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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of McClure's Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 3, August,
+1893, 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: McClure's Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 3, August, 1893
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: March 18, 2011 [EBook #35610]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE, AUGUST, 1893 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Katherine Ward, and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+McCLURE'S MAGAZINE
+
+VOL. I    AUGUST, 1893    No. 3
+
+
+_Copyright, 1893, by S. S. McClure, Limited. All rights reserved._
+
+Table of Contents
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+  A Dialogue Between Eugene Field and Hamlin Garland. Recorded
+      by Hamlin Garland.                                           195
+  The Shadow Boatswain. By Bliss Carman.                           205
+  The Slapping Sal. By Conan Doyle.                                206
+  "Human Documents."                                               213
+  Some Professional Adventures of Karl Hagenbeck. By Raymond
+      Blathwayt.                                                   219
+  The Story I Heard on the Cars. By Mrs. E. V. Wilson.             224
+  Mrs. Gladstone and Her Good Works. By Mary G. Burnett.           235
+  A Boys' Republic. By Alfred Balch.                               242
+  The Happy Life. By Sir Henry Wotton.                             254
+  Edwin Booth. On and Off the Stage. By Adam Badeau.               255
+  Burglars Three. By James Harvey Smith.                           268
+  Stranger Than Fiction. By Dr. William Wright.                    277
+
+
+
+
+Illustrations
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+  The Old Homestead at Fayetteville, Vermont.                      196
+  Eugene Field's Home at Buena Park, Chicago.                      197
+  The Hall.                                                        198
+  A Bit of Library.                                                199
+  The Dining-Room.                                                 199
+  The Drawing-Room.                                                201
+  Field's "Treasures."                                             203
+  Hairy Hudson.                                                    206
+  Captain Johnson and Mr. Wharton.                                 207
+  The Action.                                                      209
+  Aboard the "Leda."                                               210
+  Oliver Wendell Holmes.                                           214
+  J. J. Ingalls.                                                   216
+  Jules Verne.                                                     218
+  Karl Hagenbeck's Father and His First Show in Berlin.            220
+  The Scramble in Munich.                                          223
+  The Old and New Castle of Hawarden.                              236
+  Miss Glynne (Mrs. Gladstone), 1838.                              237
+  The Orphanage, Hawarden.                                         237
+  The Inmates of Woodsford Hall in the Forest.                     239
+  The Annual Lunch Party of the Notting Hill School Girls.         240
+  Mrs. Gladstone To-day.                                           241
+  The Chapel.                                                      243
+  The Camp on March.                                               249
+  A Halt for Supper.                                               250
+  The Barge.                                                       250
+  Captain Cairn's House.                                           253
+  The Death Mask of Edwin Booth.                                   267
+  "I Ain't No Missionary!"                                         269
+  "Excellent Claret," Said Harry.                                  271
+  "No Violence, Jim!"                                              272
+  "What Is Your Annual Income as a Burglar?"                       273
+
+
+
+
+REAL CONVERSATIONS.--II.
+
+A DIALOGUE BETWEEN EUGENE FIELD AND HAMLIN GARLAND.
+
+RECORDED BY HAMLIN GARLAND.
+
+
+One afternoon quite recently two men sat in an attic study in one of
+the most interesting homes in the city of Chicago. A home that was a
+museum of old books, rare books, Indian relics, dramatic souvenirs and
+bric-a-brac indescribable, but each piece with a history.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+It was a beautiful June day, and the study window looked out upon a
+lawn of large trees where children were rioting. It was a part of
+Chicago which the traveler never sees, green and restful and
+dignified, the lake not far off.
+
+The host was a tall, thin-haired man with a New England face of
+the Scotch type, rugged, smoothly shaven, and generally very
+solemn--suspiciously solemn in expression. His infrequent smile
+curled his wide, expressive mouth in fantastic grimaces which seemed
+not to affect the steady gravity of the blue-gray eyes. He was
+stripped to his shirt-sleeves and sat with feet on a small stand. He
+chewed reflectively upon a cigar during the opening of the talk.
+His voice was deep but rather dry in quality.
+
+The other man was a rather heavily built man with brown hair and beard
+cut rather close. He listened, mainly, going off into gusts of
+laughter occasionally as the other man gave a quaint turn to some very
+frank phrase. The tall host was Eugene Field, the interviewer a
+Western writer by the name of Garland.
+
+"Well now, brother Field," said Garland, interrupting his host as he
+was about to open another case of rare books. "You remember I'm to
+interview you to-day."
+
+Field scowled savagely.
+
+"O say, Garland, can't we put that thing off?"
+
+"No. Must be did," replied his friend decisively. "Now there are two
+ways to do this thing. We can be as literary and as deliciously select
+in our dialogue as Mr. Howells and Professor Boyesen were, or we can
+be wild and woolly. How would it do to be as wild and woolly as those
+Eastern fellers expect us to be?"
+
+"All right," said Field, taking his seat well upon the small of his
+back. "What does it all mean anyway? What you goin' to do?"
+
+"I'm goin' to take notes while we talk, and I'm goin' to put this
+thing down pretty close to the fact, now, you bet," said Garland,
+sharpening a pencil.
+
+"Where you wan'to begin?"
+
+"Oh, we'll have to begin with your ancestry, though it's a good deal
+like the introductory chapter to the old-fashioned novels. We'll start
+early, with your birth for instance."
+
+"Well, I was born in St. Louis."
+
+[Illustration: THE OLD HOMESTEAD AT FAYETTEVILLE, VERMONT.]
+
+"Is that so?" the interviewer showed an unprofessional surprise. "Why,
+I thought you were born in Massachusetts?"
+
+"No," said Field, reflectively. "No, I'm sorry of course, but I was
+born in St. Louis; but my parents were Vermont people." He mentioned
+this as an extenuating circumstance, evidently. "My father was a
+lawyer. He was a precocious boy,--graduated from Middlebury College
+when he was fifteen, and when he was nineteen was made States-Attorney
+by special act of the legislature; without that he would have had to
+wait till he was twenty-one. He married and came West, and I was born
+in 1850."
+
+"So you're forty-three? Where does the New England life come in?"
+
+"When I was seven years old my mother died, and father packed us boys
+right off to Massachusetts and put us under the care of a maiden
+cousin, a Miss French,--she was a fine woman too."
+
+Garland looked up from his scratchpad to ask, "This was at Amherst?"
+
+"Yes. I stayed there until I was nineteen, and they were the sweetest
+and finest days of my life. I like old Amherst." He paused a moment,
+and his long face slowly lightened up. "By the way, here's something
+you'll like. When I was nine years old father sent us up to
+Fayetteville, Vermont, to the old homestead where my grandmother
+lived. We stayed there seven months," he said with a grim curl of his
+lips, "and the old lady got all the grandson she wanted. She didn't
+want the visit repeated."
+
+He sat a moment in silence, and his face softened and his eyes grew
+tender. "I tell you, Garland, a man's got to have a layer of country
+experience somewhere in him. My love for nature dates from that visit,
+because I had never lived in the country before. Sooner or later a man
+rots if he lives too far away from the grass and the trees."
+
+"You're right there, Field, only I didn't know you felt it so deeply.
+I supposed you hated farm life."
+
+"I do, but farm life is not nature. I'd like to live in the country
+without the effects of work and dirt and flies."
+
+The word "flies" started him off on a side-track. "Say! You should see
+my boys. I go up to a farm near Fox Lake and stay a week every year,
+suffering all sorts of tortures, in order to give my boys a chance to
+see farm life. I sit there nights trying to read by a vile-smelling
+old kerosene lamp, the flies trooping in so that you can't keep the
+window down, you know, and those boys lying there all the time on a
+hot husk bed, faces spattered with mosquito bites and sweating like
+pigs--and happy as angels. The roar of the flies and mosquitoes is
+sweetest lullaby to a tired boy."
+
+"Well, now, going back to that visit," said the interviewer with
+persistency to his plan.
+
+"Oh, yes. Well, my grandmother was a regular old New England
+Congregationalist. Say, I've got a sermon I wrote when I was nine. The
+old lady used to give me ten cents for every sermon I'd write. Like to
+see it?"
+
+[Illustration: EUGENE FIELD'S HOME AT BUENA PARK, CHICAGO.]
+
+"Well, I should say. A sermon at nine years! Field, you started in
+well."
+
+"Didn't I?" he replied, while getting the book. "And you bet it's a
+corker." He produced the volume, which was a small bundle of
+note-paper bound beautifully. It was written in a boy's formal hand.
+He sat down to read it:
+
+  "I would remark secondly that conscience makes the way of
+  transgressors hard; for every act of pleasure, every act of Guilt
+  his conscience smites him. The last of his stay on earth will
+  appear horrible to the beholder. Some times, however, he will be
+  stayed in his guilt. A death in a family of some favorite object
+  or be attacked by Some disease himself is brought to the portals
+  of the grave. Then for a little time perhaps he is stayed in his
+  wickedness, but before long he returns to his worldly lust. Oh, it
+  is indeed bad for sinners to go down into perdition over all the
+  obstacles which God has placed in his path. But many I am afraid
+  do go down into perdition, for wide gate and broad is the way that
+  leadeth to destruction and many there be that go in thereat."
+
+He stopped occasionally to look at Garland gravely, as he read some
+particularly comical phrase: "'I secondly remark'--ain't that
+great?--'that the wise man remembers even how near he is to the
+portals of death.' 'Portals of death' is good. 'One should strive to
+walk the narrow way and not the one which leads to perdition.' I was
+heavy on quotations, you notice."
+
+"Is this the first and last of your sermons?" queried Garland, with an
+amused smile.
+
+"The first and last. Grandmother soon gave me up as bad material for a
+preacher. She paid me five dollars for learning the Ten Commandments.
+I used to be very slow at 'committing to memory.' I recall that while
+I was thus committing the book of Acts, my brother committed that book
+and the Gospel of Matthew, part of John, the thirteenth chapter of
+First Corinthians and the Westminster Catechism. I would not now
+exchange for any amount of money the acquaintance with the Bible that
+was drummed into me when I was a boy. At learning 'pieces to speak' I
+was, however, unusually quick, and my favorites were: 'Marco
+Bozzaris,' 'Psalm of Life,' Drake's 'American Flag,' Longfellow's
+'Launching of the Ship,' Webster's 'Action,' Shakspeare's 'Clarence's
+Dream' (Richard III.), and 'Wolsey to Cromwell,' 'Death of Virginia,'
+'Horatius at the Bridge,' 'Hymn of the Moravian Nuns,' 'Absalom,'
+'Lochiel's Warning,' 'Maclean's Revenge,' Bulwer's translation of
+Schiller's 'The Diver,' 'Landing of the Pilgrims,' Bryant's
+'Melancholy Days,' 'Burial of Sir John Moore,' and 'Hohenlinden.'"
+
+"I remember when I was thirteen, our cousin said she'd give us a
+Christmas tree. So we went down into Patrick's swamp--I suppose the
+names are all changed now--and dug up a little pine tree, about as
+tall as we were, and planted it in a tub. On the night of Christmas
+Day, just when we were dancing around the tree, making merry and
+having a high-old-jinks of a time, the way children will, grandma came
+in and looked at us. 'Will this popery never cease?' was all she said,
+and out she flounced."
+
+"Yes, that was the old Puritan idea of it. But did live----"
+
+"Now hold on," he interrupted. "I want to finish. We planted that tree
+near the corner of Sunset Avenue and Amity Street, and it's there now,
+a magnificent tree. Sometime when I'm East I'm going to go up there
+with my brother and put a tablet on it--'Pause, busy traveller, and
+give a thought to the happy days of two Western boys who lived in old
+New England, and make resolve to render the boyhood near you happier
+and brighter,' or something like that."
+
+"That's a pretty idea," Garland agreed. He felt something fine and
+tender in the man's voice which was generally hard and dry but
+wonderfully expressive.
+
+[Illustration: THE HALL.]
+
+"Now, this sermon I had bound just for the sake of old times. If I
+didn't have it right here, I wouldn't believe I ever wrote such stuff.
+I tell you, a boy's a queer combination," he ended, referring to the
+book again.
+
+"You'll see that I signed my name, those days, 'E. P. Field.' The 'P.'
+stands for Phillips.
+
+"As I grew old enough to realize it, I was much chagrined to find I
+had no middle name like the rest of the boys, so I took the name of
+Phillips. I was a great admirer of Wendell Phillips, am yet, though
+I'm not a reformer. You'll see here,"--he pointed at the top of the
+pages,--"I wrote the word 'sensual.' Evidently I was struck with the
+word, and was seeking a chance to ring it in somewhere, but failed."
+They both laughed over the matter while Field put the book back.
+
+"Are you a college man?" asked Garland. "I've noticed your deplorable
+tendency toward the classics."
+
+"I fitted for college when I was sixteen. My health was bad, or I
+should have entered right off. I had pretty nearly everything that was
+going in the way of diseases," this was said with a comical twist
+voice, "so I didn't get to Williams till I was eighteen. My health
+improved right along, but I'm sorry to say that of the college did
+not." He smiled again, a smile that meant a very great deal.
+
+"What happened then?"
+
+"Well, my father died, and I returned West. I went to live with my
+guardian, Professor Burgess, of Knox College. This college is situated
+at Galesburg, Illinois. This is the college that has lately conferred
+A. M. upon me. The Professor's guardianship was merely nominal,
+however. I did about as I pleased.
+
+"I next went to the State University at Columbia, Missouri. It was an
+old slave-holding town, but I liked it. I've got a streak of Southern
+feeling in me." He said abruptly, "I'm an aristocrat. I'm looking for
+a M�cenas. I have mighty little in common with most of the wealthy,
+but I like the idea of wealth in the abstract." He failed to make the
+distinction quite clear, but he went on as if realizing that this
+might be a thin spot of ice.
+
+"At twenty-one, I came into sixty thousand dollars, and I went to
+Europe, taking a friend, a young fellow of about my own age, with me.
+I had a lovely time!" he added, and again the smile conveyed vast
+meaning.
+
+Garland looked up from his pad.
+
+"You must have had. Did you 'blow in the whole business'?"
+
+"Pretty near. I _swatted_ the money around. Just think of it!" he
+exclaimed, warming with the recollection. "A boy of twenty-one,
+without father or mother, and sixty thousand dollars. Oh, it was a
+lovely combination! I saw more things and did more things than are
+dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio," he paraphrased, looking at his
+friend with a strange expression of amusement, and pleasure, and
+regret. "I had money. I paid it out for experience--it was plenty.
+Experience was laying around loose."
+
+"Came home when the money gave out, I reckon?"
+
+[Illustration: A BIT OF LIBRARY.]
+
+"Yes. Came back to St. Louis, and went to work on the 'Journal,' I had
+previously tried to 'enter journalism' as I called it then. About the
+time I was twenty-one, I went to Stilson Hutchins, and told him who I
+was, and he said:
+
+"'All right. I'll give you a chance, but we don't pay much.' Of
+course, I told him pay didn't matter.
+
+[Illustration: THE DINING-ROOM.]
+
+"'Well!' he said, 'go down to the Olympia, and write up the play there
+to-night,' I went down, and I brought most of my critical acumen to
+bear upon an actor by the name of Charley Pope, who was playing
+Mercutio for Mrs. D. P. Bowers. His wig didn't fit, and all my best
+writing centred about that wig. I sent the critique in, blame fine as
+I thought, with illuminated initial letters, and all that. Oh, it was
+lovely! and the next morning I was deeply pained and disgusted to find
+it mutilated,--all that about the wig, the choicest part, was cut out.
+I thought I'd quit journalism forever. I don't suppose Hutchins
+connects Eugene Field with the ---- fool that wrote that critique. I
+don't myself," he added with a quick half-smile, lifting again the
+corner of his solemn mouth. It was like a ripple on a still pool.
+
+"Well, when did you really get into the work?" his friend asked, for
+he seemed about to go off into another by-path.
+
+"Oh, after I came back from Europe I was busted, and had to go to
+work. I met Stanley Waterloo about that time, and his talk induced me
+to go to work for the 'Journal' as a reporter. I soon got to be city
+editor, but I didn't like it. I liked to have fun with people. I liked
+to have my fun as I went along. About this time I married the sister
+of the friend who went with me to Europe, and feeling my new
+responsibilities, I went up to St. Joseph as city editor." He mused
+for a moment in silence. "It was terrific hard work, but I wouldn't
+give a good deal for those two years."
+
+"Have you ever drawn upon them for material?" asked Garland with a
+novelist's perception of their possibilities.
+
+"No, but I may some time. Things have to get pretty misty before I can
+use 'em. I'm not like you fellows," he said, referring to the
+realists. "I got thirty dollars a week; wasn't that princely?"
+
+"Nothing else, but you earned it, no doubt."
+
+"Earned it? Why, Great Scott! I did the whole business except turning
+the handle of the press.
+
+"Well, in 1877 I was called back to the 'Journal' in St. Louis, as
+editorial writer of paragraphs. That was the beginning of my own line
+of work."
+
+"When did you do your first work in verse?" asked Garland.
+
+The tall man brought his feet down to the floor with a bang and thrust
+his hand out toward his friend. "_There!_ I'm glad you said _verse_.
+For heaven's sake don't ever say I call my stuff poetry. I never do. I
+don't pass judgment on it like that." After a little he resumed. "The
+first that I wrote was 'Christmas Treasures.' I wrote that one night
+to fill in a chink in the paper."
+
+"Give me a touch of it?" asked his friend.
+
+He chewed his cigar in the effort to remember. "I don't read it much.
+I put it with the collection for the sake of old times." He read a few
+lines of it, and read it extremely well, before returning to his
+history.
