight toward Storm, resolved
+to draw his fire, apparently, and by confusing his aim to have a better
+chance of escape. Storm's ready rifle flew up to his shoulder instantly,
+and Harding saw the pale blue ring of smoke and heard the quick report.
+Still the fugitive sped on. He was plainly unscathed, or in any case not
+disabled; and in his hand there now flashed a bright something which
+Harding knew was a bowie-knife. With that, although the combatants were
+a mile away, Harding seized a revolver, and dashed at his highest speed
+down the hill. Almost at the same moment, there also started in company
+from Bullion Flat three figures on horseback. These were Miss Tinsel,
+the "Demon," Mr. Bellario, and Judge Carboy. All who were now making for
+the scene of the combat heard in sharp repetition five or six shots from
+revolvers; but after the last of these, all was still. When they got to
+the spot they found Jack Storm fainting from loss of blood, but hurt
+only with flesh wounds; and they were told that the other man, his
+opponent, was mortally wounded, and had been taken, by his own request,
+up on the mountain side, among the redwoods, to die.
+
+With a choking cry, Miss Tinsel galloped on, and in a few moments
+Chester Harding and she were again face to face over the dying man's
+body. Ghastly white as he was, all dabbled with blood, and the foam
+oozing from his lips, her lover at once knew Jane's visitor of the night
+before. What had happened had been hurriedly revealed to Harding--in
+broken whispers by the bystanders--before Jane came up.
+
+The man had robbed several rooms at the "Bella Union" during the night,
+and had succeeded in gathering a large sum. Among the treasures stolen
+were all the loose funds belonging to the "Combination Troupe," the
+night's winnings of Mr. Copperas's faro bank, and Miss De Montague's
+diamonds. But just as the robber, toward daylight, was on the point of
+making off in safety, he met a lion in the path in Jack Storm. It
+happened that Jack wanted to have a talk with his partner, Harding, and,
+as they were then very busy on the claim, made up his mind to compass
+this purpose bright and early, before getting to work. Stumbling on the
+marauder, the latter was secured after a struggle, and "the boys"
+speedily determined to make an example of him. The man begged for a
+chance of life, and after some debate, had been given the option of the
+halter or running the gauntlet, with three hundred yards' start, in the
+way we have described. In the subsequent struggle he had been shot
+through the lungs, and terribly cut with his own bowie-knife--wrested
+from him by Jack Storm--and his life was now fast ebbing away.
+
+As she came up Jane sprang from her horse, and threw herself on the
+ground beside the dying man. They had propped his head on a hillock of
+turf, and some charitable soul had brought water from the river. Judge
+Carboy quickly put a flask of brandy to the sufferer's lips, and he
+opened his eyes:
+
+"Ja--Jane," he gasped, "my pretty Jane--this is the end--the end of
+it--a dog's death--and deserved, too-but--I--I--always loved you!"
+
+She burst into tears and began sobbing over him and fondling his head.
+
+"Don't, darling--don't, little Jenny--it won't be long--I am better
+away--better for you--there--there! I'm sliding away somewhere--and----"
+
+His voice failed, and his dark face began to grow blue. The doctor, who
+had ridden hastily up, forced between the man's teeth some strong
+restorative.
+
+"I want you to remember--always--that I was drunk when I did it--drunk
+and crazy. I was bad--vile--but not so bad as that. Don't tell who--who
+I am. It will only disgrace you--only disgrace you--I'm going, little
+Jenny----"
+
+"Oh, _father_! _father!_" and the poor child bowed down her pretty head
+on the breast of the wretched thief and murderer, and wept as if her
+heart would break.
+
+"No--no," he muttered; "no, little Jenny, I'm not worth it. Only--don't
+think worse--worse of me than I deserve. Perhaps mother--in heaven--has
+forgiven me! She knows--knows--I was mad when I did it."
+
+"Yes--yes--I shall remember," whispered she, "always. Now don't talk
+more--not now."
+
+"No--I shan't talk--much more"--a strange wan smile came over his
+face--"not much more, little Jenny." He put up his hand and stroked her
+sunny hair.
+
+"Tell them about this last--that I was desperate--I had broke jail--knew
+the officers were on my track--and was penniless. Give me--more--brandy.
+So. Why, I can't see you any more, little Jenny--and yet it is morning,
+isn't it, not night!" He gasped for breath and clutched feebly at the
+air. "Kiss me--little Jenny--mer--mercy--_Lord Jesus_--better--better
+times--hereafter!"
+
+A shudder, and the man was dead, and Jane was left all alone in the
+world. Poor, besotted, frantic Michael Green, all sin-scorched as he
+was, had passed from the judgment of men to the more merciful judgment
+beyond. Yet the orphan, if alone, lacked neither sympathy nor
+protection. Nor did she ever lack from that moment the respect and
+confidence of the man of whose heart she had from the first been
+mistress. So that the true happiness came in time which is so often the
+sweeter for being deferred.
+
+                   HENRY SEDLEY.
+
+
+
+
+DEFEATED.
+
+
+  Give me your hand--nay, both, as I confront you.
+  Let me look in your eyes, as once before.
+  I gaze, and gaze. Oh, how they change and soften!
+  I stand within the portal: lo! a door--
+
+  A door close shut and barred. I knock and listen.
+  No sound, no answer. Doubtingly I wait.
+  Oh! for one glance beyond that guarded entrance,
+  The power that mystic realm to penetrate.
+
+  I touch the barrier with hands entreating,
+  If it would yield to me, and none beside.
+  What bitter pain, what sense of loss and failure,
+  To come so near, and come to be denied!
+
+  Softly I call, but only silence answers--
+  Silence, and the quick throbbing of my heart.
+  Immovable, the frowning bar abideth:
+  Kneeling, I kiss the threshold and depart.
+
+                   MARY L. RITTER.
+
+
+
+
+SHALL PUNISHMENT PUNISH?
+
+
+It is published that in England a man has been undergoing an aggregate
+imprisonment of ten years for breaking a shop window, at different
+times, and that when recently pardoned he immediately broke the same
+window again for the purpose of being again arrested. One who knows
+nothing more than this of the facts cannot presume to determine what
+punishment should in justice be given to this particular offender; but
+the case is interesting as an extreme example of what frequently occurs
+in a less striking degree in this country. Police courts become
+acquainted with a class of criminals who would rather go to jail for
+their dinner, especially in winter, than earn a dinner by hard work.
+They are the confirmed vagabonds from whom the army of summer tramps is
+chiefly recruited. They never feel truly virtuous and happy in cold
+weather except when they have committed a petty offence and are on the
+way to "punishment," which consists in accepting from a thoughtful
+public a warm shelter and all the food they want. It is their business
+to live, at times if not constantly, in this way. Sending them to jail
+for their offences is known by the courts that send them to be nothing
+but a sorry farce.
+
+There is another equally incorrigible class, who commit greater crimes,
+but not chiefly for the sake of "punishment." Detectives keep themselves
+advised of the sentences of these offenders, and prepare to shadow them
+anew whenever they are released from confinement. It is not expected
+that incarceration will have any reformatory effect. The question of
+reforming them, as of reforming those who offend to get rid of the
+trouble of taking care of themselves, comes to be left out of
+consideration, after a little experience, by the officers whose duty it
+is to deal with them. Only intimidation remains for a considerable
+number. With these, rather than with the English window-breaker, should
+probably be classed the subject of this item from a late newspaper:
+"Charles Dickens is dead, and died of honest work; but the German
+prisoner, Charles Langheimer, whom he saw in the penitentiary at
+Philadelphia thirty-three years ago, and over whose punishment by
+solitary confinement he lamented in 'American Notes,' describing him as
+'a picture of forlorn affliction and distress of mind,' still lives at
+the age of seventy-five, and has just been sent back to his old quarters
+the sixth time, for his chronic offence of petty theft, which has kept
+him in jail full half his long life."
+
+That punishment for crime is necessary, and therefore a public duty, is
+admitted, and every community professes to impose it. But what of the
+criminals whom punishment as now administered does not punish--who
+actually commit crimes for the purpose of receiving it? It would seem
+that society has not the power or has not the wisdom to protect itself.
+It has the right, of course. It has the power also.
+
+The law does not succeed in what it attempts and professes to do. At
+present when we find a criminal who has sufficient good in him to feel
+our methods, we punish him in proportion to his--goodness. When we find
+one so vile that our methods are like water on a duck's back, we do not
+punish him--except as water punishes a duck. He goes unpunished because
+he is so bad, while a better man is punished because he is better. What
+is this but rewarding insensibility? It is very creditable to the hearts
+of the lawmakers--perhaps--but it is fraud on the community. It is
+legalized wickedness. It permits incarnate nuisances to wax fat, and
+prey upon honest industry, and increase and multiply, until they become
+the only prosperous and protected class.
+
+It has been suggested that a criminal on his second conviction be deemed
+a professional, and incarcerated for life. It would no doubt be cheaper
+for the public to shut him up thus and support him permanently. But
+there is the objection that the punishment would generally be out of
+proportion to the crime, if it were a punishment at all; and if it were
+not a punishment, we would be offering a greater premium on vice than we
+now are. To punish petty larceny as if it were as great a crime as
+manslaughter or murder would be too unjust to be long possible. The case
+seems to demand a new medicine rather than a greater dose of one which
+has failed when tried in any practicable quantities.
+
+There is one remedy, so far as the infliction of real punishment is a
+remedy, although those who administer justice as above described will
+hold up their hands in horror at the mention of it. If it be a fact that
+the punishment of criminals is necessary, and if it be a fact that a
+class of them is impervious to any punishment except physical pain, then
+we are bound to either inflict this pain or else abandon the principle
+of punishment. There is no third course if the two facts are
+admitted--and to those who will not admit them an unprejudiced reading
+of the criminal news of the past three hundred and sixty-five days is
+commended. If one man's heart is callous to what will break another's,
+all men's backs are of nearly equal tenderness. It is doubtful whether
+the whipping-post ever had a fair trial without proving that it might be
+made a good thing under such circumstances as we must very soon, if we
+do not now, confront.
+
+The fact that it was once used and then abandoned does not settle the
+case. It was erected for those who could have been otherwise dealt with,
+and for those who deserved no punishment at all. It was not reserved for
+only those deserving punishment, on whom our more refined penalties had
+been tried and had failed. It is not a fair trial of it to put it into
+the hands of a drunken or passionate ship's captain; or the hands of a
+religious bigot; or the hands of a slave-driver; or the hands of a
+tyrant or autocrat of any kind; or the hands of an incompetent judge; or
+the hands of any judge in a ruder age than this. If an ignorant or
+brutal use of it in the past condemns an enlightened use of it now, we
+should abandon life-taking and imprisonment, for these have been even
+more abused. We have no fear that the death penalty will be misused
+hereafter because men have been hung for petty larceny heretofore. When
+the lash is wielded by a barbarous hand, as it generally has been, of
+course we abhor it. But how about it when the hand of Christ wields it
+in the temple? Although the incarnation of charity made him a scourge
+for those who needed it, yet we cannot follow His example because
+Torquemadas have made scourges for those who did not need them. Such is
+the logic of those who would cite the past in this matter. The truth is,
+the lash was abandoned in the humane belief that criminals could be
+punished without it; and the truth also is, some criminals are now
+proving that they cannot be punished without it.
+
+Go over the subject as we may, we come back to the question, Is the lash
+or something equally unrefined necessary to accomplish all the law now
+attempts? It must be looked at in the cold light of certain very sad
+facts, as well as in the warm blaze of "chromo" civilization. If we are
+not yet compelled to answer it in the affirmative, there is so much
+evidence pointing toward such an answer, that it is well to consider
+very respectfully indeed whatever can be said on the unpopular side. It
+need not frighten those who accept the idea so tersely presented by the
+Hare Brothers--of which one is strongly reminded by Mr. Greg in the
+"Enigmas of Life," although perhaps he does not expressly state it--that
+the tendency of civilization is to barbarism.
+
+Of course flogging is not a panacea; but it is for those who profit by
+nothing gentler; and the more enlightened society becomes the more
+certainly can these be identified. The generous feeling that has
+discontinued it would not cease to be a guarantee against its abuse. Our
+courts cannot depart far from public sentiment. We can trust judges and
+juries to determine who deserves castigation just as safely as to
+determine who deserves imprisonment or death. Most of the censure they
+now receive in their treatment of the hopelessly depraved is for their
+lenity and not their rigor. There is no offender would not dread and
+wish to avoid whipping. Certainly no one would offend for the purpose of
+receiving it; and it would probably discourage a man in less than ten
+years from breaking the same window. It would be inexpensive, and would
+have the merit of being short and sharp, if not decisive. Punishment,
+intimidation, is what is here considered, and the point is whether it
+shall be administered to all who deserve it, or whether the law society
+finds necessary for its protection shall be a falsehood, at war with
+itself--a sham. The law cannot shrink from anything that is necessary to
+its purpose without impeaching its purpose.
+
+And is it more inhuman to hurt the back of one who cannot be made to
+feel anything else than it is to pain the heart and hurt the soul of one
+who can? How can Christians so exalt the flesh above the spirit? They
+did not do it in the primitive days of the faith. Is it more barbarous
+to scourge the body than to gall it with irons, or poison and debilitate
+it by confinement, or wear it out by inches at hard labor? We have not
+abolished corporeal punishment--only rejected a form of it which is
+frequently more merciful, if more dreaded, than some that are retained.
+
+All wrongs right themselves by "inhumanity," if permitted to go far
+enough. You are told by good authority, and you know without telling,
+that if you find a burglar in your house at night, you perform a public
+duty by shooting him dead rather than see him escape. From the
+humanitarian point of view, this is certainly more dreadful than it
+would have been to stop, by flogging, any minor offences that led him
+into your house. Indeed, if the penalty for the burglary itself were a
+"barbarous" laceration of his back, it would doubtless have more effect
+in keeping him from the burglary and from a bloody death, than does the
+risk of imprisonment. We must not whip him in obedience to the law, but
+we may safely shoot him dead without regard to it. It is our tenderness
+that becomes "inhuman" if it be not wisely bestowed. Would it be quite
+in keeping with the pretensions of "advanced" civilization to see the
+matrons and maids of the rural neighborhoods going about their dairies
+and summer kitchens with revolvers in their belts, and bowie-knives in
+their bosoms? That is the spectacle the "tramp" nuisance promises to
+produce. Would the whipping-post, set up in the slums of the great
+cities, where the miscreants among the tramps breed and form their
+characters, look any more like barbarism? The voluntary tramp has but
+shown the countryman during the summer what the city suffers during the
+winter. He is simply trying to distribute and equalize himself, and
+while enjoying his country air, collects the same taxes he collects all
+the rest of the year in town. Let the city continue to rear him
+tenderly, and not hurt his precious carcass, and feed and warm him, and
+punish only his sensitive spirit, until the country people get down
+their shot-guns and make a barbarous end of him. And this is being true
+to the cause of humanity.
+
+It is noble for the law to withhold its hand when one who has taken a
+wrong step can be won back to a good life by other means; and if the
+wretches hopelessly saturated with vice can be intimidated by anything
+milder than flogging, by all means be mild; but when we find one who
+cannot, why not acknowledge the fact and act on it?
+
+The reason why we do not so act is only a sentimental one. A sentimental
+reason, however, may be a very good one. Society feels that it is better
+to suffer, and to see its laws become a mockery to this degree, than to
+shock its own best instincts. This sentiment that obstructs absolute
+vindication of the law is respectable so long as it can be respected
+with tolerable safety and public satisfaction. But it interferes with
+justice by courtesy, and not by right. It is all very well so long as
+society does not complain. But if its mouthpieces are to be believed,
+society does complain. The public is not satisfied with the present
+punishment of certain offenders--indicated with sufficient accuracy by
+the tough old Langheimer and the English window-breaker--and is restive
+under the pecuniary burden they impose.
+
+Although the history of the whipping-post is nearly worthless to one
+seeking to know what its value might be under all the favorable
+conditions with which it could be surrounded now and here, yet it is
+possible to point readily to one trial that should have been, and
+probably was, a fair one. A very few years ago--perhaps four or
+five--garroting became a terror to the London pedestrian. For assault
+and robbery, without intent to kill, the death penalty was too terrible,
+and the other penalties failed to intimidate, as they generally do when
+the crime is lucrative, easily accomplished, and not immediately
+dangerous. It could not be trifled with, and something had to be done. A
+"barbarous" whipping of the bare back was resorted to, and garroting
+subsided. The result was what the public wanted. Sentimental eyes may
+show their whites, horrified hands may go up, floods of twaddle may come
+forth in sympathy with the discouraged garroter, but men of common
+sense, especially if they have been garroted themselves, will say the
+end was worth what it cost, and believe in the inhumanity that achieved
+it.
+
+Nothing has been said of Delaware. No valuable lesson could be drawn
+from her without considerable investigation, and perhaps not then. She
+may do too much flogging, or she may not do enough. Her ministers of
+justice may be models of enlightenment, or they may be models of
+debasement. The lash there may be still a class instrument, or it may
+not. She has no great city--an exceedingly important consideration--and
+two portions of her people are jostling each other as nominal equals in
+the race of life, who but the other day held the relation of master and
+slave. She is probably not indifferent to a good name, and her retention
+of the whip under all the sneers she receives is some evidence that she
+at least regards it as still having a defensible use.
+
+                   CHAUNCEY HICKOX.
+
+
+
+
+RENUNCIATION.
+
+
+  Could I recall thee from that silent shore
+  Whence never word may reach our longing ears,
+  To gaze upon thee thro' my happy tears,
+  And call thee back to life and joy once more,
+  Could I refrain? If at my touch Death's door
+  Would open for thee, and thy glad eyes shine
+  With swift surprise of life, straight into mine,
+  And we might dwell with love for evermore,
+  Could I forbear? God knows, who still denies.
+  Yet being dead, thou art all mine again:
+  No fear of change can break that perfect rest,
+  Nor can I be where thou art not; thine eyes
+  Smile at me out of heaven, and still my pain,
+  And the whole pitying earth is at thy breast.
+
+                   KATE HILLARD.
+
+
+
+
+THE EASTERN QUESTION.
+
+
+"The last word in the Eastern Question," said Lord Derby, "is
+Constantinople." If for Constantinople we read not merely the city
+itself, but that half of Turkey in Europe bordering upon the Black Sea
+and the Sea of Marmora, and understand the real point to be, Shall or
+shall not Russia have it? we have the whole Eastern Question in a
+nutshell. Russia is bound by every consideration of policy and interest
+to get it if she can. Great Britain is bound by every consideration of
+interest, and even of self-preservation, to prevent it if she can.
+Germany, Austria, and France are bound to prevent it, if possible,
+unless they can at the same time gain equivalent advantages which shall
+leave them relatively to each other, and especially to Russia, not less
+powerful than they now are. The other nations of Europe may be left out
+of view in considering the question; for their interest in it is less
+vital, and they could do little toward the result, except as allies to
+one side or the other, in case of a general European war in which the
+great Powers should be quite evenly balanced, when their comparatively
+small weight might turn the scale.
+
+A glance at the map will show the paramount importance to Russia of the
+acquisition of this territory. Comprising more than half of all Europe,
+she is practically cut off from the navigable seas. She has, indeed, a
+long coast-line upon the Arctic ocean, but she has there only the
+inconsiderable port of Archangel, and this can be reached only by
+rounding the North Cape and sailing far within the Arctic Circle, while
+the port itself is blocked up by ice seven months of the year. She also
+borders for seven hundred miles upon the Baltic and the Gulf of Bothnia;
+but here, in the northwestern corner of her territory, she has only two
+tolerable ports, Cronstadt and Riga, and these are frozen up for nearly
+half the year; but from these ports is carried on three-fourths of her
+foreign commerce. She next touches salt water in the Black Sea, almost
+1,500 miles from St. Petersburg, on the extreme south of her territory.
+This sea, half of whose shores belongs to Russia, is 720 miles long, and
+380 miles wide at its broadest point, covering an area, including the
+connected Sea of Azof, of nearly 200,000 square miles--more than twice
+that of all the great lakes of North America. Russia wishes to be a
+great maritime power. The Black Sea has good harbors and abundant
+facilities for building ships and exercising fleets. Into it fall all
+the great rivers of the southern half of Russia, except the Volga, whose
+mouth is in the Caspian; and the Volga may properly be considered a
+Black Sea river, for a railway, or perhaps even a canal of a few
+leagues, would connect it with the Don and the other rivers of the Black
+Sea system. The Black Sea is emphatically a Russian sea; but Russia
+enjoys the valuable use of it only by the sufferance of whomsoever holds
+Constantinople. By the treaty of Paris, concluded in 1856, after the
+reverses of the Crimean war, Russia agreed not to maintain a fleet
+there; and it was not till 1870 that taking advantage of the critical
+position of the other great Powers, she declared that this article of
+the treaty was abrogated. She has now a strong fleet of iron-clads and
+other steamers in the sea, but the actual strength of this fleet is
+unknown except to herself. It was certainly powerful three years ago,
+and is doubtless much more powerful now. A vessel and crew which has
+navigated the "Bad Black Sea." as the Turks call it, has nothing to fear
+from the broadest ocean. But this sea is liable at any moment to be a
+closed one to Russia. No Russian man-of-war has, we believe, ever sailed
+into or out of it; no merchantman can enter or leave it except by the
+Bosporus and the Dardanelles, which are its gates, and of these gates
+Turkey holds the keys.
+
+The Black Sea is joined to the deep, narrow Sea of Marmora by the
+straits of the Bosporus, twenty miles long and from three-quarters of a
+mile to two and a half miles wide. Just where the straits open out into
+the Sea of Marmora stands Constantinople, a spot marked out by nature as
+the one on the whole globe best fitted for the site of a great
+metropolis. At its western extremity the Sea of Marmora--about one
+hundred miles long, with a maximum breadth of forty-three
+miles--contracts into the straits usually called the Dardanelles, which
+is properly the name of four castles, which, two on each side, command
+the passage, here less than a mile wide. Both straits could easily be so
+fortified as to be impassable by the combined navies of the world; and
+even now we suppose that only the best armored iron-clads could safely
+undertake to force the passage, in or out, of the Dardanelles.
+
+Let us now consider the fearful preponderance which Russia would gain by
+the possession of these straits, including of course that half of
+European Turkey bordering upon them. We have seen that the shores of the
+Black Sea furnish every facility for the construction of a navy of any
+required strength, and its waters afford ample space for its training.
+With these approaches in her grasp, Russia might in ten years construct
+and discipline her fleet there, perfectly safe from molestation by the
+navies of Europe. Fleets built and equipped at Sebastopol, Kherson, and
+Nicolaief, could sweep through the Dardanelles, closed to all except
+themselves, enter the Archipelago and the Mediterranean, and dominate
+over their shores and over the commerce of every nation which has to use
+these waters as a highway. In case of its happening at any time to find
+itself overmatched, the Russian fleet could repass the gates of the
+Dardanelles, and be as safe from pursuit as an army would be if
+sheltered behind the rocks of Gibraltar.
+
+Great Britain would be first and most immediately menaced by this; for a
+strong military and naval power established on the Bosporus would hold
+in command the shortest way of communication with her possessions in
+India. The Czar would hold in control the route by way of the Suez
+canal: or at best Great Britain could keep it open only by maintaining a
+vastly superior fleet in the Mediterranean; and it would be difficult
+for her to maintain there a fleet which would not be practically
+overmatched by one which Russia could easily keep up in the Black Sea
+and the Sea of Marmora. The days are past when a Hood or a Nelson might
+safely risk a battle if the odds against him were much less than two to
+one. A British admiral must henceforth make his count upon meeting skill
+and seamanship equal to his own, and whatever advantage he gains must be
+gained by sheer preponderance of force.
+
+If Great Britain is to retain her Indian empire, a collision there
+between her and Russia is a foregone conclusion. An empire which, under
+a succession of sovereigns of very different character, has steadily
+pressed its march of conquest through the deserts of Turkistan, will not
+be likely to look without longing eyes upon the fertile valley of the
+Indus; and here Russia would have a fearful advantage in position. The
+Suez route practically closed, as it would be in the event of a war,
+Britain could only reach India by the long voyage around the Cape of
+Good Hope, while Russia would have broad highways for the march of her
+troops to the banks of the Indus, whence she could menace the whole
+peninsula of Hindostan.
+
+We indeed do not think that the possession of her Indian empire adds
+anything to the power of Great Britain. She has never derived any direct
+revenue from it. The Indian expenditures to-day exceed, and are likely
+in the future to exceed, the revenues. All the vast amounts of plunder
+and "loot" which individuals, the East India Company, or the Crown have
+gained, have cost to get them more than they were worth. Unlike
+Australia and the Dominion of Canada, India offers no field for
+colonization for men of British blood, where they or their children may
+build up a new Britain under strange stars. It has come to be an
+accepted fact that Englishmen cannot long retain health and vigor in
+India, and that their offspring, born there, rarely survive childhood
+unless sent "home" at an early age. Britain holds India purely and
+absolutely as a conquered and subjugated territory. Whether British rule
+in India is, upon the whole, a blessing or a curse to the natives, is a
+matter of grave doubt; that it is most unwillingly borne, is beyond all
+question. It is a despotism pure and unmixed, and a despotism of the
+most galling kind--a despotism exercised by a horde alien in race and
+religion, alien in habits and modes of thought, in life and manners, in
+customs and ideas. Macaulay, when in power in India, forty years ago,
+said of it the best that can be said: "India cannot have a free
+government; but she may have the next best thing--a firm and impartial
+despotism." To maintain this despotism, even against the feeble natives
+alone, imposes a heavy strain upon the British government. The British
+empire in India is only a thin crust overlying a bottomless quagmire,
+into which it is in peril of sinking at any moment by a force from above
+or an upheaval from below. How nearly this came to pass during the
+accidental Sepoy mutiny of twenty years ago, is known to all men. Had
+that mutiny chanced to have broken out three years before, during the
+Crimean war, it is safe to say that the course of the world's history
+would have taken a different turn. Since then Great Britain has
+apparently somewhat consolidated this crust, but it is yet thin, and the
+weight of Russia thrown upon it could scarcely fail to break it through.
+
+The commercial value of India to Great Britain is, we think, vastly
+exaggerated. India, in proportion to her population, has always been,
+and is likely long to be, a very poor country. The trade of Great
+Britain with India--exports and imports--is not much greater than that
+with France, considerably less than that with Germany, and far less than
+that with the United States; and we see no reason to suppose that it is
+perceptibly increased by the subjugation of India to the British crown.
+India sells to Great Britain what she can, and buys from her what she
+wants and can pay for, and would continue to do so in any case. Still,
+we do not imagine that the British government or people will ever be
+brought to take our view of the value of India to them. It will be held
+to the last extremity of the national power, and will only be abandoned
+under stress of the direst necessity. And for her secure possession of
+India it is absolutely essential, for reasons which have been stated,
+that whoever else may have Constantinople in the future, Russia shall
+not have it. England's interest in the question is a purely selfish one.
+She is content to have the Turks there because for the time being they
+keep the Russians out. Whatever worth may formerly have been in the
+sentimental averment that it is the duty of the European family of
+nations to see to it that no weak member of it is gravely wronged by a
+stronger one is past and gone. It is from no love for the Turks that
+Great Britain desires that the Sultan should continue to hold at least
+nominal sovereignty over Turkey in Europe, and the actual custody of the
+keys of the Black Sea. An able English writer says:[H]
+
+    The position of the Turk at Constantinople is no choice of
+    ours, nor any creation of our policy. We do not maintain him
+    for any love of himself, nor because we rely on his strength
+    to guard the post--though that is absurdly underrated. His
+    corruption and weakness are at least as great an
+    embarrassment to us as an injury to the nations of his
+    empire. But the whole Eastern question hangs upon the fact
+    that he is there, and has been there with a long
+    prescriptive right which he is not likely to yield, or to
+    have wrested from his grasp till after a frantic struggle of
+    despair. Nor is any practical mode apparent by which he will
+    be soon displaced, save that, after a convulsion which would
+    involve all Europe, the Czar should be enthroned upon the
+    Bosporus. To prevent that catastrophe, and to avert the
+    horrors that must precede it, is our real Eastern policy.
+
+[Footnote H: "Quarterly Review;" October, 1876.]
+
+Still more emphatic is the declaration of Lord Derby, the British
+Premier, when defending the action of the Government in sending the
+Mediterranean fleet, last May, to Besika Bay, at the mouth of the
+Dardanelles: "We have in that part of the world great interests which we
+must protect.... It is said that we sent the fleet to the Dardanelles to
+maintain the Turkish empire. I entirely deny it. _We sent the fleet to
+maintain the interests of the British empire._"
+
+Let us now glance rapidly at Turkey in Europe, the coveted prize in this
+case. Nominally, and upon the maps, it comprises all except the southern
+apex of the great triangular peninsula bounded on the east by the Black
+Sea, the Sea of Marmora, and the Archipelago; on the west by the
+Adriatic; on the north, the broad base of the peninsula, it is bounded
+by Austria; on the south, the narrow apex, by Greece. Russia touches it
+only on the northeast corner. Its area is in round numbers 200,000
+square miles, not differing materially from that of France or Germany,
+or about five-sixths of that of Austria. No other part of Europe, of
+anything like equal extent, combines so many natural advantages of
+geographical position, soil, and climate. The population is variously
+estimated at from 13,000,000 upward; we think that 17,000,000 is a
+tolerably close approximation. Of these, in round numbers, only about
+2,000,000 are Turks, or, as they style themselves, Osmanlis; 11,500,000
+are of various Sclavonic races; 1,500,000 are Albanians; 1,000,000
+Greeks; the remainder Armenians, Jews, and Gipsies. In religion there,
+there are about 4,800,000 Mohammedans, nearly half of whom are not
+Osmanlis, the remainder being of Sclavonic descent, whose ancestors
+embraced Islam in order to save their estates; they are, however, quite
+as devoted Mussulmans as are the Osmanlis themselves. There are now
+about 12,000,000 Christians, of whom some 11,000,000 belong to the Greek
+Church, and nearly 1,000,000 are in communion with the Church of Rome.
+The name Ottomans is officially given to all the subjects of the empire,
+irrespective of race or religion; all except Mussulmans are specifically
+designated as _Rayahs_, "the flock." Nominally, at least, by the new
+Constitution promulgated in December, 1876, while Islam is the religion
+of the State, all subjects are equal before the law, and all, without
+distinction of race or creed, are alike eligible for civil and military
+positions.
+
+But a very considerable part of this territory is not properly included
+in the Ottoman empire. The principality of Roumania, in the northeastern
+corner, made up of what was formerly known as Wallachia and Moldavia,
+with a population of about 4,500,000, is practically independent, under
+a prince of the house of Hohenzollern, elected in 1866. It merely
+acknowledges the suzerainty of the Sultan, to whom it pays an annual
+tribute of some $200,000. Servia, on the north, bordering upon Austria,
+with a population something less than 1,500,000, has for years been
+really independent, merely paying a tribute of less than $100,000.
+
+Roumania and Servia are strongly under Russian influence. Besides these
+is the little State of Montenegro, on the Adriatic, with a population of
+less than 200,000, which disowns the suzerainty of the Sultan, and has
+for many months waged a fierce but desultory war against him.
+
+Of what properly constitutes Turkey in Europe, with a population of some
+11,000,000, the following are the principal divisions, designating them
+by their former names, by which they are still best known: south of
+Roumania, and between the Danube and the Balkhan mountains, is Bulgaria;
+south of Bulgaria is Roumelia, in which Constantinople is situated; in
+the northwest is Herzegovina; between which and Servia is Bosnia; on the
+west, along the Adriatic, is Albania. In estimating the defensive
+strength of the Ottoman empire we must take main account of Turkey in
+Asia, with a population of some 17,000,000, by far the larger portion of
+whom are Osmanlis, devoted to Islam, warlike by nature, and fully
+capable, as was shown in the Crimean war, of being moulded into
+excellent soldiers. But our present concern is with Turkey in Europe.
+
+If the ingenuity of man, working through long centuries of misrule, had
+set itself to the task of developing a form of government the most
+potent for evil and the least powerful for good, the system could not
+have been worse than that which exists in European Turkey; and the worst
+of it is that no one but the most hopeful optimist can perceive in it
+the slightest hope of reform or practical amendment. In theory the
+Sultan is the recognized organ of all executive power in the State. The
+dignity is hereditary in the house of Osman; but the brother of a
+deceased or deposed Sultan takes precedence of the son, as being nearer
+in blood to the great founder of the house. A Sultan, therefore, must
+see in his brother a possible rival, who must, in case his life is
+spared, be kept immured in the seclusion of the harem. A Sultan who
+succeeds his brother naturally comes to the throne at a somewhat mature
+age, but as ignorant as a babe of all that belongs to the duties of
+government; lucky it is if he is not also physically and mentally worn
+out by debauchery and excess. Turkish history is full of instances where
+one of the first acts of a Sultan has been to order the execution of his
+brothers and nephews. Thus Mahmoud II. put to death his infant nephew,
+the son of his predecessor, and caused three pregnant inmates of the
+harem to be flung into the Bosporus in order to make sure the
+destruction of their unborn offspring. The actual task of government is
+in some sort divided between the Sultan and the "Porte," a term which is
+used to designate the chief dignitaries of the State. The "Sublime
+Porte" is the Council of the Grand Vizier, who presides over the Council
+of State, consisting of the ministers for home affairs, for foreign
+affairs, and for executive acts, with several secretaries, one of whom
+is supposed to be answerable that the acts of the ministry are in
+conformity with, the supreme law of the Koran. The Porte of the
+Defterdar, or Minister of Finance, whose council is styled the "Divan,"
+consists of several ministers and other functionaries. The "Agha"
+formerly comprised many civil and military officials whose duties were
+in some way immediately connected with the person of the Sultan, not
+very unlike what we call a "kitchen cabinet." The foregoing are all
+designated as "Dignitaries of the Pen." The "Dignitaries of the Sword"
+are the viceregal and provincial governors, styled pachas and beys. They
+are at once civil and military commanders; and, most important of all,
+tax-gatherers, and not infrequently farmers as well as receivers of
+taxes. If they forward to the Porte the required sum of money, little
+care is had as to the manner in which their other duties are performed
+or neglected. The manifold extortions of the local pachas keep one part
+or another of the empire, not only in Europe, but in Asia, in a state of
+perpetual insurrection, of which little is ever heard abroad.
+
+The Koran is the acknowledged source of all law, civil and
+ecclesiastical. Its interpreter is the _Sheikh-ul-Islam_, "the Chief of
+the Faithful," sometimes styled the "Grand Mufti." He is the head of the
+_Ulemi_, or "Wise Men," comprising the body of great jurists,
+theologians, and _literati_, any or all of whom he may summon to his
+council. He is appointed for life by the Sultan, and may be removed by
+him. His office is in theory, and sometimes in practice, one of great
+importance. To him and his council the Sultan is supposed to refer every
+act of importance. He does not declare war or conclude peace until the
+Grand Mufti has formally pronounced the act "conformable to the law." It
+is only in virtue of his _fetwa_, or decree, that the deposition of a
+Sultan is legalized. A _fetwa_ from him would summon around the standard
+of the Prophet all the fanatical hordes of Islam to fight to the death
+against the infidels, in the firm belief that death on the battlefield
+is a sure passport to Paradise. With the Koran as the supreme law, and
+the Sheikh-ul-Islam its sole interpreter, nothing can be more futile
+than the provision of the new Constitution of December, 1876, that "the
+prerogatives of the Sultan are those of the constitutional sovereigns of
+the West."
+
+It is necessary here to touch only briefly upon the rise and decline of
+the Turkish empire in Europe. The Osmanlis take their name from Osman,
+the leader of a Tartar horde driven out from the confines of the Chinese
+empire, who overran Asia Minor. His great-grandson, Amurath I., crossed
+into Europe, took Adrianople in 1361, and overran Bulgaria and Servia.
+Several of his successors pushed far into Hungary and Poland. Mohammed
+II. took Constantinople in 1453, and brought the Byzantine empire to a
+close. Selim I. (1512-'20) extended his dominion over Mesopotamia,
+Syria, and Egypt. Solyman II., "the Magnificent" (1520-1566), raised the
+Turkish power to its highest point. He took Buda in 1529; and in 1532
+besieged Vienna with a force of 300,000 men, but was routed by the
+Polish John Sobieski, with a force hardly a tenth as great. But for
+another half century the Turkish power was sufficient to inspire terror
+in all Christendom. With the death of Solyman, the power of the Turks
+began to wane, slowly but surely, and at the close of the last century
+the expulsion of the Turks from Europe seemed close at hand. The great
+wars of the French Revolution gave them a new lease of possession, and
+at its close Sultan Mahmoud II., who was by blood half French,[I]
+endeavored to introduce reforms which some men hoped and others feared
+would restore the Ottoman Empire. But the result showed the
+impossibility of patching up rotten garments with new cloth. The Greek
+revolution broke out, and at its close the Sultan found himself no match
+for his vassal, Mehemet Ali, Pacha of Egypt, and it was only the
+intervention of Russia, Austria, and Great Britain which prevented the
+Pacha from establishing at Constantinople the seat of a new empire,
+which, be it what it might, would not have been Turkish. What were the
+reasons of Great Britain and France it is not now easy to say. Those of
+Russia are patent: she wanted Constantinople to remain in the hands of
+the Turks until she herself was in a position to seize it. From that
+time the Ottoman Empire became the "sick man of Europe," around whose
+bedside all the other powers were watching, each determined that none of
+the others should gain the greater share in his estates when he died. In
+1844 they formally adopted him into the family of the nations of Europe,
+and promised that his safety should be the common care of all.
+
+[Footnote I: His mother was a Creole, a native of Martinique, and cousin
+of that other Creole who came to be the Empress Josephine. She had been
+sent to France to be educated, and on her voyage homeward was captured
+by an Algerine pirate who sold her to the Dey, by whom she was sent as a
+present to the Sultan, whose favorite Sultana she became.]
+
+Russia, in the mean while, was busy in endeavoring to make herself the
+patron of the Christian subjects of the Sultan, and when the time
+appeared ripe, entered upon those overt acts which led to the Crimean
+war. Out of this war the Ottoman Empire came with considerable apparent
+advantage. The man supposed to be sick unto death showed that there was
+unexpected vitality--of a spasmodic sort indeed--in his Asiatic members;
+and again there were hopes and fears of his ultimate convalescence, if
+not of restoration to robust health. That those hopes and fears were
+baseless is now clear enough. Never was the sick man so feeble as within
+the last five years.
+
+The existing crisis in the Eastern Question came about in the ordinary
+course of things. In the summer of 1875 the pecuniary needs of the
+Sublime Porte were more than usually urgent, and the tax-gatherers were
+even more than usually exacting. The normal result ensued: there were
+local risings in Bosnia and Herzegovina. A secret Bulgarian
+revolutionary committee, favored by Russia, has for years existed in
+Bucharest, the capital of Roumania. They sent emissaries into Bulgaria
+to excite an insurrection in that province. The plan was to set fire to
+Adrianople and Philippopolis, each in scores of places, to burn other
+towns, mainly inhabited by Mussulmans, and force all the Bulgarian
+Rayahs to join the uprising. The insurrection broke out prematurely in
+May, 1876, and only a few were actively engaged in it. Two or three
+thousand troops would have been sufficient to have quelled the rising;
+but there were none in the province, and despite the urgent appeals of
+the Pacha none were sent. The Mussulmans, who are in a fearful minority
+there, were thrown into a panic; and the Pacha gave orders for calling
+an ignorant and fanatical population to arms. Regular troops were at
+last sent. The Turks gained an easy victory, and perpetrated those
+ineffable atrocities, the recital of which sent a thrill of horror
+throughout Christendom. The Bulgarians fled northward toward Servia,
+pursued by the Turks, who it is said made predatory incursions. Prince
+Milan made some extraordinary demands upon the Sultan, among which were
+that the government of Bulgaria should be committed to him and that of
+Bosnia to Prince Nicholas of Herzegovina. The Grand Vizier refused to
+listen to these demands; whereupon the Prince called the Servians to
+arms, declared war against the Sultan, invaded Bulgaria, and soon
+assumed the title of King of Servia. His invasion of Bulgaria met with
+ill success. Although aided by many Russian soldiers and officers,
+absent on special leave from their regiments, the Servians were driven
+back over their frontiers; and the war was finally suspended by a truce
+for six months. We suppose that there can be no doubt that the rising in
+Bulgaria and the action of Servia were favored, if not by the Czar
+personally, yet by the Russian government, although it would, if
+possible, have withheld Prince Milan from declaring war when he did. The
+Servian Bishop Strossmayer expressly affirms that the insurrection in
+Herzegovina was prematurely commenced against the advice of Russia, and
+that Servia and Montenegro went to war of their own accord, though they
+have naturally accepted the Russian aid since accorded to them. He adds
+that Prince Gortschakoff, who in the Russian government is all that
+Prince Bismarck is in that of Germany, the year before last "informed
+Prince Milan that Russia was unprepared; that only within three years
+did she count on taking Constantinople; and that only then would she
+call on the Sclaves of the South to plant the Greek cross on the dome of
+St. Sophia."
+
+Meanwhile, on the news of the Turkish atrocities in Bulgaria, the Czar
+put his troops in motion toward the Turkish frontier, and made demands
+upon the Sultan which, if acceded to, would have practically made the
+Czar the actual sovereign of all Turkey in Europe north of the Balkhan.
+Great Britain sent her fleet to the mouth of the Dardanelles to
+"maintain the interests of the British empire" in that part of the
+world. Diplomatic notes and rejoinders passed between the cabinets of
+the great Powers; and early in January an International Conference was
+assembled at Constantinople to endeavor to settle, or at least to stave
+off the present crisis in the Eastern Question; Great Britain, through
+her representative, the Earl of Salisbury, apparently taking the lead.
+As we write, in the early days of February, all that is definitely known
+is: The Conference has utterly failed; the Sultan absolutely refused to
+accede to the propositions made to him; and the ambassadors of the great
+Powers have been withdrawn from Constantinople. Surmises and rumors as
+to what will next be done are rife; not the least significant or the
+least probable being that the Emperors of Germany, Russia, and Austria
+are consulting as to taking the matter into their own hands. Whatever
+the immediate issue may be--whether a peace of some kind; a partial war
+between Russia on the one side, and Turkey, with or without Great
+Britain, on the other; or a general European war--of one thing we may be
+certain: it will not cause Russia to more than postpone still longer her
+long-cherished determination to have Constantinople.
+
+Mr. Carlyle has suggested, as a final settlement of the Eastern
+Question, that Turkey in Europe should be divided between Russia,
+Austria, and Great Britain. But, as is his wont, he leaves out some
+essential factors in the problem. No part of this territory would be of
+the slightest use to Great Britain, except perhaps the island of Candia
+as a sort of half-way house in the highway to India by the Suez canal.
+She has everything to lose and little more than nothing to gain by any
+such partition, which, as it necessarily must, would give Constantinople
+to Russia. Mr. Carlyle has so thorough a dislike to France--and with him
+dislike is nearly equivalent to contempt--that he naturally leaves her
+out of the problem. But it is surprising that he leaves out his favorite
+Germany, perhaps the most important factor of all.
+
+We can conceive of a partition of Turkey between Russia and Austria
+which would be so manifestly and equally advantageous to both that they
+might agree to it. And the line of division is clearly indicated by
+nature. Austria, like every other great civilized nation, desires to be
+a maritime power; but she touches the sea only at one point, the head of
+the Adriatic, with the narrow strip known as Dalmatia, running half way
+down its eastern coast. There are only two considerable ports, Trieste
+and Fiume. Eastward, and back of Dalmatia, are Servia, Bosnia, and
+Herzegovina; and below these, on the Adriatic, is the long coast-line of
+Albania, with several good harbors. Across the narrowing isthmus is the
+Archipelago, with the excellent harbor of Salonika. Now look on any
+tolerable map, and one will see on the eastern borders of Servia, where
+the Danube breaks through the Carpathians, a range of mountains shooting
+southward to and crossing the Balkhan, from which it is continued still
+southward to the Archipelago, the whole dividing European Turkey into
+two almost equal halves. Let Russia take the eastern half, comprising
+Roumania, Bulgaria, and the half of Roumelia, including Constantinople,
+the whole shore of the Sea of Marmora and the Dardanelles--all that she
+really needs or cares for. Let Austria take the other half, which would
+give her the whole eastern coast of the Adriatic, and a large frontage
+on the Archipelago, and so a double access to the Mediterranean and
+thence to the ocean. She would acquire thereby an access of valuable
+territory equal to almost half of her present dominions, which would
+render her relatively to Russia fully as strong as she now is.
+
+But such a partition could not be carried into effect without the
+concurrence of Germany, for Germany is undoubtedly as a military power
+much stronger than Russia. Germany certainly would never assent unless
+she could somewhere get something equivalent to that gained by Austria
+and Russia, and not an inch of Turkey would be of any use to her. But in
+quite another part of Europe is a territory comparatively small in
+extent, which would be of priceless value to Germany. This is the little
+kingdom of Holland, which is indeed physically a part of Germany, and
+essential to the rounding off of the boundaries of the new empire. It
+would give her an extended sea-front, which is what she also needs in
+order to become a great naval and commercial power. It would give her
+also in the Zuyder Zee a naval depot and harbor of refuge inferior only
+to that of the Black Sea, and immeasurably superior to any other in
+Europe. Furthermore, with Holland would go the possession of Java and as
+many other great islands in the Indian Ocean as she might choose to
+seize and colonize. To Holland, indeed, we think such an annexation
+would be a decided gain. Her people are in race, language, and religion
+closely allied to the Germans. It would be better for her to become a
+State, inferior only to Prussia, of the great German empire, than a
+feeble kingdom, always at the mercy of her powerful neighbors. But
+whether it would be for her good or not, would not be likely to be much
+taken into account should the great Powers agree upon a reconstruction
+of the political map of Europe. The interests of France would suffer no
+material damage from this, provided she were left free to extend her
+Algerian possessions over the whole Mediterranean coast of Africa, now
+almost a desert, but once the granary of the Roman empire, and
+abundantly capable of being restored to its ancient fertility; or in
+case she should think her dignity required something more, she might
+receive in Belgium far more than a counterpoise for her recent loss of
+Alsace-Lorraine.
+
+Suppose that in some not remote future the policy of Russia, Germany,
+and Austria shall happen to be directed by statesmen as able and
+unscrupulous as Gortschakoff, Bismarck, and Von Beust, we think such a
+settlement of the Eastern Question by no means an improbable one. And
+should these Powers agree to effect it, all the rest of Europe could do
+nothing to the contrary.
+
+                   A. H. GUERNSEY.
+
+
+
+
+THE LASSIE'S COMPLAINT.
+
+
+  Now simmer cleeds the groves in green,
+    An' decks the flow'ry brae;
+  An' fain I'd wander out at e'en,
+    But out I daurna gae.
+  For there's a laddie down the gate
+    Wha's like a ghaist to me;
+  An' gin I meet him air or late,
+    He winna lat me be.
+
+  He glow'rs like ony silly gowk,
+    He ca's me heavenly fair.
+  I bid him look like ither fowk,
+    Nor fash me sae nae mair.
+  I ca' him coof an' hav'rel too,
+    An' frown wi' scornfu' ee.
+  But a' I say, or a' I do,
+    He winna lat me be.
+
+                   JAMES KENNEDY.
+
+
+
+
+ASSJA.
+
+BY IVAN TOURGUENEFF.
+
+
+I was then twenty-five years old, began N. N. As you see, the story is
+of days long past. I was absolutely my own master, and was making a
+foreign tour, not to "finish my education," as the phrase is nowadays,
+but to look about me in the world a little. I was healthy, young,
+light-hearted; I had plenty of money and as yet no cares; I lived in the
+present and did precisely as I wished; in one word, life was in full
+flower with me. It did not occur to me that man is not like a plant, and
+that his time of bloom is but once. Youth eats its gilded gingerbread,
+and thinks that is to be its daily food; but the time comes when one
+longs in vain for a bit of dry bread. But it is not worth while to speak
+of that.
+
+I was travelling without aim or plan: made stops wherever it pleased me,
+and went on whenever I felt the need of seeing fresh faces--especially
+faces. Men interested me above all things. I detested monuments,
+collections of curiosities. The mere sight of a guide roused in me
+feelings of weariness and fury. In the Dresden "Gruene Gewoelbe" I nearly
+lost my wits. Nature made a powerful impression upon me; but I did not
+love her so-called beauties--her mighty hills, her crags and torrents. I
+did not like to have them take possession of me and disturb my
+tranquillity. Faces, on the contrary--living, earthly faces, men's talk,
+laughter, movements--I could not do without. In the midst of a crowd I
+was always particularly gay and at my ease. It gave me real pleasure
+merely to go where others went, to shout when others shouted, and at the
+same time to observe how these others shouted. It pleased me to observe
+men--yes, I did not observe them merely; I studied them with a delighted
+and insatiable curiosity. But I am digressing again.
+
+Twenty years ago, then, I was living in the little German town of S----,
+on the left bank of the Rhine. I sought solitude. I had been wounded to
+the heart by a young widow whose acquaintance I had made at a
+watering-place. She was extremely pretty and vivacious, flirted with
+everybody--alas! with me also, poor rustic! At first she had lifted me
+to the skies, but soon plunged me in despair when she sacrificed me to a
+rosy-cheeked lieutenant from Bavaria. Seriously speaking, the wound in
+my heart was not very deep; but I considered it my duty to give myself
+for a time to melancholy and retirement--what pleasure youth finds in
+these!--and accordingly settled myself in S----.
+
+This little town had attracted me by its position at the foot of high
+hills, by its old walls and towers, its hundred-year-old diadems, its
+steep bridges over the clear little brook which flowed into the Rhine,
+but above all by its good wine. And after sunset--it was in June--the
+loveliest of fair-haired Rhineland girls sauntered through the narrow
+streets and cried, "Good evening!" in their sweet tones to the stranger
+whom they met, some of them even lingering still when the moon rose
+behind the peaked roofs of the old houses, and the little stones of the
+pavement showed distinctly in her steady light. Then I delighted in
+strolling about the old town. The moon seemed to look down benignly from
+a cloudless sky, and the town received this glance and lay peacefully
+there wrapped in sleep and veiled in moonbeams--the light that at once
+soothes and vaguely stirs the soul. The weathercock upon the high, sharp
+spire gleamed in dull gold; long gleams of gold quivered on the dark
+surface of the stream; some dim lights--O thrifty German folk!--burned
+here and there in the small windows under the slated roofs; the vines
+stretched out mysterious fingers from the walls; something stirred
+perhaps in the shadow of the fountain in the little three-cornered
+market-place; suddenly the sleepy cry of the watchman sounded; then a
+good-natured dog growled in an undertone; and the air kissed the brow so
+softly, and the lindens smelled so sweet, that the breast involuntarily
+heaved quicker, and the word "Gretchen" rose to the lips, half a cry,
+half question.
+
+This little town of S---- lies about two versts from the Rhine. I went
+often to look at the majestic river, and would sit for hours upon a
+stone bench under a lonely, large oak, thinking, not without a certain
+exertion, of my faithless widow. A little statue of the Virgin, with a
+red heart pierced with swords upon her breast, looked sadly out from the
+leaves. On the opposite bank lay the town of L----, somewhat larger than
+the one in which I had established myself. One evening I was sitting in
+my favorite spot, looking in turn at the stream, the sky, and the
+vineyards. Before me some white-hooded urchins were climbing over the
+sides of a boat that was drawn up on the shore and lay there keel
+upward. Little skiffs with sails hardly swollen passed slowly along;
+green waves slid by with a gentle, rushing sound. All at once strains of
+music greeted my ears. I listened. They were playing a waltz in L----.
+The double bass grumbled out its broken tones, the violins rang clear
+between, the flutes trilled noisily.
+
+"What is that?" I asked an old man who approached me dressed in a plush
+waistcoat, blue stockings, and shoes with buckles.
+
+"That?" he replied, shifting his pipe from one corner of his mouth to
+the other. "Those are the students who have come from B---- to the
+_Commers_."
+
+"I will see this Commers," I thought. "Besides, I have not yet been in
+L----." I found a ferryman and crossed the river.
+
+Perhaps not every one knows what a Commers is. It is a particular kind
+of drinking bout, in which the students from one section, or of one
+society, unite. Almost every participant of a Commers wears the
+conventional costume of the German student: a short jacket, high boots,
+and a little cap with colored vizor. The students generally assemble at
+midday and carouse till morning, drinking, singing, smoking, and
+occasionally they hire a band.
+
+Such a Commers was at this moment held in L---- at a little inn called
+the Sun, in a garden adjoining the street. Flags were flying from the
+inn and over the garden itself. The students sat round tables under the
+spreading lindens; a huge bulldog under one of the tables. The musicians
+were under a trellis at one side, playing with great spirit, and
+refreshing themselves from time to time with mugs of beer. A great crowd
+had collected in the street before the unpretending little inn. The good
+citizens of L---- were not of the stuff to let slip a good opportunity
+of seeing strange guests. I mingled with the crowd of lookers-on. It
+gave me an immense satisfaction to watch the faces of the students,
+their embraces, their exclamations, the innocent affectations of youth,
+the eager glances, the unrestrained laughter--the best laughter in the
+world. All this generous ferment of young, fresh life, this striving
+forward, no matter whither so it be forward, this rollicking,
+untrammelled existence excited and infected me. Why not join them, I
+thought?
+
+"Assja, have you had enough?" suddenly asked in Russian a man's voice
+behind me.
+
+"Let us wait a little longer," answered another voice, a woman's, in the
+same tongue.
+
+I turned hastily. My eyes fell on a handsome young fellow in a loose
+jacket and cap. On his arm hung a girl of medium height, with a straw
+hat which entirely hid the upper part of her face.
+
+"You are Russians?" I said aloud involuntarily.
+
+The young man smiled and answered, "Yes; we are Russians."
+
+"I did not expect, in such an out-of-the-way place----" I began.
+
+"Nor did we," he interrupted me. "But what does that signify? All the
+better. Permit me to introduce myself. My name is Gagin, and this
+is"--he paused for an instant--"my sister. May we ask your name?"
+
+I told him, and we began a conversation. I learned that Gagin, like
+myself, was travelling for pleasure; that he had arrived at L---- the
+week previous, and was now staying there. To speak candidly, I was
+always unwilling to make the acquaintance of Russians in other
+countries. I could recognize them at any distance by their gait, the cut
+of their clothes, and more than all by the expression of their faces.
+The self-satisfied, scornful, and usually haughty expression would
+change suddenly to one timid and suspicious; in a moment the whole man
+is on his guard, his glance wanders about unsteadily. "Have I said
+anything ridiculous? Are they laughing at me?" this anxious look seems
+to say. But a moment more, and the majesty of the physiognomy is
+restored, only occasionally replaced by stupidity. Yes, I avoided
+Russians, but Gagin pleased me at once. There are such fortunate faces
+in the world. To look at them is a pleasure for every one. One feels at
+once cheered and caressed by them. Gagin had just such a gentle,
+attractive face, with great soft eyes and fine curly hair. When he
+spoke, even if you did not see his face, you felt by the mere sound of
+his voice that he was smiling.
+
+The young girl whom he had called his sister also seemed to me at the
+first glance very lovely. There was something peculiar and remarkable in
+the traits of her round, brown face, with its thin, delicate nose, its
+round, almost babyish cheeks, and its clear, dark eyes. Her form was
+graceful, but apparently not yet fully developed. She did not in the
+least resemble her brother.
+
+"Will you come home with us?" Gagin asked me. "I think we have seen
+enough of the Germans. Our beloved countrymen would certainly have
+broken some window panes or smashed a few chairs, but these fellows are
+quite too well behaved. What do you say, Assja, shall we go home?"
+
+The young girl nodded assent.
+
+"We live just beyond the village," Gagin continued, "in a little
+solitary house far up the hillside. It is really fine there. You shall
+see for yourself. The landlady promised me to have some buttermilk for
+us. It will be dark very soon, and then you can cross the Rhine far more
+pleasantly by moonlight."
+
+We set out. Through a low gate--for the town was surrounded on all sides
+by an old wall, some of whose loop-holes even yet remained
+undestroyed--we gained the open country, and after we had walked about a
+hundred paces beside a stone wall we came to a steep and narrow path up
+the hill, into which Gagin turned. The slope on both sides was planted
+with grapes. The sun had but just set, and a soft purple light rested on
+the green vines, the long poles, the dusty soil covered with bits of
+broken slate and stone, and upon the white walls of a small house with
+steep roof and light windows, which stood high above us on the mountain
+which we were climbing.
+
+"Here is our place!" exclaimed Gagin as we drew near the house. "And
+here is the landlady just bringing us our buttermilk. Good evening,
+madam! We will be there in a moment. But first," he added, "look about
+you once. What do you say to this outlook?"
+
+The view was indeed charming. The Rhine lay before us, a strip of silver
+between green banks. In one place it glowed in the purple and gold of
+the sunset. All the houses in the little towns clustering on the shores
+stood out distinctly; hills and fields spread far before us. Below us it
+was lovely, but above it was lovelier still. The brilliant transparency
+of the atmosphere, and the depth and purity of the sky, made a profound
+impression on me. The air was fresh and exhilarating. It blew with a
+light wave motion, as if it felt itself more free on the hilltop.
+
+"You have chosen a magnificent situation," I said.
+
+"Assja found it out," Gagin answered. "Now, Assja, give your orders. Let
+us have everything brought here. We will take tea in the open air. We
+can hear the music better here. Haven't you noticed it?" he went on. "A
+waltz close at hand may be often good for nothing--mere commonplace
+jingle. It becomes exquisite at a distance; sets all the sentimental
+strings in one's heart a twanging." Assja (her name was properly Anna;
+but Gagin always called her Assja, and I shall allow myself that
+privilege)--Assja went into the house and soon returned with the
+landlady. Both together they carried a great tea-tray with a jug full of
+milk, plates, spoons, sugar, berries, and bread. We seated ourselves and
+began to eat. Assja took off her hat. Her black hair, cut rather short,
+and curled like a boy's, fell in thick ringlets over neck and shoulders.
+At first she was shy; but Gagin said to her:
+
+"Assja, don't be afraid. He won't hurt you!"
+
+She smiled, and immediately addressed a little conversation to me. I
+have never seen a more restless creature. She did not sit still a
+moment. She stood up, ran into the house, came out again, sang in an
+undertone, and laughed often in an odd way. It seemed as if she was not
+laughing at what she heard, but at stray thoughts which came into her
+head. Her large, clear eyes looked at us frankly and fearlessly. Now and
+then, however, the lids fell, and then her glance became suddenly deep
+and gentle.
+
+For nearly two hours we chatted together. Daylight was long past, and
+the twilight had changed from scarlet and gold to a faint redness, then
+to a clear gray, and finally all was lost in night; but our speech
+flowed as uninterruptedly, peaceful, and quiet as the air that
+surrounded us. Gagin brought a bottle of Rhine wine, and we drank it
+leisurely. We could still hear the music. The notes seemed fainter and
+sweeter to us. Lights began to appear in the town and on the river.
+Assja's head drooped forward so that her hair fell over her eyes. She
+was silent and breathed heavily. Then she declared that she was sleepy,
+and went into the house; but I saw that she stood for a long time behind
+the closed window without lighting her lamp. Then the moon rose, and her
+beams quivered on the surface of the water. Everything was bright or in
+deep shadow, but certainly took on a different appearance. Even the wine
+in our glasses sparkled with a mysterious brilliancy. The wind had
+fallen as if it had folded its wings and were resting. Warm, spicy odors
+of the night rose from the ground.
+
+"It is time for me to go, or I shall not find a ferryman," I said.
+
+"Yes; it is time," Gagin repeated.
+
+We descended the footpath. Suddenly stones began to rattle down. Assja
+was running after us.
+
+"Aren't you asleep then?" her brother asked her. But she ran on before
+us without replying. The last dim lights which the students had lighted
+in the little inn garden showed through the branches of the trees, and
+lent them a gay, fantastic appearance. We found Assja at the shore
+talking to the old boatmen. I sprang into the boat and took leave of my
+new friends. Gagin promised to visit me on the next day. I shook his
+hand and held mine out to Assja, but she merely looked at me and nodded.
+The boat was pushed off and was borne down on the swift current. The
+ferryman, a hale old fellow, dipped his oars deep into the dark flood.
+
+"You're in the streak of moonshine--you've spoiled it," Assja called
+after me.
+
+I looked down. The waves were rippling darkly about the boat.
+
+"Good-by!" rang her voice again.
+
+"Till to-morrow," Gagin added.
+
+The boat touched the bank. I stepped out and looked back, but could see
+no one on the shore behind me. The moonshine spanned the stream again
+like a golden bridge, and like another good-by I caught the strains of
+an old country waltz. Gagin was right. I felt that all the strings of my
+heart trembled responsively. I crossed the dusky fields to my house,
+drinking great draughts of the balmy air, and giving myself up wholly to
+a sweet, vague feeling of expectation. I felt myself happy. But why? I
+wished for nothing, I thought of nothing. I was merely happy.
+
+Still smiling from the fulness of delightful and changing sensations, I
+sank into bed, and had already closed my eyes when it suddenly occurred
+to me that I had not thought of my cruel fair one once in the whole
+evening. "What does it mean?" I asked myself. "Am I not hopelessly in
+love?" But just as I put this question to myself I fell asleep, as it
+seemed, like a baby in its cradle.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+The next morning (I was awake, but had not risen) some one knocked with
+a stick under my window, and a voice that I immediately recognized as
+Gagin's began to sing,
+
+  Sleepest thou still?
+  My lute shall wake thee.
+
+I ran to open the door for him.
+
+"Good morning," said Gagin as he entered. "I disturb you a little early.
+But what a morning it is! Fresh, dewy; the larks singing." With his
+wavy, shining hair, his bare neck and ruddy checks, he was as fresh as
+the morning himself.
+
+I dressed myself, and we went out into the garden, sat down upon a
+bench, ordered coffee, and began to talk. Gagin confided to me his plans
+for the future. Possessed of a fair property, and entirely independent,
+he wished to devote himself to painting; only he regretted that this
+decision had been a late one, and that he had already lost much time. I
+also detailed my projects, and even took him into the secret of my
+unhappy love affair. He listened patiently, but, so far as I could see,
+the story of my passion did not awake any very lively sympathy in him.
+After he had sighed once or twice out of good manners, he proposed to me
+to come and see his studio. I was ready at once.
+
+We did not find Assja. She had gone to the "ruin," the landlady assured
+us. Two versts from L---- were the remains of a castle of the middle
+ages. Gagin laid all his canvases before me. There was life and truth in
+his sketches, a certain breadth and freedom of treatment, but not one
+was finished, and the drawing was careless and often faulty. I told him
+my opinion frankly.
+
+"Yes, yes," he interrupted me with a sigh. "You are right; it is all
+weak and unsatisfactory. But what is to be done? I haven't studied
+properly, and the inexcusable carelessness shows everywhere. Before
+working it always seems as if I were capable of eagle flights--it seems
+as I could hurl the earth out of her course; but when it comes to
+execution one loses strength quickly enough, and is tired."
+
+I began to encourage him, but he motioned with his hand that I should be
+silent, rolled up his canvases, and threw himself on the sofa. "If my
+patience lasts, I shall make something yet," he muttered in his beard;
+"if not--then I shall stay a country lout. Come, let us look after
+Assja." We started.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+The way to the ruin wound round the slope of a wooded valley, at whose
+bottom a brook flowed noisily over its pebbles as if it were anxious to
+lose itself in the great stream that was shining peacefully behind the
+sharply indented mountain side. Gagin called my attention to some
+partially lighted spots; in his words the artist certainly spoke, if not
+the painter. The river soon appeared. On the summit of the naked rock
+rose a square town, black with age but in tolerable preservation, though
+it was cleft from top to bottom. Moss-grown walls adjoined this town,
+ivy clung here and there, a tangle of briars filled the embrasures and
+the shattered arches. A stone foot-walk led to the door that remained
+intact. We were already near it when suddenly a girl's figure sped by
+us, sprang over the heaps of rubbish, and seated herself on a projection
+of the wall directly over the abyss. "There is Assja," cried Gagin. "Is
+she mad?"
+
+Through the gate we stepped into a spacious courtyard half filled with
+wild apple trees and stinging nettles. It was indeed Assja, who was
+sitting on the projection. She looked down at us and laughed, but did
+not stir from her place. Gagin threatened her with his finger. I began
+to expostulate aloud with her on her recklessness.
+
+"Don't do that," Gagin whispered to me. "Don't exasperate her. You don't
+know her. She would be capable of clambering up the town. Look yonder,
+rather, and see how ingenious the people hereabouts are."
+
+I looked about me. A thrifty old lady had made herself very comfortable
+in a kind of narrow booth made of boards piled up in one corner, and
+knitted her stocking, while she occasionally glanced askance at us. She
+had beer, cake, and soda-water for tourists. We sat down on a bench and
+attacked our heavy tin mugs of cooling beer. Assja still sat motionless;
+she had drawn up her feet, and wound her muslin scarf about her head.
+Her charming, slender figure showed sharp against the sky, but I could
+not look at it without annoyance. Even on the previous day I had seen
+something intense, unnatural in her. "Does she want to astonish us?" I
+thought. "What for? What a childish freak!" As if she had fathomed my
+thought, she cast a quick and piercing glance at me, laughed loudly,
+sprang in two bounds from the wall, and going to the old woman, asked
+for a glass of water.
+
+"You think that I want to drink it?" she said, turning to her brother.
+"No; there are some flowers up there that I must water."
+
+Gagin made no reply, but she scrambled up the ruins glass in hand, and,
+stopping from time to time and bending down, with extraordinary
+painstaking she let fall some drops of water, which glistened in the
+sun. Her movements were full of grace, but I was vexed as before,
+although I was forced to admire her lightness and dexterity. In one
+perilous spot she uttered a little shriek with design, and then laughed
+loudly again. That annoyed me still more.
+
+"The young lady climbs like a goat," mumbled the old woman, and stopped
+knitting for a moment.
+
+Meanwhile Assja had emptied her glass and come down, roguishly swaying
+to and fro. A strange, imperceptible smile played round her brows, and
+nostrils, and lips; half audacious, half merry, the dark eyes were
+shining.
+
+"You find my behavior scandalous," her face seemed to say. "Very well. I
+know that you admire me."
+
+"Neatly done, Assja; neatly done," said Gagin under his breath.
+
+It seemed as if she felt suddenly ashamed of herself. Her long lashes
+fell, and she sat down near us meekly, as if conscious of naughtiness.
+Now for the first time I could see her face fairly--the most changeful
+that I had ever beheld. For a few moments it was very pale, and took on
+a reserved, almost a melancholy expression. Her features seemed larger,
+stronger, and more simple. She was perfectly still. We made the tour of
+the ruins (Assja followed us), and were very enthusiastic over the view.
+Meanwhile dinnertime approached. Gagin paid the old woman, asked for
+another glass of beer, and cried, turning to me with a sly look,
+
+"To the health of the lady of your heart!"
+
+"Has he--have you such a lady?" asked Assja suddenly.
+
+"Who hasn't?" replied Gagin.
+
+Assja became thoughtful. Her face assumed yet another expression. The
+challenging, almost bold smile returned.
+
+On the way home she laughed more, and her behavior was more whimsical
+than ever. She broke for herself a long branch, carried it over her
+shoulder like a gun, and bound her scarf about her head. A party of
+fair-haired young English dandies met us. As if at a word of command,
+they all stood aside to let Assja pass, with a cold glare of
+astonishment in their eyes, while she began to sing loudly in mockery.
+As soon as we had reached the house she went to her chamber, and
+appeared at dinner in a most elaborate dress, with carefully arranged
+hair, and wearing gloves. She behaved with great propriety, not to say
+stillness, at table, hardly touched her food, and drank water out of a
+wineglass. Evidently she wished to appear before me in a new role, that
+of a conventional and well brought up young lady. Gagin let her alone.
+It was easy to see that it had become a habit with him to let her have
+her will in all things. At times he looked at her good-naturedly and
+shrugged his shoulders slightly, as much as to say, "Be indulgent; she
+is only a child." When the meal was ended Assja rose, made us a
+courtesy, and taking up her hat, asked Gagin if she might go to see Frau
+Luise.
+
+"Since when have you begun to ask permission?" answered Gagin with his
+ready smile, but with a little astonishment. "Is the time long to you
+with us?"
+
+"No; but yesterday I promised Frau Luise that I would visit her. And
+then I think you two would rather be alone. Mr. N." (she pointed to me)
+"may have something to tell you."
+
+She went.
+
+"Frau Luise," Gagin began, taking pains to avoid my glance, "is the
+widow of a former burgomaster of this place; a good old soul, but rather
+narrow-minded. She has taken a great fancy to Assja. It is Assja's
+passion to make the acquaintance of people of the lower classes. I have
+found that pride is at the bottom of the matter every time. I have
+spoiled her thoroughly, you see," he went on after a pause; "but what
+was there for me to do? I never could carry a point by firmness with any
+one; most of all not with her. It is my duty to be indulgent with her."
+
+I was silent. Gagin gave another direction to the conversation. The more
+I learned of him the more he pleased me. I soon understood him. His was
+a real Russian character--truth-loving, faithful, simple, but
+unfortunately rather sluggish, lacking firmness, and without the inward
+fire. Youth did not flame up in him; it burned with a gentle glow. He
+was most amiable and sensible; but I could not imagine what he would
+become in manhood. He wished to be an artist. Without constant,
+absorbing endeavor, no one is an artist. You exhaust yourself, I
+thought, looking at his gentle face and listening to the slow cadence of
+his voice. No; you will not strain every nerve; you will never succeed
+in mastering yourself. And yet it was impossible not to be attracted by
+him. My heart was really drawn to him. It may have been four hours that
+we talked together, sometimes sitting on the sofa, sometimes walking
+quietly up and down before the house; and in these four hours we became
+real friends.