+
+
+CHRISTMAS TREASURES.
+
+  I count my treasures o'er with care,--
+    The little toy my darling knew,
+    A little sock of faded hue,
+  A little lock of golden hair.
+
+  Long years ago this holy time,
+    My little ones--my all to me--
+    Sat robed in white upon my knee,
+  And heard the merry Christmas chime.
+
+  "Tell me, my little golden-head,
+    If Santa Claus should come to-night,
+    What shall he bring my baby bright,--
+  What treasure for my boy?" I said.
+
+  Then he named this little toy,
+    While in his round and mournful eyes
+    There came a look of sweet surprise,
+  That spake his quiet, trustful joy.
+
+  And as he lisped his evening prayer,
+    He asked the boon with childish grace,
+    Then, toddling to the chimney-place,
+  He hung this little stocking there.
+
+  That night, while lengthening shadows crept,
+    I saw the white-winged angels come
+    With singing to our lowly home,
+  And kiss my darling as he slept.
+
+  They must have heard his little prayer,
+    For in the morn with rapturous face,
+    He toddled to the chimney-place,
+  And found this little treasure there.
+
+  They came again one Christmas-tide,--
+    That angel host, so fair and white!
+    And singing all that glorious night,
+  They lured my darling from my side.
+
+  A little sock, a little toy,
+    A little lock of golden hair,
+    The Christmas music on the air,
+  A watching for my baby boy!
+
+  But if again that angel train
+    And golden head come back to me,
+    To bear me to Eternity,
+  My watching will not be in vain!
+
+"I went next to the Kansas City 'Times' as managing editor. I wrote
+there that 'Little Peach,' which still chases me round the country."
+
+
+THE LITTLE PEACH.
+
+  A little peach in the orchard grew,
+  A little peach of emerald hue;
+  Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew,
+        It grew.
+
+  One day, passing that orchard through,
+  That little peach dawned on the view
+  Of Johnny Jones and his sister Sue,
+        Them two.
+
+  Up at that peach a club they threw,
+  Down from the stem on which it grew,
+  Fell that peach of emerald hue.
+        Mon Dieu!
+
+  John took a bite and Sue a chew,
+  And then the trouble began to brew,
+  Trouble the doctor couldn't subdue.
+        Too true!
+
+  Under the turf where the daisies grew,
+  They planted John and his sister Sue,
+  And their little souls to the angels flew,
+        Boo hoo!
+
+  What of that peach of the emerald hue,
+  Warmed by the sun, and wet by the dew?
+  Ah, well, its mission on earth is through.
+        Adieu!
+
+[Illustration: THE DRAWING-ROOM.]
+
+"I went to the 'Denver Tribune' next, and stayed there till 1883. The
+most conspicuous thing I did there, was the burlesque primer series.
+'See the po-lice-man. Has he a club? Yes he has a club,' etc. These
+were so widely copied and pirated that I put them into a little book
+which is very rare, thank heaven. I hope I have the only copy of it.
+The other thing which rose above the level of my ordinary work was a
+bit of verse, 'The Wanderer,' which I credited to Modjeska, and which
+has given her no little annoyance."
+
+
+THE WANDERER.
+
+  Upon a mountain height, far from the sea,
+    I found a shell,
+  And to my listening ear the lonely thing
+  Ever a song of ocean seemed to sing,
+    Ever a tale of ocean seemed to tell.
+
+  How came the shell upon that mountain height?
+    Ah, who can say
+  Whether there dropped by some too careless hand,
+  Or whether there cast when Ocean swept the Land,
+    Ere the Eternal had ordained the day?
+
+  Strange, was it not? Far from its native deep,
+    One song it sang,
+  Sang of the awful mysteries of the tide,
+  Sang of the misty sea, profound and wide,
+    Ever with echoes of the ocean rang.
+
+  And as the shell upon the mountain height
+    Sings of the sea,
+  So do I ever, leagues and leagues away,
+  So do I ever, wandering where I may,
+    Sing, O my home! sing, O my home! of thee.
+
+"That brings you up to Chicago, doesn't it?"
+
+"In 1883 Melville Stone asked me to join him on the 'News,' and I did.
+Since then my life has been uneventful."
+
+"I might not think so. Did you establish the column 'Sharps and Flats'
+at once?"
+
+"Yes. I told Stone I'd write a good deal of musical matter, and the
+name seemed appropriate. We tried to change it several times, but no
+go."
+
+"I first saw your work in the 'News.' I was attracted by your
+satirical studies of Chicago. I don't always like what you write, but
+I liked your war against sham."
+
+Field became serious at once, and leaned towards the other man in an
+attitude of great earnestness. The deepest note in the man's voice
+came out. "I hate a sham or a fraud; not so much a fraud, for a fraud
+means brains very often, but a sham makes me mad clear through," he
+said savagely. His fighting quality came out in the thrust of the
+chin. Here was the man whom the frauds and shams fear.
+
+"That is evident. But I don't think the people make the broadest
+application of your satires. They apply them to Chicago. There is
+quite a feeling. I suppose you know about this. They say you've hurt
+Chicago art."
+
+"I hope I have, so far as the bogus art and imitation culture of my
+city is concerned. As a matter of fact the same kind of thing exists
+in Boston and New York, only they're used to it there. I've jumped on
+that crowd of faddists, I'll admit, as hard as I could, but I don't
+think anyone can say I've ever willingly done a real man or woman an
+injury. If I have, I've always tried to square the thing up." Here was
+the man's fairness, kindliness of heart, coming to the surface in good
+simple way.
+
+The other man was visibly impressed with his friend's earnestness, but
+he pursued his course. "You've had offers to go East, according to the
+papers."
+
+"Yes, but I'm not going--why should I? I'm in my element here. They
+haven't any element there. They've got atmosphere there, and it's
+pretty thin sometimes, I call it." He uttered "atmosphere" with a
+drawling attenuated nasal to express his contempt. "I don't want
+literary atmosphere. I want to be in an _element_ where I can tumble
+around and yell without falling in a fit for lack of breath."
+
+The interviewer was scratching away like mad--this was his chance.
+
+Field's mind took a sudden turn now, and he said emphatically:
+"Garland, I'm a newspaper man. I don't claim to be anything else. I've
+never written a thing for the magazines, and I never was asked to,
+till about four years ago. I never have put a high estimate upon my
+verse. That it's popular is because my sympathies and the public's
+happen to run on parallel lines just now. That's all. Not much of it
+will live."
+
+"I don't know about that, brother Field," said Garland, pausing to
+rest. "I think you underestimate some of that work. Your reminiscent
+boy-life poems and your songs of children are thoroughly American, and
+fine and tender. They'll take care of themselves."
+
+"Yes, but my best work has been along lines of satire. I've
+consistently made war upon shams. I've stood always in my work for
+decency and manliness and honesty. I think that'll remain true, you'll
+find. I'm not much physically, but morally I'm not a coward."
+
+"No, I don't think anybody will rise up to charge you with time-serving.
+By the way, what a rare chance you have in the attitude of the
+Chicago people toward the Spanish princess!"
+
+The tall man straightened up. His whole nature roused at this point,
+and his face grew square. His Puritan grandfather looked from his
+indignant eyes and set jaw as he said:
+
+"I don't know what's coming upon us."
+
+"Aha!" Garland exulted, "even you are bitten with the same."
+
+He flung his hand out in quick deprecation.
+
+"Oh, I don't pretend to be a reformer. I leave that to others. I hate
+logarithms. I like speculative astronomy. I am naturally a lover of
+romance. My mind turns toward the far past or future. I like to
+illustrate the foolery of these society folks by stories which I
+invent. The present don't interest me--at least not taken as it is.
+Possibilities interest me."
+
+"That's a good way to put it," said the other man. "It's a question of
+the impossible, the possible, and the probable. I like the probable. I
+like the near-at-hand. I feel the most vital interest in the average
+fact."
+
+"I know you do, and I like it after you get through with it, but I
+don't care to deal with the raw material myself. I like the archaic."
+
+"Yet some of your finest things, I repeat, are your reminiscent verses
+of boy-life," pursued Garland, who called himself a veritist and
+enjoyed getting his friend as nearly on his ground as possible.
+
+[Illustration: FIELD'S "TREASURES:" THE GLADSTONE AXE, C. A. DANA'S
+SHEARS, THE HORACES.]
+
+"Yes, that's so, but that's in the far past," Field admitted. Garland
+took the thought up.
+
+"Time helps you then. Time is a romancer. He halves the fact, but we
+veritists find the _present_ fact haloed, with significance if not
+beauty."
+
+Field dodged the point.
+
+"Yes, I like to do those boy-life verses. I like to live over the joys
+and tragedies--because we had our tragedies."
+
+"Didn't we! Weeding the onion-bed on circus day, for example."
+
+"Yes, or gettin' a terrible strappin' for goin' swimming without
+permission. Oh, it all comes back to me, all sweet and fine somehow.
+I've forgotten all the unpleasant things. I remember only the best of
+it all. I like boy-life. I like children. I like young men. I like the
+buoyancy of youth and its freshness. It's a God's pity that every
+young child can't get a taste of country life at some time. It's a
+fund of inspiration to a man." Again the finer quality in the man came
+out in his face and voice.
+
+"Your life in New England and the South, and also in the West, has
+been of great help to you, I think."
+
+"Yes, and a big disadvantage. When I go East, Stedman calls me a
+typical Westerner, and when I come West they call me a Yankee--so
+there I am!"
+
+"There's no doubt of your being a Westerner."
+
+"I hope not. I believe in the West. I tell you, brother Garland, the
+West is the coming country. We ought to have a big magazine to develop
+the West. It's absurd to suppose we're going on always being tributary
+to the East!"
+
+Garland laid down his pad and lifted his big fist in the air like a
+maul. His enthusiasm rose like a flood.
+
+"Now you touch a great theme. You're right, Field. The next ten years
+will see literary horizons change mightily. The West is dead sure to
+be in the game from this time on. A man can't be out here a week
+without feeling the thrill of latent powers. The West is coming to its
+manhood. The West is the place for enthusiasm. Her history is
+making."
+
+Field took up the note. "I've got faith in it. I love New England for
+her heritage to you. I like her old stone walls and meadows, but when
+I get back West--well, I'm home, that's all. My love for the West has
+got blood in it."
+
+Garland laughed in sudden perception of their earnestness. "We're both
+talking like a couple of boomers. It might be characteristic, however,
+to apply the methods of the boomers of town lots to the development of
+art and literature. What say?"
+
+"It can be done. It will come in the course of events."
+
+"In our enthusiasm we have skated away from the subject. You are
+forty-three, then--you realize there's a lot of work before you, I
+hope."
+
+"Yes, yes, my serious work is just begun. I'm a man of slow
+development. I feel that. I know my faults and my weaknesses. I'm
+getting myself in hand. Now, Garland, I'm with you in your purposes,
+but I go a different way. You go into things direct. I'm naturally
+allusive. My work is almost always allusive, if you've noticed."
+
+"Do you write rapidly?"
+
+"I write my verse easily, but my prose I sweat over. Don't you?"
+
+"I toil in revision even when I have what the other fellows call an
+inspiration."
+
+"I tell you, Garland, genius is not in it. It's work and patience, and
+staying with a thing. Inspiration is all right and pretty and a
+suggestion, but it's when a man gets a pen in his hand and sweats
+blood, that inspiration begins to enter in."
+
+"Well, what are your plans for the future--your readers want to know
+that?"
+
+His face glowed as he replied, "I'm going to write a sentimental life
+of Horace. We know mighty little of him, but what I don't know I'll
+make up. I'll write such a life as he _must_ have lived. The life we
+all live when boys."
+
+The younger man put up his notes, and they walked down and out under
+the trees with the gibbous moon shining through the gently moving
+leaves. They passed a couple of young people walking slow--his voice a
+murmur, hers a whisper.
+
+"There they go. Youth! Youth!" said Field.
+
+  NOTE.--A series of portraits of Mr. Field at different ages will
+  be printed among the "Human Documents" in the September number.
+
+
+
+
+THE SHADOW BOATSWAIN.
+
+BY BLISS CARMAN.
+
+
+  Don't you know the sailing orders?
+    It is time to put to sea,
+  And the stranger in the harbor
+    Sends a boat ashore for me.
+
+  With the thunder of her canvas,
+    Coming on the wind again,
+  I can hear the Shadow Boatswain
+    Piping to his shadow men.
+
+  Is it firelight or morning
+    That red flicker on the floor?
+  Your good-bye was braver, Sweetheart,
+    When I sailed away before.
+
+  Think of this last lovely summer!
+    Love, what ails the wind to-night?
+  What's he saying in the chimney
+    Turns your berry cheek so white?
+
+  What a morning! How the sunlight
+    Sparkles on the outer bay,
+  Where the brig lies waiting for me
+    To trip anchor and away.
+
+  That's the Doomkeel. You may know her
+    By her clean run aft; and, then,
+  Don't you hear the Shadow Boatswain
+    Piping to his shadow men?
+
+  Off the freshening sea to windward,
+    Is it a white tern I hear
+  Shrilling in the gusty weather
+    Where the far sea-line is clear?
+
+  What a morning for departure!
+    How your blue eyes melt and shine!
+  Will you watch us from the headland
+    Till we sink below the line?
+
+  I can see the wind already
+    Steer the scruf marks of the tide,
+  As we slip the wake of being
+    Down the sloping world, and wide.
+
+  I can feel the vasty mountains
+    Heave and settle under me,
+  And the Doomkeel veer and tremor,
+    Crumbling on the hollow sea.
+
+  There's a call, as when a white gull
+    Cries and beats across the blue;
+  That must be the Shadow Boatswain
+    Piping to his shadow crew.
+
+  There's a boding sound, like winter,
+    When the pines begin to quail;
+  That must be the gray wind moaning
+    In the belly of the sail.
+
+  I can feel the icy fingers
+    Creeping in upon my bones;
+  There must be a berg to windward
+    Somewhere in these border zones.
+
+  Stir the fire.... I love the sunlight,
+    Always loved my shipmate sun.
+  How the sunflowers beckon to me
+    From the dooryard one by one!
+
+  How the royal lady-roses
+    Strew this summer world of ours.
+  There'll be none in Lonely Haven,
+    It is too far north for flowers.
+
+  There, Sweetheart! And I must leave you.
+    What should touch my wife with tears?
+  There's no danger with the Master,
+    He has sailed the sea for years.
+
+  With the sea-wolves on her quarter,
+    And the white bones in her teeth,
+  He will steer the shadow cruiser,
+    Dark before and doom beneath,
+
+  Down the last expanse till morning
+    Flares above the broken sea,
+  And the midnight storm is over,
+    And the isles are close alee.
+
+  So some twilight, when your roses
+    Are all blown, and it is June,
+  You will turn your blue eyes seaward,
+    Through the white dusk of the moon.
+
+  Wondering, as that far sea-cry
+    Comes upon the wind again,
+  And you hear the Shadow Boatswain
+    Piping to his shadow men.
+
+THE SLAPPING SAL.
+
+BY CONAN DOYLE.
+
+PICTURES BY A. BRENNAN.
+
+[Illustration: HAIRY HUDSON.]
+
+
+It was in the days when France's power was already broken upon the
+seas, and when more of her three-deckers lay rotting in the Medway
+than were to be found in Brest Harbor. But her frigates and corvettes
+still scoured the ocean, closely followed ever by those of her rival.
+At the uttermost ends of the earth these dainty vessels, with sweet
+names of girls or of flowers, mangled and shattered each other for the
+honor of the four yards of bunting that flapped from their gaffs.
+
+It had blown hard in the night, but the wind had dropped with the
+dawning, and now the rising sun tinted the fringe of the storm wrack
+as it dwindled into the west, and glinted on the endless crests of the
+long green waves. To north and south and west lay a sky-line which was
+unbroken, save by the spout of foam when two of the great Atlantic
+seas dashed each other into spray. To the east was a rocky island,
+jutting out into craggy points, with a few scattered clumps of
+palm-trees, and a pennant of mist streaming out from the bare conical
+hill which capped it. A heavy surf beat upon the shore, and at a safe
+distance from it the British 32-gun frigate "Leda," Captain A. P.
+Johnson, raised her black, glistening side upon the crest of a wave,
+or swooped down into an emerald valley, dipping away to the nor'ard
+under easy sail. On her snow-white quarter-deck stood a stiff, little,
+brown-faced man, who swept the horizon with his glass.
+
+"Mr. Wharton," he cried, with a voice like a rusty hinge.
+
+A thin, knock-kneed officer shambled across the poop to him.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"I've opened the sealed orders, Mr. Wharton."
+
+A glimmer of curiosity shone upon the meagre features of the first
+lieutenant. The "Leda" had sailed with her consort the "Dido" from
+Antigua the week before, and the admiral's orders had been contained
+in a sealed envelope.
+
+"We were to open them on reaching the deserted island of Sombriero,
+lying in north latitude eighteen, thirty-six, west longitude
+sixty-three, twenty-eight. Sombriero bore four miles to the northeast
+from our port bow when the gale cleared, Mr. Wharton."
+
+The lieutenant bowed stiffly. He and the captain had been bosom
+friends from childhood. They had gone to school together, joined the
+navy together, fought again and again together, and married into each
+other's families; but as long as their feet were on the poop the iron
+discipline of the service struck all that was human out of them, and
+left only the superior and the subordinate. Captain Johnson took a
+blue paper from his pocket, which crackled as he unfolded it.
+
+  "The 32-gun frigates, 'Leda' and 'Dido' (Captains A. P. Johnson
+  and James Munro), are to cruise from the point at which these
+  instructions are read to the mouth of the Caribbean Sea, in the
+  hope of encountering the French frigate 'La Gloire' (48), which
+  has recently harassed our merchant ships in that quarter. H. M.