+
+The day was at its close, and it was time to go home. Assja had not
+returned.
+
+"She is a wild creature," Gagin said. "If you please, I will go back
+with you, and we will go to Frau Luise's on the way, and I will ask if
+she is still there. The distance is trifling."
+
+"We descended to the town, turned into a crooked and narrow cross
+street, and came to a standstill before a house of four stories with two
+windows on a floor. The second story projected into the street beyond
+the first; the third and fourth reached still further forward than the
+second. The whole house, with its old-fashioned carving, its two thick
+pillars below, its steep, tiled roof, and the beak-shaped gutter running
+out from the eaves, had the appearance of some monstrous, squatting
+bird.
+
+"Assja," called Gagin, "are you there?"
+
+A lighted window in the third story was thrown up, and Assja's little
+dark head appeared. Behind her peered forth the face of a toothless and
+blear-eyed old woman.
+
+"Here I am," answered Assja, coquettishly leaning over the window-sill
+on her elbows. "It is exceedingly pleasant here. Catch," she added,
+flinging a bit of geranium down to Gagin. "Imagine that I am the lady of
+your heart."
+
+Frau Luise laughed.
+
+"N. is going," responded Gagin. "He would like to take leave of you."
+
+"Indeed?" said Assja. "In that case give him my sprig. I am coming home
+directly."
+
+She shut the window, and I fancied that she gave Frau Luise a kiss.
+Gagin handed me the sprig without a word. Without a word I put it in my
+pocket, went to the ferry, and crossed to the other side.
+
+I remember that I went home thinking of nothing definite, but feeling a
+certain dull ache at my heart, when suddenly a strong odor, well known
+to me, but not usual in Germany, made me stop puzzled. I stood still and
+recognized by the roadside a hemp field of moderate size, whose smell
+reminded me at once of my native steppes. A mighty homesickness arose in
+me. I had a longing to feel Russian air blowing on my cheeks, to have
+Russian ground beneath my feet. "What am I doing here? Why am I
+wandering about among strangers in a strange land?" I cried aloud, and
+the vague uneasiness that weighed on my spirits changed suddenly to a
+bitter burning pain. I reached the house in a mood entirely different
+from the one of the preceding day. I was strangely excited. I could not
+compose myself. A feeling of vexation which I could not explain to
+myself possessed me. At last I sat down to think of my faithless widow
+(for I devoted the close of every day to official recollections of this
+lady), and I took out one of her letters. But this time I did not even
+open it. My thoughts had taken another turn; I thought--of Assja. I
+remembered that Gagin, in the course of conversation, had spoken of
+certain obstacles which would make his return to Russia very difficult.
+"Is she then really his sister?" I cried aloud.
+
+I undressed myself, went to bed, and tried to sleep; but an hour
+afterward I was sitting up with my elbow on the pillow, and still
+thinking of the "capricious maid with her affected laugh." "She has a
+form like the little Galatea of Raphael in the Farnese," I said to
+myself. "Yes, and she is not his sister."
+
+Meanwhile the widow's letter lay quietly on the floor, bleached by a
+moonbeam.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+However, on the following day I went again to L----. I said to myself
+that I wished to visit Gagin, but in truth I was curious to watch Assja,
+to see if she would pursue the extravagances of the day previous. I
+found them both in the parlor, and wonderful!--was it because I had
+thought so much of Russia in the night and the morning?--Assja appeared
+to me a real Russian girl--yes, even a very ordinary one, almost like a
+servant. She wore a shabby gown; her hair was combed back behind her
+ears. She sat quietly by the window, busy with some sewing, sedate and
+still as if she never in her life had been otherwise. She hardly spoke,
+examined her work from time to time; and her features had an expression
+so dull and commonplace that I was involuntarily reminded of our own
+Kathinkas and Maschinkas. To complete the resemblance, she began to hum
+"My darling little mother." I looked at her sallow, languid face,
+thought of yesterday's fantasies, and got suddenly out of temper. The
+weather was magnificent. Gagin declared that he was going to sketch from
+nature. I asked if he would permit me to accompany him, if it would not
+disturb him?
+
+"On the contrary," said he, "you will assist me by your suggestions."
+
+He put on his Vandyk hat and his painting blouse, took his canvas under
+his arm, and started. I followed him slowly; Assja remained at home. In
+going out Gagin begged her to take care that the soup should not be too
+watery. Assja promised to oversee it in the kitchen. Gagin reached a
+dell which I already knew, sat down upon a stone, and began to sketch an
+old, hollow, wide-branched oak. I lay down in the grass and took out a
+book, but my reading did not advance beyond the second page, nor did he
+blacken much paper. We chatted a great deal, and, if my memory does not
+deceive me, we discoursed very subtly and profoundly about work: what
+one should avoid, what strive for, and in what consisted the real merit
+of the artists of our day. At last Gagin declared that he was not in the
+mood for work, threw himself down beside me, and then for the first time
+our youthful talk flowed free, now passionate, now dreamy, now almost
+inspired, but always vague--a conversation peculiar to Russians. After
+we had talked ourselves tired we started for home, filled with
+satisfaction that we had accomplished something, had arrived at some
+result. I found Assja precisely as I had left her. Whatever pains I
+might take with my scrutiny I could discover no trace of coquetry, no
+evidence of a part designedly played. This time it was impossible to
+accuse her of oddity. "Aha!" Gagin said; "you have imposed penance and
+fasting on yourself." In the evening she gaped several times without
+pretence at concealment, and retired early. I also took leave of Gagin
+betimes, and having reached home, I gave myself up to no more dreams.
+This day ended in sober reflections. But I remember that as I settled
+myself to sleep I said aloud, "What a chameleon the girl is!" And after
+a moment's thought I added, "And she is certainly not his sister."
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+In this way two whole weeks passed. I visited the Gagins every day.
+Assja seemed to shun me. She indulged in no more of those extravagances
+which had so astonished me on the first days of our acquaintance. It
+seemed to me that she was secretly troubled or perplexed. Neither did
+she laugh so much. I observed her with interest.
+
+She spoke French and German indifferently well, but one could see in
+everything that she had not been in the hands of women since her
+childhood, and the strange, desultory education which she had received
+had nothing in common with Gagin's. In spite of the Vandyk hat and the
+painter's blouse, the delicate, almost effeminate Russian nobleman was
+always apparent in him; but she was not in the least like a noblewoman.
+In all her movements there was something unsteady. Here was a graft
+lately made, wine not yet fermented. Naturally of a timid and shy
+disposition, she yet was annoyed by her own timidity, and in her
+vexation she compelled herself to be unconcerned and at her ease, in
+which she did not always succeed. Several times I turned the
+conversation to her life in Russia, her past. She answered my questions
+reluctantly. I learned, however, that she had lived in the country for a
+long time before her travels. Once I found her with a book. She was
+alone. Her head supported by both hands, the fingers twisted deep in her
+hair, she was devouring the words with her eyes.
+
+"Bravo!" I called out to her on entering. "You are very busy."
+
+She raised her head and looked at me with great gravity and earnestness.
+
+"Do you really think that I can do nothing but laugh?" she said, and was
+about to withdraw.
+
+I glanced at the title of the book; it was a French novel.
+
+"I can't commend your choice," I said.
+
+"What shall I read then?" she cried. And throwing her book on the table,
+she added, "It's better that I fill up my time with nonsense," and with
+this she ran out into the garden.
+
+That evening I read "Hermann and Dorothea" aloud to Gagin. At first
+Assja occupied herself rather noisily near us, then suddenly ceased and
+became attentive, seated herself quietly beside me, and listened to the
+reading to the end. On the following day I was again puzzled by her mood
+till it occurred to me that she had been seized with a whim to be
+womanly and discreet like Dorothea. In a word, she was an enigmatical
+creature. Full of conceit and irritable as she was, she attracted me
+even while she made me angry. I was more and more convinced that she was
+not Gagin's sister. His behavior toward her was not that of a brother;
+it was too gentle, too considerate, and at the same time a little
+constrained. A singular occurrence seemed, by every token, to confirm my
+suspicions.
+
+One evening, when I came to the vineyard where the Gagins lived, I found
+the gate locked. Without much thought I went to a broken place which I
+had often noticed in the wall, and sprang over. Not far from this place,
+and aside from the path, there was a small clump of acacia. I had
+reached it, and was on the point of passing it. Suddenly I heard Assja's
+voice, the words spoken excitedly and through tears:
+
+"No. I will love no one but you: no, no--you alone and for ever!"
+
+"Listen, Assja. Compose yourself," replied Gagin. "You know that I
+believe you." I heard the voices of both in the arbor. I saw both
+through the sparse foliage. They were not aware of my presence.
+
+"You--you alone," she repeated, threw herself on his neck, and clinging
+to his breast, she kissed him amid violent sobs. "Come, enough," he
+said, while he smoothed her hair gently with his hand.
+
+For a moment I stood motionless. Suddenly I recollected myself. Enter
+and join them? For nothing in the world! it shot through my brain. With
+hasty steps I gained the wall, leaped it, and reached my dwelling almost
+on the run. I laughed, rubbed my hands together, and congratulated
+myself on the chance which had so unexpectedly confirmed my suspicion
+(whose truth I had not doubted for an instant); but my heart was heavy.
+"They dissemble well?" I thought. "And for what purpose? Why do they
+wish to amuse themselves at my expense? I would not have thought it of
+them!" What a disturbing discovery it was!
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+I slept ill, and on the following day I rose early, buckled on my
+knapsack, and after telling my landlady not to expect me at night, I
+turned my steps toward the mountains, following the stream on which the
+town of S---- is built. These mountains are very interesting from a
+geological point of view; they are particularly remarkable for the
+regularity and purity of their basaltic formations; but I was not bent
+on geological investigation. I could give no account to myself of my own
+feelings. One thing, however, was clear: I had not the least desire to
+see the Gagins. I insisted to myself that the only ground of my sudden
+distaste for their society lay in vexation at their falseness.
+
+What had been the necessity of calling themselves brother and sister? I
+resolutely avoided thinking of them, loitered idly among the hills and
+valleys, spent much time in village inns in friendly talk with the
+landlord and his guests, or lay on a flat or sunny rock in the lovely
+weather, and watched the clouds float over. In this way three days
+passed not unpleasantly, though from time to time I had a stifled
+feeling at my heart. This quiet nature accorded perfectly with my state
+of mind. I gave myself up completely to the chance of the moment and the
+impressions that it brought to me; following one another without haste,
+they flooded my soul, and left finally a single feeling where everything
+which I had seen or heard or experienced during these three days was
+blended--everything: the faint resinous smell of the woods, cry and
+tapping of the woodpeckers, the continual murmur of the clear brooks
+with spotted trout in their sandy shallows, the not too bold outlines of
+the mountains, gray rock, the friendly villages with venerable churches
+and trees, storks in the meadows, snug mills with wheels merrily
+turning, the honest faces of the country people with their blue smocks
+and gray stockings, the slow creaking wagons and well-fed horses, or
+sometimes a yoke of oxen, long-haired lads strolling along the cleanly
+kept paths under apple and pear trees. To this day I remember with
+pleasure the impressions of that time. I greet you, little nook of
+modest ground, with your modest content, with your signs everywhere
+visible of busy hands, of labor constant if not severe--greetings to you
+and peace.
+
+At the end of the third day I returned to S----. I have forgotten to say
+that in my vexation with the Gagins, I had endeavored to reinstate the
+image of my hard-hearted widow. But I remember, as I began to think of
+her, I saw before me a little peasant girl, about five years old, out of
+whose round little face a pair of great innocent eyes were regarding me
+curiously. The look was so childlike, so confiding, a kind of shame
+swept over me. I could not continue a lie before that gaze, and at once
+and for ever I said good-by to my early flame.
+
+I found a note from Gagin waiting for me. My sudden whim astonished him.
+He made me some reproaches that I had not taken him with me, and begged
+me to come to him as soon as I should return. Distrustfully I read this
+note, yet the following day found me at L----.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+Gagin's reception was friendly. He overwhelmed me with affectionate
+reproaches; but no sooner had Assja caught sight of me than she broke
+into loud laughter, designedly, it seemed, and without the least cause,
+and ran away precipitately. Gagin lost his temper, grumbled at her for a
+crazy girl, and begged me to excuse her. I must confess that I was very
+cross with Assja. I was uncomfortable before, and now this unnatural
+laughter and ridiculous behavior must be added. However, I acted as if I
+had observed nothing, and detailed to Gagin all the incidents of my
+little journey. He told me what he had done during my absence. But the
+conversation went lame. Assja kept running in and out. Finally I
+declared that I had some pressing work, and that it was time for me to
+be at home. Gagin tried to detain me at first, then looking keenly at
+me, he begged permission to accompany me. In the hall Assja approached
+me suddenly, and held out her hand to me. I gave her fingers an almost
+imperceptible pressure, and bade her good-by carelessly. We crossed the
+Rhine together, strolled to my favorite oak tree near the little shrine
+to the Virgin, and sat down on a bench to enjoy the landscape. There a
+remarkable conversation took place between us.
+
+At first we only spoke in the briefest words, then fell into silence and
+fixed our eyes on the shining river.
+
+"Tell me," Gagin began suddenly, with his accustomed smile, "what is
+your opinion of Assja? She must appear a little singular to you. Not
+so?"
+
+"Yes," I answered, not without a certain constraint. I had not expected
+him to speak of her.
+
+"One must learn to know her well to form a judgment upon her," he
+continued. "She has a very good heart, but a wild head. It is hard to
+live quietly with her. However, it is not her fault, and if you knew her
+history----"
+
+"Her history!" I interrupted him. "Isn't she then your----" Gagin looked
+at me.
+
+"Is it possible that you have doubted that she was my sister? No," he
+went on, without heeding my confusion. "She is; at least she is my
+father's daughter. Listen to me. I have confidence in you, and I will
+tell you all about her.
+
+"My father was a very honest, sensible, cultivated, and unfortunate man.
+Fate had no harder blows for him than for others, but he could not bear
+the first one that he felt from her. He had married early--a love match;
+his wife, my mother, soon died, and I was left a six months' old baby.
+My father took me to his country estates, and for twelve whole years he
+lived there in absolute seclusion. He himself took charge of my
+education, and would never have been separated from me if my uncle, his
+brother, had not come to visit us in our country house. This uncle lived
+in Petersburg, where he held a rather important post. He persuaded my
+father, who could not be induced to quit his home under any
+consideration, to trust me to his care. He showed his brother what an
+injury it was to a boy of my age to live in such complete isolation, and
+that, with a companion always melancholy and silent as my father, I
+should inevitably remain behind boys of my age--yes, that my character
+might easily be endangered by such a life. For a long time my father
+resisted his brother's arguments, but at last he yielded. I cried at
+parting from my father, whom I loved, though I had never seen a smile on
+his face; but Petersburg once reached, our gloomy and silent nest was
+soon forgotten. I went to school, and was afterward placed in a regiment
+of the Guards. Every year I spent some weeks at our country house, and
+with every year I found my father more melancholy, more reserved, and
+depressed to an alarming degree. He went to church daily, and had almost
+given up speech. On one of my visits--I was then in my twentieth year--I
+saw for the first time about the house a little lean, black-eyed girl,
+who might have been about ten years old. It was Assja. My father said
+she was an orphan whose care he had undertaken: those were his own
+words. I gave her no further attention. She was as wild, quick, and shy
+as a little animal, and if I entered my father's favorite room, a great
+dismal chamber in which my mother had died, and which had to be lighted
+even by day, she always slunk out of sight behind my father's
+old-fashioned easy chair, or hid behind the bookcase. It happened that
+for the three or four years following I was prevented by my service from
+visiting our estate. Every month I received a short letter from my
+father, in which Assja was spoken of seldom and always incidentally. My
+father was already past his fiftieth year, but looked still a young man.
+Imagine my distress then when I suddenly received a perfectly unexpected
+letter from our steward, announcing the fatal illness of my father, and
+begging me urgently to come home as quickly as possible if I wished to
+see him alive. I rushed headlong home, and found my father, though in
+the last agony. My presence seemed the greatest joy to him; he clasped
+me in his wasted arms, turned on me his gaze half doubtful, half
+imploring, and after he had obtained from me a promise that I would
+carry out his last wishes, he ordered his old servant to fetch Assja.
+The old man brought her. She could hardly support herself on her feet,
+and was trembling in every limb.
+
+"'Now take her,' said my father to me with earnestness. 'I bequeathe to
+you my daughter, your sister. You will hear everything from Jacob,' he
+added, while he pointed to his valet.
+
+"Assja burst out sobbing, and threw herself on the bed. Half an hour
+afterward my father was dead.
+
+"I learned the following story: Assja was the daughter of my father and
+a former waiting maid of my mother's, named Tatiana. She rose distinct
+to my remembrance, this Tatiana, with her tall, slender figure, her
+serious face, regular features, her dark and earnest eyes. She had the
+reputation of a proud, unapproachable girl. As nearly as I could learn
+from Jacob's reserved and respectful story, my father had entered into
+close relations with her some years after my mother's death. At that
+time Tatiana was not in her master's house, but living with a married
+sister, the dairywoman, in a separate hut. My father became very much
+attached to her, and wished to marry her after my departure, but she
+herself refused this in spite of his entreaties.
+
+"'The departed Tatiana Vlassievna'--so Jacob told me, standing against
+the door, with his hands crossed behind his back--'was in all things
+very thoughtful, and would not lower your father. "A fine wife I should
+be for you--a real lady wife!" she said to him--in my presence she has
+said it.' Tatiana never would come back to the house, but remained,
+together with Assja, living with her sister as before. As a child I had
+often seen Tatiana at church on saint days. She stood among the
+servants, usually near a window. She wore a dark cloth wound about her
+head and a yellow shawl on her shoulders--the strong outline of her face
+clear against the transparent pane; and she prayed silently and humbly,
+bowing very low after the old fashion. When my uncle took me away Assja
+was just two; when she lost her mother, just nine years old.
+
+"Immediately after Tatiana's death my father took Assja home to himself.
+He had already expressed a wish to have her with him, but Tatiana had
+refused it. You can imagine what Assja must have felt when she was taken
+into the master's house. To this day she has not forgotten the hour when
+for the first time they dressed her in a silk dress and kissed her
+little hand. In her mother's lifetime she had been brought up with great
+strictness: my father left her without a single restraint. He was her
+instructor; except him, she saw no one. He did not spoil her; at least
+he did not follow her about like a nursemaid, but he loved her fondly,
+and refused her nothing. He was conscious of guilt toward her. Assja
+soon discovered that she was the principal person in the household. She
+knew the master was her father, but at the same time she began to
+understand her equivocal position. Wilfulness and distrust were
+developed to an extreme degree in her. Bad manners were contracted;
+simplicity vanished. She wished (she herself told me) to compel the
+whole world to forget her origin. She was ashamed of her mother, was
+ashamed of being ashamed, and was in turn proud of her. You see that she
+knew and knows still many things that should not be known at her age.
+But does the blame rest with her? Youth was strong in her: her blood
+flowed hot, and no hand near to guide her--the fullest independence in
+everything! Is such a fate easily borne? She would not be inferior to
+other girls. She rushed headlong into study. But what good could result
+from it? The life, lawlessly begun, seemed likely to develop lawlessly.
+But the heart remained true and the reason sound.
+
+"And so I found myself, a young fellow of twenty, weighted with the care
+of a thirteen-year old girl! In the first days after my father's death
+my voice caused her a feeling of feverish horror, my caresses made her
+sad, and only by degrees and after a long time did she become accustomed
+to me. And later, when she had gained security that I really considered
+her my sister, and that I loved her as a sister, she attached herself
+passionately to me: with her there is no half feeling.
+
+"I brought her to Petersburg. Hard as it was to leave her--I could not
+live with her in any case--I placed her at one of the best
+boarding-schools. Assja agreed to the necessity of our separation, but
+it cost her a sickness which came near to being a fatal one. Little by
+little she reconciled herself, and she staid four years in this
+establishment. But contrary to my expectations, she remained almost her
+old self. The principal of the school often complained to me. 'I cannot
+punish her,' she would say; 'and I can do nothing by kindness.' Assja
+comprehended everything with great quickness, learned
+wonderfully--better than all; but it was utterly impossible to bring her
+under the common rule. She rebelled; was sulky. I could not blame her
+much. In her position she must keep herself at the service of every one,
+or avoid every one. Only one of all her companions was intimate with
+her--an insignificant, silent, and poor girl. The other young girls with
+whom she was associated, of good families for the most part, did not
+like her, and taunted and jibed her whenever they could find
+opportunity. Assja was not behind them by a hair's breadth. Once, in the
+hour for religious instruction, the teacher came to speak of the idea of
+vice. 'Sycophancy and cowardice,' said Assja aloud, 'are the meanest
+vices.' In a word, she continued to walk in her own way, only her
+manners improved somewhat; but even in this respect, I fancy, she has
+made no wonderful advance.
+
+"She had reached her seventeenth year. It was useless to keep her longer
+at school. I found myself in great perplexity. All of a sudden a happy
+thought struck me: to quit the service, and to travel with Assja for a
+year or two. Done as soon as thought. So here are we both now on the
+banks of the Rhine: I occupied in learning to paint, she following out
+her whims in her usual way. But now I must hope that you will not pass
+too harsh judgment upon her; for however much she may insist that
+everything is indifferent to her, she does care very much for the
+opinion of others, and especially for your own."
+
+And Gagin smiled again his gentle smile. I wrung his hand.
+
+"That is how it stands now," Gagin continued. "But I have my hands full
+with her. A real firebrand, that girl! Up to this time no one has ever
+pleased her; but alas if ever she falls in love! At times I do not know
+what to do with her. Lately she took it into her head to declare that I
+was growing cold to her, but that she loved only me, and would love only
+me her life long. And how she sobbed!"
+
+"So that was it," I said to myself, and bit my lip. "But tell me," I
+asked Gagin, "now that our hearts are open, has really no one ever
+caught her fancy? Surely she must have seen many young men in
+Petersburg?"
+
+"And they are all absolutely distasteful to her. No. Assja is seeking a
+hero--an entirely extraordinary man, or else an artistic shepherd among
+his flock. But enough of this gossip. I am detaining you," he added as
+he rose.
+
+"Come," I said, "let us go back. I don't care to go home."
+
+"And your work?"
+
+I made no reply. Gagin laughed good-naturedly, and we returned to L----.
+As the well-known vineyard and the little white house on the hillside
+came in sight, my heart was warmed in a curious way--yes, that was
+it--warmed and soothed as if, unknown to me, some one had poured some
+healing drops there. Gagin's story had made me cheerful.
+
+Assja met us at the threshold. I had expected to find her still
+laughing, but she stepped forward to us, pale, silent, and with eyes
+down cast.
+
+"Here he is again," Gagin said to her, "and be sure of this: it was his
+own wish to come back."
+
+Assja looked at me inquiringly. I held out my hand to her, and this time
+I grasped tightly her cold and slender fingers. I felt deep pity for
+her. Now I understood much that had before disturbed me in her: her
+inner restlessness, her offensive manner, her endeavor to show herself
+other than she was--all was clear to me. I had had a glimpse into this
+soul. A constant weight oppressed it. Fearfully the untrained will
+fought and struggled, yet her whole being was striving after truth. Now
+I understood why this singular girl had attracted me: it was not only
+the charm which invested her whole body; it was her soul which drew me.
+
+Gagin began to fumble among his sketches. I asked Assja to come for a
+walk with me through the vineyard. She gave a ready, almost humble
+assent. We climbed the hill about half way, and stopped on a broad
+plateau.
+
+"And you felt no _ennui_ without us?" Assja began.
+
+"Did you, then, feel any in my absence?" I asked.
+
+Assja looked at me sideways.
+
+"Yes," she replied. "Is it pleasant in the mountains?" she immediately
+continued. "Are they high? Higher than the clouds? Tell me what you have
+seen. You have told my brother, but I have heard nothing about it."
+
+"Why did you go away?" I interrupted her.
+
+"I went--because---- Now I will not go away," she added in a gentle,
+confiding tone. "You were cross today."
+
+"I?"
+
+"You."
+
+"But why? I beg you----"
+
+"I don't know; but you were cross, and went away cross. It was very
+unpleasant to me to have you go away in that manner, and I am glad that
+you have come back."
+
+"I am equally glad," I replied.
+
+Assja moved her shoulders slightly, one after the other, as children do
+when they are in good humor.
+
+"Oh, I am famous at guessing," she went on. "Long ago my father had only
+to cough, and I knew instantly whether he was pleased with me or not."
+
+Till this time Assja had never spoken to me of her father. That struck
+me.
+
+"You loved your father very much?" I asked, and I felt to my great
+annoyance that I was blushing.
+
+She did not answer, but she also blushed. We were both silent. In the
+distance a steamboat with its trailing smoke was descending the Rhine:
+our looks followed it.
+
+"Why do you not tell me something?" Assja said half aloud.
+
+"Why did you laugh to-day when you saw me coming?" I asked her.
+
+"I do not know myself. Sometimes I want to cry, and yet must laugh. You
+must not judge me by what I do. Ah, by the way, what a wonderful story
+it is about the Lorelei. Isn't it her rock that we see yonder? They say
+that at first she drew every one else beneath the water, but after she
+was acquainted with love, she cast herself in. The story pleases me.
+Frau Luise tells me all sorts of fairy stories. Frau Luise has a black
+cat with yellow eyes----"
+
+Assja raised her head and threw back her hair.
+
+"Ah, how comfortable I feel!" she said.
+
+At this moment broken, monotonous tones fell on our ears. Hundreds of
+voices in unison repeated a hymn with measured pauses. A troop of
+pilgrims was moving along the way beneath us with flags and crosses.
+
+"I would like to go with them!" cried Assja, while she listened to the
+sound of the voices, gradually dying away.
+
+"Are you so devout?"
+
+"I would like to go somewhere far off, to pray, to accomplish something
+difficult," she added. "The days hurry by, life will come to an end, and
+what have we done?"
+
+"You are ambitious," I said. "You do not wish to live in vain. You would
+like to leave behind some trace of your existence."
+
+"Would it be impossible?"
+
+"Impossible," I had nearly repeated. I looked into her clear eyes and
+only said:
+
+"Well, try it."
+
+"Tell me," Assja began after a little silence, while flying shadows
+followed each other across her face, which had grown pale again--"did
+that lady please you very much? You remember, my brother drank to your
+health once, in the ruins; it was the day after we had made
+acquaintance."
+
+I laughed aloud.
+
+"It was a jest of your brother's; no lady has pleased me, at least no
+one now pleases me."
+
+"What is it that pleases you in women?" asked Assja, tossing back her
+head in childish curiosity.
+
+"What a singular question!" I exclaimed.
+
+Assja was a little disturbed.
+
+"I should not have asked the question--not so? Forgive me. I am used to
+chatter about everything that goes through my head. That is why I am
+afraid to talk."
+
+"Only talk, for heaven's sake! Don't be afraid," I broke in. "I am so
+glad that at last you cease to be shy." Assja lowered her eyes and
+laughed; a still, gentle laughter that I did not recognize as hers.
+
+"Well, tell me something then," she said, while she smoothed her dress
+and tucked it about her feet as if disposing herself to sit for a long
+while--"tell me something, or read something aloud, as that time when
+you read to us out of 'Onegin.'"
+
+She grew suddenly thoughtful.
+
+  Where now in green boughs' shadow
+  The cross rests on my mother's grave--
+
+she said to herself in a low voice.
+
+"In Pushkin the verse is somewhat different," I ventured.[J]
+
+[Footnote J: In Pushkin it reads, "On my nurse's grave."]
+
+"I would have liked to be Pushkin's Tatiana," she continued, still lost
+in thought. "Tell me something," she cried suddenly, with vivacity.
+
+But I could find nothing to say. I looked at her as she sat there,
+gentle and peaceful, surrounded with the clear sunshine. Everything
+about us glowed with happiness; the sky, the earth, the water. It seemed
+as if the very air was bathed in a splendor.
+
+"Look, how beautiful!" I said, involuntarily lowering my voice.
+
+"Yes, beautiful," she answered as gently, without looking at me. "If we
+were both birds, we would fly high up there--would soar. We would sink
+deep into that blue. But we are no birds."
+
+"We may have wings though," I answered.
+
+"How?"
+
+"In time you will discover. There are feelings that swing us off from
+the earth. Don't fear; you will have wings."
+
+"Have you had them then?"
+
+"How shall I say? I believe that I have never flown till now."
+
+Assja fell again into thought. I bent toward her a little.
+
+"Can you waltz?" she asked unexpectedly.
+
+"Yes, I can," I answered, somewhat surprised.
+
+"Then come, come--I will ask my brother to play a waltz for us--we will
+imagine that we are flying, that our wings have grown."
+
+She ran to the house. I hastened after her, and in a few moments we were
+whirling round the narrow room to the music of a charming waltz. Assja
+danced exceedingly well, with lightness and skill. Something soft and
+feminine came suddenly into her childish, earnest face. For a long time
+afterward my hand felt the contact of her delicate form, for a long time
+I seemed to feel her close, quickened breathing, and to see before me
+the dark, fixed, half-closed eyes, and the animated pale face with its
+wreathing hair.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+This whole day passed so that one could not have wished it better. We
+were merry as children. Assja was very lovable and natural. It was a
+pleasure for Gagin to see her. It was late when I went away. In the
+middle of the Rhine I told the ferryman to leave the boat to the
+current. The old man drew in his oars and the majestic stream bore us
+onward. While I looked about me and listened, and called forgotten
+things to memory, I felt a sense of unrest in my heart. I turned my eyes
+to the heavens, but in the heavens was no rest; with its glittering host
+of stars it was in steady motion, revolving, trembling. I bent to the
+river, but there also in the dark, cool depths the stars were dancing
+and flickering; everywhere the restless spirit of life met me, and the
+restlessness in my own heart grew stronger. I leaned over the side of
+the boat. The murmuring of the breeze in my ears, the low splash of the
+water against the stern of the boat, excited me, and the freshness of
+the waves did not cool me. Somewhere on the shore a nightingale began
+her song, and this music worked upon me like a sweet poison. Tears
+filled my eyes, but not the tears of an indefinite rapture. What I
+experienced was not the vague feeling of boundless longing in which it
+seems as if the heart could embrace everything: no. In me arose a
+burning desire for happiness. Only as yet I did not dare call this
+happiness by its real name. But bliss--bliss to overflowing was what I
+longed for. The boat drifted further and further, and the old ferryman
+sat bowed over his oars and fast asleep.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+On my way to the Gagins the following day I did not ask myself if I was
+in love with Assja, but I thought of her continually; her destiny
+absorbed me, and I rejoiced over our unhoped-for meeting. I felt that I
+had known her only since yesterday. Until then she had always avoided
+me. And now that she had finally admitted me to her friendship, in what
+a bewitching light did her image appear to me; what a mysterious charm
+streamed from it to me.
+
+Hastily I sprang up the well-known path, straining my eyes for a glimpse
+of the little white house in the distance. I did not think of the
+future; I did not think even of the morrow; but my heart was light in
+me.
+
+Assja blushed as I entered the room. I observed that she had again
+dressed herself with great care, but the expression of her face did not
+correspond with her finery; it was melancholy. And I had come so happily
+disposed! I believe that she was inclined to run away in her usual
+fashion, but forcibly compelled herself to remain. I found Gagin in that
+peculiar mood of artistic enthusiasm which catches dilettanti by
+surprise whenever they imagine themselves about to take nature by storm,
+as they express it. He stood with hair disordered, and bedaubed with
+paint, before a fresh canvas, drawing madly. Furiously he nodded to me,
+stepped backward, half closed his eyes, and then precipitated himself
+again upon his work. I did not like to disturb him, and sat down beside
+Assja. Slowly her dark eyes turned on me.
+
+"You are not as you were yesterday," I ventured, after I had made some
+vain attempts to bring a smile to her lips.
+
+"No, I am not," she replied, with a slow, suppressed voice. "But that is
+nothing. I did not sleep well. I was thinking the whole night."
+
+"About what?"
+
+"Oh, I thought about many things. It has been my habit from childhood,
+even when I was living with my mother."
+
+She spoke this with a certain emphasis, and repeated it.
+
+"When I was living with my mother I--I wondered why no one can know
+beforehand what is to happen to him. Sometimes one sees a misfortune
+coming, and yet cannot turn away from it; and why cannot one always say
+boldly the truth? Then I thought that I do not know anything, and that I
+must learn. I must be educated over again. I have been very badly
+brought up. I do not know how to play the piano, I cannot draw, I sew
+dreadfully; I have no capacity; I must be very tiresome."
+
+"You are unjust to yourself," I answered. "You have read much, you are
+cultivated, and with your intellect----"
+
+"Have I an intellect?" she asked with such naive curiosity that I could
+not help laughing. She did not laugh.
+
+"Brother, have I an intellect?" she asked Gagin.
+
+He made her no answer, but continued his work, busily laying on his
+colors, and with one arm flourished in the air.
+
+"Sometimes I hardly know myself what goes through my head," Assja went
+on with the same thoughtful expression. "At certain times I am actually
+afraid of myself. Ah, I wish---- Is it really true that women ought not
+to read much?"
+
+"It is not necessary that they should read much, but----"
+
+"Will you tell me what to read? Will you tell me what to do? I will do
+everything that you tell me," she said, turning to me with an innocent
+confidence.
+
+I did not readily find any answer to make.
+
+"The time with me will not seem long to you?"
+
+"How can you think so!" I said.
+
+"Well, I thank you," cried Assja, "but I thought you might be _ennuye_."
+
+And her little hot hand grasped
+mine tightly.
+
+"N.!" cried Gagin at this moment, "isn't this background too dark?"
+
+I went over to him. Assja rose and left the room.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+An hour afterward she returned, stood in the doorway, and beckoned to
+me.
+
+"Listen," she said. "Would you be sorry if I died?"
+
+"What ideas you have to-day!" I exclaimed.
+
+"I imagine that I shall die soon. Sometimes it seems to me as if
+everything about me was taking leave of me. It is better to die than to
+live as---- Ah, don't look at me so. Indeed I am not a hypocrite. I
+shall be afraid of you again."
+
+"Have you ever been afraid of me?"
+
+"If I am unlike other people, the fault is not mine," she answered.
+"Already, you see, I cannot laugh any more."
+
+She was melancholy and depressed until evening. Something was passing in
+her that I could not understand. Her eyes often rested on me, and every
+time they did so I felt my heart chilled by their strange expression.
+She was quiet--and yet whenever I looked at her it seemed to me that I
+must beg her to be calm. Her appearance fascinated me; I found the
+greatest charm in her pale features, in her slow, aimless movements; but
+she fancied--I do not know why--that I was in ill humor.
+
+"Listen," she said to me a little while before my departure. "The
+thought haunts me that you think me frivolous. In future you must
+believe everything that I tell you, and you must be frank with me. I
+will always tell you the truth, I give you my word of honor."
+
+This "word of honor" made me laugh.