+  frigates are also directed to hunt down the piratical craft known
+  sometimes as the 'Slapping Sal' and sometimes as the 'Hairy
+  Hudson,' which has plundered the British ships as per margin,
+  inflicting barbarities upon their crews. She is a small brig
+  carrying ten light guns, with one twenty-four pound carronade
+  forward. She was last seen upon the 23d ult., to the northeast of
+  the island of Sombriero."
+
+    (Signed)
+      JAMES MONTGOMERY,
+        Rear-Admiral.
+
+  H. M. S. "Colossus," Antigua.
+
+"We appear to have lost our consort," said Captain Johnson, folding up
+his instructions and again sweeping the horizon with his glass. "She
+drew away after we reefed down. It would be a pity if we met this
+heavy Frenchman without the 'Dido,' Mr. Wharton, eh?"
+
+The lieutenant twinkled and smiled.
+
+"She has eighteen-pounders on the main and twelves on the poop, sir,"
+said the captain. "She carries four hundred to our two hundred and
+thirty-one. Captain de Milon is the smartest man in the French
+service. O Bobby, boy, I'd give my hopes of my flag to rub my side up
+against her!" He turned on his heel, ashamed of his momentary lapse.
+"Mr. Wharton," said he, looking back sternly over his shoulder, "get
+those square sails shaken out, and bear away a point more to the
+west."
+
+"A brig on the port bow," came a voice from the forecastle.
+
+"A brig on the port bow," said the lieutenant.
+
+[Illustration: CAPTAIN JOHNSON AND MR. WHARTON.]
+
+The captain sprang up on the bulwarks, and held on by the mizzen
+shrouds, a strange little figure with flying skirts and puckered eyes.
+The lean lieutenant craned his neck and whispered to Smeaton, the
+second, while officers and men came popping up from below and
+clustered along the weather-rail, shading their eyes with their hands,
+for the tropical sun was already clear of the palm trees. The strange
+brig lay at anchor in the throat of a curving estuary, and it was
+already obvious that she could not get out without passing under the
+guns of the frigate. A long rocky point to the north of her held her
+in.
+
+"Keep her as she goes, Mr. Wharton," said the captain. "Hardly worth
+while clearing for action, Mr. Smeaton, but the men can stand by the
+guns in case she tries to pass us. Cast loose the bowchasers, and send
+the small arm men on to the forecastle."
+
+A British crew went to its quarters in those days with the quiet
+serenity of men on their daily routine. In a few minutes, without
+fuss or sound, the sailors were knotted round their guns, the marines
+were drawn up and leaning on their muskets, and the frigate's bowsprit
+pointed straight for her little victim.
+
+"Is it the 'Slapping Sal,' sir?"
+
+"I have no doubt of it, Mr. Wharton."
+
+"They don't seem to like the look of us, sir. They've cut their cable
+and are clapping on sail."
+
+It was evident that the brig meant struggling for her freedom. One
+little patch of canvas fluttered out above another, and her people
+could be seen working like mad men in the rigging. She made no attempt
+to pass her antagonist, but headed up the estuary. The captain rubbed
+his hands.
+
+"She's making for shoal water, Mr. Wharton, and we shall have to cut
+her out, sir. She's a footy little brig, but I should have thought a
+fore-and-after would have been more handy."
+
+"It was a mutiny, sir."
+
+"Ah, indeed!"
+
+"Yes, sir, I heard of it at Manilla--a bad business, sir. Captain and
+two mates murdered. This Hudson, or Hairy Hudson, as they call him,
+led the mutiny. He's a Londoner, sir, but a cruel villain as ever
+walked."
+
+"His next walk will be to Execution Dock, Mr. Wharton. She seems
+heavily manned. I wish I could take twenty topmen out of her, but they
+would be enough to corrupt the crew of the ark, Mr. Wharton."
+
+Both officers were looking through their glasses at the brig. Suddenly
+the lieutenant showed his teeth in a grin, while the captain flushed
+to a deeper red.
+
+"That's Hairy Hudson on the afterrail, sir."
+
+"The low, impertinent blackguard! He'll play some other antics before
+we are done with him. Could you reach him with the long eighteen, Mr.
+Smeaton?"
+
+"Another cable length will do it, sir."
+
+The brig yawed as they spoke, and as she came round, a spurt of smoke
+whiffed out from her quarter. It was a pure piece of bravado, for the
+gun could scarce carry half way. Then with a jaunty swing the little
+ship came into the wind again and shot round a fresh curve of the
+winding channel.
+
+"The water's shoaling rapidly, sir," reported the second lieutenant.
+
+"There's six fathoms, by the chart."
+
+"Four, by the lead, sir."
+
+"When we clear this point we shall see how we lie. Ha! I thought as
+much! Lay her to, Mr. Wharton. Now we have got her at our mercy."
+
+The frigate was quite out of sight of the sea now, at the head of this
+river-like estuary. As she came round the curve the two shores were
+seen to converge at a point about a mile distant. In the angle, as
+near shore as she could get, the brig was lying with her broadside
+towards her pursuer, and a wisp of black cloth streaming from her
+mizzen. The lean lieutenant, who had reappeared upon deck with a
+cutlass strapped to his side and two pistols rammed into his belt,
+peered curiously at the ensign.
+
+"Is it the 'Jolly Roger,' sir?" he asked.
+
+But the captain was furious. "He may hang where his breeches are
+hanging before I have done with him," said he. "What boats will you
+want, Mr. Wharton?"
+
+"We should do it with the launch and the jolly-boat."
+
+"Take four and make a clean job of it. Pipe away the crews at once,
+and I'll work her in and help you with the long eighteens."
+
+With a rattle of ropes and a creaking of blocks the four boats
+splashed into the water. Their crews clustered thickly into
+them--bare-footed sailors, stolid marines, laughing middies, and in
+the sheets of each the senior officers with their stern, schoolmaster
+faces. The captain, his elbows on the binnacle, still watched the
+distant brig. Her crew were tricing up the boarding netting, dragging
+round the starboard guns, knocking new portholes for them, and making
+every preparation for a desperate resistance. In the thick of it all a
+huge man, bearded to the eyes, with a red night-cap upon his head, was
+straining and stooping and hauling. The captain watched him with a
+sour smile, and then snapping up his glass he turned upon his heel.
+For an instant he stood staring.
+
+"Call back the boats!" he cried, in his thin, creaking voice. "Clear
+away for action there! Cast loose those main-deck guns. Brace back the
+yards, Mr. Smeaton, and stand by to go about when she has weigh
+enough."
+
+Round the curve of the estuary was coming a huge vessel. Her great
+yellow bowsprit and white-winged figure-head were jutting out from the
+cluster of palm-trees, while high above them towered three immense
+masts, with the tricolor flag floating superbly from the mizzen. Round
+she came, the deep-blue water creaming under her fore-foot, until her
+long, curving, black side, her line of shining copper beneath, and of
+snow-white hammocks above, and the thick clusters of men who peered
+over her bulwarks were all in full view.
+
+Her lower yards were slung, her ports triced up, and her guns run out
+all ready for action. Lying behind one of the promontories of the
+island the look-out men of the "Gloire" upon the shore had seen the
+_cul-de-sac_ into which the British frigate had headed, so that
+Captain de Milon had observed the "Leda" as Captain Johnson had the
+"Slapping Sal."
+
+[Illustration: THE ACTION.]
+
+But the splendid discipline of the British service was at its best in
+such a crisis. The boats flew back, their crews clustered aboard, they
+were swung up at the davits, and the fall-ropes made fast. Hammocks
+were brought up and stowed, bulkheads sent down, ports and magazines
+opened, the fires put out in the galley, and the drums beat to
+quarters. Swarms of men set the head-sails and brought the frigate
+round, while the gun-crews threw off their jackets and shirts,
+tightened their belts, and ran out their eighteen-pounders, peering
+through the open portholes at the stately Frenchman. The wind was
+very light. Hardly a ripple showed itself upon the clear blue water,
+but the sails blew gently out as the breeze came over the wooded
+banks. The Frenchman had gone about also, and both ships were now
+heading slowly for the sea under fore-and-aft canvas, the "Gloire" a
+hundred yards in advance. She luffed up to cross the "Leda's" bows,
+but the British ship came round also, and the two rippled slowly on in
+such a silence that the ringing of the ramrods, as the French marines
+drove home their charges, clanged quite loudly upon the ear.
+
+"Not much sea room, Mr. Wharton," remarked the captain.
+
+"I have fought actions in less, sir."
+
+"We must keep our distance, and trust to our gunnery. She is very
+heavily manned, and if she got alongside we might find ourselves in
+trouble."
+
+"I see the shakoes of soldiers aboard of her--two companies of light
+infantry from Martinique. Now we have her! Hard a port, and let her
+have it as we cross her stern!"
+
+The keen eye of the little commander had seen the surface ripple which
+told of a passing breeze. He had used it to dart across behind the big
+Frenchman and to rake her with every gun as he passed. But, once past
+her, the "Leda" had to come back into the wind to keep out of shoal
+water. The manoeuvre brought her on the starboard side of the
+Frenchman, and the trim little frigate seemed to heel right over under
+the crashing broadside which burst from the gaping ports. A moment
+later her topmen were swarming aloft to set her topsails and royals,
+and she strove to cross the "Gloire's" bows and rake her again. The
+French captain, however, brought his frigate's head round, and the two
+rode side by side within easy pistol shot, pouring broadsides into
+each other in one of those murderous duels which, could they all be
+recorded, would mottle our charts with blood.
+
+[Illustration: ABOARD THE "LEDA."]
+
+In that heavy tropical air, with so faint a breeze, the smoke formed a
+thick bank round the two vessels, from which the topmasts only
+protruded. Neither could see anything of its enemy save the throbs of
+fire in the darkness, and the guns were sponged and trained and fired
+into a dense wall of vapor. On the poop and the forecastle the
+marines, in two little red lines, were pouring in their volleys, but
+neither they nor the seamen-gunners could see what effect their fire
+was having. Nor, indeed, could they tell how far they were suffering
+themselves, for standing at a gun one could but hazily see that upon
+the right and left. But above the roar of the cannon came the sharper
+sound of the piping shot, the crashing of riven planks, and the
+occasional heavy thud as spar or block came hurtling onto the deck.
+The lieutenants paced up and down behind the line of guns, while
+Captain Johnson fanned the smoke away with his cocked hat, and peered
+eagerly out.
+
+"This is rare, Bobby," said he, as the lieutenant joined him. Then,
+suddenly restraining himself, "What have we lost, Mr. Wharton?"
+
+"Our main-topsail yard and our gaff, sir."
+
+"Where's the flag?"
+
+"Gone overboard, sir."
+
+"They'll think we've struck. Lash a boat's ensign on the starboard arm
+of the mizzen cross jack-yard."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+A round shot dashed the binnacle to pieces between them. A second
+knocked two marines into a bloody, palpitating mass. For a moment the
+smoke rose, and the English captain saw that his adversary's heavier
+metal was producing a horrible effect. The "Leda" was a shattered
+wreck. Her deck was strewed with corpses. Several of her portholes
+were knocked into one, and one of her eighteen-pounder guns had been
+thrown right back onto her breech, and pointed straight up to the sky.
+The thin line of marines still loaded and fired, but half the guns
+were silent, and their crews were piled thickly around them.
+
+"Stand by to repel boarders!" yelled the captain.
+
+"Cutlasses, lads, cutlasses!" roared Wharton.
+
+"Hold your volley till they touch!" cried the captain of marines.
+
+The huge loom of the Frenchman was seen bursting through the smoke.
+Thick clusters of boarders hung upon her sides and shrouds. A final
+broadside leapt from her ports, and the mainmast of the "Leda,"
+snapping short off a few feet above the deck, spun into the air and
+crashed down upon the port guns, killing ten men and putting the
+whole battery out of action. An instant later the two ships scraped
+together, and the starboard bower anchor of the "Gloire" caught the
+mizzen chains of the "Leda" upon the port side. With a yell the black
+swarm of boarders steadied themselves for a spring.
+
+But their feet were never to reach that blood-stained deck. From
+somewhere there came a well-aimed whiff of grape, and another, and
+another. The English marines and seamen, waiting with cutlass and
+musket behind the silent guns, saw with amazement the dark masses
+thinning and shredding away. At the same time the port broadside of
+the Frenchman burst into a roar.
+
+"Clear away the wreck!" roared the captain. "What the devil are they
+firing at?"
+
+"Get the guns clear!" panted the lieutenant. "We'll do them yet,
+boys!"
+
+The wreckage was torn and hacked and splintered until first one gun
+and then another roared into action again. The Frenchman's anchor had
+been cut away, and the "Leda" had worked herself free from that fatal
+hug. But now suddenly there was a scurry up the shrouds of the
+"Gloire," and a hundred Englishmen were shouting themselves hoarse.
+
+"They're running! They're running! They're running!"
+
+And it was true. The Frenchman had ceased to fire, and was intent only
+upon clapping on every sail that she could carry.
+
+But that shouting hundred could not claim it all as their own. As the
+smoke cleared, it was not difficult to see the reason. The ships had
+gained the mouth of the estuary during the fight, and there, about
+four miles out to sea, was the "Leda's" consort bearing down under
+full sail to the sound of the guns. Captain de Milon had done his part
+for one day, and presently the "Gloire" was drawing off swiftly to the
+north, while the "Dido" was bowling along at her skirts, rattling away
+with her bowchasers, until a headland hid them both from view.
+
+But the "Leda" lay sorely stricken, with her mainmast gone, her
+bulwarks shattered, her mizzen topmast and gaff shot away, her sails
+like a beggar's rags, and a hundred of her crew dead and wounded.
+Close beside her a mass of wreckage floated upon the waves. It was the
+stern post of a mangled vessel, and across it, in white letters on a
+black ground, was printed "The Slapping Sal."
+
+"By the Lord, it was the brig that saved us!" cried Mr. Wharton.
+"Hudson brought her into action with the Frenchman, and was blown out
+of the water by a broadside."
+
+The little captain turned on his heel and paced up and down the deck.
+Already his crew were plugging the shot-holes, knotting and splicing
+and mending. When he came back the lieutenant saw a softening of the
+stern lines about his mouth and eyes.
+
+"Are they all gone?"
+
+"Every man. They must have sunk with the wreck."
+
+The two officers looked down at the sinister name and at the stump of
+wreckage which floated in the discolored water. Something black washed
+to and fro beside a splintered gaff and a tangle of halyards. It was
+the outrageous ensign, and near it a scarlet cap was floating.
+
+"He was a villain, but he was a Briton," said the captain at last. "He
+lived like a dog, but, by God, he died like a man!"
+
+
+
+
+"HUMAN DOCUMENTS."
+
+  "For of the soule the bodie forme doth take,
+  For soule is forme and doth the bodie make."
+
+      --From "An Hymne in Honour of Beautie."--SPENSER.
+
+
+BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES.
+
+OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES was born eighty-four years ago on the 29th of
+August, 1809. He was educated at the Phillips Andover Academy, and
+graduated at Harvard in 1829, and was one of the founders of the _Phi
+Beta Kappa_ Society of that university. His first general reception as
+a poet was gained by his successful lyrical effort to save the old
+frigate, "The Constitution," from being broken up. He graduated in
+medicine in 1836 (after studying law in the Cambridge Law School), and
+in the same year published his first volume of verse. In 1839 he was
+made Professor of Anatomy and Physiology at Dartmouth, and in 1847 he
+filled the same position at Harvard. He has published several volumes
+of poems, and the famous books known, respectively, as "The Autocrat,"
+"The Poet," and the "Professor at the Breakfast Table." He has written
+many medical works, and of his novels, "Elsie Venner" and "The
+Guardian Angel" are best known.
+
+JOHN JAMES INGALLS was born in Middleton, Massachusetts, on December
+29th, 1833. He graduated at Williams College in 1855. He then studied
+law, and was admitted to the bar in 1857. Going to Atchison, Kansas,
+in the following year, he there practised his profession, and from
+that time to the present has been closely connected with the
+development of his adopted State and that of the country. In 1862 he
+was elected a Senator in the State of Kansas, and in 1863 and 1864 was
+defeated for the Lieut.-Governorship. For some years he was editor of
+the Atchison "Champion." In 1873 he was chosen United States Senator,
+and served without interruption until 1889.
+
+JULES VERNE was born at Nantes in France on February 8, 1828, and was
+educated there. After leaving school he studied law in Paris, but,
+while still very young, he became known as a popular writer of dramas,
+comedies and burlesques for the Parisian theatres. "Les Pailles
+Rompues" was produced at the Gymnase Theatre in 1850, when Jules was
+but twenty-two years old, and "Onze Jours de Si�ge" shortly
+afterwards. He first became known as a writer of highly imaginative
+stories with a strong current of science in them in 1863, when his
+"Five Weeks in a Balloon" made a great success. Since then he has
+produced more than sixty novels of the same class, the most noted of
+which are "The Voyage to the Moon," "20,000 Leagues under the Sea,"
+and "Michael Strogoff." Many of his works have been successfully
+dramatized, and he has been translated into almost every modern
+language, including Arabic and Japanese.
+
+
+OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
+
+[Illustration: ALL FROM DAGUERREOTYPES--THE TWO LAST ONES, BETWEEN 1845
+AND 1855. THE FIRST IS THE EARLIEST PICTURE OF DOCTOR HOLMES, AND HE IS
+UNABLE TO PLACE A DATE UPON IT.]
+
+[Illustration: MARCH, 1869. AGE 60.]
+
+[Illustration: AUGUST, 1874. AGE 65.]
+
+[Illustration: ABOUT 1882. AGE 73.]
+
+[Illustration: NOVEMBER, 1891. AGE 82.]
+
+
+J. J. INGALLS.
+
+[Illustration: 1847. AGE 14.]
+
+[Illustration: 1853. AGE 20.]
+
+[Illustration: 1865. AGE 32.]
+
+[Illustration: 1873. AGE 40.]
+
+[Illustration: 1877. AGE 44.]
+
+[Illustration: TO-DAY. AGE 60.]
+
+
+JULES VERNE.
+
+[Illustration: 1848. AGE 20.]
+
+[Illustration: 1858. AGE 30.]
+
+[Illustration: 1868. AGE 40.]
+
+[Illustration: 1886. AGE 58.]
+
+
+
+
+SOME PROFESSIONAL ADVENTURES OF KARL HAGENBECK.
+
+BY RAYMOND BLATHWAYT.
+
+
+As Karl Hagenbeck stood with me, in his Hamburg Wild Beast Emporium,
+before the great cage of the boa constrictors and pythons, he
+naturally fell to relating some of the curious adventures that have
+befallen him with snakes and other brutes.
+
+There was a great ugly looking boa constrictor coiled up in a corner
+by itself, a most repulsive looking animal.
+
+"He's a beauty, isn't he?" said Mr. Hagenbeck, looking fondly on him.
+"He swallowed four whole sheep in one day, and only nine days after
+that he got another, and seemed to enjoy it as much as if he had been
+fasting for months. Come and look at this cage, where you can see a
+revengeful member of the species. He once had a companion, but now
+he's alone through his own fault. He and his companion were peculiarly
+fond of rabbits, and we threw one into their cage one day. They both
+darted for it, and, while the poor little shivering animal crept into
+a corner in a fright, the snakes quarrelled as to whose 'bonne bouche'
+the rabbit was to be. The smaller one won, and this great wretch
+retired to a corner and watched his foe devour the rabbit, and then
+lie down in that state of repleteness which it is the highest ambition
+of these great snakes to attain. The big fellow then, seeing his
+rival's helpless condition, roused himself, and a moment afterwards he
+vigorously attacked the creature that lay gorged in the corner. We all
+rushed to see what would happen, and I declare to you, that in a very
+short time the big snake had swallowed the small snake, rabbit and
+all."
+
+"Would you like to see them in action?" said Mr. Hagenbeck to me, and,
+as he spoke, he opened a cage door and boldly stepped in amongst a
+number of big sleepy reptiles. He coolly began lifting them up by
+their enormous coils, just as one would lift up great coils of rope,
+and there was soon a mighty stirring amongst the previously inert
+masses. They writhed to and fro, their scales glittering in the pale
+light of the winter sun, and with a great hissing, an irritated
+rearing back of their heads and a constant projection of their long
+forked tongues, they began to move about the cage--a hideous, mixed-up
+mass of repulsive life, that made one involuntarily step back from
+their bars.
+
+"You don't like the look of them," said Mr. Hagenbeck, with a smile,
+as he stepped out and rejoined me. "They are queer fellows, certainly,
+and gave me a big fright once."
+
+"I should have imagined more than once," I said, as we turned from the
+ugly mass of twisted snakes.
+
+"Well, perhaps," said Mr. Hagenbeck, "but this particular once was
+something to remember. In one cage I had eight full-grown pythons,
+which I wanted to put into one huge box to send them off to a
+menagerie. I handled the first six all right enough, catching them,
+as is usual, by the back of the neck and dropping them into the box.
+Then I went for number seven, but as soon as I entered the cage she,
+the lady of the flock, flew at me with open mouth. Seeing her coming I
+took off my hat and thrust it at her. She bit her teeth into it. I
+then seized her with the right hand at the back of her neck, and I
+dragged her down into the lower partition of the cage. Just when I was
+going to fetch her out she reared her head to attack me again. I then
+made a cautious movement forward, and at the same moment she darted
+her head at me. I met the second attack with my hat in the same way
+that I had the first. With a quick dart I grabbed her by the back of
+the neck, only to find, to my horror, that I couldn't let her go if I
+wanted to, as she had coiled herself firmly round my legs. One of my
+assistants, standing near, heard me yell, and he came rushing up to me
+with all the speed he could, for I fancy my shout told everybody
+within hearing that I had to do with a matter of life and death. I
+managed, however, to retain my nerve, and gave the order to the helper
+to try and uncoil the serpent, which with great difficulty and my
+assistance he at last managed to do."
+
+Mr. Hagenbeck laughed a little as he recalled the experience, but I
+confess I didn't feel like laughing much. The horror of having those
+massive coils pressing tightly on your legs and bruising your muscles
+with irresistible strength seemed very real to me.
+
+"I wasn't done even then," Mr. Hagenbeck resumed, "for just as I
+thought that I could get the big snake safely in the cage, another
+python, and really an enormous fellow, attacked me. I had just time to
+shout to my man to throw a blanket over it, and this he luckily
+managed to do. At the same moment I moved backwards out of the cage
+and got free of it altogether, and then I had a little rest. My men
+tried to dissuade me from going back, each of them saying he would do
+it. I felt very exhausted, but my temper was fairly up, and I
+determined I wouldn't be beaten. So, after a few moments, I stepped
+again into the cage, caught them both round the backs of their necks,
+dragged them as quickly as I could to the edge of the cage, and then,
+all helping, we flung them into the box waiting for them. Had not my
+assistant been near me, nothing could have saved me from being
+squeezed to death."
+
+The wild-beast tamer then motioned me away from the serpent cages, and
+we went to those of their cousins, the crocodiles and alligators. We
+passed by an aviary of very great size, where parrots and other
+beautifully plumed birds chattered, laughed, quarrelled, and made love
+in a long, ear-piercing enjoyment of their captivity; and further on
+we came to a large tank, in which were slowly paddling round some
+spiteful-looking alligators--huge-jawed, soulless-eyed, each one a
+waiting, watching destroyer of life.
+
+[Illustration: KARL HAGENBECK'S FATHER AND HIS FIRST SHOW IN BERLIN.]
+
+We looked at them for a little while, and then Mr. Hagenbeck said:
+"Once I had to pack sixteen of these fellows up for the D�sseldorf
+Zo�logical Gardens. I grappled hold of the first one and was pulling
+him ashore, when he gave me a frightful blow with his tail and
+knocked me into the tank, where, for a brief moment, I was alone with
+fifteen alligators. Those who were standing by told me that as soon as
+I splashed in a number of them made a rush, but I was out again like
+an India-rubber ball. The swirl of the water and the open jaws of the
+disappointed beasts told me that I had not been one second too smart.
+This was a very narrow escape, as, if one of the crocodiles had
+happened to get hold of me, all the rest would have attacked me,
+snapping and biting at me at one and the same moment, until there
+would have been little, if anything, left of me at all. They are the
+most determined fighters even amongst themselves. Six of them, each
+about fourteen feet long, had a fight amongst themselves once, and so
+desperately did they set to, that within fourteen days they were all
+dead. Three of them had their jaws broken, and in some cases their
+legs were torn right out of their bodies. This occurred at night, and
+one of the keepers, happening to hear the frightful noise which was
+made by the clashing of their jaws, rushed off to tell me what was
+happening. We lit our lanterns and hurried to the scene of action,
+but, beyond trying to separate them with long poles, it was little we
+could do. When we managed to part them for a time they only renewed
+the fight with greater fierceness than ever, and so terribly were they
+wounded, that, as I said, they were all dead in a fortnight. Nowadays,
+when I get a new consignment of alligators I always muzzle them for
+four days with a rope. They then calm down, and I cut the rope off;
+otherwise, if I did not do that they would begin fighting as soon as
+they came out of the box, for the first sight of day-light after the
+long journey always seems to excite them. A fight amongst the snakes,
+also, is a terrible thing. I had once five big pythons in one cage.
+One of the keepers flung a dead rabbit amongst them, and two of them,
+being very hungry, attacked it at once. At the same moment the other
+four flew for the prey, and in one moment all the six were in one big
+writhing lump. The keepers fetched me, and I at once attempted to
+uncoil them. I succeeded, but hardly had I done so when the fight
+began again between the first two. The larger one threw his tail round
+the small one's neck and squeezed it with such force against the wall
+that it lost all power. Then the bigger snake got hold of the rabbit
+and swallowed it, after which it gradually loosened its hold of the
+smaller snake. The little one then sought revenge, and flew at the big
+python, which was rendered almost helpless by its huge meal, bit it in
+the back, coiled round and round it, and squeezed it till it could
+hardly breathe, although it screamed as I had never heard any living
+creature scream before. The funny thing was that when I went to see
+them next morning they were all right and perfectly good friends.
+
+"Talking of fights, I was once turned out of bed at one o'clock in the
+morning by one of my keepers, who came in with the news that the big
+kangaroo had jumped a six-foot fence into the next stable, in which
+there was a large hippopotamus. When I came down there was the
+queerest kind of a duel going on. The kangaroo stood up to his belly
+in water, whilst the hippopotamus, with wide-open jaws, snapped at him
+right and left. However, the kangaroo managed to 'get in' a good right
+and left with his front legs, and scratched the hippopotamus in the
+face tremendously. When the amphibian came to close quarters, the
+kangaroo jumped up, gave him a tremendous blow with his hind legs, and
+then managed to get on to dry land. I caught the kangaroo with a big
+net, and after all the fighting there wasn't so very much harm done."
+
+Just as Mr. Hagenbeck finished talking, the Polar bear at our rear
+began growling. Mr. Hagenbeck went up to soothe and pet him. Then he
+said:
+
+"I expect I am pretty well the only man in the world who can say that
+he ever cut the toe nails of a Polar bear. It was this very beast, and
+I will tell you how it all happened. The poor beast's nails had grown
+into its foot, causing it a great deal of pain. We tried to get the
+feet into a sling and pull them through the bars, but this proved to
+be too awkward an arrangement. So I got him into a narrow cage which
+had an iron barred front, and this I turned upside down so that the
+bear had to stand on the bars of the cage, which we lifted up about
+four feet above the ground. I went underneath with a sharp pair of
+pincers, and, as he stood there with his toes pressed through the
+bars, I managed to pull the nails out. Then I stood him in water to
+wash and cool his wounds, and in a few days he was all right. On yet
+another occasion a royal Bengal tiger was suffering very much from
+toothache, so two of my men held him by the collar and, whilst one of
+my attendants opened his mouth, my brother-in-law and I took some
+pincers and pulled out the teeth which had been giving him so much
+pain, and which, indeed, had grown so badly that they had hindered him
+from biting his food properly.
+
+"The most risky thing, however, that ever occurred to me happened in
+Munich during the Centennial F�te in 1888. I was passing in the long
+procession with eight elephants, and the streets were very much
+crammed. It chanced that we had to pass a great big iron dragon,
+which, by some mechanical contrivance, began to spit fire as soon as
+we got near it. Four of the elephants at once took fright and ran
+away, which was only natural, and the other four followed suit. The
+people rushed after them with sticks and loud cries, which of course
+only made matters worse. I managed to get between two of them, and
+caught hold of them, but it was of no use, as they ran with me for at
+least a mile. I was badly hurled from side to side and, indeed, at one
+moment I was very nearly crushed to death by them against the walls of
+a house. At last two other elephants came up, and I managed to
+persuade the lot of them to stand still; just as I had done so the
+stupid crowd again came rushing up, and away the elephants went again.
+I was too tired to do anything more. All four of them rushed into a
+house; the bottom gave way and the excited creatures fell into the
+cellar. A new house has now been built there which is called to this
+day 'The four wild elephants.' A lot of people were hurt, some indeed
+were killed, but, as the Police President had seen all that had
+happened, I was held free of blame. That was, however, the worst
+trouble with my captive friends I ever have had, and how I escaped
+being crushed to death then I cannot understand to this day."
+
+[Illustration: THE SCRAMBLE IN MUNICH.]
+
+
+
+
+THE STORY I HEARD ON THE CARS.
+
+BY MRS. E. V. WILSON.
+
+
+It was very tiresome riding on the cars all day, with the same
+monotonous stretch of prairie to be seen from the window; so I am sure
+it was pardonable in me to listen to the conversation of my
+fellow-passengers.
+
+Just in front of me (their bundles on a seat before them) sat two
+elderly women, old friends, it seemed, who had chanced to meet in
+their journeying; and it was a sentence or two of their talk that
+caught my attention, and presently I became so interested that I no
+longer felt my weariness.
+
+"And so," said one, "you say they are livin' all alone in that big
+house of their'n! I knowed the girls was all married an' gone, but I
+heerd Jim had tuk a wife home to live with the old folks, and I said
+to Simon, says I, 'Well, it'll take more'n a mortal woman to live with
+Mary Ann Curtis onless she's mightily changed sence I use ter know
+her,' says I."
+
+"Well," said the other voice, and a sweet, patient-sounding voice it
+was--so sweet, indeed, that I glanced over to look at its owner. She
+was a little, quaint old woman, with soft brown eyes and a pathetic,
+lovable face. I fell in love with her at once. Her companion was a
+younger woman, with shrewd, black, observing eyes and sharp nose and
+chin. From appearances and manner, I judged both were wives of
+well-to-do farmers.
+
+"Well," said the sweet voice, "Jim did marry a mortal woman, but Mary
+Ann soon made a angel out of her. I knowed Jim Curtis's wife as well
+as if she'd ben my own child; and no wonder, seein' as she boarded
+with me and Jonathan nigh on to a year. You see, she was left an
+orphan, and her uncle that raised her, not bein' well off, give her
+what schoolin' he could, an' then when she was about sixteen year old
+he got her first the summer school in our deestric, and then, as she
+suited the folks, the d'rectors they let her have it fur the winter. I
+was sort o' feared for her to tackle the winter school, seein' as some
+of the big boys, and girls, too, for that matter, 's pritty
+obstreperous; but Rhody she laughed and tossed her head an' said,
+'I'll get along, Aunt Nancy!' (You know everybody in the neighborhood
+calls me Aunt Nancy, and Rhody she picked it up as natral as could
+be.)
+
+"Well, she did manage somehow, an' never had a bit of trouble. An' I
+use ter watch o' evenin's for her to come, allus smilin', and with
+somethin' funny to tell about the scholars. I declare to you, Mis'
+Johnson, if she'd ben our own, Jonathan an' me couldn't a sot more by
+her. Why, whenever it was rainy or snowy the ole man would saddle a
+horse an' go for her, an' she'd look that cute, settin' behin' on ole
+Molly an' holdin' on to the ole man!
+
+"One cold evenin' (it was a Friday evenin', too--I'll never
+forgit it), jist as Jonathan got the saddle on the mare, we heard
+sleigh-bells, for I was out at the fence talkin' to the ole man, an'
+who should come sailin' up the road, large as life, but Jim
+Curtis in his new sleigh, with our Rhody, smilin' and rosy,
+beside him. 'There, ole man,' says I, 'your cake's dough.' And I
+declare fur it, ef he warn't that cut up he could scarce be civil
+to the youngsters.
+
+"Of course you know how it was after that--no needcessity fur the ole
+man botherin' any more; not 'at it was bother, for he allus liked
+goin' fur Rhody; but laws! Jim was allus on hand, no matter how the
+weather was, an' he tuk her to her uncle's two or three times, an' to
+meetin' Sundays, an' I up an' tole her one day that I b'lieved I'd ask
+Jim to board with us, an' her face got mighty red, an' she stepped up
+an' put both arms roun' my neck, she was such a lovin' leetle critter,
+an' she says, 'You aint mad, Aunt Nancy, are you? You like Jim, don't
+you?'
+
+"'Well,' says I, 'ef I don't, somebody else does; but I'd like to
+know what this deestric's goin' to do fur a teacher.'
+
+"'Oh,' she says, blushin' more 'an ever, 'I am goin' to teach my
+school out.'
+
+"'An' then what?' says I.
+
+"'Then I'll tell you,' she says, and run off laughin'.
+
+"So I says to the ole man that night, after we'd gone to bed, says I,
+'Jonathan, Rhody is goin' to marry Jim Curtis, an' I dunno whether to
+be glad or sorry.'
+
+"An' he laughed till the bed shuk, an' says he, 'Why, whot on 'arth is
+ther' to be sorry 'bout?' says he; 'ther' aint a likelier feller'n the
+neighborhood than Jim, an' as for Rhody, pshaw! she's good enough an'
+purty 'nough for anybody.'
+
+"'Oh,' says I, ''tain't that--they're both well 'nough; but how's our
+little girl goin' to git along with Mis' Curtis?'"
+
+"Yes," interrupted Mrs. Johnson, appreciatively, "that was a question.
+What did you let 'em go there to live for? That's what I want to know,
+Nancy Riley."
+
+"Well," sighed Aunt Nancy, "I did try to prevent it. I talked to
+Rhody, but she thought she could surely git along with Jim's
+mother--said she loved her already, pore thing! Then I tuk Jim to
+task, an' he said the ole folks weren't willin' fur him to leave 'em;
+his father was gittin' old, an' ther' were lots 'o rooms in the house,
+an' his mother was glad he was goin' to marry an' bring his wife
+there, she was so lonesome now all her girls was gone, an' a heap more
+sich stuff."
+
+"Lonesome, indeed!" snapped Mrs. Johnson. "She was glad to git rid of
+her girls, so she was! Laws! don't I mind what times them poor girls
+had to git decent clothes? She jist grudged 'em everything, an' kep'
+'em workin' like--I was goin' to say darkys, but no darky ever worked
+like old Mis' Curtis made her girls. No wonder they up an' tuk the
+first feller 'at came along an' asked 'em. But I stopped you, Aunt
+Nancy--excuse me--for I knowed Mis' Curtis so well. The idea of her
+a-bein' lonesome! She wanted somebody to help with the work, she did.