+
+"Oh, do not laugh," she broke in with eagerness, "or else I must say to
+you to-day what you said to me yesterday: 'Why do you laugh so much?'"
+And after a short silence she continued: "Do you remember, yesterday we
+were talking of wings? My wings are grown--but where shall I fly?"
+
+"What are you saying!" I replied. "To you all ways are open."
+
+Assja looked in my eyes long and keenly.
+
+"You have a bad opinion of me today," she said, and drew her eyebrows
+together.
+
+"I have a bad opinion? Of you!"
+
+"What is the matter with you two to-day?" Gagin interrupted me. "Shall I
+play a waltz for you as I did yesterday?"
+
+"No, no," exclaimed Assja, clasping her hands together--"not for the
+world to-day."
+
+"I won't insist--be easy."
+
+"Not for the world," she repeated, and her cheeks grew pale.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+Does she love me? I thought, as I came to the Rhine, whose waves rolled
+swiftly by.
+
+Does she love me? I asked myself when I awoke the next morning. I did
+not wish to look into my own heart. I felt that her image--the image of
+the "girl with the bold laugh"--had impressed itself upon my soul, and
+that I could not easily get rid of it. I went to L---- and remained there
+the whole day; but I had only one glimpse of Assja. She was not well;
+her head ached. She came down stairs for a few moments with her head
+bound up, her eyes half closed, pale and weak; she smiled feebly, said,
+"It will pass; it is nothing; everything passes, does it not?" and went
+away. I was depressed and had a painful sense of blankness, but I would
+not go home till very late, without, however, seeing her again.
+
+I spent the next day like a man walking in his sleep. I tried to work,
+but could not; then I tried to be absolutely idle, and to think of
+nothing; but neither did that succeed. I strolled about the town,
+returned home, and went out again.
+
+"Are you Mr. N.?" said suddenly the voice of a child behind me. I
+turned. A little boy was standing before me. "From Miss Annette," and
+handed me a note.
+
+I opened it, and recognized Assja's irregular and scrawling handwriting.
+"I must see you," she wrote. "Come to-day at four o'clock to the stone
+chapel on the way to the ruins. Something unexpected has happened. For
+heaven's sake, come. You shall know everything. Say to the bearer,
+'yes.'"
+
+"Any answer?" the boy asked me.
+
+"Say 'yes,'" I replied. The boy ran off.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+When I had reached my room I sat down and fell into deep thought. My
+heart beat forcibly. I read Assja's note several times over. I looked at
+the clock; it was not yet midday.
+
+The door opened: Gagin walked in.
+
+His face was gloomy. He seized my hand and shook it warmly. Apparently
+he was very much excited.
+
+"What is the matter?" I asked him.
+
+Gagin took a chair and drew it near mine. "Four days ago," he began with
+a forced smile, and stammering a little, "I amazed you with a
+confidence; and to-day I shall amaze you even more. With any other I
+probably should not--so plainly. But you are a man of honor; you're my
+friend, are you not? Well, here then; my sister Assja loves you."
+
+I started up from my chair.
+
+"You say--your sister----"
+
+"Yes, yes," Gagin interrupted me. "I tell you she has lost her senses
+and will make me lose mine, moreover. Happily she is not used to lying
+and has great trust in me. Oh, what a soul the girl has! But she will
+surely do herself a mischief."
+
+"You must be mistaken," I said.
+
+"No, I'm not. Yesterday, you know, she staid in bed nearly all day; she
+ate nothing: to be sure she complained of nothing. She never complains.
+I was not uneasy, although toward evening she grew feverish. But at two
+o'clock this morning our landlady roused me. 'Come to your sister,' said
+she. 'There is something wrong with her.' I hastened to Assja, and found
+her not yet undressed, very feverish, in tears: her head was burning
+hot, her teeth chattered. 'What's the matter?' I asked. 'Are you sick?'
+She threw herself upon my neck, and insisted that I should take her away
+from there as speedily as possible if I wished her to remain alive. I
+could make nothing of it--tried to pacify her. Her sobs increased, and
+suddenly among her sobs I heard--well, in one word, I discovered that
+she loves you. I assure you, neither of us, being reasonable men, can
+have the smallest idea of the impetuosity of her feelings and the
+incredible violence with which she expresses them; it is as sudden and
+as inevitable as a thunder storm. You are a delightful fellow," Gagin
+continued, "But I must confess that I do not see why she has fallen in
+love with you. She believes that she has loved you from the first moment
+she saw you. She was crying lately on that account, even when she was
+declaring that she loved nobody but me. She imagines that you despise
+her; she fancies that you know her origin. She asked me if I had told
+you the story of her life. I naturally denied it, but it is astonishing
+how keen she is. She wishes only one thing: to go away: immediately
+away. I staid with her till morning. She wrung a promise from me that we
+would leave here to-morrow, and then at last she fell asleep. I thought
+it over and over, and decided--to talk with you. Assja is right, in my
+opinion. It is best that we should both leave this place. I should have
+taken her away to-day if an idea that has got into my head didn't
+prevent it. Perhaps--who can tell?--my sister pleases you? If this
+should be the case, why should I take her away? So I determined to put
+shame aside. Besides, I have myself noticed--so I decided--from your own
+mouth to learn----" Poor Gagin became hopelessly confused. "Pray excuse
+me," he added. "I am inexperienced in such matters."
+
+I seized his hand.
+
+"You wish to know whether your sister pleases me? Yes, she pleases me,"
+I said in a steady voice. Gagin looked at me.
+
+"But," he said with an effort, "you don't want to marry her?"
+
+"How can I answer such a question? Think, yourself, how could I at this
+moment----"
+
+"I know, I know," Gagin interrupted me. "I have not the least right to
+expect an answer from you, and my question was improper--to the last
+degree. But what was I to do? One cannot play with fire. You do not know
+Assja. It would be possible for her to drown herself--to run away, to
+seek an interview with you. Any other girl would know how to conceal
+everything and to wait opportunities--but not she. This is her first
+experience. That is the worst of it! If you had seen her as she lay
+sobbing at my feet, you would share my anxiety."
+
+I became thoughtful. Gagin's expression, "seek an interview with you,"
+sank into my heart. It seemed abominable not to answer his confidence
+with confidence as free.
+
+"Yes," I said at last. "You are right. An hour ago I received a note
+from your sister. Here it is."
+
+Gagin took the note, read it hurriedly, and let his hands fall on his
+knees. The expression of his features was ludicrous enough, but I was in
+no mood for laughter.
+
+"You're a man of honor. I repeat it," he said. "But what is to be done
+now? What! She wishes to hurry away from here, yet she writes to you and
+reproaches herself for her own want of foresight. And when can she have
+written this? What does she want of you?"
+
+I succeeded in calming him, and we began to talk, as coolly as we could,
+about what we might have to do.
+
+At last we decided as follows: To guard against any desperate step on
+her part, I was to meet Assja at the appointed place, and have a fair
+explanation with her. Gagin pledged himself to remain at home and to
+avoid all appearance of knowing about the note. In the evening we agreed
+to meet again. "I have full confidence in you," said Gagin, and pressed
+my hand strongly. "Spare Assja and myself. But we shall leave
+to-morrow," he added as he rose, "for you will not marry Assja."
+
+"Give me time till evening," I said.
+
+"So be it. But you will not marry her."
+
+He went away. I threw myself on the sofa and shut my eyes. My head spun
+round like a top. Too many emotions came crowding upon me. Gagin's
+frankness annoyed me, and I was angry with Assja. Her love distressed
+and delighted me at once. I could not understand how she could betray
+herself to her brother. The necessity of a hasty, an instantaneous
+decision tormented me. "Marry a seventeen-year-old girl of such a
+disposition! How can I do it?" I said, getting up from my seat.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+I crossed the Rhine at the appointed hour, and the first face that met
+me on the opposite shore was that of the same boy who had come to me in
+the morning. He seemed to be waiting for me.
+
+"From Miss Annette," he said, and gave me another letter. Assja wrote to
+appoint another place for our meeting. In half an hour I was to come,
+not to the chapel, but to the house of Frau Luise, knock at the door,
+and ascend to the third story.
+
+"'Yes' again?" the boy asked me.
+
+"Yes," I answered, and walked along the bank of the river. There was not
+time to return to my house, and I had no inclination to stroll about the
+streets. Just beyond the limits of the village there was a little garden
+with a covered bowling alley and tables for beer drinkers. I entered it.
+A few middle-aged men were playing ninepins. The balls rolled noisily,
+and from time to time I caught expressions of applause. A pretty girl,
+with eyelids reddened by crying, brought me a glass of beer. I looked
+her in the face. She turned hastily away and disappeared.
+
+"Yes, yes," said a fat and ruddy-cheeked man who was sitting near me.
+"Our little Nancy is in great trouble to-day. Her lover is gone with the
+conscripts." I looked after her. She had retired to a corner and buried
+her face in her hands. One after another the tears trickled through her
+fingers. Some one called for beer. She brought it, and went back to her
+place. Her grief reacted upon me. I began to think of the interview
+before me; but I thought of it with anxiety, not with joy. I did not go
+light-hearted to the rendezvous. No joyful exchange of mutual love was
+before me; I had a promise to redeem, a hard duty to perform. "There is
+no jesting possible with her"--this expression of Gagin's pierced my
+soul like an arrow. And was not this the very happiness for which I had
+longed four days ago, in the little boat which the waves bore onward?
+Now it seemed to be possible--but I wavered, I thrust it from me; I must
+put it away from me. The very unexpectedness of it confused me. Assja
+herself, with her impetuosity, her past history, her education--this
+charming but singular being--let me confess it--inspired me with fear.
+For a long time I gave myself up to these conflicting feelings. The
+deferred tryst was at hand. "I cannot marry her," I decided at last,
+"and she shall not know that I love her."
+
+I rose, and after I had pressed a thaler in poor Nancy's hand (for which
+she did not even thank me) I went straight to Frau Luise's house.
+Already the shadow of dusk was in the air, and above the darkening
+streets a narrow streak, the reflection of the sunset, reddened in the
+sky. I knocked lightly at the door. It was opened instantly. I stepped
+across the threshold and found myself suddenly in darkness.
+
+"This way!" whispered an old woman's voice. "Some one is waiting for
+you."
+
+I advanced a couple of steps, stumbling. A skinny hand clutched mine.
+
+"Is it you, Frau Luise?" I asked.
+
+"Yes," the same voice answered. "Yes, it is I, my handsome young
+gentleman." The old woman led me up one steep staircase and stopped at
+the bottom of a second. By the dull light which came in through a little
+window I recognized the wrinkled visage of the burgomaster's widow. A
+hateful, sly smile distorted her shrunken lips and half closed the
+little bleared eyes. She pointed out a small door to me. I opened it
+with a hand that trembled, and shut it again behind me.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+It was nearly dark in the little room which I entered, and at first I
+did not discover Assja. Wrapped in a great cloak, she was sitting in a
+chair by the window, with her head averted and almost hidden, like a
+frightened bird. Her breath came quickly, and she was trembling in every
+limb. I felt an inexpressible pity for her. I approached her; she turned
+her head away still more.
+
+"Anna Nicolaevna!" I addressed her.
+
+She started suddenly as if she wished to look at me, but dared not. I
+took her hand. It was cold, and lay in mine like a dead thing.
+
+"I wished," Assja began, and tried to smile, but her pallid lips would
+not obey her--"I wanted--no, I cannot," she said, and was silent. And in
+truth her voice broke at every word.
+
+I sat down beside her.
+
+"Anna Nicolaevna!" I repeated, and again found nothing further to say.
+
+There was a silence. I still held her hand and looked at her. She was in
+the same constrained attitude as before: breathed heavily, and bit her
+under lip in order to keep back her tears. My eyes were fixed on her.
+There was something touchingly helpless in her shy immobility. It seemed
+as if she had just been able to reach the chair, and had fallen there.
+My heart overflowed.
+
+"Assja!" I whispered, almost inaudibly.
+
+Slowly she raised her eyes to mine. Oh, the glance of a woman who loves!
+Who shall describe it? Her eyes expressed entreaty, trust, questioning,
+surrender. I could not withstand their magic. A burning fire thrilled me
+like the prick of red-hot needles. I bent down and pressed my lips to
+her hand.
+
+A little hurried sound as of a broken sob fell on my ear, and I felt on
+my hair the tender touch of a hand that trembled like a leaf. I raised
+my head, and looked in her face. The expression of fear was gone from
+her features. Her glance swept past me into the room. Her lips were a
+little apart, her forehead white as marble, and the hair pushed off as
+if the wind had blown it back. I forgot everything; I drew her toward
+me; willingly her hand obeyed, and her whole body followed; the shawl
+slipped from her shoulders, and her head bowed silently to my breast and
+laid itself against my burning lips.
+
+"Yours!" she whispered faintly.
+
+Already my arm was about her, when suddenly, like a gleam of lightning,
+the thought of Gagin flashed through my brain. "What are we doing?" I
+cried, and moved roughly away. "Your brother knows all--he knows that we
+are here together."
+
+Assja sank into her chair.
+
+"Yes," I went on, while I rose and went over to the other side of the
+room. "Your brother knows everything. I had to tell him everything."
+
+"You had to?" she stammered unintelligibly. She could not come to
+herself, and only half comprehended me.
+
+"Yes, yes," I repeated with a certain bitterness, "and you are to blame
+for it--you alone. Why did you betray your secret? Who compelled you to
+tell your brother? He himself was with me to-day, and told me of your
+conversation with him."
+
+I avoided looking at Assja, and went up and down the room with great
+strides. "Now everything is lost--everything, everything."
+
+Assja was about to get up from her chair.
+
+"Oh, sit still," I cried; "sit still, I beg you. You have to do with a
+man of honor--yes, with a man of honor. But in Heaven's name what
+disturbed you so? Have you seen any change in me? But it was impossible
+for me to conceal it from your brother when he made me a visit to-day."
+
+"What am I saying?" I thought to myself, and the idea that I should be a
+base hypocrite, that Gagin knew of this meeting, that everything had
+been talked over, twisted and spoiled, maddened me.
+
+"I did not call my brother," Assja said, in a frightened, harsh voice.
+"He came of his own will."
+
+"Only see what you have done," I went on. "Now you want to go away."
+
+"Yes, I must go," she said in a whisper, "and I only asked you to come
+here that I might take leave of you."
+
+"And do you think," I retorted, "that it is easy for me to part from
+you?"
+
+"Why were you obliged to tell my brother?" repeated Assja with an
+expression of amazement.
+
+"I tell you, I could not do otherwise. If you had not betrayed
+yourself----"
+
+"I had locked myself into my chamber," she answered simply. "I did not
+know that my landlady had another key."
+
+This innocent speech from her mouth at such a moment nearly cost me my
+self-control. Even now I cannot think of it without emotion. Poor,
+honest, innocent child!
+
+"And so it is all over," I began again. "All. Now indeed we must part."
+I threw a stolen glance at Assja, whose face became more and scarlet.
+She was, I felt, alarmed and ashamed. I myself was greatly agitated, and
+spoke like one in a fever. "You did not leave the budding feeling time
+to unfold itself. You yourself have torn the bond between us. You had no
+confidence in me; you cherished suspicion against me."
+
+While I was speaking Assja bent forward more and more, then sank
+suddenly on her knees, let her head fall into her hands, and broke into
+sobs. I rushed to her and tried to raise her, but she resisted me. I
+cannot endure women's tears; when I see them I lose my self-possession
+at once.
+
+"Anna Nicolaevna, Assja!" I cried repeatedly. "I beg, I implore you!
+Stop, for God's sake!" I took her hand again.
+
+But to my extremest astonishment she sprang up suddenly, sped like a
+flash through the door, and vanished.
+
+When Frau Luise came in a few moments later, I still stood in the middle
+of the chamber as if thunderstruck. I could not believe that the
+interview had come to an end so abrupt, so unmeaning, when I myself had
+not said the hundredth part of what I meant to say, and was, besides,
+quite uncertain how it should finally terminate.
+
+"Is the young lady gone?" Frau Luise asked me, and raised her yellow
+eyebrows quite to the parting of her hair.
+
+I stared at her like an idiot, and went away.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+I left the village and made my way into the fields. Vexation, the
+keenest vexation possessed me. I overwhelmed myself with reproaches. How
+had it been possible for me to misunderstand the reason which had
+induced Assja to change our place of meeting? How could I have failed to
+know what it must have cost her to go to the old woman? Why had I not
+detained her! Alone with her in the dim, empty room I had found the
+strength, I had had the heart to drive her from me--even to reproach her
+for coming. Now her image followed me; I besought her pardon. The memory
+of that pale face, those shy, wet eyes, that hair flowing over the bowed
+back, the soft nestling of her head against my breast, consumed me like
+a fire. "Yours!" Her whisper still rang in my ears. "I have acted
+conscientiously," I tried to say to myself. Lies! What was the
+conclusion I truly wished? Am I in a condition to part with her? Can I
+lose her? "O fool! fool!" I repeated with bitterness.
+
+By this time the night had fallen. With hasty steps I sought the house
+where Assja lived.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+Gagin came to meet me.
+
+"Have you seen my sister?" he called to me, still at a distance.
+
+"Isn't she at home then?" I returned.
+
+"No."
+
+"She has not come back?"
+
+"No. Excuse me," Gagin went on. "I could not stand it. I went to the
+chapel in spite of our agreement; she was not there; she cannot have
+gone there."
+
+"She did not go to the chapel."
+
+"And you have not seen her?"
+
+I had to acknowledge that I had seen her.
+
+"Where?"
+
+"At Frau Luise's. We separated an hour ago," I added. "I believed
+certainly that she had come home."
+
+"Let us wait," said Gagin.
+
+We entered the house and sat down near each other. We were silent.
+Neither of us was without anxiety. We watched the door and listened. At
+last Gagin rose.
+
+"This is the end of everything," he cried. "I don't know if my heart is
+in my body. She will kill me yet, by God! Come, let us search for her."
+
+We went out. It had grown dark.
+
+"Of what did you talk with her?" asked Gagin as he crushed his hat down
+over his eyes.
+
+"I was with her five minutes at longest," I answered. "I spoke to her as
+we had decided."
+
+"Well," he said, "we would better go, each for himself; in that way we
+shall find her sooner. In any event, come back here in an hour."
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+Hastily I descended the hill and ran to the town. I made my way rapidly
+through all the streets, staring in all directions, took another glance
+at the windows of Frau Luise's house, reached the Rhine, and began to
+walk quickly along its bank. From time to time I met women, but Assja
+was nowhere to be seen. It was no longer vexation that I felt. A secret
+fear oppressed me, and not fear alone; no, remorse, the warmest pity.
+Love! yes, tenderest love! Wringing my hands, I called on Assja, into
+the gathering darkness of the night; softly at first, then louder and
+louder; a hundred times I repeated that I loved her. I swore never to
+part from her. I would have given everything in the world to hear her
+gentle voice again, to hold her cold hand, to see herself standing
+before me. So near had she been to me, in perfect trustfulness, in utter
+simplicity of heart and feeling had she come to me and laid her
+inexperienced youth in my hands; and I had not caught her to my heart; I
+had thrown away the bliss of seeing the shy face bloom into a joy, a
+rapture of peace--this thought drove me to madness.
+
+"Where can she be gone? What is become of her?" I called out, desperate
+with helpless fears. Suddenly something white glimmered near by on the
+shore. I knew the spot. An old half sunken cross with quaint inscription
+stood there, over the grave of a man drowned seventy years before. My
+heart stood still in my body. I ran to the cross. The white figure had
+disappeared. "Assja!" I shouted. My wild cry terrified me. No one made
+answer.
+
+I determined to see if Gagin had found her.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+As I hastened up the footpath I saw a light in Assja's chamber. It
+calmed me a little.
+
+I drew near the house. The door was fastened. I knocked. A window in the
+darkened first story was carefully raised, and Gagin's head showed
+itself.
+
+"Found?" I asked.
+
+"She is come back," he whispered to me. "She is in her chamber, and
+undressing. All is as it should be."
+
+"God be thanked!" I cried, in a transport of inexpressible joy. "God be
+thanked! Now all will be well. But you know we have something to say to
+each other."
+
+"Another time," he answered, softly closing the window--"another time.
+For this, good-by."
+
+"Till to-morrow then," I said. "Tomorrow everything will be clear."
+
+"Good-by," Gagin repeated, and the window was shut. I came near to
+knocking again. I wished to tell Gagin at once that I sought his
+sister's hand. But such a wooing, at such an hour! "Till to-morrow
+then," I thought. "To-morrow I shall be happy!"
+
+"To-morrow I shall be happy!" Happiness has no to-morrow; it has no
+yesterday; it knows of no past; it thinks of no future. The present
+belongs to it, and not even the present day--only the moment.
+
+I do not know how I reached S----. Not my feet brought me; not the boat
+carried me; I was borne over as if on broad, mighty wings. My way led me
+by a thicket in which a nightingale was singing. It seemed to me it sang
+of my love and my joy.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+The next morning, as I drew near the familiar little house, one
+circumstance seemed strange: all its windows were open, and the door as
+well. Scraps of paper lay strewn about the threshold, and behind the
+door a maid was visible with her broom.
+
+I stepped up to her.
+
+"They're off!" she volunteered, before I could ask her if the Gagins
+were at home.
+
+"Off!" I repeated. "What, gone? Where?"
+
+"They went at six o'clock this morning, and did not say where. But stop.
+You are surely Mr. N."
+
+"I am Mr. N."
+
+"There is a letter for you inside." She went in and returned with a
+letter. "Here it is, if you please."
+
+"But it isn't possible. How can it be?" I said. The maid stared at me
+stupidly, and began to sweep.
+
+I opened the letter. It was Gagin who wrote. From Assja not a line. He
+began with a hope that I would not be angry with him on account of his
+sudden departure. He felt assured that, after mature thought, I would
+agree to his decision. He had found no other way out of a situation
+which might easily become difficult, even dangerous. "Yesterday," he
+wrote, "as we were both waiting silently for Assja, I convinced myself
+fully that a separation was necessary. There are prejudices which I know
+how to respect. I understand that you cannot marry Assja. She has told
+me everything. For her own sake I am compelled to yield to her repeated,
+desperate prayers." In conclusion he expressed his regret that our
+acquaintance should be broken off so abruptly; wished me happiness;
+shook my hand affectionately; and assured me that it would be useless
+for me to try to find them.
+
+"What prejudices?" I cried out, as if he could hear me. "Nonsense! Who
+has given him the right to rob me of her?" I clutched my head with my
+hands.
+
+The maid began to call loudly for the landlady. Her terror rendered me
+my self control. One thought took possession of me--to find them, to
+find them at whatever cost. To submit to this stroke, to calmly accept
+it, was impossible. I learned from the landlady that they had taken a
+steamboat about six o'clock in the morning to go down the Rhine. I went
+to the office. There I was told that they had taken tickets for Cologne.
+I went home with the intention to pack at once and follow them. My way
+led me by Frau Luise's house. All at once I heard some one call me. I
+raised my head, and saw the Burgomaster's widow at the window of the
+very room where, the day before, I had met Assja. She summoned me with
+her disagreeable smile. I turned away, and would have gone on, but she
+called after me that something was there for me. This brought me to a
+standstill, and I entered the house. How shall I describe my feelings as
+I again beheld that little room?
+
+"To tell the truth," the old woman said to me, handing me a little note,
+"I was only to give you that if you came here of your own free will. But
+you are such a handsome young gentleman. Take it."
+
+I took the letter.
+
+The following words were hastily scrawled in pencil on a scrap of paper:
+
+"Farewell! We shall not see each other any more. It is not from pride
+that I go. No; I cannot do anything else. Yesterday, when I was crying
+before you, it only needed a word from you--only one single word. I
+should have staid. You did not speak it. It must be better so. Farewell,
+for always."
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+One word! Fool that I had been! This word! I had said it with tears over
+and over. I had scattered it to the wind. I had repeated it--how
+often--to the lonely fields; but to her I had not said it. I had not
+told her that I loved her. And now I must never say it. When I met her
+in that fatal room, I myself had no clear consciousness of my love.
+Perhaps I was not even yet awakened to it while I was sitting with her
+brother in helpless and fearful silence. A moment later it broke out
+with irresistible force as I shuddered at the possibility of harm to
+her, and began to seek her, to call her, but then it was already too
+late. "But that is impossible," you say. I do not know whether it is
+possible, but I know that it is true. Assja would not have left me if
+there had been a trace of coquetry in her, and if her position had not
+been a false one. She could not bear that which every other girl could
+have borne; but that I had not realized. My evil genius held my
+confession back from my lips, as I saw Gagin for the last time, at the
+dark window, and the last thread that I might have seized slipped from
+my fingers.
+
+On the same day I returned to L---- with my travelling trunk, and took
+passage for Cologne. I remember that, as the boat was under way, and I
+was taking leave in spirit of the streets and the places I should never
+lose from memory, I saw Nancy on the bank. She was sitting on a bench.
+Her face was pale, but not sorrowful, and a stalwart young peasant stood
+beside her, laughing and talking to her. On the other shore of the river
+the little Madonna looked out, sad as ever, from the green shadow of the
+old oak tree.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+I found myself on the Gagins' track in Cologne. I learned that they had
+started for London. Hastily I followed them; but in London all my
+inquiries were fruitless. For a long time I would not be discouraged,
+for a long time I kept up an obstinate search; but at last I was obliged
+to give up hope of finding them.
+
+And I never saw them again; I never saw Assja again. Of her brother I
+heard brief news sometimes; but she had for ever vanished from my sight.
+I do not know if she is yet living. Once, while travelling, years
+afterward, I caught a hasty glimpse of a woman in a railway carriage
+whose face reminded me vividly of features never to be forgotten, but I
+was deceived by a chance resemblance. Assja remained in my memory as I
+had known her in the fairest days of my life, and as I had last seen
+her, bowed over the arm of the low wooden chair.
+
+But I will confess that I did not grieve too long for her. Yes, I have
+even fancied that Fate had been kind in refusing to unite us. I consoled
+myself with the thought that I could not have been happy with such a
+wife. I was young, and the future--this short, fleeting life--seemed
+endless to me. Why should not that be again which once had been so
+sweet, and even better and more beautiful? I have known other women, but
+the feeling which Assja awakened in me--that deep and ardent
+tenderness--has never repeated itself.
+
+No! No eyes could compensate me for the loss of those that once were
+lifted, with such love, to mine. No heart has ever rested on my breast
+which could make my own beat with such delicious anguish! Condemned to
+the solitary existence of a man without a family tie, I bring my life to
+its gloomy end; but I guard still, as a sacred relic, her letters and
+the dried geranium sprig which she once tossed me from the window. There
+clings a faint fragrance to it even yet; but the hand that gave it, the
+hand that it was only once vouchsafed to me to kiss, has mouldered,
+perhaps, for many a year in the grave. And I--what has become of me?
+What remains to me of myself--of those happy and painful days--of those
+winged hopes and desires? So the slight fragrance of a feeble weed
+outlasts all the joys and all the sorrows of a man. Nay, it outlasts the
+man himself!
+
+
+
+
+TO BEETHOVEN.
+
+
+  Clasped in a too strict calyxing
+    Lay Music's bud o'er-long unblown,
+  Till thou, Beethoven, breathed her spring:
+    Then blushed the perfect rose of tone.
+
+  O loving Soul, thy song hath taught
+    All full-grown passion fast to flee
+  Where science drives all full-grown thought--
+    To unity, to unity.
+
+  For he whose ear with grave delight
+    Brings brave revealings from thine art
+  Oft hears thee calling through the night:
+   _In Love's large tune all tones have part._
+
+  Thy music hushes motherwise,
+    And motherwise to stillness sings
+  The slanders told by sickly eyes
+    On nature's healthy course of things.
+
+  It soothes my accusations sour
+    'Gainst frets that fray the restless soul:
+  The stain of death; the pain of power;
+    The lack of love 'twixt part and whole;
+
+  The yea-nay of Free-will and Fate,
+    Whereof both cannot be, yet are;
+  The praise a poet wins too late
+    Who starves from earth into a star;
+
+  The lies that serve great parties well,
+    While truths but give their Christs a cross
+  The loves that send warm souls to hell,
+    While cold-blood neuters live on loss;
+
+  Th' indifferent smile that nature's grace
+    On Jesus, Judas, pours alike;
+  Th' indifferent frown on nature's face
+    When luminous lightnings blindly strike;
+
+  The sailor praying on his knees
+    Along with him that's cursing God--
+  Whose wives and babes may starve or freeze,
+    Yet Nature will not stir a clod.
+
+  If winds of question blow from out
+    The large sea-caverns of thy notes,
+  They do but clear each cloud of doubt
+    That round a high-path'd purpose floats.
+
+  As: why one blind by nature's act
+    Still feels no law in mercy bend,
+  No pitfall from his feet retract,
+    No storm cry out, _Take shelter, friend!_
+
+  Or, Can the truth be best for them
+    That have not stomachs for its strength?
+  Or, Will the sap in Culture's stem
+    E'er reach life's furthest fibre-length?
+
+  How to know all, save knowingness;
+    To grasp, yet loosen, feeling's rein;
+  To sink no manhood in success;
+    To look with pleasure upon pain;
+
+  How, teased by small mixt social claims,
+    To lose no large simplicity;
+  How through all clear-seen crimes and shames
+    To move with manly purity;
+
+  How, justly, yet with loving eyes,
+    Pure art from cleverness to part;
+  To know the Clever good and wise,
+    Yet haunt the lonesome heights of Art.
+
+  O Psalmist of the weak, the strong,
+    O Troubadour of love and strife,
+  Co-Litanist of right and wrong,
+    Sole Hymner of the whole of life,
+
+  I know not how, I care not why,
+    Thy music brings this broil at ease,
+  And melts my passion's mortal cry
+    In satisfying symphonies.
+
+  Yea, it forgives me all my sins,
+    Fits Life to Love like rhyme to rhyme,
+  And tunes the task each day begins
+    By the last trumpet-note of Time.
+
+                   SIDNEY LANIER.
+
+
+
+
+THE DRAMATIC CANONS.
+
+
+At intervals of varying length, the journals of the Anglo-Saxon races
+are given to discussing the question whether the present age be one of
+decadence or progress in dramatic art. Most readers of "The Galaxy" have
+seen some phases of this discussion, which starts up afresh after the
+arrival of every noted foreign actor or the production of a new play. It
+is at present confined to the English-speaking nations, and prevails
+more in America than England just now.
+
+In France there is no lively interest in the theme. The French dramatic
+authors seem to be pretty well satisfied themselves, and to satisfy
+their audiences; their best claim to success being found in the fact
+that English and American dramatic authors of the present day almost
+invariably pilfer from them.
+
+In the course of this perennial discussion we constantly meet with
+appeals, on the part of those learned gentlemen, the theatrical critics,
+to the "dramatic canons." Such and such a play is said to offend against
+these "canons," and they are spoken of as something of which it is
+shameful to be ignorant, but at the same time with a vagueness of phrase
+betraying a similar vagueness of definition. It has seemed to us that an
+inquiry into the nature of these canons may not be out of place at the
+present time. This we propose to determine by consulting the practice of
+those authors of former times whose productions still hold the stage as
+"stock plays," so called, and of those modern authors still living whose
+plays are well known and famous, being still successfully acted. By such
+an analysis we may possibly settle something, especially if our inquiry
+shall call forth the actual experience of those living who have attained
+great success, whether as authors or adapters.
+
+The most obvious division of our subject is into tragedy, comedy,
+melodrama; but inasmuch as it is plain that the laws of success in all
+these walks of dramatic art must contain much in common, we have
+preferred a different division for analysis, leaving the kind of drama
+as a subdivision common to each part of the inquiry. A less obvious but
+equally just division will be as to the canons regulating the subject,
+the treatment, and the production of a successful drama, in whatever
+walk. We propose to ascertain our canons from the successful plays,
+still holding the stage, of Shakespeare, Sheridan, Knowles, Bulwer, Dion
+Boucicault, Tom Taylor, Augustin Daly, and Gilbert, together with such
+single plays, like "The Honeymoon," "Masks and Faces," and a few others,
+as are better known to the public than their authors, whose sole
+dramatic successes they were. Ephemeral successes, however great, cannot
+be safely taken as guides to a canon; but an established success of long
+standing, however repugnant to our tastes, must be examined, even if it
+take the form of the "Black Crook."
+
+The influence of the French drama on Anglo-Saxon art has been so decided
+that no safe estimates of canons can be made which do not take into
+account the works of Sardou, Dumas, and the minor French authors, whose
+name is legion. Fortunately for our subject, the French work on simple
+principles, and will not confuse us any more than the Greeks, whom they
+imitate. Let us try, then, to ascertain our canons in their order,
+beginning with the subject of the drama.
+
+What subjects are fit for dramatic treatment, and are there any entirely
+unfitted therefor?
+
+We find a pretty wide range in the successful dramas of modern time. In
+tragedy we have ancient history, as shown by "Coriolanus," "Julius
+Caesar," "Virginius," "Alexander the Great"; medieval history, in
+"Macbeth," "Richard III."; legendary stories, in "Lear," "Hamlet,"
+"Othello," "Romeo and Juliet." In comedy and melodrama we have an almost
+infinite variety, as much so as in novel writing. History, legend, and
+pure invention claim equal right in the field. We have "The Tempest,"
+"As You Like It," "Much Ado about Nothing," "Twelfth Night," "Henry
+IV.," "Henry V.," "Merchant of Venice," "The Wonder," "The Honeymoon,"
+"Masks and Faces," "London Assurance," "School for Scandal," "The
+Rivals," "The Lady of Lyons," "Richelieu," "Wild Oats," "The Colleen
+Bawn," "Arrah-na-Pogue," "The Shaughraun," "The Wife," "The Merry Wives
+of Windsor," "Under the Gaslight," "Don Caesar de Bazan," "American
+Cousin," "Rip Van Winkle," and the "Black Crook," all well known and
+successful plays, many perhaps being acted this very night all over the
+Union and England. We are not here examining the question of the
+goodness or badness of these plays, their merits or demerits: we are
+merely recognizing them as well known plays, constantly being acted, and
+always successful when well acted. Of all of these, the most constantly
+successful and most frequently acted are those of Shakespeare, Sheridan,
+and Bulwer, among the old plays, and those of Boucicault and Daly among
+living authors. Almost all playgoers are familiar with these works, and
+have seen them once or more; and every new aspirant for histrionic
+honors has one or more of the plays of the first three in his list of
+test characters. If he be a man and a tragedian, he must play Hamlet,
+Othello, Richard, Shylock, Macbeth, Richelieu, Claude Melnotte; if
+versatile, he must add Benedick, Charles Surface, Captain Absolute, and
+others to the list; if a lady, she must be tested in Portia, Ophelia,
+Pauline, Lady Teazle, Juliet--who knows what? Some very versatile ladies
+have tried all the light comedy characters, finishing with Lady Macbeth
+as an experiment. A short time ago there was quite an epidemic of Lady
+Macbeths, but that is over for the present. The stray sheep have
+returned to the fold. Let us return to them.
+
+What can we glean about the limitations of the dramatic subject from
+these successful plays? There is a limitation somewhere, and the first
+and most obvious is--time. A novelist can make the minute description of
+a life interesting. The most celebrated novels, such as "Robinson
+Crusoe," "Vicar of Wakefield," "David Copperfield," "Pendennis," "The
+Three Guardsmen," and others, have been just such books, imitations of
+real biographies. But a play is limited in length to five acts, or six
+at most, and its time of acting has a practical limit of three hours,
+with the inter-acts. Each act is further practically limited to five
+scenes, and it is but seldom that it stretches over three, while the
+latter average is never exceeded and seldom reached in a five-act play.
+No scene can properly contain more than a chapter of a novel, so we find
+ourselves practically limited to a story which can be told inside of
+fifteen chapters, the further inside the better. The French, who are
+much more artificial than the English in their dramatic canons, almost
+invariably limit their acts to a single scene, reducing their story
+thereby to only five chapters. A careful comparison of successful acting
+plays will generally end in bringing us to one obvious canon:
+
+     I. The subject of a drama must be capable of being fully
+     treated in fifteen chapters at most.
+
+The next limitation that we meet is in the nature of the story. A
+novelist can describe his hero and heroine and the scenes in which they
+move. He can depict them in motion, and describe a long journey in
+strange countries, trusting to picturesque scenery and incident to help
+him out. He can give us a sketch of their former life, and tell how they
+fared after they were happily married. The dramatist cannot do this. He
+must put his people down in a given place and leave them there till his
+scene is over, opening another scene or another act after a silent
+interval. He can, indeed, put a narrative of supposed events into the
+mouth of any of his characters, but such narratives are always dull and
+prosy, and to be avoided. Shakespeare uses them sometimes, but only when
+he cannot help himself, and always makes them short. The nearest
+instances that occur to us are, the description by Tressel to Henry VI.
+of the murder of Prince Edward, usually put now in the first act of
+"Richard III.," and the story of Oliver in "As You Like It." Sometimes a
+short story cannot be helped, but if told, it is always found to be of a
+collateral circumstance not directly leading to the catastrophe. It
+generally is brought in only to explain the presence of a character on
+the stage in the successful drama. Sometimes it happens otherwise. For
+instance, Coleman makes Mortimer, in the "Iron Chest," tell the whole
+mystery of his life in the form of a story instead of acting it. The
+result is a poor play, seldom acted, and generally to small audiences,
+being only valuable for some special features of which we shall speak
+later. It is not too much to ask for acceptance of this second canon
+regarding the subject:
+
+     II. The subject should be capable of being acted without the
+     aid of narrative.
+
+Is it still possible to limit the subject, and do novels and dramas
+differ still further? A third limitation will reveal itself, if we
+compare a typical drama, like "Much Ado About Nothing," or "Hamlet,"
+with a typical novel such as "David Copperfield" or "Robinson Crusoe."
+These latter depend for their interest on a series of adventures which
+befall a hero, sometimes entirely unconnected with each other, just as
+they happen to a man in real life, wherein he meets many and various
+scenes and persons. Neither possesses any sequence of events, depending
+on each other, such as pervades "Hamlet" and all acting plays. It is
+true that some few novelists, such as Wilkie Collins, write novels that
+depend on plot for their interest, but those typical novels which stand
+at the head of the list do not. The masterpieces of Scott, such as
+"Ivanhoe," "Talisman," "Old Mortality," are antiquarian studies, with
+very slight plots; Dickens and Thackeray's best novels have no plot
+worth mentioning; and where perfect plots are found, it is rare to find
+a lasting and enduring novel. In a play, on the other hand, a plot seems
+to be absolutely necessary to interest the spectator, the more intricate
+the better. We have all seen Shakespeare's plays so often, that we are
+apt to forget how intricate and involved many of his plots are; and when
+we consider that most of his plots were taken from very bad novels which
+have utterly perished from sight, while the plays still live, we begin
+to realize by the force of contrast another canon relating to the
+subject, which is this:
+
+     III. The subject must have a connected plot, in which one
+     event depends on the other.
+
+When we come to restrict the dramatic subject any further, we encounter
+more difficulty. Some might hold that the interest of the subject should
+depend on either love or death, but we are met at once by instances of
+plays in which the real interest is almost wholly political, such as
+"Henry V.," "Richard III.," or moral, such as "Lear." Referring once
+more to the effect of contrast with the novel for guidance, we find it
+very difficult to separate subjects proper for dramatic treatment any
+further than we have done, and almost impossible to lay down any
+absolute rule to which distinguished exceptions cannot be quoted. It
+might be said that the interest should turn on a single action, as it
+does in most plays, and especially in tragedies, but here we are met by
+"Much Ado About Nothing," "The Honeymoon," and other plays, where two or
+three plots progress side by side in perfect harmony. It seems,
+therefore, that any further absolute limitation of the abstract dramatic
+subject is impracticable, and we must be content with adding a mere
+recommendation for our fourth canon, much as follows:
+
+     IV. The interest of the plot generally turns on either love
+     or death, and generally hinges on a single action or
+     episode.
+
+When we come to speak of the _best_ subjects of dramatic writing, we are
+really approaching the domain of treatment, which is much wider and
+better defined. There it becomes a question for judgment and discretion,
+and much more certainty can be attained. Instead of considering all
+dramas, we narrow our search to the best only, judging them by the
+simple tests of success and frequency of acting, and finding what sort
+of subjects have been taken, and how they have been treated.
+
+Let us then come at once to the question, What is the best method of
+treating a given subject? Here we are again confronted by a variety of
+decisions, some of which seem to conflict with others, but which all
+agree in some common particulars. In the dramas written, down to the
+time of Boucicault, it seemed to be assumed as a matter of course that
+every first-class play, comedy or tragedy, must be written in five acts.
+All of Shakespeare's, Sheridan's, Knowles's, follow this old rule, as
+inflexible and artificial as some of the French canons, but with the
+same compensating advantage, that author and audience knew what was
+expected of each, and troubled themselves little over the structure of
+their dramas. Of late years another custom has taken the place of the
+five-act play, and many if not most of the modern dramas, while of the
+same length as the old ones, are divided into four and even three acts.
+Especially is this the case with comedies, and those nondescript plays
+that are variously called "melodramas," "dramas," and "domestic dramas."
+In the case of three-act plays, the number of scenes in each act is
+frequently five, sometimes six or seven, but the common modern practice
+restricts the last act, if possible, to a single scene. The number of
+scenes must of course depend on how many are absolutely necessary to
+develop the story. The French system of a single scene to each act has
+one great advantage. It permits of very much finer scenery being
+introduced than in a scene which is to be shifted, whether closed in or
+drawn aside. For instance, when the curtain comes down between each
+scene, the stage may be crowded with furniture, and those temporary
+erections called "set pieces." There will always be plenty of time to
+remove these between the acts, and noise of hammering is of no
+consequence when the curtain is down. If there is more than one scene in
+the act, all this is changed. Let us say there are only two scenes. One
+of these must be a full-depth scene, but all the furniture and set
+pieces are restricted to that part of the stage which lies behind the
+two "flats" which make the front scene. In that front scene furniture
+is inadmissible, without rudely disturbing the illusion. Let us suppose
+the front scene to be the first, and that any furniture is left on the
+stage. At the close of the scene the characters leave the stage, but
+there stands the furniture. The old way to get rid of it is simple.
+Enter a "supe" in livery, who picks up the one table and two chairs.
+Exit, amid the howls of the gods in the gallery, who shriek "Soup!
+soup!" as if they were suddenly stricken with hunger. Of course this
+spoils the illusion; and the better the scenery, the more perfect the
+other illusions, the easier they are disturbed by such incongruity.
+Sometimes the set pieces in front, if there are any, and the furniture,
+disappear through trap doors. In the large city theatres, such as those
+where spectacular pieces are constantly produced, this method of
+changing a scene is common, but such theatres themselves are not common,
+and it costs a great deal to run them on account of the number of
+workmen required. Our present inquiry is directed to the ordinary
+theatre, with its stock company, simple scenery, and few traps. Of this
+kind of theatre every town furnishes at least one sample. In such
+theatres at least it will always be best to keep furniture and set
+pieces out of the front scenes as much as possible, to preserve the
+illusion. If the front scene come after the full-depth one, the wisdom
+of this rule becomes still more apparent. A "supe" taking out furniture
+is not half as ludicrous as one bringing it in, and without a trap such
+a spectacle is unavoidable. The first canon offered by common sense is
+obviously sound:
+
+     V. Keep furniture and set pieces out of front scenes, if
+     possible.
+
+This rule being followed, will probably reduce the front scenes of a
+drama to the open air, woods, gardens, halls, streets, church porches,
+and similar places, where the attention will be concentrated on the
+actors, not the picture. The scope of a front scene is further
+restricted by the fact that you must bring your characters on and take
+them off, being deprived of that valuable ally to illusion, the
+"tableau." If the scene be the first of the act, a tableau may indeed be
+discovered, but it cannot close the scene. The most common place for a
+front scene is between a first and a third full-depth scene, to give
+time for the change that goes on behind. This change always makes a
+certain amount of noise, and the use of the front scene is to take off
+the attention of the audience. This intention must be hidden at any
+price, for, if perceived, it is fatal to the illusion. To hide it there
+is only one method always reliable, which is to rivet the attention of
+the audience on your characters, put in your best writing, and get up an
+excitement to cover the scene. If you have any brilliant dialogue, any
+passage of great emotion, any mystery to be revealed, put it in your
+front scene so that your design may not be suspected, but the scene
+appear natural. In brief the canon says:
+
+     VI. Put the best writing into the front scenes.
+
+The next question that arises as to the front scene relates to the
+character of incident that should be treated therein. It is obvious that
+it will not do to put in a crisis or a climax at such a place. At its
+best a front scene is only a makeshift, a preparation for the full
+scene. Its employment necessitates a loss of nearly three-quarters of
+the available space, and the tableau loses all its power, as developed
+in the full-depth scene. Its use is therefore a disagreeable necessity,
+so disagreeable that the French discard it entirely. Mechanically it is
+only an introduction to the full scene, and the more it partakes of the
+same character intellectually, the less will it weary the audience. The
+best preparation an audience can have for a scene is to make them eager
+therefor, and the best way to make them eager is to leave them in
+suspense, so that they are impatient for the movement of the flats that
+opens the next picture. A familiar instance of this employment of the
+front scene is found in the "Shaughraun," by Boucicault, before the
+Irish wake. The front scene represents the outside of a cottage with a
+door in the right flat; the peasants and other characters come in, talk
+about the wake, and enter the house one after another. In this scene it
+is also explained that the supposed corpse is not dead, but shamming, so
+that there is no tragic interest associated with the coming scene, but
+every one is anxious to see it. At last all the characters are off, the
+flats are drawn aside, and the celebrated Irish wake makes its
+appearance, taking the whole depth of the stage. The audience is
+satisfied, and the front scene has answered its end, as expressed in
+this canon:
+
+     VII. Front scenes ought to terminate in a suspense, which
+     the following scene will relieve.
+
+From this canon it follows that the front scene should deal only with
+explanatory and dependent matters, not the principal action of the
+drama. Sheridan, in "The Rivals" and the "School for Scandal," opens his
+first acts with front scenes, which introduce little of the matter of
+the story. I am inclined to think that he had a reason for this which
+still prevails, in the noise made by the audience. The beginning of the
+first act of most plays is distinguished in the auditorium by much
+shuffling of feet, opening of doors, taking of seats, especially by
+those who take the reserved seats in front of the house. All this
+disturbs the audience and makes them lose any fine points at the
+beginning of a play, unless the actors strain their voices unduly. In a
+front scene the flats immediately behind the actors serve as a sounding
+board for the voice, and reduce the volume of space to be filled by the
+speakers. The advantage gained in this way is balanced by the loss to
+the eye in losing the full-depth scene, wherefore this method of opening
+a play is not much in favor; but its use in the cases mentioned leads to
+a general canon as to the first act of a play, which also recommends
+itself to common sense:
+
+     VIII. Avoid fine points, and have plenty of action at the
+     beginning of the first act.
+
+This rule, however safe and sensible, is hampered by the necessities of
+the subject, to which everything must be subordinated. Let us see how
+the greatest masters of dramatic construction in modern times open their
+first acts. Of these Boucicault comes first, _facile princeps_. We will
+take the "Shaughraun" and "Flying Scud" for examples. Both open in a
+similar manner: in the first a young woman, in the second an old man,
+engaged in household work, singing away at nothing particular. A quiet
+picture not requiring close attention. To each, enter a disturber,
+somewhat disagreeable, arresting attention. A short squabble, then more
+characters coming on, one or more at a time, till the stage is pretty
+full, and no flagging of interest. The act does not drag. Compare this
+with Sardou's "Frou-Frou," "Fernande," and others. Sardou's first acts
+almost invariably drag, and the success does not come till afterward.
+One great difference is immediately perceptible. Sardou almost always
+brings on his people in pairs, and takes them off together, leaving the
+first act a succession of dualogues, with very little action. Now take
+"The Lady of Lyons," an old success, which nowhere drags. It opens with
+a picture, mother and daughter, doing nothing particular. Enter
+disagreeable Beauseant, who makes an offer and is rejected. A mild
+excitement at once arises, shut in by a front scene, short, lively, and
+spirited, where Glavis and Beauseant plot for revenge on Pauline. The
+scene ends in suspense, the actors having gone for Claude Melnotte, and
+the flats draw aside, revealing Melnotte's cottage and introducing the
+hero. By this time the audience is quiet and can take the fine points,
+so the third scene of the first act can be made exciting. There is thus
+no flagging of interest in either Bulwer or Boucicault. One does the
+thing in three scenes, the other in a single scene, but both employ the
+same means, which are thus expressed:
+
+     IX. Open the first act with a quiet picture, and bring in
+     the disturbing element at once. Having aroused attention,
+     bring on all your characters, and end with an excitement.
+     Avoid bringing on characters in pairs in this act.
+
+The first act of a play is always surrounded with difficulties. The
+interest of the audience has to be aroused, and all the characters
+brought in. Every part of it must hang together, and the attention must
+be excited more and more as the act progresses. This rule applies to the
+whole play likewise, but in the first act it is especially necessary,
+because there are so many things to divert attention, and the object of
+the act is to catch it. After a certain period it must flag, and the
+object of the dramatist must be to close his act before that dreadful
+period. The office of the first act is to prepare for the second;
+therefore it resembles the front scene in one important principle--it
+should end in suspense, and make the audience eager for the second act.
+Ending as it should in a full scene, it has the advantage over the front
+scene that a tableau is possible, and should be used. This tableau must
+be natural, and must come, as all tableaux come, out of a climax, but
+the climax must not be complete. It must leave the audience in suspense,
+and give them something to talk about in the inter-act. It must not be
+too long delayed, or the act will drag. These and various other reasons
+have led to this further canon, generally observed:
+
+     X. The first act should be the shortest, and as soon as a
+     partial climax is reached the curtain should come down. The
+     tableau and action should indicate suspense and preparation.
+
+This general rule indicates that the villain should be temporarily
+triumphant, if the play is to end in his discomfiture. If his first
+scheme fails in the first act, it is difficult to arouse interest in the
+nominally imperilled innocence which is left in danger. The structure
+becomes too artificial, and the dictum _ars est celare artem_ has been
+violated. No rule is so safe in dramatic writing, as also in acting. The
+end is--_illusion_.
+
+The rule of putting only suspensory and preparatory action in the first
+act is universally followed by Shakespeare and all other successful
+writers of plays, and is better settled than any other. The first act
+occupies the office of the first volume of a novel, explaining all the
+story. Very frequently, in the modern French drama especially, it
+assumes the form of a prologue, the action transpiring at an interval of
+several years, sometimes a whole generation, before the rest of the
+play. Only one instance of this character is found in Shakespeare, in
+the "Winter's Tale," where the action of the drama demands a prologue,
+but it is quite common in modern times, while another custom of
+Shakespeare's--that of dividing a historical play into two "parts"--has
+quite gone out of fashion. Its only modern example is that of Wagner's
+opera of the "Niebelungen Ring," which takes a week to get through. The
+Chinese and Japanese have a strong taste for this kind of play, but the
+practice has vanished from Anglo-Saxon civilization. It must be
+confessed that the employment of a prologue is rather a clumsy way of
+opening a play. It is too apt to be complete in itself, and to join
+clumsily to the rest of the drama. Besides this, it is hard to preserve
+the illusion that the small child who appears in the prologue has
+developed into the good-looking young person who is the heroine of the
+rest of the play. The "Sea of Ice" is a familiar instance of this sort
+of thing, where the same actress who personates the mother in the first
+act, and gets drowned, blossoms into a girl of eighteen in the second
+act, supposed to be her own daughter, last seen as a small child. In
+"Winter's Tale" there is nothing of this. The supposed Perdita of Act I.
+is merely a rag baby, and mother and child reappear together thereafter.
+In cases where the interval between prologue and play is limited to a
+year or two, this objection does not apply; in fact such prologues are
+quite common and useful. The fanciful and magic prologue to the "Marble
+Heart" is a very happy instance of conquest of the difficulties inherent
+in long separated prologues. The wrench is so sudden from a Greek
+sculptor to a French sculptor, from Athenian dresses to Parisian, that
+the main interest of the play lies in the identification of the ancient
+characters in the new dress, and the very fanciful absurdity of the plot
+lends it an air of reality essentially dramatic. The end is illusion,
+and illusion it is.
+
+There is little more clear and positive to be said about the first act.
+Study of the best models will reveal many points inherent in all, but no
+general rules so clear as those of brevity, action, and suspense. The
+practical limit of time is from fifteen to thirty minutes, the medium of
+twenty being common to mono-scenic acts, but on this no positive canon
+can be ascertained. It depends on the interest, and only this general
+rule is partially true, that no interest can carry an audience through a
+first act of forty-five minutes.
+
+We next come to the middle acts of the play, and here again general
+rules are hard to find. The number of acts varies so much that nothing
+positive can be said except as regards fixed lengths of drama. Treating
+all between the first and last acts as a whole, the first certain rule
+that meets us is this truism:
+
+     XI. From the second to the last act the interest must be
+     regularly increased, and each act must end in suspense,
+     leading to the next.
+
+Without an observance of this rule no play can ever be permanently
+successful as a general thing. There have been some poor plays with
+little interest, that have been bolstered up for a time by the force of
+a single character, portrayed by a peculiar actor, but in that case the
+play becomes a mere "star play," not amenable to the common rules, and
+useless out of the hands of the peculiar star who owns it. Of such are
+those multiform dramas, constantly varying, of which Mr. Sothern makes
+Lord Dundreary and Sam the central figures. The actor found he had made
+a lucky hit in his character, and he hired out the work of altering the
+play to any sort of literary hacks, so that he himself is really the
+creator of the plays, and when he dies they will die. In the "American
+Cousin," as it was first played, the interest lay entirely in Asa
+Trenchard, and the drama was very skilfully constructed, with ascending
+interest, to develop the ideal Yankee. In that part Jefferson made his
+first public hit. As soon as he found that Dundreary had stolen the play
+from its hero, Jefferson was wise enough to drop the contest between
+high comedy and broad farce, in which the latter must conquer when they
+come together. By taking up the ideal Dutchman (or rather German, as he
+makes it) in Rip Van Winkle, he created a part of which no one can
+deprive him, but which will probably die with him. No one else has
+succeeded with it to the same degree, and "Rip Van Winkle" stands as a
+model of a successful star play, wherein all the interest hangs on a
+single character.
+
+It is not the intention of this article to enter into the question of
+what constitutes the interest of such plays as "Rip Van Winkle." To do
+so would be to enter into a field where everything is uncertain, and
+where judgment is only an expression of individual liking. The main
+elements of the success appear to be humor and pathos, those twin
+brethren of genius whose identity and individuality are frequently so
+inextricable from each other. Both are drawn in broad, simple lights and
+shadows, so that the simplest audience can take the points, while the
+most cultivated members of that audience are studying the delicate
+touches of the actor. The contrast between--but we must refrain from the
+digression, however tempting. We are examining the dramatic canons, and
+the only settled canons about which there is little doubt are those
+relating to construction, not to sources of interest. In the kingdom of
+invention genius is supreme, and amenable to no rules. Each writer must
+work out his own salvation.
+
+Constructively it is obvious that the number of acts in a play must be
+regulated by the number of natural episodes in the action of its
+subject; and the perfection of its construction is tested by the
+liberties that can be taken with the acts and scenes. Of late years it
+has become the fashion to alter and remodel Shakespeare's and other old
+plays, by changing scenes and acts, cutting out and putting in. To an
+ardent worshipper of Shakespeare as read, these alterations frequently
+appear desecrations, but there is little question that they were and are
+improvements. The construction of many of Shakespeare's plays is
+decidedly faulty, and the nature of the improvements made by managers
+and actors is best illustrated when the original play unaltered is tried
+against the adaptation. The acting edition of "Richard III." is a
+familiar instance of this. Colley Cibber arranged it, he being a shrewd
+old actor and manager. His edition holds the stage today, and always
+succeeds, where the original "Richard" fails. In this matter of
+construction the chances are all in favor of the improvement of a work
+by a shrewd adapter. His attention is directed to only one thing, the
+successful presentation of the play. He is not an artist so much as a
+workman. He creates nothing, he only alters and improves. He may be
+perfectly incapable of creating an ideal character, while yet he can
+make its language more compact, can concentrate its action. Such an
+adapter is a skilful gardener. He cannot create the fruit tree, but he
+can prune it, and stimulate it to the perfection of fruit-bearing.
+
+The French stage has been a prolific nursery for these skilful workmen,
+and they have managed to extract splendid successes from their work. It
+is by comparing their English adaptations with a simple translation of
+the work that one best sees the improvement. For instance, there is the
+"Two Orphans," with a plot and incidents so repulsive in the original
+that its translation failed in London in spite of its weird power.
+Adapted and cleansed by a clever American author, it was the great
+success of last year in New York, and is now running a fresh career of
+success. Another instance that occurs is Sardou's "Fernande." It was
+altered and adapted in New York by Augustin Daly, and succeeded. Another
+version by Mr. Schoenberg, then of Wallack's, a straight translation,
+failed to secure a hearing in Boston, and ended in a lawsuit. This was
+not for want of merit in the translation, which was excellent, but, as
+appears from a comparison of the two plays, simply because Daly had
+improved on Sardou. The alterations were small, but masterly, and showed
+that Daly understood his business. In Sardou's play there appears a
+certain character, a young count (I forget his name) who comes in at the
+beginning of the first act, the close of the last. In the last he has
+some very important business to do, but he appears nowhere else. Of
+himself he does not aid the plot, but his last action is indispensable.
+In the original play also appears the Spanish Commander, a mere sketch
+in the first act. Daly suppressed the Count altogether, gave his best
+business to the Commander, and brought the latter in all through the
+play. The result was one good character instead of two poor ones, and
+indicates a canon which can be confirmed by many other instances. This
+canon shapes itself something like this:
+
+     XII. Concentrate the interest on few characters, and avoid
+     numerous unimportant parts.
+
+This canon rests on the necessities of a stock company, as those before
+rest on the nature of scenery and audiences. Every company has its
+leading man, leading lady, low comedians, old man and old woman, and
+those ordinary characters which all playgoers know by heart. If the play
+does not fit these, it will not succeed. The appreciation of this fact
+is one secret of the great success of Boucicault, Daly, and Lester
+Wallack as play writers. They know the exact capacity of their stages
+and companies from long experience, and write their plays to fit them.
+With even ordinary talents they would have a great advantage to start
+with over writers of greater genius, writing with vague ideas of what
+the manager wants. As managers they know exactly what they want, and
+what their companies can do. To a young writer the difficulties are all
+in the start, unless he be an actor, or so closely related to actors or
+managers as to be able to get behind the scenes at all times, and become
+familiar with scenery, traps, machinery, rehearsals, and all the details
+of the _business_ of theatricals. In former times, especially two
+centuries ago, the task of writing a good acting play was far easier
+than now. Scenery was simple, access behind the scenes easier--there was
+not such a wall of separation as now exists between actors and audience
+in a first-class city theatre. Even in those days, however, the writing
+of plays was confined chiefly to actors, managers, and those men of
+fashion who were given to haunting the green room. In the present day no
+amount of talent in a writer seems capable of overcoming the
+difficulties of technical construction of a drama. It is rare to find an
+author of acknowledged talent in other departments, especially in
+America, distinguished as a dramatist, and when one of them tries his
+hand at playwriting he fails, not from lack of good dialogue and
+literary finish, but solely from lack of knowledge of the business of
+the drama, the limitations of actors and scenery, and the technique of
+dramatic construction.
+
+There is more hope to the American stage in the future in the production
+of such undeniably original if mechanically faulty plays as Bret Harte
+has given us in the "Two Men of Sandy Bar," than in the rapid carpentry
+and skilful patchwork of hosts of French adaptations, whether they run
+ten or five hundred nights. Our Hartes and our yet unknown writers daily
+coming to the front, with freshness in their hearts and brains in their
+heads, lack only technique and the custom of the stage, which no one can
+give them but the managers and actors, who shall welcome them as
+apprentices to learn the trade. That these latter will find it to their
+advantage in the end to encourage a cordial alliance between the men of
+the quill and the men of the sock and buskin, follows from a simple
+calculation. If men of confessedly small talent and low character, such
+as the host of lesser playwrights who furnish pabulum for the outlying
+theatres, can write fair acting plays, simply by using mechanical
+knowledge and stolen materials, it is probable that men of original
+talent, already experienced writers in other branches of literature,
+will end by producing much better and fresher work, when they are
+offered and have enjoyed the same technical advantages.
+
+                   FREDERICK WHITTAKER.
+
+
+
+
+AN EVENING PARTY AMONG THE COSSACKS OF THE DON.
+
+
+Sunset on the Lower Don; a dim waste of gray, unending steppe, looking
+vaster and drearier than ever under the fast falling shadows of night; a
+red gleam far away to the west, falling luridly across the darkening sky
+and the ghostly prairie; a dead, grim silence, broken only by the plash
+and welter of our laboring steamer, or the shrill cry of some passing
+bird; an immense, crushing loneliness--the solitude not of a region
+whence life has died out, but of one where it has never existed. Even my
+three comrades, hardened as they are to all such influences, appear
+somewhat impressed by the scene.
+
+"Cheerful place, ain't it?" says Sinbad, the traveller; "and the whole
+of southern Russia is just the same style--multiply a billiard board by
+five million, and subtract the cushions!"
+
+"I wonder what the population of this district can be," muses Allfact,
+the statistician, looking disconsolately at his unfilled note-book.
+"It's almost impossible to get any reliable information in these parts.
+But I should think one man to three square miles must be about the
+proportion."
+
+"And not a feather of game in the whole shop!" growls Smoothbore, the
+sportsman, with an indignant glance at his pet double barrel. "It's as
+bad as that desert where the old sportsman committed suicide, leaving a
+letter beside him to the effect that he must be firing at something, and
+there being nothing else to shoot, he had shot himself!"
+
+"I'll give you one entry for your note-book, Allfact, my boy,"
+interrupted I; "there are _thirty-nine_ sand banks between this and
+Rostoff, at the head of the estuary; and the upper stream is all banks
+together--no navigation at all!"
+
+"I should think not, by Jove, with that kind of thing going on!" says
+Smoothbore, pointing to a solitary horseman who is coolly riding across
+our bows with an aggravating grin, his dog following. Our outraged
+captain has barely time to hurl at him some pithy suggestions respecting
+his portion in a future life, which had better not be quoted, when there
+comes a tremendous bump, and we are aground once more!
+
+Just at this moment two wild figures come dashing along the bank at full
+gallop, sitting so far forward as to be almost on the horse's
+neck--their hair tossing in the wind like a mane, their small black eyes
+gleaming savagely under the high sheepskin cap, their dark lean faces
+thrust forward like vultures scenting prey--shooting a sharp, hungry
+glance at us as they swoop by, in mute protest against the iron age
+which compels them to pass a party in distress without robbing it. These
+are the famous Cossacks of the Don, the best guerillas and the worst
+soldiers in the world; at once the laziest and most active of
+men--strangest of all the waifs stranded on the shore of modern
+civilization by the ebb of the middle ages--a nation of grown-up
+children, with all the virtues and all the vices of barbarism--simple,
+good-natured, thievish, pugnacious, hospitable, drunken savages.[K]
+
+[Footnote K: The Cossack is often erroneously classed by untravelled
+writers with the native Russian, from whom he is as distinct as the
+Circassian or the Tartar.]
+
+It takes us fully ten minutes to "poll off" again, and we have hardly
+done so when there comes a sound through the still air, like the moan of
+a distant sea; and athwart the last gleam of the sinking sun flits a
+cloud of wide-winged living things, shadowy, silent, unearthly, as a
+legion of ghosts. The wild fowl of the steppes are upon their annual
+migration, and for many minutes the living mass sweeps over us unbroken,
+orderly, and even as an army in battle array--a resemblance increased by
+the exertions of an active leader, who keeps darting back from his post
+at the head of the column, and trimming the ranks like an officer on
+parade.
+
+"I wonder how many birds there are in that column," says Allfact,
+instinctively feeling for his note-book, as if expecting some leading
+bird to volunteer the desired information.
+
+"Just like their mean tricks," mutters Smoothbore savagely. "First the
+game won't show at all, and then they come so thick that no fellow would
+be such a cad as to fire at 'em."
+
+Night comes on, and the foul-creeping mist begins to steam up from the
+low banks of greasy black mud, driving us perforce into the cabin, where
+we speedily fall asleep on the benches along the walls--for bed-places
+there are none. About midnight I begin to dream that I am a Christian
+martyr in the reign of Diocletian, "in the act" (as Paddy would, say) of
+being burned alive; and I awake to find it all but true. The fact is,
+the steward, with a thoroughly Russian love of overheating, has put wood
+enough into the stove to roast an ox; and there is nothing for it but to
+bolt on deck again, where we remain for the rest of the night.
+
+The panorama of the deck in the early morning forms an ethnological
+study hard to match, except perchance by the Yokohama packet steaming
+out of 'Frisco, or a "coolie boat" coming over from Demerara to
+Trinidad. Gaunt, aquiline Cossacks, and portly Germans, and bumfaced
+Tartars; red-capped, broad-visaged, phlegmatic Turks; slim, graceful
+Circassians, beautiful with all the sleek tiger-like beauty of their
+gladiator race; sallow, beetle-browed Russians, and black-robed,
+dark-eyed, melancholy Jews. We have _one_ Persian on board--a lanky,
+hatchet-faced rogue, half buried under a huge black sheepskin cap not
+unlike a tarred beehive. He smokes one half the day and sleeps the other
+half, and is only once betrayed into any show of emotion. This occurs at
+one of our halting places on the second day, when he comes on board
+again grinning and whooping like a madman, having succeeded (as I learn
+when his excitement subsides) in cheating a Cossack out of a halfpenny.
+
+But the appearance of the Russian _mujiks_ (peasants), and the manner in
+which they curl themselves up anywhere and anyhow, and sleep the sleep
+of the just with their heads in baskets and their feet in pools of dirty
+water, baffles all description. A painter would revel in the third-class
+deck about sunrise, when the miscellaneous hash of heads and limbs
+begins to animate itself, like a coil of snakes at the approach of
+spring--when mothers of families look anxiously about for the little
+waddling bundles of clothes that are already thrusting their round faces
+and beady black eyes into every place where they ought _not_ to go; and
+when brawny peasants, taking their neighbor's elbow out of their mouth,
+and their knee out of their neighbor's stomach, make three or four rapid
+dips, like a drinking duck, to any village church that may be in sight,
+and then fall to with unfailing zest to the huge black loaf which seems
+to be their only baggage. The whole thing is like a scene in a fairy
+tale:
+
+  There was an old captain that lived in a "screw."
+  He had so many passengers he didn't know what to do;
+  They'd got nary baggage but one loaf of bread.
+  They squatted round the funnel, and _that_ was their bed.
+
+As we move southward, our surroundings alter very perceptibly. A genial
+warmth and a rich summer blue replace the cold gray sky of the north;
+the banks begin to rise higher, and to clothe themselves with thick
+patches of bush, and even trees, instead of the coarse prairie grass;
+while at every halting place the little wooden jetty is heaped with
+perfect mounds of splendid grapes, sold at three cents per pound, by men
+in shirtsleeves--phenomena which, to us who are fresh from the furred
+wrappings and snow-blocked streets of Moscow, have a rather bewildering
+effect. But the most striking sight is (to our friend Allfact at least)
+the huge masses of coal which now fuel the steamer instead of the split
+logs of the Volga.
+
+"You see Russia's richer than her neighbors think," remark I. "On the
+Don alone there are 16,000 square miles of the finest anthracite, which
+leaves only two per cent. of ashes in burning."
+
+"Sixteen thousand square miles!" cries the statistician, whipping out
+his note-book. "Why on earth doesn't she use it, then, instead of
+destroying all that valuable timber?"
+
+"Well, you see, the railways are not completed yet; but when they are I
+can promise you that Russia will cut out England altogether in supplying
+Constantinople and the Levant."
+
+One by one the little villages slip by us: Alexandrosk, the first sign
+of which is the glitter of its gilded church-tower; Nikolaievo, with its
+black marble monument to the late Crown Prince; Konstantirovskoe, the
+birthplace of Prince Potemkin, brightest and most worthless of Russian
+favorites, who "lived like an emperor and died like a dog." They are all
+vary much of one pattern: substantial log-cabins, curiously painted,
+with little palisaded gardens in front, and red-shirted men sitting
+smoking at their doors, alternating with little wickerwork hovels daubed
+with mud, which look very much like hampers left behind by a monster
+picnic. Gangs of lean dogs (the pest of every Cossack village) are
+sniffing hungrily about, while scores of sturdy wenches, with
+berry-brown arms and feet, and sunburnt children clothed only in short
+pinafores lined with dirt, run to stare at the wonderful fire-breathing
+vessel as she comes gliding in.
+
+The sun is just dipping below the horizon as we reach Semi-Karakorskaya,
+and anchor for the night as usual; for to navigate the Lower Don in the
+dark is beyond the power of any pilot afloat. Here a Cossack
+official,[L] whose acquaintance we have made on board, proposes to us to
+land and be presented to the "Ataman," or chief of the tribe, with the
+certainty of seeing something worth looking at. The offer is joyfully
+accepted, and five minutes later we are scrambling up the steep,
+crumbling bank--in the course of which feat Allfact slips and rolls
+bodily down into the river.
+
+[Footnote L: The "Army of the Don," though now an integral part of
+Russia, is still officered to a great extent by its own people.]
+
+"There's something for the notebook at last, old boy!" cries Smoothbore
+spitefully. "Write down that you notice _a great falling off_ in this
+part of the country!"