+Her own girls got away soon's they could. That Jim must 'a' been a
+fool!"
+
+"Oh, no, he wasn't," went on the soft voice. "It's mighty little a
+young feller like him knows about housework, an' his mother's work
+never bothered him. So as soon as Rhody's school was out in the spring
+they was married. You see, her uncle thought for a pore girl she was
+doin' purty well, an' I 'low she was ef she had been jes' marryin' Jim
+Curtis, but she warn't--she was a tyin' of herself to his mother."
+
+"More fool Jim!" snarled Mrs. Johnson.
+
+"Now, Mis' Johnson," said Aunt Nancy, "Jim meant well, an' he
+worshipped the very ground Rhody walked on; but, you see, old Mis'
+Curtis she didn't believe in young folks makin' simpletons of
+theirselves, and when she see Jim slip his arm 'roun' Rhody, or her
+run her hand through his curly hair, she'd snap out something sort o'
+hateful; so Rhody she got afraid of her, an' there's where the trouble
+begun, in my 'pinion, fur if my pore child had let Jim see how she was
+imposed on, he certingly'd have made a change, but to keep peace she
+jist made believe she was happy 'nough. I use' ter go over sometimes,
+though I knowed Mis' Curtis set no store by my comin', but Rhody was
+allus that glad, and I tell you it riled me to see how she was
+treated. It was: 'Rhody, bring the milk out of the suller'; 'Rhody,
+fetch some wood'; 'Rhody, set the table,' till I wondered she didn't
+drop.
+
+"One awful hot day I was there, an' Rhody she was ironin' in the back
+porch, an' Mis' Curtis she was makin' pies; she was a master-hand at
+cookin'; you'll 'low that, Mis' Johnson."
+
+"Oh, yes," snapped Mrs. Johnson, "Mary Ann Curtis was a master at
+anything she put her hand to."
+
+"As I was sayin'," went on Aunt Nancy meekly, "Rhody was ironin'; and
+sich a pile of clothes!--white winder-curtains starched like boards,
+an' table-cloths, let alone shirts and other things--an' I was
+thinkin' how pale she was, an' peaked-lookin', when Mis' Curtis calls
+out, 'Rhody, the fire's goin' down. I wonder if you 'spect to iron
+with cold irons. Ef you do, you kin quit, for I don't have my ironin'
+done that way, if some folks does.'
+
+"Rhody never said a word, but jist went to the wood-pile for more
+wood, an' I says to Mis' Curtis, says I, 'Ef I was you, I'd hev some
+of the men-folks bring in the wood. Rhody don't look well.'
+
+"You oughter seen her look at me; her eyes fairly scared me. 'Our
+men-folks,' says she, ''s tired enough when they come in, 'thout
+havin' women's work to do. Ef they was shiftless as some I knows,
+that's all they'd be fit fur.'
+
+"I tell you, that sort o' riled me," went on the gentle voice; "but
+Rhody came in with a big armful of wood, so I didn't say anything."
+
+"As if you would have said anything, you good soul!" said Mrs.
+Johnson.
+
+"You don't know me," said Aunt Nancy. "Jonathan says I am right smart
+when I get riled--scares him;" and a mellow laugh rippled over her
+thin lips, which sounded so sweet that more than one passenger turned
+to see the laugher. Mrs. Johnson joined in the merriment, and I smiled
+too--the idea of that voice scolding was so absurd. And now it went on
+again:
+
+"I thought I'd say something to Jim about Rhody, for I felt oneasy
+about her; an' so when he was helpin' me on my horse in the evenin'
+(Rhody couldn't come to the fence, 'cause Mis' Curtis called her back
+when she started), I says to him, 'Jim,' says I, 'Rhody looks mighty
+bad; I'm feered she's doin' too much this hot weather.' You see, it
+was September, an' you know what tirin' weather we sometimes have in
+September.
+
+"'Oh, she's all right,' says Jim.
+
+"'No, she ain't,' says I.
+
+"Jim laughed, and his face reddened up, and says I,
+
+"'You better take good care of her, Jim; she's not a strong woman like
+your mother; she can't stand everything,' an' no more she couldn't,
+pore little thing.
+
+"Well, the very nex' Sunday, here came Jim and Rhody to see us. An' I
+tell you the ole man an' me was that glad he would have Rhody sing for
+us, an' she sang some of the songs he liked, but not many; she said
+she hadn't sung any fur so long it tired her.
+
+"'Why don't you sing, Rhody?' says the ole man; 'you used to sing like
+a bird.'
+
+"'I guess I'm not like a bird any more, Uncle Jonathan,' she says. An'
+then she sighed, but catchin' Jim lookin' at her, she lightened up and
+says, 'I am an old married woman now.'
+
+"After a while Jim an' the ole man they went out to the stable, and
+then the pore little darlin' says,
+
+"'Oh, Aunt Nancy, I'd be the happiest woman in the world if Jim and me
+was livin' by ourselves! Mother Curtis is a good woman, but somehow I
+can't please her, an' I try so hard. Sometimes I'm so tired I can't
+sleep or eat, an' she thinks I'm puttin' on airs, she calls it, an'
+she's allus saying she pities a man with a do-nothin', whiny wife.'
+
+"'It's a shame!' says I; 'why don't you tell Jim, and coax him to get
+another place?'
+
+"'Oh, Aunt Nancy,' she says, wipin' her purty eyes, 'I can't bear to
+make trouble, and what would Pap Curtis do? He's awful good to us. He
+brings me candy and sometimes oranges from town, and gives 'em to me
+when she don't see him, and he often helps me, too; gets wood and
+water and milks the cows--but there's Jim with the buggy,' and off she
+went.
+
+"I made up my mind to have another talk with Jim Curtis, but laws! we
+never can tell. The ole man he took the bed with rheumatiks in
+October, and I never seen anybody much fur three months, and then our
+Sarah's baby was born, and I was over there awhile, an' my own
+worriments drove other people's clean out of my head, till one day
+'long the last of February Jonathan came in (he'd be'n to town for
+somethin' or other), an' says he,
+
+"'Nancy, Rhody's got a boy!'
+
+"Laws! I was jist as s'prised as ef I'd never thought of sich a thing,
+an' says I, 'Who tole you?'
+
+"'Ole man Curtis,' says he, 'an' he's that sot up he wants you to come
+right over.'
+
+"'An' so I will,' says I. 'The blessed darlin'; an' it's a boy, an'
+our Sarah's is a boy, too. Well, that beats me.' An' I 'low 'twas odd,
+Mis' Johnson;" and Mrs. Johnson "'lowed" it was, too, and the story
+went on:
+
+"In a day or two I managed to go over to the Curtis place, an' though
+Mary Ann Curtis didn't seem over-pleased to see me, I'll say that for
+her, she treated me well enough, and asked me right up stairs to see
+Rhody and the baby. My! but my girl was glad to see me!
+
+"'Aunt Nancy,' she says, 'is Sarah's baby bigger'n mine?' and she
+turned down the kiver and showed me the littlest mite of a boy, with
+such a wrinkled old face! I wonder what does make a pore weakly baby
+look so much like old folks, anyhow. Did you ever notice it, Mis'
+Johnson?"
+
+"Oh, yes, often," said Mrs. Johnson. "There was my Silas, looked just
+like his Grandfather Johnson when he was born. But was her baby
+weakly?"
+
+"I saw it was in a minute," said Aunt Nancy, "but I never let on. I
+looked at the baby an' praised it all I could--said it wasn't as big
+as Sary's, but size was nothin'.
+
+"Mis' Curtis she sniffed sort o' scornful, an' says she, 'The child
+might have been bigger ef its mother'd knowed how to take keer of
+herself;' an' then she says, 'Well, I ain't no time to be a-foolin'. I
+must go to work.'
+
+"'I suppose you've got a girl?' says I.
+
+"'No, I ain't,' says she; 'an' what's more, I don't want one. I never
+seen one yet that they didn't eat an' waste more than their work came
+to, let alone their wages;' an' off she went down-stairs.
+
+"Rhody said nothing for a minute, an' I didn't, either. We just looked
+at the baby, an' it begun to pucker its face and cry a little, 'bout
+as loud as a young kitten. I thought of Sary's squaller of a boy, but
+I didn't say anything, and when it was quiet Rhody says:
+
+"'Aunt Nancy, is my baby like Sary's baby?' and she looked so pitiful
+I felt as if I could cry.
+
+"'Well,' I says, 'Sary's is bigger. Why do you ask that?'
+
+"Her lips quivered, an' she says:
+
+"'Everybody 'at sees it says, "What an old-fashioned baby! Poor little
+thing! Re'ly it's so odd-looking." Is it odd, Aunt Nancy? An' is there
+fashions in babies? I thought babies were all alike;' an' she tried to
+smile while tears rolled down her white face.
+
+"I tried to cheer her up. She was a baby herself--only a little over
+eighteen, you know; an' I went down and made her some toast and tea,
+and then fed the baby and got it to sleep, an' left her feelin' pretty
+cheerful.
+
+"After that I went over as often as ever I could, and sometimes
+carried a little somethin' I cooked to Rhody, but I saw Mis' Curtis
+didn't thank me. Once she's good as said so--said her victuals was
+good 'nough for anybody. Says I, 'Sick folks like strange cookin'
+sometimes, Mis' Curtis, an' Rhody allus liked my ways.' Which was an
+unfortunate thing for me to say, fur Mis' Curtis she flew all to
+pieces, and said I put mischief in Rhody's head.
+
+"'Here,' she says, 'is her baby three weeks old, an' her barely
+settin' up. Your Sary was at work afore her baby was that old, an' I
+know it; an' if Mis' Rhody can't wait on herself now, she can go
+'thout waitin' on for all of me,' she says.
+
+"'Mis' Curtis,' says I, 'my Sary's a different woman from Rhody.'
+
+"'I guess she is,' says Mis' Curtis, mad as fire.
+
+"'An,' says I, 'Jim ought to get somebody to help wait on Rhody and
+take care of the baby,' says I, 'or else it's my 'pinion he won't have
+'em long; fur,' says I, 'Rhody's gettin' weaker instead of stronger,
+and she ain't got milk fur that pore baby.'
+
+"Then Mis' Curtis she jes' let loose, an' I ketched it. She said it
+was all my doin's that Jim married that pore no-'count, stuck-up
+school-mistress, an' brought her there to be waited on, an' she knowed
+it all along, and now I needn't come a-tryin' to make out as Rhody
+wasn't treated well, fur she had wore herself out trottin' up and
+down stairs, an' she didn't mean to do it any longer.
+
+"Just then the kitchen door was opened, and old Mr. Curtis came in.
+
+"'Why, howdy, Aunt Nancy?' says he as cheerful, though I knowed he
+must have seen somethin' was up."
+
+"Yes," interrupted Mrs. Johnson angrily, "that's the way people do,
+and call it keepin' peace. I despise sich ways. Why didn't he make her
+behave herself? Suppose there was a fuss; ef she'd found he was goin'
+to be boss, she'd soon give up."
+
+"I guess not, Mis' Johnson," said the other; "she had sich a temper."
+
+"As if I didn't know that! an' I know when folks give up to sich
+tempers they make 'em worse. Wouldn't it been better if ole man Curtis
+had jes' let her see from the first that he didn't care for her
+temper? Why, she jesso natrally drove her girls to marry; and think of
+poor Molly tied to that drunken, shiftless Ned Pelton, and Betsy
+married to a old widower with seven or eight children, and him nearly
+as old as her father! I tell you, Aunt Nancy, Curtis is to blame."
+
+"Well," said the old lady gently, "I went up-stairs and found Rhody
+looking better'n I expected, with that midget of a baby with its eyes
+wide open on her lap. She was glad to see me.
+
+"'O Aunt Nancy!' she cried before I got my bunnit off, 'Jim has rented
+the old Duncan place, and as soon as I am able we are going there to
+live. He is over there now, fixing up.'
+
+"'Aha!' thought I, 'that's what's up!' but I said I was glad, and that
+I had brought her some sponge cake and other things; an' I 'mused the
+baby while she et a little--a mighty little, I was sorry to see; but
+she went on to tell me Jim had been to the doctor about her, an' he
+said she needed tonics, and he sent her some, an' she was goin' to
+take the med'cin' an' would soon be well and strong, an' so happy!
+'But, Aunt Nancy,' she says, 'baby don't grow a bit. I'm afraid he is
+too old-fashioned. Mother Curtis says I don't stir 'round enough to
+get an appetite. Do you think that's it--that baby don't get enough to
+make him grow because I can't eat?' She looked so weak and pitiful.
+
+"I says, 'Well, it ain't your fault; I reckon you can't make yourself
+eat.'
+
+"She laughed a little. 'You are such a comfort, auntie!' she says;
+'but that wonderful tonic'll set me up again.'
+
+"An' so I left her an' went home, promising to be back in a day or two
+an' take her home with me for a little visit if she was strong enough.
+You'd jes' oughter to seen her face when I said that; it jes' lit up.
+
+"'Mother Curtis?' she whispered.
+
+"'Oh,' says I, 'she'll be glad to get rid of you for a while,' an' I
+went off plannin' how I'd see Jim and make him bring her over. But it
+did seem as if there was a spite to be worked out agin me, for that
+very evenin' it set in to rain, an' that stiffened the ole man up bad,
+an' for days he could not move hisself, an' I was kep' close at home
+for three weeks, hearin' from the neighbors every once in a while that
+Rhody was gainin' slowly, but the baby wasn't right somehow.
+
+"Well, Jonathan got able to hobble round again, an' a purty spell of
+weather sot in, but there was garden to make, an' soap to bile, an'
+another week slipped away, an' I says to Jonathan, says I, 'As sure as
+I live I am going to see Rhody to-morrer ef old Mis' Curtis'll let me
+in;' an' the words wasn't hardly out of my mouth when somebody knocked
+at the door. 'Come in,' says I, and who was it but old man Curtis,
+looking like a ghost. 'What's the matter?' says I. He r'al'y couldn't
+speak for a minit, an' then he got out somethin' 'bout Rhody an' the
+baby, and comin', but I sensed it all, an' in less'n a minit I was
+ready an' in the buggy with him.
+
+"From what I could make out as we druv as fast as we could, Jim had
+been away from home over to the Duncan place from airly in the mornin'
+till about five o'clock that afternoon. When he got home he run right
+up to Rhody's room, an' found her a-settin' there with the baby in her
+arms, asleep he thought, but when he spoke to Rhody she began to
+scream, so that he was scared an' tuk hold of the baby an' it was
+dead.
+
+"'Then he hollered,' said the old man, 'an' me an' Mary Ann an' Tom
+(that's the hired man) ran up there, fur we was jes' settin' down to
+supper, an' when we saw what it was Tom went for the doctor and I came
+for you.'
+
+"An' oh, Mis' Johnson, I never want to see such sights agin! The baby
+was dead, sure enough, poor little thing, an' out of its misery, but
+Rhody, she jes' went out o' one faint into another till the doctor
+came, an' then we worked over her a long time, an' when she quit
+faintin' she was ravin' in a high fever. Dangerous, the doctor said,
+an' turned everybody but Jim an' me out o' the room. Such an awful
+time! Rhody would scream, 'Oh, do come, Mother! Mother! Mother! Baby's
+dyin'!' till she couldn't scream any more, an' then she'd ask for the
+baby, an' lie still, waitin' like, an' then scream again.
+
+"It was midnight before the doctor got her quiet, and then she lay in
+a stupor like, with Jim settin' watchin' her. Then I thought of the
+pore baby an' went to see about it, but some of the other neighbors
+hed come in, an' I found they had it laid out nice in the parlor.
+
+"Mis' Curtis was settin' by the kitchen stove, fur it was a cool
+evenin', an' I says to her, 'Mary Ann,' says I, 'what ailed the child?
+It was tuk suddent, wasn't it?'
+
+"She looked at me. I knowed she was mad as well as feelin' bad, but
+she didn't want to show it then, an' she says,
+
+"'Yes, I reckon you might say it was, 'though I never spected the
+child to live from the first. What'd Jim marry that no-'count spindly
+girl fur? He might 'a 'knowed.'
+
+"'Mis' Curtis,' says I, 'Rhody'll not trouble you long; and it's my
+belief,' says I, 'you've hurried her into her grave.'
+
+"'It's no sich thing,' says she. 'I waited on her as good as if she
+was my own; but I had lots to do to-day, an' I tole her this mornin' I
+was done packin' victuals up stairs for a lazy trollop like her, an'
+she could come down to dinner if she wanted any. She's plenty able to,
+Nancy Riley, an' it's my 'pinion she didn't take half care of that
+baby. An' she set Jim agin me. He's fixin' to go off to live by
+hisself.'
+
+"I jes' turned round and left her, an' she bounced up an' says to one
+of the women, 'I spect you're all hungry, an' I'll get supper'; an' in
+spite of all they could do, to work she went."
+
+"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Johnson, "the madder she got the harder she'd
+work, an' a mighty good worker, too, she was; but how did that poor
+Rhody get along?"
+
+"Well, she lay quiet all that mornin', but about the middle of the
+afternoon she roused up and seemed to know me an' Jim, an' asked for
+the baby.
+
+"'It's down stairs, Rhody,' says I.
+
+"She looked at me so queer.