+
+To find one's way into a Cossack village at night is almost as hopeless
+as the proverbial hunt for a needle in a haystack. The whole country
+seems to consist of a series of carefully dug pitfalls, into which we
+tumble one over the other, like fish out of a net; and our final
+approach to the village is only to be guessed by the yells of the dogs,
+which come about us with such zeal as to necessitate some vigorous
+cudgelling, and a shower of trenchant Russian oaths, in which our
+leader, thanks to his official character, seems to be quite a
+proficient. At length a few lights, which appear to start from the very
+ground under our feet, announce that we are among houses--underground
+ones, it is true, but houses still. Then the first glimmer of the rising
+moon lights up a row of log-cabins on either side, and the abyss of
+half-dried mud between them; and at last, following our leader, we enter
+one of those immeasurable courtyards in which the Cossack heart
+delights, pass through a low doorway, ascend a creaking, ladder-like
+stair, and, entering a small room at the head of it, find ourselves in
+the presence of two men--one old and decrepit, the other in the prime of
+life. The younger is the Ataman himself; the elder is his father, an old
+soldier of the first campaigns of Nicholas.
+
+Seen by the dim light of the lamp that stands on the rough-hewn table,
+the "interior" is sufficiently picturesque: the heavy crossbeams of the
+roof, the skins that cover the walls, intermingled with weapons of every
+kind, from the long Cossack lance to the light carabine which is fast
+superseding it; the fresh complexions and Western costume of the English
+party, contrasting strangely enough with the commanding figure and dark,
+handsome face of our host, in his picturesque native dress and high
+boots; the long white beard and vacant, wondering eyes of the ancient
+soldier; the picture of the Ataman's patron saint in the corner, with
+its little oil light burning before it, and a pious cockroach making a
+laborious pilgrimage around its gilt frame; and, through the narrow,
+loophole-like window, a glimpse of the great waste outside, lit by
+fitful gleams of moonlight.
+
+Hospitality has been a Cossack virtue since the day that Bogdan
+Khmelnitski gave meat from his own dish to the prisoners whom he was
+about to slaughter; and we have hardly time to exchange greetings with
+our new friends when we are set down to a plentiful meal of rye bread,
+the splendid grapes of the Don, and "nardek"--a rich syrup strained from
+the rind of the watermelon, not unlike molasses both in appearance and
+flavor.
+
+The "bread and salt" (as the Russians technically call it) being
+despatched, my three comrades, with the native official as interpreter,
+fasten upon the Ataman, while I devote myself to the old soldier, and
+begin to question him on the Danubian campaign of 1826. It is a sight to
+see how the worn old face lights up, and how the sunken eyes flash at
+the sound of the familiar name; and he plunges at once into his story.
+Seldom is it given to any man to hear such a tale as that to which I
+listen for the next half hour, told by one of its chief actors. Weary
+struggles through miles of hideous morass--men dropping from sheer
+exhaustion, with the wheels of the heavy artillery ploughing through
+their living flesh; vultures haunting the long march of death to tear
+the still quivering limbs of the fallen; soldiers, in the rage of
+hunger, feeding upon the corpses of their comrades--all the hideous
+details of that terrible campaign, told in a quiet, matter-of-course
+way, which makes them doubly horrible. My impromptu Xenophon is still in
+full swing when high above the clamor of tongues rises a sound from
+without, which nothing on earth can match save the war whoop of the
+Western Indian--the shrill, long-drawn "Hourra!" of the Cossack, which
+made many a veteran grenadier's stout heart grow chill within, as it
+came pealing over the endless snows of 1812. We rush headlong to the
+outer door, and this is what we see:
+
+In the centre of the courtyard, under the full splendor of the
+moonlight, stand some twenty tall, sinewy figures, in the high sheepskin
+cap, wide trousers, and huge knee-high boots of the Cossack irregular.
+They salute the Ataman as he appears by drawing their long knives and
+waving them in the air, again uttering their shrill war cry; and then
+begin to move in a kind of measured dance, advancing and retreating by
+turns, to the sound of a low, dirge-like chant. Presently the music
+grows quicker, the motion faster and fiercer; the dancers dart to and
+fro through each other's ranks, brandishing their weapons, turning,
+leaping, striking right and left--acting in terribly lifelike pantomime
+the fury of a deadly battle. Seen in the heart of this great solitude,
+with the cold moon looking silently down upon it, this whirl of wild
+figures, and gleaming weapons, and dark, fierce faces, all eyes and
+teeth, has a very grim effect; and even Sinbad's seasoned nerves quiver
+slightly as the dancers at length join hands, and, whirling round like
+madmen, burst forth with the deep, stern chorus with which their
+ancestors swept the coasts of the Black Sea five hundred years ago:
+
+  Our horses have trodden the steep Kavkaz (Caucasus);
+  Of the Krim (Crimea) we have taken our share;
+  And the way that we went is dabbled with blood,
+  To show that _we_ have been there!
+
+The volume of sound (stern and savage to the last degree, but yet full
+of a weird, unearthly melody) fills the whole air like the rush of a
+storm; and now, the Cossack blood being thoroughly heated, the play
+suddenly turns to earnest. The nearest dancer, a tall, handsome lad with
+a heavy black moustache, suddenly fells his next neighbor with a
+tremendous blow between the eyes, which Heenan himself might have
+applauded. The next moment the conqueror falls in his turn before a
+crushing right-hander from his _vis-a-vis_; and in an instant the whole
+band are at it hammer and tongs--apparently without "sides," order, or
+object of any kind, except the mere pleasure of thrashing and being
+thrashed. There is little science among the combatants, who deliver
+their blows in a slashing, round-hand style that would agonize a
+professional "bruiser"; but every blow dealt by those brawny arms leaves
+its mark, and the whole company speedily look as if they had been taking
+part in an election.
+
+"By Jove!" says Smoothbore, with considerable feeling; "it does one good
+to see a real good fight so far away from home!"
+
+"You'd see plenty such in Central Russia," answer I. "Two villages often
+turn out to fight, just as we'd turn out to play cricket.[M] They call
+it 'Koolatchni boi.'"
+
+[Footnote M: I remember one such battle near Moscow, in October, 1809,
+in which more than a thousand men took part.]
+
+But Sinbad, being a man of humane temper, thinks that the sport has gone
+far enough, and appeals to the Ataman to stop it. One word from the
+all-powerful chief suffices to part the combatants; and, a messenger
+being despatched for some corn-whiskey, they are speedily chinking
+glasses as merrily as if nothing had happened. I am standing
+unsuspectingly in their midst when suddenly the whole company rush upon
+me as one man, and I find myself lifted in their arms and tossed bodily
+into the air six times in succession, amid yells of applause, to which
+all the previous uproar is as nothing.[N] Next they pounce upon Allfact,
+who, in his thirst for new ideas, submits readily enough; but Sinbad and
+Smoothbore take to their heels at once, and are with difficulty pacified
+by our host and his venerable father, who are looking on from the
+doorway.
+
+[Footnote N: This singular compliment (a universal one among the
+Cossacks) is probably a relic of the old custom of raising their
+"Kosbevoi," or head chief, on a shield when elected.]
+
+This closes the entertainment, for it is now nearly midnight, and we are
+to start again at sunrise. We take a cordial leave of our new friends,
+and depart, laden with bunches of grapes which are somewhat difficult to
+carry conveniently.
+
+"I wonder why they tossed me up like that?" muses Allfact, as we grope
+our way down to the shore.
+
+"Why!" answers Smoothbore. "Why, to take a _rise_ out of you, to be
+sure."
+
+                   DAVID KER.
+
+
+
+
+DRIFT-WOOD.
+
+
+THE WILLS OF THE TRIUMVIRATE.
+
+"Nothing so generally strikes the imagination and engages the affections
+of mankind," says Sir William Blackstone, "as the right of property."
+Sure it is, that society palpitates whenever a great estate passes to a
+new owner, disclosing its vastness in the act of transit. Perhaps for
+this fact we may find another reason in Blackstone, where he says:
+"There is no foundation in nature why the son should have the right to
+exclude his fellow creatures from a determinate spot of ground because
+his father had done so before him, or why the occupier of a particular
+field or of a jewel, when lying on his death-bed, and no longer able to
+maintain possession, should be entitled to tell the rest of the world
+which of them should enjoy it after him." But since the law, to reward
+thrift and avoid strife, has established this artificial right of
+disposal, the disparities of fortune, on these signal occasions of
+transfer, always set us to pondering.
+
+Vanderbilt, last of the three monstrously rich men of New York who have
+died within three years, furnishes in his will the now tripled evidence
+of a new ambition in American Croesuses--an aim to keep their fortunes
+rolling and greatening for several generations in the exact paths where
+they were started. Supposing that Mr. Stewart's bequest to Judge Hilton
+was designed to purchase his entrance into the dry goods firm, we should
+have a common aim of the triumvirate, since each has put a chosen man
+into his shoes, as if with the hope to live on in this successor, like
+Mordecai in "Deronda." The master passion of acquisition is thus
+striving to outwit death. Astor and Vanderbilt found their second selves
+in favorite sons; childless Stewart could only take his confidential
+agent. Each conceivably died in the hope that a successor so carefully
+selected and endowed would in turn hand over the bulk of his gigantic
+wealth, in its original channel, to some steward chosen with equal care;
+so that ages hence the Astor fortune still in houses, the Stewart
+fortune still in trade, the Vanderbilt fortune still in railways, might
+flourish under successive guardians, faithful to their tradition and
+training. The John Jacob, the Cornelius, the Alexander of the past has
+been blessed with the vision of his millions multiplying as he would
+have them multiply, and haply has dreamed of accomplishing by his own
+foresight an entail which he could not create under the laws.
+
+If this be the new tendency that American life is called upon to face,
+it is at least not hard to account for. The thirst for posthumous fame
+which inflamed old heroes and poets rages still in days when greatness
+collects rents, sells dry goods, and corners stocks. And after all, what
+is there stranger in struggling to prolong after death one's imperious
+railroad sway, his landlord laws, his massive trade monopolies, than in
+slaving out one's childless old age in the hard rut of traffic, in order
+to turn five surplus millions into ten?
+
+To Dives, after a life of accretion, the prospect of frittering his
+wealth into fragments must be painful. Heirs will waste what he toiled
+to win. That fortune which grew so great while he rolled it on turns
+out, after all, but a snowball, to be broken apart and trampled by
+careless spoilers when he is gone. There are, to be sure, hard-headed
+philosophers who contemplate coolly the dispersion of their hoard. I
+remember from boyhood that when somebody rallied Squire Anthony Briggs,
+of Milldale, on his veteran vigilance in money-getting, saying, "Your
+children will spend as fast as you have made it," stanch old Tony
+answered: "If they get as much pleasure from spending my money as I have
+in making it, they are welcome." But with prodigious fortunes like
+Astor's and Vanderbilt's, the instinct of accumulation which increases
+what is already preposterously great may struggle to keep it
+accumulating after death. When Bishop Timothy sonorously declares from
+the desk that we brought nothing into this world, neither may we carry
+anything out, Croesus in the pew below takes this as a very solemn
+warning to him--warning to secure betimes the utmost posthumous control
+of his money that the laws allow. Dombey's soul is not wrapt up in the
+miser's clutching love of money, but in the money-getting institution of
+Dombey & Son; and not only in the Dombey & Son of to-day, but the
+Dombeys & Sons of centuries hence. To found a dry-goods dynasty, a line
+of railway kings, a house of landed Astors, its owner puts the bulk of
+his vast wealth into a single hand--in that _exegi monumentum_ spirit
+common to bard and broker, soldier and salesman. _Non omnis moriar,
+multaque pars mei vitabit Libitinam_, the millionaire may then
+triumphantly say.
+
+On the other hand, the Cornells and Licks of our day, wonderfully
+numerous, have made America renowned by their public uses of wealth,
+either in lifetime gift or testamentary bequest; and this devotion of
+private fortune to the common weal is fostered by the observed
+independence of each generation in pursuing its own mode of life without
+regard to the customs of ancestors.
+
+But the testamentary aim of the richest trio that ever lived in America
+was to escape this national trait of beneficence; to substitute the
+perpetuity of one's business monopoly or family trade; to struggle
+against any serious division of the enormous fortune, even at the cost
+of preferences among equal children; to spare not one dollar out of
+fifty millions for the public; to heap the gigantic hoard, save what for
+other legatees propriety demands, on some "chip of the old block" or
+business "bird of a feather." This purpose also influenced their lives.
+"Magnificence is the decency of the rich," but little magnificence
+marked the lives of those three rich New Yorkers. Powerful, self-willed,
+all-conquering they were, but hardly magnificent. Unprecedented and
+incredible thing in America, neither Stewart nor Vanderbilt left one
+poor dollar of his fifty or sixty millions to any municipal or
+charitable purpose. Filled with his posthumous business plans, neither
+cared for New York as Girard cared for Philadelphia and Hopkins for
+Baltimore. True, each of the Gotham triumvirate endowed in life an
+institution of public beneficence--Astor his library, Vanderbilt his
+college away in Tennessee, Stewart his hotel for women. It is further
+true that men who, like Vanderbilt and Stewart, give sure pay for many
+years to thousands of employees, are benefactors. But to do this, and
+then to leave besides some testamentary memorial to the city where one
+has heaped up his wealth, has hitherto been the aim of the rich men of
+America. Girard not only founded his orphan college, ornament and pride
+of Philadelphia, but left great sums to beautify and improve the city by
+removing wooden houses and widening thoroughfares. Stewart, scrupulously
+just in business dealings, deserves public gratitude as the apostle of
+"one price," and as the cash-selling reformer who protected prudent folk
+from the higher prices caused in trade by the allowances for bad debts;
+but, this apart, in the will of Stewart and the will of Stephen Girard,
+what a world-wide difference of public spirit! That one act of grace
+that might have tempered his forgetfulness toward New York--the gift of
+his picture gallery for public uses--even this act Stewart did not do.
+The contrast is startling between the bequests of an Astor, a Stewart, a
+Vanderbilt, and those of a Girard, a Peabody, and a Johns Hopkins.
+
+
+THE DUEL AND THE NEWSPAPERS.
+
+Barring the two services, doctors used, I fancy, to be the great
+duellists among professional men. And still, ever and anon, some
+irascible Sawbones rushes to the ten-paced turf, where, though he be
+spectacled or pot-bellied, those disadvantages rarely calm his
+blood-letting rage. But editors are the modern magnates of the code; not
+because they thirst for gore, but only because the guild of M. Paul de
+Cassagnac is professionally liable to give offence, and hence to be
+dragged to the field of glory and to die with boots on. I once saw a
+statement that the famous fighting editor of the "Pays" had taken part
+in eighteen duels, "besides having a man to kill next month"; and he was
+greatly coveted by a Missouri paper that had been losing its writers in
+street encounters too rapidly for convenience.
+
+The newspapers have emptied their vials of wrath or ridicule upon Mr.
+Bennett for his duel with young May: now in horror over his resort to
+the measured ground, and anon in scorn at the bloodless result.
+Nevertheless, had Mr. Bennett failed to fight that duel, he and his
+newspaper would have been butts during his lifetime for the shafts of
+half the editorial archers of the land. A noble refusal to resent the
+public insult would have been misrepresented with ingenious malice, in
+the hope to disgrace him and ruin his property. In answer to "Herald"
+arguments on disputed questions, the unresented cowhiding of its owner
+would have been paraded by rival sheets. Rarely in business or political
+controversy would they have failed to taunt him with cowardice. Life
+would have been a burden to him; and if the consciousness of having
+refrained in that instance from breaking the laws of man and of God
+could have saved him from desperation, it would not have been for lack
+of the sneers of newspapers continually fomenting and reviving public
+contempt against him. Sometimes a man is goaded by such stings into a
+second duel, after having been able to resist fighting the first; or
+else he puts an end to a life which has been made unendurable through
+constant imputations. Let those who doubt what would have occurred
+recall the instantaneous newspaper sarcasms, after the street assault,
+on the question "whether a man is answerable for hereditary tendencies
+to receive a public cowhiding without resenting it." The satirist who
+eggs on a duel in that fashion feels justified afterward in invoking
+public contempt for the man that fights it.
+
+What is the upshot of this comment? That duelling is ever commendable?
+Most emphatically no. Duelling, branded by the law, is also now so
+branded in public opinion that it would be waste of words to
+anathematize it. But what is suggested by the venom of some of the press
+writers is that they have never put themselves into the place of a man
+who, with the average sensitiveness to personal affront, and with
+thorough-going physical courage, had also a clear perception of the
+remorselessness of his journalistic rivals. From some of them he could
+expect no more mercy than from the red gentry of the plains. Let those
+who are sending their arrows into Mr. Bennett ask themselves whether
+they are wholly sure that in his position, with his family history
+behind them, they would have done otherwise after the street assault. At
+any rate, neither duelling nor that cowardly substitute, shooting down
+an unprepared man who has done some wrong, will be driven out of fashion
+by bringing newspaper taunts of "showing the white feather" against
+those who fail to resort to such lawlessness.
+
+
+THE INDUSTRY OF INTERVIEWERS.
+
+It was a quarrel totally apart from newspaper affairs, as we all know,
+that carried the editor of the "Herald" to the field of honor at
+Marydell. Indeed, Mr. Bennett's conduct before and after the duel was so
+"unjournalistic" that the Philadelphia reporters are said to have sent
+him a letter, while he tarried in that city, protesting that a gentleman
+so well aware of the "usages of the profession" ought to submit to be
+interviewed. But the physician does not always swallow his own drugs.
+Mr. Bennett, on receiving the missive, remarked that it was "all right,"
+and remained uninterviewed, thus setting an awful example to the
+community.
+
+A public attack by a man armed with a cowhide upon another not so armed
+is hardly a feat that excites admiration, while the affair at Marydell
+was in no sense such reparation for the previous insult as in common
+parlance to be thought "satisfaction." But one feature of the
+Bennett-May quarrel not unpleasant to read was the outwitting of the
+news-gatherers and their resulting desperation. "Had the duel taken
+place on the Canada border the parties to it could hardly have evaded
+our extensive arrangements to report it," said one journal after the
+affair, in a somewhat lugubrious and yet self-vindicating strain. The
+promptness of Mr. Bennett's movements, and his skill in throwing the
+reporters off the scent, lest the duel might be stopped, were hard blows
+to the newspapers. But theirs was no dishonorable defeat--it was one of
+the fraternity that beat them. Even the device of giving imaginary
+accounts of the battle in order to draw out the true one was
+unsuccessful until Mr. Bennett had sailed for Europe.
+
+On the May side there was a trifling gain for the interviewers, but not
+much. Dr. May, senior, seems to have been condemned to a copious
+acquaintance with journalists; for, though in knowing Mr. Bennett he had
+already perhaps known one too many of them, his house appears to have
+been overrun, after the Fifth avenue assault, with the fraternity, who,
+in the "strict discharge of professional duty," swarmed multitudinously
+upon him. At least, one morning the "Tribune" said:
+
+    The May mansion in West Nineteenth street was a sealed book
+    to reporters yesterday, and the door was promptly shut in
+    the face of those who were recognized as newspaper inquirers
+    by the negro in charge. Dr. May has made no secret of his
+    anger at the reports, too accurately drawn, of his
+    appearance of anxiety and alarm when expecting bad news from
+    his son, and will have nothing to say to representatives of
+    the press.
+
+Here, it will be observed, is a claim to something professional in the
+very aspect of the "newspaper inquirer" whereby the sable guardian of
+the portal may know him well enough to take the responsibility of
+slamming the door in his face. Again, we observe here a tribute to the
+interviewer's skill; for, prior to the duel, Dr. May, though politely
+presenting himself, could give no news; but his lynx-eyed visitors had
+gathered from the very attitude, tone, and look of their host the
+material for an item as picturesque as any tidings. So the besieged
+householder, as we have seen, took refuge in total eclipse, leaving only
+a "negro in charge" to determine the status of his callers.
+
+Yet the most discerning negro in charge sometimes proves a weak barrier
+against invasion. The trained interviewer can take a protean shape, and
+introduce himself under disguise of the most sympathetic friendship or
+the most urgent business. Sometimes he is the picture of respectful woe,
+or anon it is he who has a favor to confer by bringing news of pressing
+importance. Close and private indeed must be that conference whose
+secrets he cannot worm out. He gave to the public the "family scene of
+astonishment at the opening of the Vanderbilt will" the very morning
+after the affair occurred. Should moral borings fail, he can resort to
+material ones, as when, a few months since, he cut a hole in a hotel
+floor, to apply his ear to, over the room where a Congressional
+committee sat in secret session, being detected only by the unlucky
+plaster falling among the astonished statesmen below. He is the animal
+of the fable, who, having once "got in," cannot be got out until ready
+to go. In our war times some commanders looked upon him, coming to camp
+in never so fair a guise, with the misgivings of the hapless Trojan
+regarding the wooden horse; and it is said of Baron Von Werther that he
+"treats as an enemy all newspaper correspondents, even though they have
+the best personal introductions to him." Such fears of warriors and
+diplomats, who quail before no ordinary foes, are tributes to the
+interviewer's prowess.
+
+It must go hard but he gets something from the sullenest and most
+refractory customer. We have seen his harvests at the May mansion, when
+baffled by real ignorance on the part of his victim; hence we may guess
+whether he is to be checked by a mere wilful purpose to conceal, or the
+whim to keep a matter private. At very worst, his own description of his
+rebuff will be humorous and piquant. Often do we have an entertaining
+half column beginning, "Our reporter waited upon," etc., and, after
+descriptions of household ornaments, personal dress, and so on, ending
+in this way:
+
+    _Ques._--You say, then, that you can give me no information
+     whatever?
+
+    _Ans._ (_snappishly_)--As I have already told you a dozen
+     times, no information whatever.
+
+    _Ques._--And that is positive and final?
+
+    _Ans._ (_savagely_)--Positive and final.
+
+    Here our reporter took his leave, wishing the gentleman a
+    very good morning, to which politeness of our reporter the
+    uncommunicative gentleman only distantly bowed.
+
+But these defeats form a rare experience of the interviewer, who even
+then continues to pluck victory (that is to say, an item) out of their
+jaws. His ordinary career is a round of triumph which has made him a
+leading figure in the portrait gallery of modern society. I wonder that
+Mr. Daly does not introduce it at length into some of his comedies of
+American life. Drawn faithfully, and personated by Mr. James Lewis, the
+dramatized interviewer would be a wealth of pleasure.
+
+                   PHILIP QUILIBET.
+
+
+
+
+SCIENTIFIC MISCELLANY.
+
+
+THE FORCE OF CRYSTALLIZATION.
+
+The old story of a bombshell filled with water and left to burst by
+freezing, upon the plains of Abraham, near Quebec, may now be superseded
+as an illustration of the power of frost. The men at a Western dockyard
+were surprised to find one morning that the paddle-wheel of a steamer in
+the dry dock had fallen from the shaft, and was broken in two pieces.
+The hub of the wheel, about fifteen inches long, was slightly hollowed
+out at the centre to admit of its being slipped on without difficulty
+over any uneven portion of the shaft-end. This recess was full of water
+when the boat was placed in the dock, and the keying had been so close
+that the liquid--about a pailful--was exposed to the frost. As the water
+congealed under the sharp wintry atmosphere of the night it expanded and
+burst asunder the five-inch walls of iron, and the broken wheel fell
+with a crash.
+
+
+FROZEN NITRO-GLYCERINE.
+
+Two accidents, both fatal, have lately occurred from the use of
+nitro-glycerine for blasting. In one case some frozen cartridges were
+recklessly placed in the oven of a stove, while others were held up to
+the fire. That an explosion should take place under such circumstances
+is not surprising, and comment is unnecessary. The other explosion
+partook more clearly of the nature of an accident. A well digger, living
+near Sing Sing, had buried a can of nitro-glycerine in his garden for
+future use; and while digging it up, January 18, his pick struck the
+can, ignition followed, and he was blown to pieces. No doubt the can was
+frozen, thus proving anew that frozen nitro-glycerine is more dangerous
+to handle, though not so powerful in its effects, as in the liquid form.
+This is singular behavior and contrary to theory. In general terms,
+explosion may be defined as the result which takes place when a portion
+of the nitro-glycerine is raised to a given temperature. Now, to produce
+this temperature by the friction resulting from the blow of a pick is
+manifestly more difficult with frozen than with tepid liquid. In the
+former case some of the heat produced would be absorbed by the
+liquefaction of the solid substance, and therefore there would be less
+available for producing the temperature of explosion. But, plain as this
+proposition is, there must be some unknown condition, for it has been
+frequently observed in practical work that nitro-glycerine is never so
+dangerous to handle as when frozen. This result, however, is directly
+opposed to the experiments of Beckerhinn, of Vienna, who lately
+experimented to decide this question. He placed a thin layer of
+nitro-glycerine on a Bessemer steel anvil, and a weight of about five
+pounds, having a small hardened steel face, was dropped upon it. The
+height to which it was necessary to raise this weight in order to
+produce explosion determined the comparative delicacy of the explosive.
+With tepid nitro-glycerine explosion took place when the weight dropped
+about 31 inches (0.78 metres), but with frozen liquid the fall had to be
+increased to about 85 inches (2.13 metre). Thus the experimental results
+are opposed to the acknowledged experience of practical work in the
+hands of common laborers. Mr. Beckerhinn found the density of the solid
+nitro-glycerine to be 1.735, that of the liquid 1.599, and the average
+melting heat to be 33.54 heat units. Thus the explosive shrinks about
+one-twelfth in crystallizing.
+
+
+ENGLISH GREAT GUNS.
+
+The largest rifled cannon in the world is a 100-ton gun, made for the
+Italian government by Sir William Armstrong's firm. But the English
+government is preparing to outdo this, and already has the plans ready
+for a gun of 164 tons. It hesitates, in fact, between a weapon of this
+size and one of 200 tons, a mass of metal which its shops are now
+perfectly able to handle. The meaning of the term--200-ton gun--is
+simply this: a tube of iron and steel of that weight, fifty feet long,
+having a calibre of 20 inches, and firing a shot of 3,500 or 4,000
+pounds weight, with a charge of 800 pounds of powder! The human capacity
+for astonishment has grown perforce as the successive steps have been
+taken from the guns of ten and twenty tons to these weapons, which must
+remain huge whatever further advances are made. The character of warfare
+with them is best indicated by the fact that the 200-ton gun must be
+handled entirely by machinery. The advent of these unmanageable weapons
+is signalized by the invention of a hydraulic apparatus for working
+them. The vast shock of the recoil from the bursting of thirty-two kegs
+of powder--enough to throw down 1,200 tons of rock in mining--is taken
+up by a cylinder pierced with small holes. These holes are capped with
+valves, held down with a pressure of fifty tons to the square inch. When
+the force of the recoil exceeds this the water is forced out of the
+holes and the recoil thus taken up in work done. The breech of the piece
+is supported on a hydraulic ram, the elevation of which depresses the
+muzzle of the gun below the level of the deck, and brings it exactly in
+line with an iron tube carrying the sponge. This is run up to the base
+of the powder chamber, a deluge of water rushes from apertures in its
+head, and the bore is completely cleaned out and every spark of
+remaining fire extinguished. The rammer then retires, the sponge is
+taken off, and the powder hoisted by tackle to the muzzle, whence the
+rammer pushes it home, and then does the same for the shot. The shot and
+cartridge, weighing together about 1,350 pounds, are stored on little
+iron carriages, every charge in the magazine having its own carriage.
+The loading finished, the gun is raised, pointed, the port flies open,
+and the discharge immediately follows. What the result of the blow from
+such a projectile would be is not to be imagined. It is acknowledged,
+however, that in the struggle for mastery the gun has beaten defensive
+armor. No ship has been built to stand the shock of a 3,500 pound bolt
+moving at the velocity of 1,300 or 1,500 feet a second.
+
+
+EAR TRUMPETS FOR PILOTS.
+
+Prof. Henry has turned his attention to the discovery of means for
+increasing the distinctness of sound signals at sea. It is a very large
+hearing trumpet, projecting mouth foremost from the top of the
+pilot-house of a steamboat. But he soon found that a single hearing
+trumpet would not answer the purpose, for though it greatly augmented
+the perceptive power of the ear, it destroyed the capacity of that organ
+for distinguishing the direction of sound. For this purpose two ears are
+necessary. Prof. Henry then made use of two hearing trumpets, the axes
+of which are separated about 30 inches. An india-rubber tube proceeding
+from the axis of each is placed so as to terminate in the ear of the
+observer--one in each ear. With this instrument the audibility of the
+sound was very much increased, but as a means of determining the
+direction of the source of sound, it was apparently of little use. For
+this purpose the unaided ear is sufficient, provided the head is placed
+above all obstructions and away from reflections.
+
+
+HOT WATER IN DRESSING ORES.
+
+We have before alluded to the investigations made to ascertain the
+reason why clay settles more rapidly in solutions of some salts than in
+pure water, a fact which appears contrary to reason, since it might be
+inferred that the greater the specific gravity the more buoyant the
+fluid. But the fact is abundantly confirmed, and it is likely to find
+important application some day in the arts. The property which every
+substance has of sinking through a fluid of less density than its own
+forms the basis upon which nine-tenths of the gold and copper, and
+probably six-tenths of the silver produced in this country, is extracted
+from its ores. It is the foundation of the art of ore dressing, one of
+the most important parts of metallurgy. Anything which increases the
+rapidity and thoroughness of the process may have a fortunate
+application in this art. Mr. Ramsay, of the Glasgow university
+laboratory, thinks the property in question depends upon the varying
+absorption of heat by the different solutions. When water containing
+suspended clay is heated the rapidity of settling is proportional to the
+heat of the water. This mode of accelerating the movement of fine
+sediments in water is perhaps more easily applied than the solution of
+caustic soda or potash, or of common salt. Rittinger, by a mathematical
+discussion of the principles which control the downward movement of
+solid particles in an ascending stream of water, showed that the
+separation of light from heavy minerals is more complete with solutions
+of density greater than that of water than in water alone. He found a
+solution of 1.5 sp. gr. extremely favorable. If the addition of heat
+will increase the effect of such a solution, it may become possible to
+separate, by means of the continuous jig, minerals so near in specific
+gravity as barite and galena. This whole subject of ore dressing is one
+of the most important questions connected with the future of mineral
+industry in America. In the Mississippi valley everything connected with
+metallurgy, from the fuels to the finished metal, will one day be
+closely dependent on it.
+
+
+OCEAN ECHOES.
+
+Prof. Henry communicated to the National Academy at Philadelphia his
+latest researches into the subject of sound, and among them an
+explanation of the echo observed on the water. This echo he had formerly
+been inclined to attribute to reflection from the crests of the waves.
+Tyndall holds that it is due to reflection from strata of air at
+different densities. Prof. Henry's present explanation is that this echo
+is produced by the reflection of the sound wave from the uniform surface
+of the water. The effect of the echo is produced by the fact that the
+original sound wave is interrupted. It has what the learned Professor
+calls _shadows_, produced by the intervention of some obstacle in its
+path. Sound is not propagated in parallel, but in diverging lines, and
+yet there are some cases where what may be called a "sound shadow" is
+produced. For instance, let a fog-signal be placed at or near water
+level on one side of an island that has a conical elevation. Then the
+signal will be heard distinctly by a vessel on the opposite side of the
+island at a distance of three miles. But when the vessel sails toward
+the island (the signal being on the opposite side), the sound will be
+entirely lost when the distance is reduced to a mile, and in any smaller
+distance it is not recovered. In this case the station of the vessel at
+the shorter distance is in the "sound shadow." The termination of that
+shadow is the point at which the diverging beams of sound, passing over
+the crest of the island, bend down and reach the surface of the water.
+The formation of the sound echo may be explained by this extreme
+divergence of the sound waves, for it is rational to suppose that at a
+great distance from the source of sound some of the dispersed waves will
+reach the water surface at such an angle as to be reflected back to the
+hearer. This was well illustrated by an experiment made to test
+Tyndall's theory. A steam siren was pointed straight upward to the
+zenith, but no echo from the zenith was heard, though the presence of a
+cloud from which a few raindrops fell certified the presence of air
+strata of different densities. But, strange to say, an echo _was_ heard
+from every part of the horizon, half of which was land and half water.
+The only explanation of this fact is that the sound waves projected
+upward were so dispersed as to reach the earth's surface at a certain
+distance, and at that point some of them had curled over and assumed a
+direction that caused their reflection back to the siren.
+
+
+THE DELICACY OF CHEMISTS' BALANCES.
+
+In making chemical balances for fine work the beam is made in the truss
+form to prevent the bending which takes place even under such small
+loads as an ounce or two. Prof. Mendeleef has a balance that will turn
+with one-thousandth of a grain, when each pan is loaded with 15,000
+grains. This extreme sensibility is obtained by the use of micrometer
+scales and cross threads at the end of the beam, these being observed by
+means of a telescope. Of course one weighing with this complicated
+apparatus occupies a long time. In most balances the beam rests on steel
+knife edges; but a maker who has lately obtained celebrity makes his
+supports of pure rock crystal. The steel edges can be seen with the
+naked eye; the quartz edges cannot be seen even with a magnifying glass.
+One writer on this subject thinks that with these perfect crystal edges,
+with an inflexible girder beam, a short beam giving quick vibrations,
+and a sensitiveness that can be increased by screwing up the centre of
+gravity, there can hardly be a practical limit to the smallness of the
+weight that will turn the beam. The amount of motion may be very small,
+but if this can be observed, the limit of possible accuracy is very much
+extended.
+
+
+GOVERNMENT CONTROL OF THE DEAD.
+
+What the population of European countries was a hundred years ago it
+would be hard to tell with accuracy; but the nations have doubled and
+trebled in strength within the century. Sanitary precautions have
+increased in importance, and the very noticeable movement in regard to
+social hygiene which now possesses English society is perhaps due in
+part to the obvious dangers to which thirty million human beings are
+subjected when living together on such a small area. The medical officer
+for Birkenhead has pointed out that it may be necessary for the
+government authorities to take more complete charge of the dead as a
+possible source of infection. He says that the intelligence of deaths
+from infectious diseases now furnished by local registrary would be much
+more useful than it is as a means for limiting the spread of disease if
+the medical officer were vested with further powers in respect to the
+infected dead body. At present neither the medical officer nor any one
+else has any power to order the immediate removal of an infected body,
+and those in charge of it might do what they liked with it. He advocated
+the necessity of power being given to medical officers to order the
+immediate removal of the infected bodies to a public mortuary and their
+speedy burial.
+
+
+MICROSCOPIC LIFE.
+
+Dr. Leidy lately described to the Academy of Sciences in Philadelphia an
+encounter for life which he witnessed between two microscopic
+animalcules. The two creatures were respectively 1-625th and 1-200th of
+an inch in diameter. On the morning of August 27, from some mud adhering
+to the roots of sphagnum, obtained the day previously in a nearly
+dried-up marsh at Bristol, Pennsylvania, he obtained a drop of material
+for examination with the microscope. After a few moments he observed an
+amoeba verrucosa, nearly motionless, empty of food, with a large central
+vesicle, and measuring 1/25th of a millimetre in diameter. Within a
+short distance of it, and moving directly toward it, was another and
+more active amoeba, regarding the species of which he was not positive.
+It was perhaps the one described by Dujardin as amoeba limax, by which
+name it may be called. As first noticed, this amoeba was one-eighth of a
+millimetre long, with a number of conical pseudopods projecting from the
+front border, which was one-sixteenth of a millimetre wide. The creature
+contained a number of spherical food spaces with sienna colored
+contents, a large diatom filled with endochrome, besides several clear
+food spaces, a posterior contractile vesicle, and the usual glanular
+endosarc. The amoeba limax approached and came into contact with the
+motionless amoeba verrucosa. Moving to the right, it left a long
+finger-like pseudopod curved around its lower half, and then extended a
+similar one around the upper half until it met the first pseudo-pod.
+After a few moments the ends of the two projections actually became
+continuous, and the verrucosa was enclosed in the embrace of the amoeba
+limax. The latter assumed a perfectly circular outline, and after a
+while a uniformly smooth surface. It now moved away with its new
+capture, and after a short time what had been the head end contracted
+and became wrinkled and villous in appearance, while from what had been
+the tail end ten conical pseudopods projected. The amoeba verrucosa
+assumed an oval form, and the contractile vesicle became indistinct
+without collapsing. Moving on, the amoeba limax became more slug-like in
+shape. The amoeba verrucosa now appeared enclosed in a large oval, clear
+vacuole or space, was constricted so as to be gourd-shaped, and had lost
+all trace of its vesicle. Subsequently it was doubled upon itself, and
+at this point the amoeba limax discharged from one side of the tail end
+the siliceous case of the diatom, which now contained only a shrivelled
+cord of endochrome. Later the amoeba verrucosa was broken up into fine
+spherical granular balls, and these gradually became obscured and
+apparently diffused among the granular contents of the entosarc of the
+amoeba limax. The observations from the time of the seizure of the
+amoeba verrucosa to its digestion or disappearance among the granular
+matter of the entosarc of its captor, occupied seven hours. From naked
+amoeba the shell-protected rhizopods were no doubt evolved, and it is a
+curious sight to observe them swallowed, home and all, to be digested
+out of their house. It was also interesting to observe the cannibal
+amoeba swallowing one of its own kind and appropriating its structure to
+its own use, just as we might do the contents of an egg. The amoeba
+verrucosa he describes as remarkable for its sluggish character, and in
+appearance reminds one of a little pile of epithelial scales or a
+fragment of dandruff from the head. It is oval or rounded, transparent,
+and more or less wrinkled, or marked with delicate, wavy lines.
+
+
+THE SOURCES OF POTABLE WATER.
+
+In the British Social Science meeting, Mr. Latham, a civil engineer of
+London, brought up the question of water supplies and endeavored to find
+rules for the guidance of water engineers in those apparently
+contradictory facts which the observation of recent years has produced
+so abundantly. It has been generally considered that water which has
+received the sewage of large populations must be unfit for domestic use;
+but careful investigation would show that when such polluting matter has
+been passed into a river, and exposed to the influence of light,
+vegetation, etc., it becomes innocuous. This is shown by the good health
+enjoyed by the inhabitants of London, which place receives its supply
+chiefly from the Thames and the Lea, both of which rivers receive a
+considerable amount of sewage pollution. The author instanced Wakefield,
+Doncaster, and Ely as towns that draw their supplies of water from
+sources into which sewage matter enters, and yet whose inhabitants are
+healthy. The cholera epidemic at Newcastle-on-Tyne in 1853 was supposed
+to have been caused by the use of polluted Tyne water, and yet it was
+clearly ascertained that disease was much more rife among those persons
+who used local well water. These facts, which have often been quoted,
+were not favorably received by the audience, who greeted with laughter
+Mr. Latham's assertion that water into which sewage matter has entered
+can be purified by a short exposure to the air. That statement may be
+too strong; but there is acknowledged truth in the author's main point.
+He considered it was clearly proved that water derived from underground
+sources, or from which light and air have been excluded, is impure, and
+consequently unfit for domestic use. Universal testimony showed that
+decaying matter easily found its way into underground sources of supply.
+Well water may become seriously contaminated by the slow steeping of
+noxious matters, and be less wholesome than the water of a running
+stream that receives much larger quantities of impurity.
+
+
+THEORY OF THE RADIOMETER.
+
+Prof. Crookes has at length announced a theory in explanation of the
+movements exhibited by the remarkable "light mill" of his invention. He
+says: "The evidence afforded by the experiments is to my mind so strong
+as almost to amount to conviction, that the repulsion resulting from
+radiation is due to the action of thermometric heat between the surface
+of the moving body and the case of the instrument, through the
+intervention of the residual gas. This explanation of its action is in
+accordance with recent speculations as to the ultimate constitution of
+matter, and the dynamical theory of gases." The most refined means for
+exhausting the air from the glass bulb which contains the suspended
+vanes of the radiometer leave, and if they were to be carried to
+absolute mechanical perfection, would still leave a certain amount of
+gas in it. But Dr. Crookes has carried this attenuation so far that the
+number of gas molecules present can no longer be considered as
+practically infinite. Nor is the mean length of their paths between
+their collisions any longer very small compared to the size of the bulb.
+The latest use to which the radiometer has been put was to test the
+viscosity of gases at decreasing pressures. The glass bulb was furnished
+with a stopper lubricated with burnt rubber. This was fixed and carried
+a fine thread of glass which is almost perfectly elastic. To the end of
+this thread hung a thin oblong plate of pith to which a mirror was
+attached. The glass stopper being fixed, and the bulb capable of
+rotation through a small angle, it is evident that when the bulb is
+rotated the pith ball will remain at rest except as it yields to the
+friction of the air moved by the bulb. It does move, swinging a certain
+distance and then back, like a pendulum. The amount of this movement is
+carefully observed by a telescope, and recorded for five successive
+beats. As the pith and glass fibre form a torsion pendulum, it is
+evident that these beats will gradually die down in consequence of the
+resistance of the air. By exhausting the air to various degrees of
+rarity, it was proved that Prof. Clerk Maxwell's theory, that the
+viscosity of a gas is independent of its density, is correct. The
+logarithmic decrement of the first five oscillations (that is, the
+decrease, oscillation by oscillation, of the logarithm of the arc
+through which the pith vanes swing), was found to be nearly the same
+when the air was almost exhausted as when it was at its natural
+pressure, proving that its viscosity remained nearly equal for all
+pressures. Only in the exceptionally perfect vacuum referred to above
+did this logarithmic decrement sink to about one-twentieth of what it
+had commenced with. Repulsion of the vane by the action of light
+commences when this decrement is one-fourth of what it was before the
+exhaustion of air began. As the rarity of the air within the bulb
+increases the force of this repulsion begins to diminish, like the
+logarithmic decrement, and when the latter has sunk to one-twentieth the
+former has fallen off one-half. All these and other facts previously
+obtained prove that the action of light is not _direct_, but _indirect_;
+and Dr. Crookes has, after repeatedly refusing to consider hasty
+judgments, in consequence come to the conclusion stated above, that the
+rotation of the light mill is the result of heat. This decision accords
+with the opinion of other observers. The radiometer has already entered
+the field of industrial science, and is used to measure the duration of
+exposure of photographic plates. De Fonvielle has made with it a new
+determination of the sun's thermometric power. He made a spectroscope
+with a graduated screen, which permitted the amount of light that
+entered the apparatus to be graduated at will. In the path of the beam
+he placed a radiometer, and by comparing its action in the graduated
+light ray, and in the light of a standard oil lamp, burning 42 grammes
+(11.3 ounces Troy) per hour, he found that at 4 o'clock, on June 4,
+1876, the radiating force of the sun was equal to 14 lamps placed 25
+centimetres (10 inches) from the radiometer.
+
+
+TEMPERED GLASS IN THE HOUSEHOLD.
+
+The "tempered glass," which has made the name of M. de la Bastie, its
+discoverer, so well known, does not prove to be always manageable. It
+was to have the strength of metal, and not shiver with changes of
+temperature. But an English lady has found that it sometimes has
+precisely the contrary characteristics. She purchased twelve globes for
+gaslights, and they were made in the manufactory of M. de la Bastie
+himself. But one night, after the gas had been extinguished for exactly
+an hour, one of the globes burst with a report, and fell in pieces on
+the floor, leaving the bottom ring still on the burner. These pieces,
+which were of course found to be perfectly cold, were some two or three
+inches long and an inch or so wide. They continued for an hour or more
+splitting up and subdividing themselves into smaller and still smaller
+fragments, each split being accompanied by a slight report, until at
+length there was not a fragment larger than a hazel nut, and the greater
+part of the glass was in pieces of about the size of a pea, and of a
+crystalline form. In the morning it was found that the rim had fallen
+from the burner to the floor in atoms. In all these phenomena the
+behavior was that of unannealed glass, of which so many curious
+performances have been related.
+
+
+THE NEW YORK AQUARIUM.
+
+A marine and fresh-water aquarium has been opened in New York, and both
+from its intrinsic merits and as the first attempt to institute in this
+country a valuable mode of scientific amusement and instruction, it
+deserves mention. It does not equal in size or arrangements any of the
+celebrated places of the kind abroad. Still it contains tanks of
+considerable size, and in them some very interesting denizens. The
+shark, sturgeon, skate, sea-turtle, and other fishes are represented by
+large individuals, and their habits can be watched at leisure. A small
+white whale was also at one time one of the attractions. Fish breeding
+is carried on in the establishment, which receives constant additions to
+its occupants by expeditions which are said to be especially planned for
+this purpose. In any case New York is an excellent point for an
+aquarium, and probably receives every year enough rare living fish at
+its great markets to maintain such an institution. The commencement now
+made is a worthy one, and it can easily become an important source of
+pleasure and usefulness. The system employed is that of constant
+circulation, the water being pumped from a reservoir to the several
+tanks. Pumps and pipes are made of hard rubber. A library, a
+naturalists' laboratory, equipped with tables, microscopes, etc., are
+either established or projected in the building.
+
+
+THE CRUELTY OF HUNTING.
+
+The outcry against the practice of making surgical experiments upon
+living dogs, rabbits, and other animals has roused some vivisectionists
+to return to the subject of hunting. This is one of the principal themes
+of the philosophic philanthropist, whose opposition to the practice
+seems to be an outgrowth of the better acquaintance which man has made,
+through science, with the lower animals. He accomplishes his task very
+effectively by calculating the number of animals which are wounded but
+not recovered by English sportsmen every year. The official returns show
+that in 1873-'4 there were 132,036 holders of gun licenses, and 65,846
+holders of licenses to kill game in the British dominions. In 1874-'5
+the numbers were 144,278 and 68,079, showing that the disposition and
+ability to hunt are on the increase. As a basis for computation, the
+partridge season of 21 weeks is taken, and two days' hunting are allowed
+for each week; while three birds are supposed to be wounded and "lost"
+daily by each sportsman. This gives 126 birds wounded and left to suffer
+unknown torments by each one of the 68,079 holders of game licenses. The
+total is no less than 8,296,496 "lost" birds in 1873-'4, and 8,577,954
+in 1874-'5. Then the holders of gun licenses have the right to shoot
+birds which are destructive to crops, etc., and two lost birds each week
+in the year is calculated to be the average. This makes no less than
+13,731,744 wounded birds in 1873-'4, and 15,004,912 in 1874-'5. The
+total is in round numbers _twenty million_ birds injured each year!
+These estimates are made by "Nature," and they correctly represent the
+ground on which the modern opposition to the hunt as a cruel and
+unnecessary occupation is based. Of course the figures are not exact.
+The only effort made was to have them within bounds; and considering all
+the varieties of game pursued in England, and the extraordinary keenness
+of Englishmen for sport, this estimate is probably correct. Quite lately
+they have been confirmed by a noted hunter on the western plains, who
+says that in his case a day's sport was usually marked by the "loss" of
+two or three animals. As he is an uncommon shot, his experience cannot
+be more unfortunate than the average. Such calculations show us how
+enormous are the results when the whole human race engages in one
+action. At present, English society offers the contradictory spectacle
+of a large and increasing body of hunters who oppose vivisection on the
+ground of cruelty, and a small and increasing body of vivisectionists
+who oppose hunting also on the ground of cruelty.
+
+
+THE GORILLA IN CONFINEMENT.
+
+Great interest attaches to the career of the young gorilla now in the
+Berlin aquarium. Dr. Hermes described some of his peculiarities at a
+late meeting of the German Association of Naturalists and Physicians. He
+nods and claps his hands to visitors; wakes up like a man, and stretches
+himself. His keeper must always be beside him and eat with him. He eats
+what his keeper eats; they share dinner and supper. The keeper must
+remain by him till he goes to sleep, his sleep lasting eight hours. His
+easy life has increased his weight in a few months from thirty-one to
+thirty-seven pounds. For some weeks he had inflammation of the lungs,
+when his old friend Dr. Falkenstein was fetched, who treated him with
+quinine and Ems water, which made him better. When Dr. Hermes left the
+gorilla on the previous Sunday the latter showed the doctor his tongue,
+clapped his hands, and squeezed the hand of the doctor as an indication,
+the latter believed, of his recovery. Apparently he means to support, by
+every means in his power, the effort at a hot-house development of the
+ape to the man. A large glass house has been built for him in connection
+with the palm house.
+
+
+INSTRUCTION SHOPS IN BOSTON.
+
+The Boston Institute of Technology is somewhat noted for its boldness in
+making educational experiments; its efforts so far having been directed
+toward the introduction of practical trade instruction into an advanced
+school. Some years ago it endeavored to establish a model room for
+dressing ores and another for smelting them; but the success of this
+trial seems to be more than doubtful. Both of these pursuits are too
+extensive to be represented by one shop or by sample work. Nothing
+daunted by this failure, President Runkle has lately introduced a
+"filing shop" as the first step toward practical instruction in
+engineering work. This shop has about thirty work tables, each provided
+with a vise and tool drawers. Filing is one of the first things the
+young apprentice has to learn; and those who think that anybody can file
+who has hands may be surprised to learn that the filing of a hexagon
+bolt head is one of the tests for a Whitworth prize scholarship. The
+difficulty of making a flat surface is in that task combined with the
+necessity of having the faces of equal size and placed at equal angles
+to each other. The plan in the Boston institute is to have the student
+spend ten weeks in filing, and then the same length of time in each the
+forging shop and the turning shop. The two latter are not yet ready.
+These three steps form part of a two years' course in mechanical
+engineering, the tuition fee to which is $125 yearly. The main objection
+to such schools is that engineers and practical men persist in refusing
+to accept such instruction as a substitute for actual work. The Boston
+institute is making praiseworthy efforts, but it seems to be adopting a
+system which has never been in favor just at a time when the smelting
+works and machine shops of the country appear willing to unite with the
+scientific schools in supplying students with real experience of work as
+a requirement for a diploma.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+A new mode of compressing arteries is by the use of a hard pad having a
+prominent projection, which is pressed against the artery or vein by a
+strong elastic ring of rubber passed over the limb.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+The Harvard summer schools were so far successful that the last
+catalogue reports forty students in geology, twenty-five in chemistry,
+twenty-five in phenogamic botany, and six in cryptogamic botany.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+A case in which the heart was severely wounded without causing immediate
+death lately occurred in England. The wound was made by a knife which
+passed between the third and fourth ribs, through the wall of the heart
+into the cavity of the left ventricle. The man lived sixty-four hours.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+M. Peligot warns housekeepers against the advice so often given, to use
+borax for the preserving of meat. He finds that borax and the borates
+affect plants very seriously, and doubts whether it can be innocuous to
+animals. French beans watered once with a solution of borax quickly
+withered and died.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+A young American, Dr. James by name, was killed with his partner (a
+Swede) at Yule Island in September last, by the natives of New Guinea.
+They were hunting birds of paradise at the time. Dr. James left some
+valuable collections which have been described before the Linnaean
+Society of London.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+In extending the underground railway of London, the excavations
+disclosed Roman and other remains of considerable interest. Among the
+former there were found fragments of urns, specimens of pottery, and
+bronze coins. The most remarkable discovery was that of a thick stratum
+of bullock's horns, commencing about twenty feet below the surface, and
+extending to an unascertained distance beneath. Although the deposit was
+doubtless made many centuries ago, the horns had suffered so little by
+decay that they found a ready sale in the market. This road has carried
+in thirteen years 408,500,000 passengers. In 1863, the first year, the
+number was 9,500,000, which increased to 48,500,000 last year.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+Foreign papers say that Mr. Floyd, the President of the board of
+trustees for the Lick donation, has come to an arrangement with M.
+Leverrier, the celebrated French astronomer, for the better execution of
+the instruments to be made for the Lick Observatory. The masses of glass
+required are to be made in Paris, at Feil's glass works, and the
+object-glasses very likely by an English optician.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+Two distinguished men were officially superannuated last year: Profs.
+Milne-Edwards and Delafosse of the Paris Museum. The son of the former
+takes his place, and Descloiseaux succeeds to the chair of mineralogy.
+Professors Dove of Berlin and Woehler of Goettingen have had their
+_jubilaeum_ or fiftieth anniversary of their doctorates. All these facts
+illustrate the conservative influence of student life.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+The Western mines of gold and silver have lately yielded some new and
+interesting minerals. Roscoelite is a vanadium mica from a gold mine at
+Granite creek, California. The vanadic acid varies from 20 to 23 per
+cent. Psittacinite is a vanadate of lead and copper, which occurs
+associated with gold, lead, and copper minerals at several mines in
+Silver Star district, Montana. It is considered to be a favorable
+indication, for when that is found the vein is said to become rich in
+gold. Coloradoite is a telluride of mercury, also a new mineral and
+quite rare.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+Dr. Piggott proposes to replace the spider's web of telescopes by a star
+illuminated transit eye-piece. A sheet of glass, on which a thin film of
+silver is deposited, is placed in the focus of the eye lens; transparent
+lines are drawn on the film, instead of wires, and as the star passes
+across the lines it is seen to flash out brightly. The film of silver is
+made sufficiently thin to permit of the star being seen when it is
+between the lines, but it appears that the lines themselves are only
+visible, except in the case of very large stars, when the star disc is
+in transit across a line.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+Singular results of strains existing in the granite rocks through which
+the St. Gothard tunnel is passing are recorded. When the shots are fired
+at the end of the gallery they are sometimes succeeded at unequal
+intervals by other explosions at points where there is no drill hole and
+no powder. Workmen have been injured by these spontaneous explosions,
+which are to be explained only on the theory that there are strains in
+the rock; and when this tension is increased by the shock of a heavy
+explosion, the rock flies in pieces with noise. Similar effects have
+been noticed in other granites.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+It is said that aniline colors are now used to color wines, and that
+enough of them is taken into the Bordeaux district of France to color
+one-third of its whole product. Husson gives the following method for
+detecting it: Take a small quantity of the wine and add a little
+ammonia, when the mixture turns a dirty green. Steep a thread of white
+woollen yarn in the liquor and allow a drop of vinegar to flow along it.
+If the color of the wine is natural, as the drop advances the original
+whiteness of the wool is restored; but if the wine has been
+sophisticated with magenta, the wool will take a rose color. This test
+is simple, easily tried, and effective.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+An inquiry into the results of systematic gymnastic exercises in a
+French military school shows that the strength is increased on the
+average 15 to 17 per cent., and is also equalized on both sides of the
+body. The capacity of the chest is increased at least 16 per cent. and
+the weight 6 to 7 per cent. Coincident with this increase is a decrease
+in the bulk of the body, showing that fat is changed to muscle. The
+improvement is confined to the first three months of the course unless
+the exercise is then moderated. If continued at too high a rate,
+weakness succeeds the increase of strength. It would be a good plan to
+place a dynamometer in every gymnasium as a measure of the changes which
+take place in the gymnast.
+
+
+MOON MADNESS.
+
+The popular belief that the moon's rays will cause madness in any person
+who sleeps exposed to them has long been felt to be absurd, and yet it
+has appeared to have its source in undoubted facts. Some deleterious
+influence is experienced by those who rashly court slumber in full
+moonshine, and probably there is no superstition to which the well-to-do
+pay more attention. Windows are often carefully covered to keep the
+moonbeams from entering sleeping rooms. A gentleman living in India
+furnishes "Nature" with an explanation of this phenomenon which is at
+least plausible. He says: "It has often been observed that when the moon
+is full, or near its full time, there are rarely any clouds about; and
+if there be clouds before the full moon rises, they are soon dissipated;
+and therefore a perfectly clear sky, with a bright full moon, is
+frequently observed. A clear sky admits of rapid radiation of heat from
+the surface of the earth, and any person exposed to such radiation is
+sure to be chilled by rapid loss of heat. There is reason to believe
+that, under the circumstances, paralysis of one side of the face is
+sometimes likely to occur from chill, as one side of the face is more
+likely to be exposed to rapid radiation, and consequent loss of its
+heat. This chill is more likely to occur when the sky is perfectly
+clear. I have often slept in the open in India on a clear summer night,
+when there was no moon; and although the first part of the night may
+have been hot, yet toward two or three o'clock in the morning, the chill
+has been so great that I have often been awakened by an ache in my
+forehead, which I as often have counteracted by wrapping a handkerchief
+round my head, and drawing the blanket over my face. As the chill is
+likely to be greatest on a very clear night, and the clearest nights are
+likely to be those on which there is a bright moonshine, it is very
+possible that neuralgia, paralysis, or other similar injury, caused by
+sleeping in the open, has been attributed to the moon, when the
+proximate cause may really have been the _chill_, and the moon only a
+remote cause acting by dissipating the clouds and haze (if it do so),
+and leaving a perfectly clear sky for the play of radiation into space."
+
+
+THE ARGUMENT AGAINST VACCINATION.
+
+An English physician opposes compulsory vaccination on the ground that
+it prevents further discovery, and compels medical science to halt at
+just that point, because it forbids experiment upon methods of
+prevention that may prove to be better. He says: "It stereotypes a
+particular stage of scientific knowledge, and bars further progress. If
+I remind you of the great improvement thought to have been made by the
+introduction of inoculation by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu at the end of
+the last century, and ask you to suppose that Parliament might then have
+passed an act to compel every one to be inoculated, you will, I think,
+see what is meant. This method was tried for some years with great
+_eclat_, but afterward it was found to spread the smallpox so much that
+an act of Parliament was passed to forbid its use. Vaccination,
+introduced by Dr. Jenner, has followed, and this was another step in
+advance. I was the first child in my father's family vaccinated
+seventy-one years ago, several elder brothers and sisters having been
+inoculated. Both methods answered in our cases. But for many years I
+have been satisfied that other diseases besides the modified small-pox
+(called cow-pox) are now introduced by the old vaccine, and have
+steadily refused to use it, seeking rather, at increased trouble and
+expense, new vaccine. And the question which comes forcibly to the front
+is this: May not some other preservative be discovered which shall be a
+further improvement? This question cannot be answered so long as
+vaccination is compelled by law. There are no persons upon whom
+experiments can be tried." So far as it goes, this is valid ground for
+criticising vaccination laws. But the proof that small-pox is more
+disastrous to the human race than the evils that vaccination brings with
+it is so strong that there is little likelihood society will subject
+itself to the attacks of the greater enemy in order to avoid the lesser.
+The evils of the old system of using vaccine taken from human beings for
+new inoculations are now no longer inevitable. Fresh vaccine direct from
+the calf, and called "Bovine," can be had everywhere. A large
+establishment for obtaining it is situated near New York.
+
+
+
+
+CURRENT LITERATURE.
+
+
+Colonel Dodge's "Plains of the Great West"[O] is one of the most
+entertaining and important books of the kind we have met with. Whether
+he treats of the chase, the natural history of the wild animals found on
+our continent, or the Indians, he draws upon abundant resources of
+observation and experience. His description of the much talked of
+"plains" is new. He distinguishes three of these, the first lying next
+the mountains, the next known as the "High Plains," being to the
+eastward, and finally the broad surface of the lower plains. As the high
+plains are more fertile than either of the others (owing to diversities
+of soil), we have the singular effect of a country suddenly becoming
+more fertile as the interior of the continent is more deeply penetrated.
+Of other peculiarities exhibited in this region our author gives a vivid
+account, and it requires all our faith in his accuracy to have
+confidence in the following description of the famous Bad Lands, the
+scene of so much Scientific search:
+
+    The ground is covered with fragments of the bones of animals
+    and reptiles, and the man must indeed be insensible who can
+    pass unmoved through these most magnificent burying-grounds
+    of animals extinct before the advent of his race.
+
+    Almost everywhere throughout the whole length and breadth of
+    the plains are found, in greater or less profusion, animal
+    remains, fossils, shells, and petrifactions. Bones are very
+    numerous and in great variety, from the saurian and mastodon
+    to the minutest reptile, ranging in point of time from the
+    remotest ages to the present day.
+
+[Footnote O: "_The Plains of the Great West and their Inhabitants._" By
+(Lieutenant-Colonel) RICHARD IRVING DODGE. With an Introduction by
+William Blackmore. Illustrated. New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons.]
+
+His description of other features of this vast region is full of
+interest. The two remarkable belts of forest, called the cross timbers,
+stretching for a hundred miles through a trackless country, but not
+increasing their width beyond their normal eight to twelve miles; the
+extraordinary rivers, half sand, half water, the mazes of which confound
+the Indian, usually so acute in the field; the sand streams, which
+repeat in that material the puzzle of the cross timbers, and are even
+more inexplicable. While the desert does not narrow the cross timber
+belts, nor water widen them, the wind seems to have no effect on these
+sand streams, though the material that composes them is so light as to
+rise on every puff of air. Like the cross timbers, the sand streams
+pursue their way across the country, regarding neither wet nor dry, hill
+nor stream. Their origin lies in forces not yet known, and though they
+may seem to be the sport of existing conditions, they really maintain
+themselves indifferent to their surroundings. Things like these prove
+that Americans need not go to the Sahara for novel aspects of nature.
+Our author has a quick perception of what is striking in these scenes,
+and describes them in vigorous and pictorial language.
+
+Colonel Dodge is one of the most noted hunters in our army, and his
+descriptions of the chase deserve to rank with those of Cummings, Baker,
+and other great African sportsmen. It is true our country does not
+afford the hunter such a slaughter field as South Africa has been. A few
+animals have increased on our soil to such an extent as to afford at
+certain seasons opportunities for unlimited slaughter. But the past five
+years have seen such destruction of the last of these--the buffalo--that
+wholesale killing is no longer possible on any ground the white man is
+suffered to visit. Three years more will carry us to the end of the
+decade, and probably of the buffalo hunt as it has been in the past.
+About five years ago a change came over the pursuit of this animal. He
+began to be killed for his hide alone, and the results are almost
+incredible. Colonel Dodge shows that in three years no less than
+4,373,730 buffalo were killed by whites and Indians. It is evidently
+impossible for any animal, bringing forth but one at a birth, to
+maintain its increase against such heedless destruction. The present
+winter has witnessed what is probably the last grand attack upon these
+animals, as they took refuge in the sheltering mountains of northwestern
+Texas from the cold and snow-covered plains. Very soon the noblest prey
+of the sportsman on this continent will be one of his rarest prizes.
+Colonel Dodge does not lack the usual hunter's fund of anecdote. His own
+adventures are modestly told, and when "seven antelope and a fine dog"
+are bagged with one shot, the story is credited (with the Colonel's
+guarantee) to an anonymous "old hunter"! We have said that the plains do
+not rival the African field in quantity of game, but the dimensions of
+two separate "bags," shot in successive years, shows how great even in
+this country the rewards of the chase may be. In 1872 five gentlemen, of
+whom Colonel Dodge was one, bagged 1,262 head, and next year four shot
+1,141 head on the same ground, and the author thinks "the whole world
+can be safely challenged to offer a greater variety of game."
+
+But interesting as the chase is in our author's hands, the most
+important part of the book is that in which the Indians are described
+and discussed. To one who knows the unanimity of army opinion concerning
+the much debated Indian question in the West, it is almost unnecessary
+to say that Colonel Dodge wishes to see the tribes transferred to the
+sole control of the War Department, treaty-making stopped at once,
+discipline introduced, the vagabond whites eliminated from the tribes,
+and the never-ceasing stream of outrages stopped. These opinions, which
+the author shares with the Western community at large, are founded on a
+very intimate knowledge of the Indians, and while they are invaluable as
+the testimony of so competent an authority, they must yield in immediate
+interest to the very vivid picture which the author gives of Indian life
+and his estimate of Indian character. While what he says is not novel,
+and could hardly be novel after the many thousands of works on the same
+subject, his views are based on his own observation, and the facts are
+presented with so much force that we gain a new idea of the American
+savage. His essential moral characteristic is his love of cruelty. What
+the savage thinks about in the frequent and long continued seasons of
+idle solitude, it has long puzzled the ethnologist to discover. Colonel
+Dodge says that a large part of the Indian's brooding thoughts are given
+to the invention of modes of inflicting pain when he has the opportunity
+to do so, and many of the camp fire discussions are upon suggestions for
+cruelty. When the captive is brought in his tortures are not inflicted
+in mere accordance with the momentary promptings of a brutal nature.
+They may have been invented years before in some far distant camp, in
+the profoundest peace, or may be copied from some noted example of
+successful cruelty. They may have grown by one suggestion added to
+another, among men whose knowledge of natural history includes a
+marvellous perception of what parts of the frame are most sensitive to
+pain. The Indian's cruelty is his pride. He gains credit by it among his
+people, and he who invents a new torture is a leader. Cruelty is a merit
+among these savages. It has rewards which make this passion one of the
+most noticeable elements in their system of morality. No other author
+has presented this aspect of Indian character with the clearness of
+Colonel Dodge. His frequent illustrations show that it is no temporary
+impulse, but a race characteristic carefully fostered by tradition and
+perhaps by religion. But what position does all this give the Indian
+among other races of men? Clearly he stands apart. The cannibal may
+dance around the living victims who are soon to appear upon his table,
+and the prisoner may be made to grace his conqueror's triumph, or the
+altar of his conqueror's god, at any cost of suffering to himself, but
+no other race, savage or civilized, has ever been shown to cultivate
+cruelty for its own sake as the American Indian does. It is not from
+fear, revenge, hate, or any other extraneous cause that he studies so
+fondly and long over the means of giving pain. Cruelty is a thing to be
+enjoyed for itself. The author has spoken with such plainness upon the
+position of captive women in the hands of Indians, that we fear his book
+will be objected to in just those quarters where its revelations are
+most likely to do good. There is one thing which we wish he had made
+clear--whether the brutality shown toward captive women is a practice
+which has grown among the Cheyennes since they were driven from their
+old home, or whether that has always been their mode of procedure. In
+some quarters this particular brutality has been spoken of as the
+outgrowth of their sufferings at the hands of the whites.
+
+Colonel Dodge's book shows a rare combination of acute observation, long
+experience, and the spirit of good fellowship. It is one of the best
+books of hunting we know of, the best book ever written about the
+plains, and its pictures and anecdotes of hunting life and Indian
+fighting are a faithful reproduction of the peculiar conditions to be
+found only on our great plains, with the anomalous relations of the
+civilized and barbarous races that haunt them. The publishers have
+illustrated it liberally. The Indian portraits are worthy of especial
+mention for the minute accuracy which makes them ethnological examples
+of unusual value.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+The zoological collections described in the fifth volume of Reports,
+Survey west of the Hundredth Meridian,[P] were all obtained in that
+zoological province known as the "Campestrian region," from the great
+plains which it includes. There the animal colors are pale and tend
+toward uniformity, corresponding to the low rainfall of from three to
+twenty inches per year. In this peculiarity, and also in comparison with
+the surrounding more humid regions, the district of country in which the
+Government surveys are now carried on sustains the general theory that
+coloration in animals is closely dependent on rainfall, a humid
+atmosphere serving to cloak the sun's rays and preserve the natural dyes
+(mostly organic) from bleaching out. Dr. Yarrow thinks that the entirely
+rainless parts of this vast Campestrian region may ultimately deserve
+recognition as a separate zoological province. The observations made as
+to the mimicry of color which some animals, especially reptiles, exert
+or suffer lead him to believe that "a law may yet be formulated in this
+respect which will equally apply to all classes of animals." This
+mimicry was especially noticed in serpents and lizards found near red
+sandstone deposits, the well-known little _Phrynosoma_, or horned toad,
+being greenish gray, nearly white, or deep red, as it was found on the
+plain, the alkali flat, or the sandstone soil. But however profound the
+change, the skin returned to its normal color within a day or two after
+removal from the determining locality. In regard to the rattlesnake, we
+have the welcome information that it is apparently decreasing in
+numbers, and the less agreeable fact that with other serpents, it
+principally frequents the neighborhood of settlements. The collections
+of all kinds made by the explorers prove to be unexpectedly perfect in
+spite of the rapidity with which they are forced to move, and losses by
+fire and railroad accident. The report upon these collections is drawn
+up with the care and thoroughness that are such creditable features of
+recent American official work. A copious bibliography and synonomy is
+attached to the descriptions of species. The allotment of reports is as
+follows: Geographical Distribution, Dr. H. C. Yarrow; Mammals, Dr.
+Elliott Coues and Dr. Yarrow; Birds, H. W. Henshaw; Batrachians and
+Reptiles, Dr. Yarrow; Fishes, Prof. E. D. Cope and Dr. Yarrow; Insects,
+E. T. Cresson, E. Norton, T. L. Mead, R. H. Stretch, C. R. Osten-Sacken,
+H. Ulke, R. P. Uhler, Cyrus Thomas, H. A. Hagen; Mollusca, Dr. Yarrow.
+These names show how carefully the head of the survey, Lieutenant
+Wheeler, has sought assistance in the important work of classification.
+But these are by no means all from whom he and his assistants
+acknowledge service. The list given in the preface numbers more than
+forty persons, and includes the best known specialists in this country.
+Forty-five plates, colored when necessary, accompany the text. In every
+respect the report is worthy the important survey from which it
+emanates.
+
+[Footnote P: "_Report upon Geographical and Geological Explorations and
+Surveys West of the Hundredth Meridian_," in charge of First Lieutenant
+GEORGE M. WHEELER. Vol. V., Zoology.]
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+Though it is now quite common to find the life of two or even three
+continents mingled in one web of fiction, few writers make so close a
+subjective study of the immigrant's experiences as Mr. Boyesen has done
+in his "Tales from Two Hemispheres."[Q] In fact he stands almost alone
+in this field, and for a good reason; he is a participant where others
+are onlookers. We are often told of the impression American ladies make
+on foreign gentlemen, but rarely receive an analysis of it or are
+offered even an attempt to analyze it. And yet this appears to be one of
+the most promising exhibitions of human feeling ever studied. The
+intercourse of the sexes, necessarily the subject of all romance, may
+obviously have its situations heightened in every way by the
+juxtaposition of two races, two diverse educations, and two opposite
+moral systems, conjointly with the customary incidents of love-making.