+
+"'Is it?' she said. 'Mother was mad, Jim, an' wouldn't come up stairs;
+an' baby was so sick, an' I tried to call her, an' I couldn't make her
+hear, an' then I tried to go down stairs an' I couldn't, an' baby got
+so stiff and cold, an' I couldn't get him warm.' An' then, O Mis'
+Johnson, she began to scream again. It was awful, but after a while
+she was still again for several hours, an' I tried to get Jim to lay
+down, but he wouldn't leave her; an' his mother come up for him to get
+him to go down an' eat somethin', but he jes' looked at her, an' she
+went an' left him.
+
+"It was night when Rhody roused up agin', an' she looked so much
+better out of her eyes that I felt sort a cheered.
+
+"'Jim,' she says, whispering, 'is that Aunt Nancy?'
+
+"'Yes, dear,' he says.
+
+"'An' has she got the baby?' she went on.
+
+"Well, Jim didn't say nothin', pore feller, an' she says,
+
+"'Aunt Nancy, when Jim an' me's keepin' house you'll come an' see
+us?'
+
+"'Yes, dear,' I says. 'Now go to sleep, like a good girl.'
+
+"'All right,' she says, 'you keep the baby, an', Jim, kiss me good
+night. I love you--Jim. We'll be--so happy--by--ourselves.'
+
+"The last words were a long time comin', an' Jim, after he kissed her,
+looked at me an' whispered, 'Send for the doctor.' I hurried out, but
+before the doctor came he was not needed. Rhody had said her last good
+night."
+
+"How did Mary Ann take it?" said Mrs. Johnson, wiping her eyes.
+
+"Laws, she tuk on like all possessed, cried and hollered till I
+thought she'd go inter fits; but somehow I felt sorrier for the ole
+man. He'd stan' an' look at the pore thing after she was laid out, an'
+the big tears'd run down his wrinkled face, an' he says to me, 'She's
+too good fur this world, Nancy, Rhody was.'"
+
+Just then the brakeman shouted the name of the town at which I was to
+stop, and I must gather up my traps. I leaned over and whispered to
+"Aunt Nancy," "What did poor Jim do?"
+
+The old lady's face flushed. "Was you a-listenin'?" says she.
+
+"I couldn't help it," I said. "Poor Rhoda! But what about Jim, Aunt
+Nancy?"
+
+"This way, Madam," said the conductor briskly. "Let me have your
+valise."
+
+"Jim?" she whispered excitedly, "he like to went wild, but he was
+mighty quiet, an' soon's the funeral was over he sold everything he
+had and went to Californy."
+
+"Did he forgive his mother?" I asked, but the conductor took my arm
+and marched me out, and to this day I am wondering about "Jim" and his
+mother and "ole man Curtis." If I knew where "Aunt Nancy" lived, I
+would write to her.
+
+
+
+
+MRS. GLADSTONE AND HER GOOD WORKS.
+
+BY MARY G. BURNETT.
+
+
+The mistress of Hawarden Castle is something more than the devoted
+wife of the great statesman who sways the destinies of Great Britain.
+She has a notable personality of her own, worthy in its energy and
+sagacity of him with whom her life is linked. While the husband's
+career has always been interwoven with the highest affairs of state,
+the wife has shown her genius for administration by the charitable
+enterprises in which she has taken so active a part. Most things come
+about naturally as the effect of growth; and it is interesting to go
+back to the childhood of Mrs. Gladstone to trace the influences which
+directed her mind to deeds of beneficence. Things have changed since
+Mrs. Gladstone was a little girl, living with her sister and brothers
+at Hawarden Castle, nearly eighty years ago.
+
+Mrs. Gladstone's father, Sir Stephen Glynne, died young, when his
+eldest daughter Catherine (Mrs. Gladstone) was scarcely five years
+old. Tradition remembers him as a very handsome, lively-minded man,
+and it is said that Catherine Glynne grew up very like her father. One
+of Mrs. Gladstone's first vivid impressions is of the fright she got
+by seeing the "mutes," then the fashion at important funerals,
+standing about the castle while her dead father lay in state. It gave
+her a life-long horror of elaborate and expensive funerals. Her father
+was succeeded in the baronetcy and estates by his eldest son, Stephen
+Richard, then but a little boy of eight. Lady Glynne, a daughter of
+Lord Brabrooke, was left with the sole charge of the property and the
+children. She was a beautiful woman of strong character. Fortunately
+about this time her brother, the Honorable George Neville, came to be
+rector of Hawarden parish. The castle and rectory were within a
+quarter hour's walk of each other, and it was a precious boon for Lady
+Glynne to have her brother's judicious help in the management of the
+large estates, and in the education of her two boys and her two
+girls.
+
+This was about the year 1813. At that date Hawarden, in common with a
+village in Cheshire, had the deserved reputation of being the most
+wicked place in all the country round. Mr. Neville, with Lady Glynne's
+consent, closed the worst of the public houses, and inaugurated a
+system of education for the parish, setting up schools in Hawarden
+village and in the districts round.
+
+
+MRS. GLADSTONE'S EARLY TRAINING.
+
+It was a serious problem at the outset to obtain either teachers or
+scholars. It was necessary to employ bribery to get the mothers to
+send their children to school, and the aid of Lady Glynne and her
+young girls was brought to bear, in the first place, to talk the
+mothers over; and, secondly, to prepare a store of frocks, coats,
+cloaks, and other useful garments. These were given away as Christmas
+prizes, to recompense the mothers for remitting the services of their
+little girls, and the pence which the boys could pick up at scaring
+crows and such like juvenile occupations.
+
+It was a matter of still greater difficulty to find teachers who knew
+anything of the art of instruction; this was long before the day of
+colleges for elementary teachers. An old woman at Hawarden boasted to
+me that she had received for many years a Christmas prize for regular
+attendance at school. Naturally the question was asked: "How was it,
+then, Mrs. Catheral, you never learned either to read or write?"
+
+"Oh, I never wanted to," said she. "I never tried. But I liked the
+pretty frock or warm cloak the Miss Glynnes always gave us for prizes
+at Christmas time, if we went to school regular." Then she added,
+"Bless you! you should have seen the prizes in those days! They were
+worth looking at; none of your books and rubbish, like what children
+get in these days." In such an atmosphere did the children of Lady
+Glynne grow up, systematically trained to assist their mother and
+uncle in everything they projected for the parish good. Then came the
+full tide of the Oxford movement, which swept like a wave of light and
+heat through the sluggish heart of English religious and social
+reform, though it landed some of its brightest lights afterwards in
+Romanism. The names of Pusey, Keble, Manning, and Newman were
+household words at Hawarden Castle. Catherine's brothers were then at
+Christ Church, Oxford; and, in the midst of it all, intimate with the
+leaders of the movement, amongst whom were young Gladstone and many
+other brilliant young men, destined to be friends through life of
+those two bright and beautiful young girls at Hawarden.
+
+[Illustration: THE OLD AND NEW CASTLE OF HAWARDEN.]
+
+Thus a happy childhood matured into womanhood, under revolutionary
+influences. The breezes of intellectual and spiritual awakening
+stirred the air. Theirs never was a life of mere social excitement
+which so often plunges the _d�butante_ into a whirl of pleasure
+without feeding the better life. They entered, it is true, into all
+the pleasures of London seasons, their beauty and bright minds fitting
+them to enjoy these to the full. But behind and above it all was the
+intelligence which kept them in touch with the movement of their
+day--a movement which, when turned into practical channels, brought
+about, for example, the great work of Florence Nightingale, who
+re-created the hospital-nursing service. The same potency inspired the
+establishment of homes and refuges and many of the philanthropic
+schemes which have made the last forty years so notable. Certain it is
+that Catherine Glynne came under the influence of the Oxford movement,
+and was predisposed by it to take a leading part in the philanthropic
+work of the day.
+
+
+MARRIAGE AND PHILANTHROPY.
+
+[Illustration: MISS GLYNNE (MRS. GLADSTONE), 1838.]
+
+In 1839 she married William Ewart Gladstone, whose great genius
+already foreshadowed his future eminence. The same day her younger
+sister married Lord Lyttleton. Those who were eye-witnesses of that
+double wedding, and all the wonderful festivities in the village, are
+becoming few, indeed. In her married life Mrs. Gladstone found
+occupation to the full. She was always the true and careful mother who
+would not give over her duties to another, even to the best of nurses.
+She was devoted to her husband in his incessant political toils. She
+did not need to look around her for work. Still her assistance was
+from the first prompt to the furtherance of any schemes where a
+helping hand was needed.
+
+Mrs. Gladstone soon became a centre for philanthropic work of all
+kinds. She and Mr. Gladstone started Newport Market Refuge, which is
+now carried on at Westminster, with an industrial school attached.
+Begun in Soho in 1863, it was Mr. Gladstone's idea, for he saw many
+friendless wanderers as he went at night between the House of Commons
+and his home. Mrs. Gladstone threw herself into his scheme, and the
+work was started with an efficient committee. From the beginning Mr.
+Gladstone has been president and his wife a regular visitor. The
+object of the refuge is to give shelter to persons out of work and in
+temporary distress, to enable them to tide over their difficulties,
+and to find fresh employment. It does not take in the practised
+casual, or loafer, but weary, sore-footed travellers, who have walked
+far in search of work and found none. Such are always admitted as far
+as room permits, and have the assurance of a week's lodging free, with
+the prospect of an extension of time if the committee see a reasonable
+chance of their getting work.
+
+[Illustration: THE ORPHANAGE, HAWARDEN.]
+
+In the course of a single year about thirteen thousand nights'
+lodgings and thirty thousand rations have been granted, and three
+hundred and nine men and women have obtained employment, or else have
+been sent home to their friends.
+
+It need scarcely be said to those who have kept pace with recent
+events that the most vital feature of General Booth's great work in
+London follows closely the model set by the Gladstone institution.
+
+It was soon found advisable to add a Boys' Industrial School to the
+work of the Refuge. Many lads in distress were constantly being
+discovered, who would certainly drift into a life of idleness and
+dishonesty if not taken in hand. So the managers of the Refuge
+determined to try this novel combination--refuge and school--which,
+hazardous as it was at its commencement, has proved an entire
+success.
+
+In 1866 a sharp epidemic of cholera reached England, and the East End
+of London was severely attacked. Mrs. Gladstone came in contact with
+it, in her regular visits to the London hospital. Whole families were
+brought in together, some to die, others to recover. Parents dying
+left their children behind them, friendless and helpless. Mrs.
+Gladstone carried away many of the poor little wretches virtually in
+her arms. They were naked, for their only clothing had to be burned,
+but she found cloaks and blankets to wrap them in, and took them with
+her to her own house or to lodgings which she had provided.
+
+She induced her friends to furnish fresh garments without delay, and
+she rented an empty house at Clapton, wherein to lodge her orphans.
+She set about raising money to provide for their needs and those of
+other cholera patients. She wrote a letter to the "Times," asking
+subscriptions for this object, and speedily five thousand pounds
+rolled in. With this she was able to keep her little cholera orphans
+in comfort. One who saw the sight, when she accompanied Mrs. Gladstone
+to Clapton, says she can never forget it. As soon as the door was
+opened she was surrounded by the little ones, who clung to her and
+almost overwhelmed her in their eagerness to obtain a caress from the
+one they loved so dearly.
+
+
+VARIED ENTERPRISES OF AN ACTIVE LIFE.
+
+Her Free Convalescent Home had its genesis in the necessities of
+the sick poor, brought to light by this cholera epidemic. It was
+forced upon her notice that many, who had passed safely through the
+dangers of acute disease, relapsed into serious, and sometimes fatal,
+illness for lack of that timely change of air, wholesome food and
+comfortable lodging which they were unable to find at home. There were
+convalescent establishments in operation, but it was found that
+they were already full, or else admission was hampered by such
+conditions of privileged tickets, weekly payments, and distance,
+that, before these could be complied with, the evils sought to be
+averted had actually occurred.
+
+Mrs. Gladstone determined to establish a Convalescent Home, where
+admission could be quickly arranged, free of cost. She called to her
+aid a committee of ladies and gentlemen, qualified by business
+experience, professional knowledge, or familiarity with the needs of
+the poor, to co�perate with her. Such confidence did she inspire, that
+a beginning was quickly made in a house at Snaresbrook, the remainder
+of the lease being made over to Mrs. Gladstone and her committee. When
+the lease came to an end, the convalescents were transferred for a
+short time to the houses which Mrs. Gladstone had at Clapton, but in
+1868 a freehold property, known as Woodsford Hall, most healthily
+situated in Essex, was bought by the committee. Here this good work
+has been carried on ever since. It is a charming house close to the
+forest, surrounded by lawns and trees and flowers. In fine weather the
+house is nearly empty all day long. The invalids from the squalid city
+lanes spend their time in the forest, gathering wild flowers, and
+drinking in the perfumed air which pours rich draughts of health and
+strength into their wasted bodies.
+
+When in London, Mrs. Gladstone has for nearly a quarter of a century
+gone down to the London Hospital every Monday morning, to examine into
+the circumstances of those who apply to go down to Woodsford. The
+clergy and ministers of all denominations in the parishes around the
+London Hospital have a right to send their sick poor with a note of
+recommendation, but those who are recovering in the London Hospital
+have the special claim. The business is carefully supervised by Mrs.
+Gladstone and her assistants, even to the day of going, and the train.
+Attention is always directed to the express object of the home--as a
+resort solely for those who have been ill, are slowly recovering, and
+require, for complete restoration to health, change of air, good food,
+rest, and kindly treatment.
+
+Every year more than a thousand men, women, and children enjoy the
+benefit of this retreat. One report gives the numbers at six hundred
+and thirty-nine men, three hundred and sixty-nine women, seventy
+boys, and forty girls. The large excess of men and boys over women and
+girls has revealed the fact that working men are much more liable than
+are women, not only to accidents, but to disease. This holds good
+among the children, as more sickness rages among the boys than among
+the girls. In this great undertaking Mrs. Gladstone has been ably
+assisted by many friends, among whom may be specially mentioned her
+niece, Lady Frederick Cavendish, whose terribly imposed sorrow has
+always found relief in works of love and charity. It is impossible,
+too, to say good-by to the Free Convalescent Home at Woodsford without
+mentioning Miss Simmons, the superintendent for many years--an ideal
+mother for such a home. To see her play games with the patients is
+something one remembers, for the humor with which it is done and the
+mirth it creates. Mrs. Gladstone herself delights the patients on her
+visits by playing dance music to them. Her country dances and Sir
+Roger de Coverely are special favorites.
+
+[Illustration: THE INMATES OF WOODSFORD HALL IN THE FOREST.]
+
+Another prominent feature of her charities is the orphanage at
+Hawarden, which arose out of the American war of 1862, and the
+subsequent cotton famine in Lancashire.
+
+Mrs. Gladstone's brother, Sir Stephen Glynne, was alive, and Mr. and
+Mrs. Gladstone lived at Hawarden Castle with him. When the distress
+was most severe, Mr. Gladstone collected a number of men who were idle
+in Lancashire, and found them employment in cutting foot-paths
+through the park and woods of Hawarden--as he could not give them work
+which would displace any of the permanent laborers on the estates. At
+the same time Mrs. Gladstone sent for some of their young daughters,
+and her brother, Sir Stephen, gave her the use of a nice old house
+which stood in the courtyard, formerly the dower house belonging to
+the Ravenscrofts, who in time past had owned Hawarden Castle, then
+called "Broad Lane Hall." (The heiress of the Ravenscrofts had married
+Mrs. Gladstone's great-grandfather, Sir John Glynne.) This dower house
+Mrs. Gladstone converted into a training home for the girls, under the
+charge of a very charming nurse of her own children, who had lately
+married. The experiment proved a great success. The girls had all
+worked in the mills, but they learned quickly something of domestic
+work. Then Mrs. Gladstone found them places amongst her own friends in
+the neighborhood, whereupon she was able to send for more girls to be
+similarly assisted. Some of them were lovely young women, and most of
+them married extremely well while in service.
+
+[Illustration: THE ANNUAL LUNCH PARTY OF THE NOTTING HILL SCHOOL GIRLS.]
+
+In the autumn of 1867 Mrs. Gladstone brought down about a dozen of her
+orphans from Clapton and lodged them in another small house, which her
+brother had lent to her. These she put under the care of a widow with
+a little boy of her own. There they dwelt happily, going every day up
+to the village to attend the infant school. When the Lancashire
+distress was quite over, and all need of the old dower house at an end
+for the mill girls, Mrs. Gladstone transferred her Clapton orphans
+there, and added to their number other children whose fathers and
+mothers had died in the London Hospital. When the orphanage was
+properly established in the larger house, it accommodated comfortably
+about thirty children. Experience taught Mrs. Gladstone that poor
+parents found it more difficult to provide for and manage their boys
+than their girls. So the Hawarden orphanage has come to be filled by
+boys. They attend the parish schools till they are old enough to be
+apprenticed to trades. There is now a whole army of well-doing young
+men who have been brought up in the Hawarden Castle orphanage. It is
+still in full tide of the work it has carried on for over twenty-five
+years.
+
+About 1880 a home for training young women for service was opened at
+Notting Hill, London, under the management of a committee of ladies.
+The object of the home was to take girls under its protection who had
+bad homes, and were therefore likely to be totally neglected and to
+drift into a life of uselessness and vice. Mrs. Gladstone was asked to
+become the president, and consented. It is organized on a small scale,
+a fact much in favor of its purpose. Not more than fifteen girls are
+there at one time, and a few lady boarders are taken in, as this works
+well for training the girls in the various branches of domestic
+service. The proud characteristic of the school is its determination
+never to despair of any pupil, however discouraging she may be in her
+first trial of service. The reward seems great when a girl, who has
+failed in several places, at last finds a mistress who understands her
+and draws out the best in her, when she receives praise as a good
+servant instead of the fault-finding hitherto her portion. There are
+now numbers of respectable, well-doing servants who have been trained
+here, and the institution has proved a boon to employers as well as
+the employed.