+Our author is fully alive to his opportunity, and, short as his tales
+are, they bristle with dramatic scenes, and have an element of the
+mythical and legendary in them, even when they are removed from such
+professedly mystical subjects as he has treated in "Asathor's
+Vengeance." Even in drawing-room scenes in New York the love-making is
+ideal and romantic instead of calculating or passionate, as the current
+novel commonly paints it. This mode of treatment implies that the tales
+are either pathetic or fanciful, and in Mr. Boyesen's hands they are all
+pathetic. He shows unusual power in this style of writing, and has the
+natural and quiet humor which it demands. But there is a rudeness in the
+construction and language of all of these stories which sometimes blinds
+the reader to the really delicate insight into human feeling displayed
+in them. The author writes like one who has the conception of what he
+wants to do, but not yet the full command of the means. But this is a
+fault that practice cures, and we trust Mr. Boyesen will continue his
+studies in this essentially novel and peculiarly promising field of
+literature.
+
+[Footnote Q: "_Tales from Two Hemispheres._" By HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN.
+Boston: James R. Osgood & Co.]
+
+--In "Captain Mago"[R] we have a kind of book which with proper
+attention may be made extremely interesting and valuable. It is an
+attempt to reconstruct the life of three thousand years ago, not merely
+among the Phoenicians, but in many other countries. Under the guise of
+an expedition sent by the King of Tyre to Tarshish for the purpose of
+collecting materials for the Jewish temple which King David was then
+planning, we are taken to Judaea, Egypt, Crete, Italy, Spain, France,
+England, and Africa. Such an expedition of course gives the author an
+opportunity to present a panoramic view of the civilization in those
+countries thirty centuries ago. We cannot say that he has performed the
+task well. He dwells too much upon what he imagines to be the language
+and conversation of the ancients and too little on those material facts
+in their life which can be proved or plausibly imagined from the remains
+of it which we have gathered. Ancient habits are but very obscurely
+exhibited in the rude tools, the fragments of village houses, the
+necklace of the Man of Mentone, the whistles and other toys of the
+caves, the funereal fireplaces, and similar objects, but they are much
+more plainly discernible than are the peculiarities of speech which must
+have made up the bulk of daily conversation among our ancestors. A
+reconstruction of ancient life based on a good knowledge of these
+objects is likely to be more instructive and real than one that depends
+for its force on a fanciful conception of their _thouing_ and _theeing_,
+their love-making, and what oaths they swore. In fact, real service
+could be done to "popular" science by a book that should exhibit our
+remote forefathers as we really know them, and not attempting to go
+beyond that point. Difficult as it will necessarily be to make such an
+undertaking successful, we have no doubt that it will one day be
+accomplished. "Captain Mago," though falling far short even of
+excellence in this field, is nevertheless an interesting and peculiar
+book.
+
+[Footnote R: "_The Adventures of Captain Mago_; or, A Phoenician
+Expedition B.C. 1000." By LEON CAHUN. Translated by Ellen E. Frewer.
+Illustrated. New York: Scribner, Armstrong & Co.]
+
+--The defect of "Captain Mago" is that its author has endeavored to
+reconstruct from remains of a purely literary kind the life of a time
+which was antecedent to the most of our oldest literature. Another
+author, Mr. Mahaffy, has had great success in a similar field because he
+chose for reconstruction a society which has left literary monuments of
+a very varied character and great abundance. His "Social Life in Greece"
+and other works about the ancient Greeks were written before he ever saw
+that historic country, and yet he tells us in his last work,[S] written
+after a personal visit and stay of some time, that his former writings
+were sufficiently true to the Greece of to-day to deceive living Greeks
+into the belief that he had been intimately acquainted with their
+landscapes and familiar customs. Mr. Mahaffy's "Rambles" among modern
+Greeks are a very interesting finish to his idealizations of their
+ancestors. It is comforting to know that after all her spoliations the
+country is still so rich in remains of ancient art as to retain more
+fine and pure specimens of the best work than are to be found in all the
+rest of the world. Very little is done toward uncovering and nothing
+toward restoring these sculptures, for the Greeks are jealous of
+foreigners and unable or not sufficiently interested to do this
+themselves. They are willing to allow others to do the work, but Greece
+must have all the profit. Still, there the works lie, and may be
+recovered at some future day. We may even be comforted to think they are
+well covered with soil, for the present inhabitants of the country, with
+exquisite barbarity that their ancestors could not have practised, use
+the standing monuments of art as a mark for pistol practice! Another
+point in which they show a constitutional divergence from their
+forefathers is in the singular barrenness that has fallen upon their
+women. Once their land teemed with a native-born population. Now the
+household remains so long childless that it is very common to find the
+wife's mother a permanent member of the household, being retained for
+companionship! Even the mature family contains but few children, and
+this in the best agricultural parts of the country. While these
+differences exist the author is not at a loss to find strange
+resemblances. The yellow hair and fair complexion, the forms which are
+even now types of the same race that stood for the old statues, the
+language, and a multitude of other things prove that the old race
+continues in purity and that Greece is not now filled with a mere
+mixture of Turks, Albanians, and Sclaves. Our author has a poor opinion
+of the Greek's capacity for government, and likens them to the Irish. He
+thinks that both these races are constitutionally incapable of
+government, and need subjugation by a foreigner. In this characteristic
+he finds a strong resemblance between the modern and the ancient Greek,
+for both have suffered personal jealousy to outweigh the strongest
+promptings of patriotism. Mr. Mahaffy shows himself to be as able as an
+observer as he is as an historian.
+
+[Footnote S: "_Rambles and Studies in Greece._" By J. P. MAHAFFY.
+Macmillan & Co.]
+
+--The peculiar character of De Quincey's work gives unusual opportunity
+for such a volume of selections as this, published under the untasteful
+name of "Beauties."[T] He had all the mental power required for
+sustained efforts in composition, though his plans for such works were
+always defeated by physical weakness. His productions, therefore, though
+incomplete, are not those of a literary trifler. His genius and methods
+seem to be especially suited to the tastes of the present day, for he
+excelled in the qualities that make the professional magazinist: great
+learning, research, and acuteness, combined with a humor that sports
+most waywardly through everything he wrote, a vivid fancy, a wonderful
+use of words, and a style which even in its faults exhibits the needs of
+periodical literature. He was, perhaps, more exactly fitted to serve the
+world in its chosen field of current publications than any other man who
+has written for it. Were he living now he would be acknowledged the
+prince of the nebulous gentlemen who occupy easy chairs, gather in
+contributors' clubs, and fill up "editors' baskets" with their
+effusions. We have additional respect for the somewhat chopped up
+productions of these gentlemen, after reading the numerous volumes that
+bear his name, for there we find how much of every sort of literary good
+they can contain. The editor of these selections is a lucky man, for his
+work has the merit, rare among such books, of being thoroughly good in
+itself. He has with excellent judgment given us somewhat of
+autobiography, somewhat of the rare and indescribable dream life of De
+Quincey, and somewhat of his tales, essays, and critiques. The character
+of his author's writings relieves these morsels from the air of
+incompleteness and decapitation which so often attaches to selections.
+What he has given us is not all of De Quincey, but each chapter is
+complete in itself. Selections usually repel us. We cannot join in the
+argument so often found in prefaces to such works, that the reading of
+them may lead to the reading of the author's whole works. On the
+contrary, we are of that class to whom the cutting up of a good author
+is apt to seem like vivisection--necessary, perhaps, but revolting. This
+book, however, does not leave such an impression. On laying it down we
+wonder why we are not constantly reading the great essayist, the
+precursor of the literary spirit of our own times, probably a better
+example than any now living of the many virtues demanded from the
+popular writer.
+
+[Footnote T: "_Beauties Selected from the Writings of Thomas De
+Quincey._" New York: Hurd & Houghton.]
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+Under the editorship of Mr. John Austin Stevens we may look for a
+valuable and permanent publication in the "Magazine of American History,
+with Notes and Queries," of which A. S. Barnes & Co. are the publishers.
+The position of the editor as librarian of the New York Historical
+Society will, or at all events should, be an additional source of
+strength to the publication. Experience shows that literary undertakings
+which possess more merit than popularity can derive great advantages
+from the official countenance of societies pursuing allied subjects of
+investigation. Properly managed, the two modes of obtaining union in
+action can be made to help each other materially. This hint will perhaps
+be considered not amiss since the pamphlet, printed with the neatness
+characteristic of such works, which lies before us, is but a specimen
+and preliminary number, which is to be followed by monthly issues in
+quarto form, at $5 yearly, if sufficient support is obtained. The editor
+says: "Each number will contain: I. An original article on some point of
+American history from a recognized and authoritative pen. II. A
+biographical sketch of some character of historic interest. III.
+Original documents, diaries, and letters. IV. Reprints of rare
+documents. V. Notes and queries in the well-known English form. VI.
+Reports of the proceedings of the New York Historical Society. VII.
+Notices of historical publications." He also promises to keep it free
+from sectional prejudices and "from personality and controversy in any
+form." He has ready for publication a large number of interesting old
+manuscripts contributed by historians and collectors, and it is to be
+hoped his attempt to establish a periodical for historical literature
+will be sustained.
+
+
+
+
+BOOKS RECEIVED.
+
+
+"_Materialism and Theology._" JAMES MARTINEAU, LL.D. G. P. Putnam's
+Sons.
+
+"_Waverley Novels_," Riverside Edition, "Heart of Midlothian." Hurd &
+Houghton.
+
+_The Same._ "Bride of Lammermoor."
+
+_The Same._ "The Monastery."
+
+"_Footsteps of the Master._" HARRIET B. STOWE. J. B. Ford & Co.
+
+"_Functions of the Brain._" Illustrated. D. FERRIER, M.D. G. P. Putnam's
+Sons.
+
+"_The Plains of the Great West._" Illustrated. Lieutenant Colonel
+RICHARD I. DODGE. G. P. Putnam's Sons.
+
+"_The Sons of Godwin._" A Tragedy. WILLIAM LEIGHTON, Jr. J. B.
+Lippincott & Co.
+
+"_Personal Relations Between Librarian and Readers._" SAM. S. GREEN.
+Chas. Hamilton, Worcester, Mass.
+
+"_Special Report on Worcester Free Library._" The same.
+
+"_Tales from Two Hemispheres._" H. H. BOYESEN. Jas. R. Osgood & Co.
+
+"_The Problems of Problems._" CLARK BRADEN. Chase & Hall, Cincinnati.
+
+"_Archology_; or, The Science of Government." V. BLAKESLEE. A. Roman &
+Co.
+
+"_Woman as a Musician._" FANNY RAYMOND RITTER. Ed. Schuberth & Co.
+
+"_Vivisection._" Copp Clark & Co., Toronto.
+
+"_Cholera Facts of the Last Year._" E. MCCLELLAN, M.D. Richmond &
+Louisville Medical Journal office.
+
+"_Art Journal._" Photo-Engraving Co., New York.
+
+"_History of the City of New York._" Parts 5 to 10. Mrs. M. J. LAMB. A.
+S. Barnes & Co.
+
+"_The Magazine of American History._" JNO. AUSTIN STEVENS, editor. A. S.
+Barnes & Co.
+
+"_National Quarterly Review._" D. A. GORTON, editor.
+
+"_National Survey West of 100th Meridian._" Vol. 5, Zoology. Dr. H. C.
+YARROW and others. Government Printing Office.
+
+"_Catalogue Siamese Exhibit International Exhibition._" J. B. Lippincott
+& Co.
+
+"_Planetary Meteorology, Mansill's Almanac of._" R. MANSILL. R.
+Crampton, Rock Island.
+
+"_Notes on Assaying._" R. DE P. RICKETTS. Art Printing Establishment.
+
+"_Mental Powers of Insects._" A. S. PACKARD, Jr. Estes & Lauriat.
+
+"_Beauties of De Quincey._" Hurd & Houghton.
+
+"_The Convicts._" B. AUERBACH. H. Holt & Co.
+
+"_Philosophical Discussions._" C. WRIGHT. H. Holt & Co.
+
+"_The Sons of Goodwin._" W. LEIGHTON. J. B. Lippincott & Co.
+
+"_Rambles and Studies in Greece._" J. P. MAHAFFY. Macmillan & Co.
+
+"_Mother and Daughter._" F. S. VERDI, M. D. J. B. Ford & Co.
+
+"_Marie._ A Story of Russian Lore." MARIE H. DE ZIELINSKI. Jansen,
+McClurg & Co.
+
+"_The Barton Experiment._" By the author of "Helen's Babies." G. P.
+Putnam's Sons.
+
+
+
+
+NEBULAE.
+
+
+--It would seem that we must return to the old fashion of strong boxes,
+old stockings, and cracked pipkins as the receptacles of our savings. As
+to savings banks and trust companies, and life insurance companies, the
+revelations of the last few months go to show that they do anything but
+save; that they are no longer to be trusted, and that they ensure
+nothing but total loss to those who put their money into them. Ere long
+it will be said of a young man that he was poor but honest, although he
+had the misfortune to have a father who was a director in several
+important financial institutions. The state of affairs in this respect
+is frightful; and it frightens. The financial panic has been followed by
+a moral panic which is really as much more deplorable than its
+predecessor as moral causes are more radical in their operation and more
+enduring than those which are merely material. Confidence is gone. How
+it is to be restored is a problem far more perplexing than how to revive
+drooping trade. For that the real wealth of the country, never greater
+than it is now and constantly increasing, must bring about sooner or
+later. But if men of wealth and of fair reputation are no longer to be
+trusted, what is the use of saving, to put money into a box where it
+gains nothing and where thieves break through and steal? Robbery seems
+to be the fashion; on the one hand masked burglars with pistols at your
+heads and gags in the mouths of your wife and children, and on the other
+hypocritical, lying, false-swearing, thieving scoundrels who get your
+money under fair pretences, and because of your trust in their
+characters and good faith, and then waste it in speculations and in
+luxurious living. Of the two, the burglars seem to be rather the more
+respectable. It is said, on good authority, that the West India slaves
+of a past generation could be trusted to carry bags of gold from one
+part of the Spanish Main to another, and that they were constantly so
+trusted with entire impunity. They would kidnap, and on occasion stab or
+cut a throat; but if they were trusted, they would not break their
+faith. The honesty of the Turkish porters is so well known that it has
+become almost proverbial. Does not the honesty of these pirates and
+pagans put to shame the Christians who with the professions and the
+faces of Pharisees "devour widows' houses"?
+
+--For as to the business of life insurance, savings banks, and trust
+companies, it is somewhat more, or surely somewhat other, than mere
+business. And so those who practise it and profit by it profess that it
+is. A life insurance company is a grand combination
+philanthropico-financial corporation whose motto is, "Cast thy bread
+upon the waters, and after many days thou shalt receive it again." But
+the truth of the matter turns out to be that if you cast your bread upon
+the waters, the chances are that you will see it devoured before your
+eyes by financial sharks. One case in point has come directly to our
+knowledge. A gentleman, a Government officer, who has a moderate salary,
+with little or no hope of acquiring property, insured his life twenty
+years or more ago in what was thought a good company. His premium was
+always promptly paid even in the flush times of the war and afterward,
+when the fixed salaries of public officers lost more than half their
+purchasing power. Within the last few months he has suddenly found that
+his policy is not worth the paper on which it is magnificently printed.
+But worse than this: within the last few years, as age has crept upon
+him, there has come with it a disease which is incurable although he may
+live for some time longer. Now, however, he cannot get his life insured
+at all; no company will take his life; (it is a rueful jest to say that
+the company in question _did_ take his life); and he has the prospect
+before him of a widow left entirely without provision, although for
+nearly a quarter of a century he and she stinted themselves to provide
+against such a contingency. Meantime the officers of the company lived
+luxuriously, and used the money in their hands for speculation, and in
+living which if not riotous, was at least shameless and dishonest. And
+they were all men of reputation, were selected for their positions
+because it was thought that men of their position and habits of life and
+outward bearing were incorruptible. Have they not devoured that
+prospective widow's house? If He who condemned the hypocritical
+Pharisees of old were on the earth now, would he not pronounce Woe upon
+them? And much would they care about His condemnation if they could get
+their commissions, and their pickings and stealings, and live in
+splendid houses, and be known as the managers of an institution that
+handled millions of dollars yearly, and whose offices were gorgeous with
+many-colored marbles, and gilding, and inlaid wood, and rich carpets!
+
+And like their predecessors in the devouring of widows' houses for a
+pretence, they make long prayers. They, we say; but of course we do not
+mean all; for there are honest officers of life insurance companies, and
+even sound companies; but the number of both is shown day after day to
+be less and less; and when we think that those that we hear about are
+only they which have reached the end of their tether in fraud, perjury,
+and swindling, the prospect before us is one of the most disheartening
+that could be presented to a reflecting people. For remember, these
+defaulting, false-swearing life insurance and savings bank officers are
+picked men, and that their dishonest practices are from their very
+nature deliberate, slow of execution, and that in fact they have gone on
+for years. It is no clutch of drowning men at financial straws that we
+have here; it is the regular "confidence game" played on an enormous
+scale by men who are regarded as the most respectable that can be found
+in the whole community. They are vestrymen, and deacons, and elders, and
+grave and reverend signors, and these men have deliberately used and
+abused the confidence not only of the community in general, but of their
+friends and acquaintance, to "convey" in Nym's phrase, to steal in plain
+English, money which was brought within their reach because of their
+pretended high principle and their philanthropic motives. For, we
+repeat, it must constantly be kept in mind as an aggravation of these
+wrongs, that life insurance companies and savings banks are essentially
+and professedly benevolent institutions. They are, and they openly
+profess to be, chiefly for the benefit of widows and children. The man
+who takes to himself the money of a life insurance company or of a
+savings bank is not a mere thief and swindler; he robs the widow and the
+fatherless; he takes his place among those who are accursed of all men;
+and moreover, in all these cases he is a hypocrite of the deepest dye.
+
+--In any case, however, there is reason for fearing that the business of
+life insurance has in the main long been rotten, even when it has not
+been deliberately corrupt. Professedly and originally a benevolent
+contrivance by which men of moderate incomes could year by year make
+provision for wives and children who might otherwise be left destitute,
+it was reasonable and right to expect that the business of life
+insurance would be conducted upon the most economical principles and in
+the simplest and most unpretending fashion; that there would have been
+only as much expenditure as was absolutely necessary for the proper
+conduct of the business; and that safety for the insured would have been
+the first if not the only ruling motive with the insurers. And such
+indeed was life insurance in the beginning. But by and by it was found
+that there was "money in it," and the sleek, snug hypocrites that prey
+upon society under the guise of philanthropy and religion began to swarm
+around it. Life insurance companies began to have a host of officers;
+they had "actuaries," whatever they may be, who, by whatever motives
+they were actuated, contrived and put forth statements which to the
+common mind were equally plausible and bewildering; they entered into
+bitter rivalry with each other in their philanthropic careers; they had
+agents who went abroad over the land in swarms, smooth-speaking,
+shameless creatures who would say anything, promise anything so long as
+they got their commissions; they published gorgeous pamphlets, tumid and
+splendid with self-praise, and filled with tabular statements that
+justified and illustrated the denying that there is nothing so
+untrustworthy as facts, except figures; they contrived the "mutual"
+plan, by which they made it appear to some men that they could insure
+their own lives--which is much like a man's trying to hoist himself over
+a fence by the straps of his boots--and yet these mutual officers,
+benevolent creatures, were as eager to get business and as ready to pay
+large commissions as if, poor, simple-minded souls, they had expected to
+get rich by life insuring; and then they put up huge and enormously
+expensive buildings, more like palaces than any others known to our
+country. And all this came out of the pockets of those who are, with
+cruel mockery, called the insured. It is the old story: ten cents to the
+beneficiary and ninety cents to the agent through whose hands the money
+passes. Is it not plain, merely from the grand scale and the large
+pretence on which this life insurance business has been carried on of
+late years, that it is rotten? It is a scheme for making money. Now,
+making money is right enough; but when it is carried on under
+philanthropic and benevolent pretences its tendency must naturally be,
+as we have seen that it has been, to gross corruption and the most
+heartless fraud.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+  The point of honor has been deemed of use
+  To teach good manners and to curb abuse.
+
+So wrote Cowper in his "Conversation," nearly a century ago, when
+duelling was beginning to go out of fashion, even among men who did not
+look upon it from a religious point of view. There is no doubt that the
+passage which these lines introduce did much to bring the custom of
+settling personal quarrels by single combat into disrepute. Cowper, the
+moral poet _par excellence_ of the English language, attained this
+eminence chiefly because he wrote, not like a fanatic, or a canting
+pietist, but like a Christian gentleman and a man of sense. A man of
+family, he thought and felt as a gentleman, and addressed himself to
+gentlemen; and indeed, in his day poetry, at least of the quality that
+he produced, had very few readers outside the pale of gentry. His view
+of duelling is the one which now prevails in most communities of English
+blood in all parts of the world. Germans and Frenchmen and the Latin
+races generally still fight upon personal provocation, and in our late
+slave States and among the rude and fierce men who guard and extend our
+western borders, "misunderstandings" are settled by the bullet or the
+knife, and if not on the spot, with the weapon at hand, then in a
+regularly arranged duel in which the forms are entirely subordinate to
+the essentials of a bloody and vindictive contest. With these
+exceptions, however, duelling among the English-speaking people has come
+to be regarded as both folly and crime. Nothing could evince more
+strongly the change that has taken place in the moral sense of the
+world; for to resent an insult by a challenge to fight, and to accept
+such a challenge without a moment's hesitation, were once the highest
+duties of a gentleman. There was a reason for this; and without
+advocating or defending the practice of duelling, it may be questioned
+whether that reason has entirely disappeared.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+--Our readers need not fear that we are about to defend or to palliate
+the conduct of either of the parties to the recent affair which began in
+Fifth Avenue in New York and ended on the Maryland border; but the fact
+that that occurrence or series of occurrences has attracted the
+attention of the whole country, makes it a proper occasion of remark
+upon the questions involved in such encounters. And first we must set
+aside the Cowper view of the subject, not in its conclusion, but in its
+reasoning. For however Christian in sentiment and sound in its final
+judgment the passage in the "Conversation" may be, its author's position
+is not logically impregnable. For it rests upon the assumption embodied
+in the couplet--
+
+  Amoral, sensible, and well-bred man
+  Will not affront me, and no other can.
+
+But if this be true, it follows that a man cannot be insulted, which is
+an absurdity; for men are insulted, as we all know--and we are happy if
+we do not know it by experience. Moreover, men are insulted more
+frequently where the "code of honor" does not prevail than where it
+does; for that code is of use; and if it does not teach good manners, it
+certainly does curb abuse. The question to be decided is whether in the
+teaching of manners and the curbing of abuse by the alternative and
+arbitrament of bloody combat we are not paying too high a price for what
+we gain. To consider the example which is the occasion of our remark. A
+man is met in the street by another with whom he has been upon terms of
+social intercourse, and is there publicly whipped. He faces his
+assailant, resists, but is overcome because the assailant is the
+stronger and the more dexterous. What shall he do? Submit quietly? That
+may be Christian conduct; but whether it is good public policy, to say
+nothing more, may at least be questioned; for it would place the greater
+part of the community at the mercy of the strong brawling bullies. Two
+courses are open to a person so assailed--either to place the matter in
+the hands of the law, in a civil or a criminal suit, or to challenge the
+assailant. In most cases it may be admitted that the former course is
+the wiser and the better course. Where mere protection against personal
+injury is sought a police justice and a police officer are the effective
+as well as the lawful means. But there is something else to be
+considered. The mere personal injury may be slight, and there may be no
+fear of its repetition, and yet there is a wrong done that may rankle
+deeper than a wound. Personal indignity is something that most men of
+character and spirit feel more than bodily pain or than loss of money or
+of property. It is a sentimental grievance, and therefore one which the
+law cannot provide against or punish. It cannot be estimated in damages;
+none the less, therefore, but rather the more, does the man who suffers
+it take it to heart; none the less, therefore, but rather the more, do
+gentlemen set up barriers against it which, although invisible, and not
+even expressed, if indeed they are expressible in words, are more
+forbidding in their frown, more difficult of assault than the regular
+bulwarks of the law. It must be repeated that this wrong is not to be
+measured by the bodily injury or the bodily pain that is inflicted. Two
+men may be boxing or fencing, and one may severely injure the other; but
+no sense of wrong accompanies the injury, and that not because no injury
+was intended, but because no offence was meant; whereas the flirt of a
+kid glove across the face, or a word, may inflict a wrong that if not
+atoned for or expiated, may rankle through a man's whole life. To
+attempt to set aside or to do away with this feeling is quite useless:
+as well attempt to set aside or to do away with human nature. It is this
+feeling that has been at the bottom of most duels since duels passed out
+of use as a mode of determining guilt or innocence, or of deciding
+questions as to property, or position, or title. In the sixteenth,
+seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries duels were chiefly the remedy for
+wounded honor, as they are when they are rarely fought nowadays. True
+there was the duel fought between two gentlemen "to prevent the
+inconvenience of their both addressing the same lady"; but the duel for
+that reason pure and simple was always comparatively rare, as, owing to
+the infirmity of human nature, the agreement in opinion of the lady and
+the disagreement as to the disposition to be made of her were almost
+sure to take the form of a more reasonable if not more deadly cause of
+quarrel.
+
+--But society--that is, society in which Anglo-Saxon modes of thought
+and feeling prevail--says that no matter what the provocation, or how
+great the sense of wrong, the duel shall not be; it has been made a
+crime in some if not in most of such communities even to send a
+challenge. This is done on grounds of public policy and of morality, and
+not, as some persons seem to think, because killing in a duel is murder.
+Murder is more than a mere killing, and is in its essence entirely
+inconsistent with the fact that the person killed voluntarily placed
+himself, and generally with much trouble and at great inconvenience, in
+the way of his death. The duel is in fact a sort of _hari-kari_, or
+happy release, as our Japanese friends have well phrased it, but it is
+with the cooperation of a second party who voluntarily places himself in
+similar peril, the happy release being in both cases from the stigma of
+dishonor. This is shown very clearly by the distinction which is drawn
+in general estimation between the man who challenges because he has
+suffered an insult or an injury to his family honor, and one who does so
+from a feeling of revenge and with the intent to rid himself of a hated
+opponent, as for example in the case of Aaron Burr in his duel with
+Alexander Hamilton. That was more than half a century ago, when there
+were no such laws against duelling as now exist; but Burr, although he
+rid himself of his hated rival on what was called the field of honor,
+was from that day a degraded, detested, ruined man. If Hamilton had
+offered him a personal indignity, or had injured him in his family
+relations, the result of the duel would have added nothing to the weight
+of disrepute under which Burr was already suffering. The whole world
+recognizes this distinction, and there is hardly a man whose breeding
+and habits make him what is rightly called a gentleman in the full sense
+of the term, who, however his judgment may condemn the duellist who
+fights because of an insult or an injury to family honor, does not feel
+a certain sympathy with him. Notwithstanding the teachings of
+Christianity, and the example of its founder as to the patient suffering
+of indignity, notwithstanding the law, we all, or most of us, have the
+feeling that Barclay of Wry's battle-tried comrade had when he saw his
+old friend and heroic commander openly insulted by a throng of
+swashbucklers in the streets of Aberdeen, because he had become a
+Quaker, and which Whittier has expressed with such spirit in his poem on
+the subject, which is one of the few truly admirable ballads of modern
+days (although its author does not so class it), and which is, we are
+inclined to think, the most admirable of them all:
+
+  Woe's the day, he sadly said,
+  With a slowly shaking head,
+    And a look of pity:
+  Wry's honest lord reviled,
+  Mock of knave and sport of child,
+    In his own good city.
+
+  Speak the word, and master mine,
+  As we charged on Tilly's line
+    And his Walloon lancers,
+  Smiting through their midst, we'll teach
+  Civil look and decent speech
+    To these boyish prancers.
+
+--What then is to be done? for the question is a serious one. We all
+feel that personal indignity is of all wrongs the hardest one to bear;
+we know that it is a wrong of a kind that cannot be redressed by law;
+and yet we restrain men from the only redress, "satisfaction," as it is
+called, that human ingenuity has bean able to devise, and with which
+human nature, of the unregenerate sort, is satisfied. We cannot expect
+all men to behave like members of the Society of Friends. All men have
+not proved their courage and high spirit like Barclay of Wry, who
+
+                   ----stood
+  Ankle deep in Lutzen's blood
+    With the great Gustavus.
+
+We cannot compel all men to be Christians; and yet we would compel them
+by law to bear insult as if they were Christians and great captains
+turned Quakers. We can do this, which thus far society has neglected to
+do: we can put a social ban upon the man who deliberately offers a
+personal indignity to another. This should be a social duty. Let it be
+understood, according to one of those silent social laws which are the
+most binding of all laws because the sheriff cannot enforce them, that
+the man who flourishes a horsewhip over another's head, or who uses his
+tongue as a scourge with like purpose, or who offers personal indignity
+of any kind, insults society as well as his victim, and is not to be
+pardoned until he has made the amend to the injured party, and there
+would soon be an end of provocation to duelling, except that which
+touches the family, and that cannot be done away with until men have so
+developed morally and intellectually that they see that a man's honor is
+not in the keeping of a woman, not in that of any other person than
+himself, not even his wife. Her conduct may indeed involve his dishonor,
+if he is what used to be called a wittol, but even then _his_ dishonor
+is because of his own disgrace. Only then can we reconcile the making of
+a challenge a felony with the feeling that a man who has had a personal
+indignity put upon him has suffered the deepest wrong he could be called
+upon to bear, yet a wrong which society fails to right while it forbids
+him to seek the only reparation.
+
+--That reparation is defined, if not prescribed, by the code of honor,
+as to which code there seems to be a very general misapprehension. The
+purpose of the code is this, that no gentleman shall offer a personal
+indignity to another except with the certainty of its being at the risk
+of his life. If society would provide a remedy or preventive that would
+operate like this risk, the code would soon pass absolutely out of
+practice and into oblivion. It is generally supposed that the code is a
+very bloodthirsty law, and that those who acknowledge it and act upon it
+are "sudden and quick in quarrel," lovers of fighting, revengeful and
+implacable, and that the code gives them the means of gratifying their
+murderous or combative propensities. No notion of it could be more
+erroneous; the misconception is like that which supposes military men to
+be desirous of using arms on slight provocation; whereas the contrary is
+the case. No men are so reluctant to begin fighting as thoroughbred
+soldiers; for they know what it means and to what end it must be carried
+if it is once begun. The code has been reduced to writing, and by a
+"fire-eating" South Carolinian, so that we can see just how bloodthirsty
+it is. It provides first that if an insult be received in public it
+should not be resented or noticed there, out of respect to those
+present, except in case of a blow or the like, because this is insult to
+the company which did not originate with the person receiving it; that a
+challenge should never be sent in the first instance because "that
+precludes all negotiation," and that in the note asking explanation and
+reparation the writer should "cautiously avoid attributing to the
+adverse party any improper motive"; that the aggrieved party's second
+should manage the whole affair even before a challenge is sent, because
+he "is supposed to be cool and collected, and his friends' feelings are
+more or less irritated" ["more or less" here is excellent good as
+expressive of the state of mind of a man so aggrieved that he is ready
+to risk his life]; the second is to "use every effort to soothe and
+tranquillize his principal," not to "see things in the aggravated light
+in which he views them, but to extenuate the conduct of his adversary
+whenever he sees clearly an opportunity to do so"; to "endeavor to
+persuade him that there has been some misunderstanding in the matter,"
+and to "check him if he uses opprobrious epithets toward his adversary";
+"when an accommodation is tendered," the code says in a paragraph worthy
+of the most respectful consideration, "never require too much; and if
+the party offering the _amende honorable_ wishes to give a reason for
+his conduct in the matter, do not, unless it is offensive to your
+friend, refuse to receive it. By doing so you heal the breach more
+effectively." Strangers may call upon you for your offices as second,
+"for strangers are entitled to redress for wrongs as well as others, and
+the rules of honor and of hospitality should protect them." The second
+of the party challenged is also told, "Use your utmost efforts to allay
+the excitement which your principal may labor under," to search
+diligently into the origin of the misunderstanding, "for gentlemen
+seldom insult each other unless they labor under some misapprehension or
+mistake," and if the matter be investigated in the right spirit, it is
+probable that "harmony will be restored." The other parts of the code
+refer to the arrangements for and the etiquette of the hostile meeting,
+of which we shall only notice the censure passed upon the seconds if
+after either party is hit the fight is allowed to go on. The last
+section implies, although it does not positively assert, that "every
+insult may be compromised" without a hostile meeting, and it is directly
+said that "the old opinion that a blow must require blood is of no
+force; blows may be compromised in many cases." We do by no means
+advocate the fighting of duels; but we must say that we cannot see in
+this code the blood-thirstiness and the quarrel-seeking generally
+attributed to it. On the contrary, all its instructions seem to tend
+toward peacemaking, the restoration of harmony, the restraining of even
+expressions of ill feeling. It does recognize as indisputable that an
+insult must be atoned for, and if necessary, at the risk of life. That
+necessity society can do away with by placing its ban upon the man who
+insults another.
+
+       *     *     *     *     *
+
+--It is generally supposed that the "average American" beats the world
+in his love of big titles, and in his use of them; but the freed
+southern negro beats his white fellow citizen all hollow. We hear from
+Texas of one who is Head Centre of a Lodge--exactly of what sort we
+don't know, but we suppose that it must be a lodge in the wilderness or
+perhaps, in Solomon's phrase, a lodge in a garden of cucumbers. This
+cullud pusson will spend two months' wages to "report" at a grand
+junction "jamboree" of his "lodge." The titles of the officers of these
+associations are something wonderful. A negro office boy down there
+asked leave of absence for a day to attend a meeting. "Why," said his
+master, "Scip, I didn't know you belonged to a lodge." "Oh, yes, boss,"
+replied Africanus, "Ise Supreme Grand King, an' Ise nowhar near de top
+nuther." Who shall say that the abolition of slavery was not worth all
+that it cost?
+
+
+
+
+  Transcriber's Notes:
+
+  Obvious punctuation errors corrected.
+
+  Text changes:
+  English Peerage: replaced "e.i." with "i.e."
+    ..._i.e._ the mayor being...
+  Misanthrope: replaced "acquintance" with "acquaintance"
+    ...to renew her acquaintance with Miss Lucy...
+  Wordsworth: Corrected "ta de, kollomelei" to "ta de kollomelei"
+    The Greek word "k'autonomazei" appears in other editions as
+      "k'antonomazei."
+    Replaced "Jeffry" with "Jeffrey" ...Jeffrey looked for logical...
+    Used =[text]= to indicate word typed with strike-out
+      =Those= lips...
+    Replaced "chearful" with "cheerful" ...Be wise and cheerful...
+  Portrait: Open quote without close quote in poem retained;
+    "Is thine that great,...
+  Tinsel: Removed extra period: ...before I asked it.".
+  Eastern: Corrected "Mediterannean" to "Mediterranean"
+      ...superior fleet in the Mediterranean;...
+    Added comma between "there there" ...In religion there, there are...
+  Assja: Consolidated 'The young man smiled and answered, "Yes; we are
+      Russians."' into one paragraph.
+    Removed hyphen from "hemp-field" ...a hemp field of moderate size...
+  Scientific: Added thought breaks between paragraphs at change of topic.
+  Nebulae: Added thought breaks between paragraphs at change of topic.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Galaxy, by Various
+
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