+
+
+A CROWN OF HONOR.
+
+[Illustration: MRS. GLADSTONE TO-DAY.]
+
+Mrs. Gladstone gives the girls who are in service an annual treat
+every summer down at the Convalescent Home at Woodsford. About a year
+ago a party of them enjoyed luncheon and tea on the lawn there, under
+the shadow of a rare kind of sycamore which their hostess had brought
+in a flower-pot, as a little seedling, from an old tree which spreads
+its ample branches close to her orphanage at Hawarden. Mrs. Gladstone
+told the girls that, when she planted it, she never thought to live so
+long as to see it large enough to shelter a party of forty in the
+shadow of its foliage. Such works of beneficence as have just been
+sketched are only a few of those forming a crown of honor and glory
+for the head of the great Premier's wife. She was in that early band
+who began penitentiary work at Clewer before it took shape under Mrs.
+Monsel's management. That must have been soon after her marriage. To
+that early time, too, belong the beginnings of the House of Charity
+for distressed persons in London, which is carried on at Soho, and
+rejoices in its forty-sixth annual report. This is to help persons a
+little higher than the working-class, who have fallen into temporary
+distress from sickness or other vicissitudes.
+
+As for the deeds of private kindness, it can truly be said that Mrs.
+Gladstone has sown them on all sides, and it is characteristic of that
+noble woman's nature that she is loyal to the last to those who need
+her help, even if it be for a lifetime.
+
+
+
+
+A BOYS' REPUBLIC.
+
+THE STORY OF CAMP CHOCORUA.
+
+BY ALFRED BALCH.
+
+There is an island in Big Asquam Lake, New Hampshire, lying almost
+under the shadow of Mount Chocorua, and on it there are many
+buildings, rough but weather-tight; paths which have been carefully
+built to grade; a boat-yard, with ways leading to the water; a long
+wharf projecting out toward a swimming raft which is floating
+where there is depth for diving; a sea wall of heavy stone, against
+which the ice is powerless. Down by the water's edge, and squatting
+on a wooden stage within easy reach, a group of boys are washing
+dishes. From time to time one of them, who while working as hard as
+any, keeps his eye on the others, gives a short order which is
+instantly obeyed. Other boys are sitting on the porch, polishing
+lantern and lamps, while yet others are sweeping up the litter which
+disfigures the open space. There are buildings to the right and
+left, there are canvas canoes and boats floating near the wharf, and a
+great flat boat--somewhat rudely made--is moored in front of the sea
+wall. With each group of boys is a young man, busily employed in
+the same work, but it is noticeable that he gives no orders.
+
+From the island itself the view is exquisitely beautiful. To the north
+the White Mountains rest like a mighty barrier, walling in the valley
+at their feet. The lake itself lies smiling under the sunlight of the
+perfect day, or darkening under the shadow of the drifting cloud. The
+breeze is barely enough to fill the sails of the white canoe outside
+there, while the scarlet cap of the boy sailing it makes a patch of
+color. There are other islands with long vistas of water between them,
+relieving the vivid green of the trees which cover them with foliage,
+and coming toward the wharf is a boat filled with girls; in the
+stillness their gay laughter sounds pleasantly. Everywhere is the
+beauty of the mountains and the lake, and the voices of the boys at
+work fill the very air with life.
+
+Big Asquam Lake was more picturesque during the summers from 1881 to
+1889, because Camp Chocorua was there, than it has been since. The
+camp was founded by Mr. Ernest Berkeley Balch as a summer camp for
+boys, in which they could have plenty of outdoor sport, a reasonable
+amount of work, and abundant opportunity to enjoy themselves in their
+own way. Starting with five boys and a small frame shanty in 1881, it
+grew into one of the oddest institutions that may be imagined. It was
+different in many ways from anything else of the kind, and its great
+success was due to the fact that it was modelled on real life as men
+see it. The motive underlying all of its pleasant features and most
+quaint customs was twofold: first, responsibility, personally and for
+others; and, second, work--not only the work which each one must do
+for himself, but also that extra work which brings with it a tangible
+reward. The boys were encouraged in everything that would tend to
+develop them physically, to make them strong and healthy, but they
+also found themselves members of a little world that had a high
+standard of honor, a world in which the laws governing the conflicting
+interests of men were recognized and obeyed. How this was done, how
+Camp Chocorua was governed and run, and why the boys who were there
+still look on it so affectionately is not an uninteresting story.
+
+"The Camp," as it is always called by those who were there, took in
+all of the space on the island. In 1889, the last year, the buildings
+included the office; the big dormitory--in the upper story of which
+was the library, with a large room below, having at one end the great
+fireplace, where the camp-fire blazed and burned; the dining-house--an
+open shed; the cook-house, with the ice-house at its back; the
+store-house and faculty quarters--the upper story of this was the
+hospital; and the carpenter's shop, down by the boat-yard. There were
+many paths built carefully to grade, and one of these led to the grove
+of silver birches, in the midst of which was the chapel. I think this
+was one of the prettiest places I ever saw. The walls were the living
+trees, the seats were rustic benches, and the reading-desk was a rock,
+oddly fashioned, of the stone of the Granite State, into the form of a
+lectern. Every Sunday afternoon when it was fair weather the service
+was held here.
+
+It is not, however, in the buildings, on the island, nor in the trees
+that one can find the interest of Camp Chocorua. It was in the life
+led by the boys, in their customs and laws, in their courts and
+contracts, that this resides.
+
+[Illustration: THE CHAPEL.]
+
+One of the fundamental rules of the place was that every boy or man
+there should do his own work and his share of the common work of the
+camp. Many of the boys who came had never in their lives done anything
+for themselves, and the first thing demanded of them, that they should
+make up their own beds and take care of their own clothes, came very
+hard. The boy was careless, he lost his waterproof, he could not put
+on his shoes, or could not remember to put away his clothes. There was
+no punishment for his fault; he was simply ranked as an "Incapable."
+An Incapable was a boy who did no work of any kind, who belonged to no
+crew, who had no part in the busy life of the camp except that of a
+spectator. More than this, an Incapable was forbidden to refuse
+assistance from any member of a crew, and as it speedily became the
+fashion to help an Incapable, he had no lack of such assistance. Any
+one who can remember the scorn a boy feels for another who, he thinks,
+is less manly than himself will understand the sort of blistering sore
+applied to an Incapable. It was not without a pathetic side, the way
+in which these little chaps would work to learn how to dress
+themselves and lace their own shoes, and the anxiety they showed to
+keep their clothes and bed in order; and as an Incapable had the right
+to an examination, by a member of the faculty, at any time, as to his
+capability, few there were who were not assigned to a crew within two
+weeks.
+
+The supreme power in Camp Chocorua resided in the founder, although he
+could not, except in extreme cases, traverse one of the customs of the
+camp, for these were, in fact, unwritten laws. Associated with him
+were the members of the faculty, generally four in number, and it was
+their duty to oversee and watch the boys. One of the faculty was
+always with a crew, and he had the right to give general orders and to
+inspect the work done, as a whole. He had no power, however, over the
+individual members of that crew, for this resided wholly in the
+stroke, or, in his absence, in the sub-stroke. To compare one thing
+with another, the member of the faculty was the general commanding the
+brigade, and the stroke was the colonel in command of a regiment. The
+general could give his orders and comment on how they were carried
+out, but it was the colonel who decided on details. The member of the
+faculty with a crew worked as they worked, taking such part of the
+labor as he saw fit, or doing that which the stroke asked him to. The
+boys in the camp were divided into four crews, and at the beginning of
+the camp year the strokes were appointed by the faculty. As soon as a
+stroke was named, he had the power of appointing his sub-stroke, or
+second in command of the crew, on the principle that as he was
+responsible for all the sub-stroke did, it was but fair he should have
+his choice.
+
+The crews did all the routine work of the camp, three being on duty
+every day and one off. These three were the kitchen crew, which
+supplied the cook's boy to prepare vegetables and run errands, and
+which cleaned all the pots, pans, and kitchen utensils; the police
+crew, which cleaned the lamps, swept the rooms, and removed all litter
+from the grounds; and the dish crew, which washed all the larger
+dishes used on the table, as well as the plate, cup, knife, fork, and
+spoon of any guest for the first three days of his stay on the island.
+After that the guest did his own work. The dish crew supplied the
+inspector of dishes--generally the sub-stroke--and visitors, I
+remember, got useful lessons on what constituted cleanliness as they
+stood meekly before him. It was safe to say that any article passing
+inspection was in a condition to be used again. Each crew in turn
+became kitchen, police, and dish, during three days, and on the
+fourth, the off crew. This was expected to do any work outside of the
+regular duties of the day, such as manning a boat for visitors,
+handling express matter or supplies, or, in short, anything not done
+by the others. The milk boat was manned by the kitchen crew, and the
+mail boat by the police. Practically speaking, each crew worked about
+five hours a day.
+
+It was a cardinal principle in Camp Chocorua that the boys should
+govern the boys. The strokes were to all intents and purposes supreme
+over their crews, and under no circumstances did a member of the
+faculty give an order to a member of a crew. The order was given to
+the stroke or sub-stroke in command, and he carried it out as he saw
+fit. The stroke was expected not only to rule his crew and see they
+did the work, he must also set them an example by doing as much or
+more than any one of them. In point of fact, the stroke and sub-stroke
+were generally the two most efficient boys in a crew. But in such a
+system as this, that a member of a crew might be disobedient, or a
+stroke might be tyrannical, was not lost sight of. The stroke had no
+power to punish, but he could, were his orders disobeyed, direct a boy
+to report to the faculty. On the other hand, although the presence of
+a member of the faculty prevented any open bullying, it was within the
+power of a stroke to "work" a boy, and that boy had an appeal to the
+faculty. As in Camp Chocorua in proportion to the power was the
+responsibility, the appeal was a much more serious thing than the
+report. When the latter was made by order of a stroke, the boy might
+be reprimanded, given a good talking, or be shifted into another crew.
+In extreme cases he might be declared an Incapable--than which nothing
+was more detested. If it were found that a boy could not get along
+with any stroke he might be sent home, because this meant he refused
+to submit to the discipline of the camp.
+
+The position of stroke was the most sought for in Camp Chocorua. It
+was understood the stroke had to get the work done perfectly, rule his
+crew justly and without friction, and personally be a model of a camp
+boy. If he failed in either of these, the inference was obvious--he
+was unfit for the position; the faculty had made a mistake in putting
+him into it. If a complaint of tyranny was proved, there was but one
+thing to do--the stroke was reduced in rank. He lost all the
+privileges of his position, and in the eyes of all, men and boys
+alike, he was disgraced; he was officially declared to be unfit to
+govern others. It is difficult to find among the possible experiences
+of men anything equal in severity, and the boys in the camp dreaded
+such punishment as they dreaded nothing else. It was bad enough when a
+sub-stroke was reduced, but to a stroke it was terrible. The system,
+however, was in itself almost enough to prevent this punishment. A
+stroke was expected to keep his crew happy and contented, and there
+were keen eyes watching him all the while, and kindly men ready to
+give a hint.
+
+Under its curious double government by faculty and boys, Camp Chocorua
+prospered and grew. The personal and routine work was done, the boys
+played baseball or tennis, they swam and dived, and went sailing,
+rowing and paddling. No ambition was greater in the mind of a camp boy
+than that of owning a canoe, and as many of them were not rich enough
+to buy, the boat-yard was established in the cove. Here was the
+carpenter shop, with a full set of tools and a bench, and outside its
+open door were the ways on which the canoes were built. At one time
+the yard was full of the pretty little boats in all stages, from the
+keel with its newly joined ribs to the completed canoe on whose canvas
+cover the paint was slowly drying. Exceedingly good canoe builders
+some of the boys turned out to be, and their models were not only fast
+but safe. Here, too, was the floor on which they cut their sails, or
+sat and talked as they stitched in the leach lines or fastened the
+reef points in place. Many of the canoes were the work of their
+owners' hands in every part--hull, paddle, sails, and rigging. When
+the fleet came in, paddling in open order, I never saw anything
+prettier in my life than the white hulls gliding so easily over the
+placid water, the boys singing and keeping stroke, while beyond lay
+the green islands, casting the long shadows from their trees under the
+setting sun. It was in this yard that the great flatboat was built in
+which the whole camp moved about the lake, ten oars on a side, and
+every boy tugging for all he knew. An unwieldy craft, in which one
+earned his passage. It was in this yard, too, that the best canoe
+designers earned much money from their less skilful comrades.
+
+The financial system of Camp Chocorua was as odd, when one thinks
+of it as applied to boys from eight to fourteen years, as were
+many other things about the place. Each boy had an allowance of
+twenty-five cents a week paid by the camp, and no boy, no matter what
+the wealth of his parents, was allowed to bring money given him to
+the camp. His outfit might include fishing-tackle, but a canoe was
+barred. If, as was generally the case, he wanted more money than his
+allowance, he could get it by working during his own time. While
+the boys did the routine work of the camp as a part of their duty,
+they had nothing to do with permanent improvements, yet there were
+many of these made during the nine years. These were paid for by the
+camp, and it was a cardinal principle that when work of this kind was
+to be done, the boys should earn the money if they chose. Out of this
+rose the system of contracts. The work to be done was announced
+beforehand, and then sold to the lowest bidder, who was required
+to sign a contract. This was printed in legal form, with the camp
+as party of the first part, and the contractor as party of the
+second, the price to be paid and the time being duly entered. The
+book of contracts is one of the most curious things to study. One
+of the pages reads "building one yard on the chapel path to grade,"
+price five cents, and time one week. "Removing a stump in front of
+the office and filling the hole," is another, price twenty-five cents.
+Some of the contracts were taken by firms and others by companies.
+"The Goodwill Contract Company" takes a contract to do the washing
+of the camp, and the president's signature is affixed. If a contract
+was performed, the price was credited to the contractor in the
+bank. It might be that, owing to circumstances, the time was
+extended, or the contract might be forfeited for non-performance.
+In the latter case it was sold again to the lowest bidder, and the
+difference--if any--between the original contract price and the sum
+charged to finish the work was charged to the contractor. It was
+very rarely that an old camp boy either underestimated the amount
+of work necessary or the time required, and the forfeitures were for
+the most part among the new boys. They learned quickly, however.
+Under this contract system the paths were made, the wharf built, and,
+in fact, the majority of the permanent improvements carried out.
+The contracts were not always with the camp. The boys made them with
+each other, as in the building of canoes, and as the boys had no
+power to put up a forfeited contract at auction, the courts became
+necessary. The camp, the men or the boys were all alike subordinate
+to the courts; either could sue or be sued, and each was bound by
+the result.
+
+In the court of first instance one of the faculty presided as judge,
+and there might or might not be a jury. The parties to the cause could
+argue their own cases, or they could appear by counsel chosen from the
+boys or the faculty. In case plaintiff or defendant chose, he could
+appeal from the decision, providing he deposited a check for the full
+amount of damages and costs. The Appellate Court consisted of a
+majority of the members of the faculty--not less than three--and in
+this there was no jury. It must be acknowledged that in appeal cases
+the judges took cognizance of the facts as well as the law. But the
+law of the camp was so well known to every boy there, and it was so
+simple, that no boy could fail to see the justice of the decision. It
+must be remembered when these courts are considered that to the boys
+they were very real. It cost five cents to bring a suit, and fifteen
+for an appeal, and the sums sued for were lost or won in reality. The
+costs went to the officers of the court, excluding the judges, who
+served for honor. If counsel were employed they had to be paid, unless
+they volunteered, and it came to be naturally understood that a
+plaintiff or defendant in the wrong could not get volunteer counsel.
+The verdict--when there was a jury--was that of the boys themselves;
+they condemned or approved of what other boys had done. As the boys
+were trusted to rule each other, so they were the guardians of each
+other's rights, while the power of appeal made it impossible that any
+wave of temporary unpopularity should bring injustice to any boy. Camp
+Chocorua was builded on this idea of the boys managing themselves, but
+there was ever present the superior authority to prevent wrong being
+done, and the very existence of this authority made it rarely called
+on.
+
+[Illustration: THE CAMP ON MARCH.]
+
+The keenness in business of these boys is well illustrated by the
+story of the Soda-Water Trust. Whenever the boys went to the store in
+Holderness they generally bought soda-water. This went on until some
+one suggested the apparatus could be bought and the soda-water made in
+the camp. Two firms--one of three boys and the other of two--each firm
+having a bank account large enough to purchase the apparatus and
+supplies, were formed at once. But the privileges or monopolies in the
+camp were always sold for the benefit of the Charity Fund, and it was
+promptly announced the soda-water franchise would be put up at
+auction. The two firms were rich, but they were not willing to enter a
+contest of this kind. The members got together and talked matters over
+at length, finally resolving to form a trust. When the time came the
+trust bid one cent for the franchise, and there being no other bid it
+was sold at this price. When their apparatus came the trust did a
+rushing business.
+
+[Illustration: A HALT FOR SUPPER.]
+
+[Illustration: THE BARGE.]
+
+In the Camp Chocorua bank, each man and boy had an account. Payments
+of all kinds were made by check. The allowance was added to the
+account each week, and as the boys made money the credits grew larger.
+At the end of the camp season the depositor could either draw out his
+balance or have it carried over to the next summer. During the winter
+he was allowed to earn money by work, provided he received no more for
+it than would have been paid to anyone else, and this money could be
+added to the bank account. One boy brought nine dollars and
+seventy-five cents as the result of shovelling snow, but the canoe his
+father gave him could only be kept when he showed himself able to pay
+for it. This he could only do by borrowing from the bank the necessary
+balance; but his credit was good, and the summer was not half over
+before he had paid back the loan. I have often laughed when I have
+thought of the feeling with which that father must have looked on his
+son's check, and realized what it meant. If the boys in Camp Chocorua
+learned anything, they learned not to be ashamed of labor in any form.
+The dignity of work was silently taught them, even as they were taught
+to expect the tangible rewards.
+
+It was towards the middle of the second term of the camp that the
+sports took place. For days before, the boys were at work cleaning the
+camp up, and the cooks--two of the boys--were busy getting the lunch
+ready. To the sports all the friends and relations of the boys were
+invited, and there were usually many grown people present. There was a
+game at baseball, some sets at tennis; there were sailing, rowing, and
+paddling matches, swimming and diving contests, foot races, and the
+like. The prizes were simple enough, bits of ribbons with the name of
+the camp, the contest, and the date painted on, yet they were valued
+very highly. Splendid work the boys did in these sports, and
+conclusive was the evidence of their thorough training during the
+summer. Those who attended the sports once were always glad to come
+again, for long as the days were, they were filled with fun and
+frolic. In the evening the boys and their visitors gathered around the
+great fireplace in the dormitory building, and there, in the light of
+the camp fire, joined in the camp songs. The last song of all was "The
+Battle Hymn of the Republic," the verses being sung as a solo, and the
+chorus by everyone present; and it was with the grand old melody still
+ringing in their ears that the guests took the boats which carried
+them home.
+
+There was one prize awarded at the sports which might come to any
+boy. This was the "C. C." pin in silver. Those who won it were the
+boys who had in their own way shown themselves to have got the
+greatest good out of the camp, and who had done the most good to
+others. The pins were not common; two or three, perhaps, were given
+in a summer, and sometimes none at all. It is most difficult to define
+the conditions under which the pin was given; it came as the result
+of a unanimous feeling in the faculty that it had been won, rather
+than as the result of rules obeyed. A conscious effort to win it was
+enough to prevent success. The boy had to show the manliness,
+justice, truth, conscientiousness in him, not for reward, but
+because he had them in him; and then the reward, or rather the
+recognition, came. Intrinsically these little pins are worth
+nothing; but those who have them value them as they value few
+things, and they are right.
+
+The cruise which marked the end of the summer's camp life was one of
+the most picturesque things imaginable. An ox-cart with four oxen
+carried the blankets, dishes, and stores; Porgus, the great,
+slobbering bloodhound, was fastened to the rear axle, the Infant--the
+youngest boy in camp--mounted the donkey, and with faculty and boys on
+foot, the camp set out. The routes taken during the nine cruises
+included all the best known roads in the White Mountains. Generally,
+those boys who wished to made up a separate party, and climbed some
+one of the great peaks, while the rest confined themselves to lower
+levels. At night they all slept in some barn. The routine work of the
+cooks and crews went on as usual, and the whole thing was pick-nicking
+on a grand scale. Sometimes the ox-cart would stall, or the oxen be
+unable to haul it up a hill, and then the rope was fastened on, and
+the whole camp toiled on and pulled. It was an experience to pass them
+at this time, to listen to the orders of the strokes, to hear the
+chaff flying back and forward, and to watch the crowd, all clad in
+gray knickerbockers and jackets, gray stockings and flannel shirts,
+and wearing the scarlet knit Scotch caps which completed the camp
+uniform.
+
+There is a story about Porgus, the big bloodhound, which is worth
+telling. When they first got him everyone supposed he was exceedingly
+fierce, and, lest he should bite, he was tied up on another island,
+and his food taken to him twice a day. Suddenly, one day, Porgus was
+seen swimming towards Chocorua, and, the alarm being given, everyone
+except the man who knew him took refuge in the house. The dog was
+taken back and tied up, but as he could gain nothing by howling he
+broke away once more. The fact of the matter was, that Porgus was
+lonely, and that so far from being fierce, he was one of the most
+good-natured beasts in the world. This having been found out, he was
+added to the list of camp pets. These at various times included a
+flying squirrel that had a habit of jumping on your shoulder as you
+passed his tree; a black sheep called Billy, who learned to butt
+anyone in the neighborhood; the donkey, and the kyuse--the latter a
+mustang pony. All of these in their time were important members of the
+camp. Old Captain Cairns, too, a man who lived alone in a most curious
+house on one of the islands, was one of the greatest friends of the
+boys, and always came to the sports. The captain was a curiosity in
+his way, and he never got tired of telling yarns about the places he
+had been to or the people he had seen.
+
+[Illustration: CAPTAIN CAIRN'S HOUSE.]
+
+The story of Camp Chocorua, of the healthy, open-air life, of the high
+standards so rigidly lived up to, of the fun they had, of the work
+they did, and of the lessons in manliness they so unconsciously
+learned, is really written in the memories of the boys who, during
+those nine summers, spent their time on that little island. This
+article is but a brief account of the methods through which so much
+was done. The place now belongs to the founder, and a custodian is
+kept there to look after it. The buildings are open to the old camp
+boys, and many of them spend their vacation time there. For the most
+part, they are men in the world now, but none the less do they look
+back at the camp with pleasant memories, feeling and realizing, as
+they never did then, all that the camp life meant to them. Everything
+is ready for them; they have but to hang up the great Chinese gong on
+which the hours were struck, and the camp is open. They can sail, row,
+and swim, and at night, sitting before the "camp fire," they can bring
+back the days when they were boys; they can tell their stories of the
+contracts and the trials, the sports and the cruises; they can laugh
+over half-forgotten jokes, or speak in lower tones of the boys who are
+now dead. For although Camp Chocorua has ceased to be, Camp Chocorua
+lives in the memories of the camp boys.
+
+
+
+
+THE HAPPY LIFE.
+
+BY SIR HENRY WOTTON.
+
+(1568-1639.)
+
+
+  How happy is he, born and taught,
+    That serveth not another's will,
+  Whose armor is his honest thought,
+    And simple truth his utmost skill.
+
+  Whose passions not his masters are;
+    Whose soul is still prepared for death,
+  Untied unto the worldly care
+    Of public fame or private breath!
+
+  Who envies none that chance doth raise,
+    Or vice; who never understood
+  How deepest wounds are given by praise,
+    Nor rules of state, but rules of good.
+
+  Who hath his life from humors freed,
+    Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
+  Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
+    Nor ruin make accusers great.
+
+  Who God doth late and early pray
+    More of his grace than gifts to lend,
+  And entertains the harmless day
+    With a well-chosen book or friend.
+
+  This man is freed from servile bands
+    Of hope to rise, or fear to fall--
+  Lord of himself, though not of lands;
+    And having nothing yet hath all.
+
+
+
+
+EDWIN BOOTH.
+
+ON AND OFF THE STAGE.
+
+Personal Recollections.
+
+BY ADAM BADEAU.
+
+
+The Friday before Booth was taken ill, I spent two or three hours with
+him in his rooms at the Players' Club, and while there it occurred to
+me that a picture, not of the actor merely, but of the man whom I had
+known for more than thirty years, in the glow of youth and the prime
+of manhood, down to the weary invalid, stricken before his time, in
+the characters that were not assumed--of husband, father, brother,
+son, and friend--would have an interest far beyond any critical
+analysis of his performances or historical account of his engagements.
+He did not object to my painting him as I had known him in the most
+intimate relations of his life--an actor is always used to being
+described and criticised--and he gave me incidents and information,
+all that I sought. Thus in what I have to say there will be nothing
+second-hand, nothing that he has not himself told me at one time or
+another, or that I have not observed in the friendship of a lifetime.
+
+I first met him when he was twenty-three, and I only twenty-five years
+old, and from that time till his marriage and my own entrance into the
+army we were as intimate as it is possible for two young men to be. I
+have the right, therefore, to tell what I shall unfold, for he gave it
+to me, and I have a further right in the certainty that nothing I can
+tell will depreciate his fame. If I portray all that I know, no one
+who reads will fail to think more highly and tenderly of the nature
+that was cloaked under Richard and Iago, suggested perhaps by points
+in Othello and Lear, but only really indicated in Hamlet, the
+melancholy, moody, dreamy, filial, tender Dane.
+
+He was born in 1833, in the night of the historical meteoric
+display--the "star-shower," he always called it. His father was a
+famous actor in the parts which the son so often played. I never saw
+the elder, but others assured me he possessed a tragic genius perhaps
+at times even more tremendous than that of the Booth I knew. He was an
+Englishman, and the rival of Edmund Kean. The family tradition is that
+he was driven from London by a cabal of Kean's admirers, and came to
+America in 1821, almost immediately after his marriage.
+
+Junius Brutus Booth must have been an extraordinary person off the
+stage; erratic almost to insanity, gloomy, given to fits of
+passion, but full of warm affections; a man with a temper almost
+uncontrollable, yet more often morose than violent, who refused to
+play, even when announced, unless he was in the vein, and walked
+the streets for hours after acting, and sometimes before. His wife
+for years accompanied him to the theatre, acting as dresser, and
+Edwin was taken with them. He thus received his first impressions of
+the stage when he was three or four years old. The wife remained in
+the dressing-room during the play, and when the child grew sleepy
+he was put to bed in a chest of drawers that held his father's
+wardrobe. If he wakened he had the theatrical wigs and paint-pots
+for his toys. A few years later he took his mother's place and
+dressed his father for the stage.
+
+[Illustration: _From photo by F. Gutekunst._
+
+_Copyright by F. Gutekunst, Philadelphia._]
+
+There were several children, and three of the sons became actors. I
+asked him whether he was the favorite, but he said no: his father
+always preferred John Wilkes. Yet Edwin had the greatest influence
+with the tragedian when the gloomy fits came on, and followed him
+many a night through the streets to see that he got no harm. He
+could prevail on him to act when no other could, and often told me
+of his attempts to direct their wanderings so that they might reach
+the stage-door in time. He himself was melancholy and moody, and
+lived very much in the imagination. It must have been a strange
+spectacle--this erratic genius and his anxious child, both slightly
+formed, with the same wonderful piercing eyes, stumbling about the
+streets at dark, the boy trying to persuade the father, sometimes
+succeeding, sometimes failing altogether.
+
+The story of Edwin's first appearance on any stage has often been
+told. It was as Tressel to his father's Richard III. He was not yet
+sixteen and received no encouragement nor sign of approval from his
+strangely constituted parent, but a little later the two were walking
+in Broadway, when they met a Mr. Conway, an English actor well known
+to play-goers of the last generation. Booth stopped to talk, and
+Conway, who was pompous in speech, inquired rather elaborately:
+
+"Upon which of your sons do you intend to confer your mantle?"
+
+The great player did not reply in words, but laid his hand on Edwin's
+head with a sort of solemnity, perhaps suggested by Conway's tone. The
+lad attached little significance to the action at the moment, but
+afterward felt certain that his father meant all that the gesture
+implied. I asked him how old he was when this occurred. "Only a
+stripling," he said, "about as high as the top of that candle," and he
+pointed to the mantelpiece.
+
+"Why," I exclaimed, "you are not as high as that now."
+
+"Ah! but I wore a hat," he replied; "and my father had to reach up to
+put his hand on me. I was taller than he."
+
+He first played Richard III. at the old Chatham Street Theatre in New
+York, as a substitute for his father, who either could not be found or
+refused to act. When the manager learned this fact he said to Edwin:
+"Then you must play Richard." The lad, just seventeen, was naturally
+unwilling, but he knew the text from having heard his father so often
+in the part, and their figures were not unlike. The assistants dressed
+him in his father's clothes, and he made up his face as like as
+possible to the great actor in Richard III. The audience was surprised
+when he appeared, but allowed him to go on, and he must have played
+with a certain degree of power, for he was called out at the end of
+the first act, and went through the entire exacting tragedy. When the
+play was over he hastened home and found his father, who offered
+neither comment nor inquiry. In this way the strange pair went on,
+leading a life as curious as any of the mimic ones they portrayed on
+the stage; for Edwin now played at times, even in prominent parts, but
+made no especial mark, being dwarfed, of course, by his father's
+superlative ability.
+
+In 1852 they went to California, but the wayward elder remained only a
+few months, then suddenly returned to the Atlantic States, leaving
+Edwin behind with his brother Junius, also an actor of some
+prominence. The brothers played together occasionally, but the times
+were rough and their success was small. Edwin was soon reduced to the
+hard straits of a strolling player's life: borrowing a few dollars now
+and then, walking hungry through mountain snows, living sometimes in a
+ranch, sometimes on the pittance of a stock-actor's salary, but
+sometimes making a hit, drawing crowded houses and filling his purse
+for a while.
+
+In November, 1852, he got word of the death of his father, a terrible
+blow to him, whose relations with the great actor were so peculiar.
+Throughout his life he retained the liveliest memories of his father's
+character and presence. He liked to talk of him, and spent hours with
+me describing the peculiarities that left so profound an impression on
+him. But though he saw their strangeness, the reverent tone in which
+he told of them was always marked.
+
+Doubtless he inherited the dramatic genius and some of the temperament
+of his parent. He was not so wildly passionate on the stage, and his
+temper was never so uncontrollable, but his brooding melancholy, the
+sensitiveness of his nature, the depth of his affections, the quaint
+humor so strange in a tragic actor, his vivid imagination--many,
+indeed, of his especial gifts and faults--were unquestionably
+transmitted with his blood by him who was at once the author of his
+physical being and the begetter of his genius. The likeness extended
+to feature and gesture. I have a picture of the father given me by the
+son, which might easily be taken for one of Edwin in Richard III.; and
+older play-goers always declared that in the great tragic scenes the
+son recalled, in tone and look and power, the peculiar magnetic
+quality that made the elder so remarkable. I have thought sometimes
+that the awful bursts of passion of his younger days were more
+effective even than the elaborate manner of his later art. He told me
+more than once that his life-long friend and comrade, Joseph
+Jefferson, often warned him against refining away his power, and
+thought the classic finish hardly compensated for the natural
+intensity which it replaced.
+
+His feeling for his father certainly added to the power of his
+performance of Hamlet. His greatest scenes in this tragedy were those
+with the ghost, and when Booth addressed the shade, and exclaimed:
+
+            "I'll call thee Hamlet,
+  King, _Father_, royal Dane,"
+
+there was a pathos in the word "father" which those who ever heard him
+utter it must recall. He dropped on one knee as he spoke it, and bowed
+his head, not in terror, but in awe and love, and tender memory of the
+past; he had a feeling that he was actually in the presence of that
+weird shade whom he had known on earth, and he was not afraid.
+
+The fatherless son remained in California, playing with varied
+success, sometimes as leading-man with Miss Heron, Laura Keene, or
+Mrs. Forrest Sinclair, sometimes as a star, sometimes in the stock
+company of those days, taking any part to which he was assigned. The
+experience was doubtless valuable to him, and he acknowledged that he
+owed to it much of his ease on the stage, his familiarity with the
+business, his self-possession under all circumstances, and his
+readiness in emergencies.
+
+During his stay on the Pacific Coast he once visited the Sandwich
+Islands, and with an impromptu company gave a few performances. He had
+great trouble in announcing his plays, for the boys who were employed
+to post the bills ate up all the paste; but the houses were full, and
+the audience included the king. The court, however, was in mourning,
+and His Majesty could not be seen in front, so a chair was draped with
+theatrical robes behind the scenes, and there the real king applauded
+the mimic one in "Richard III." The throne was needed for the
+coronation scene, and Kamehameha kindly abdicated for that occasion.
+In 1851 young Booth, as he was now called, returned to the Eastern
+States and played in Baltimore, Richmond, Boston--everywhere with
+great success. He was at once recognized as the dramatic descendant of
+his father, and the future head of the American stage.
+
+In May, 1857, he entered upon his first engagement in New York, and on
+one of the earlier nights I strolled into the theatre while he was
+playing Richard III. I had seen his name in the bills, but he was
+heralded as the "Hope of the Living Drama," and I had no great
+expectations from such an announcement. But I was struck at once with
+his dramatic fire, his grace, his expressive eye and mobile mouth, his
+natural elocution, and the decided genius he displayed. I remember
+even now, after the lapse of thirty-six years, the prodigious effect
+in the fourth act, when Richard exclaims:
+
+            "What do they in the North
+  When they should serve their sovereign in the West?"
+
+His whole face and form were ablaze with expression--literally
+transfigured; and his voice embodied a majestic terrible rage that
+electrified the listeners. Men rose in all parts of the house and
+shouted with delight. I had seen Rachel and Forrest and Cushman and
+Grisi then, and I have seen Bernhardt and Irving and Salvini and
+Ristori since, but I never saw or heard on the stage anything more
+tremendous than the picture he presented and the passion he portrayed
+in his youth in Richard III.
+
+I went the next night and the next, and found the fascination
+increase. I saw him in Petruchio, Brutus, Hamlet, Richelieu, Lear,
+Iago, Claude Melnotte, Sir Giles Overreach, Romeo, and Pescara. He was
+uneven and fitful in everything, but in every part he played he did
+something that no other actor could rival. His youth, too, had a
+charm; the very crudeness of his acting gave a certain interest--it
+left room for anticipation. I was very much attracted by the stage at
+that time, so I called on young Booth and told him what I thought of
+his acting. He had plenty of admirers, but my enthusiasm seemed to
+touch him, and we struck up a friendship at once. At the end of a week
+he consented to spend Sunday with me; and from that time dated a
+peculiar intimacy. I had a good deal of leisure and could pass my days
+as well as nights in his company, and I knew no greater pleasure than
+he gave me, either on or off the stage. He was not then a finished
+scholar, nor by any means the great artist that he afterward became,
+and I was anxious that he should be both. I used to hunt up books and
+pictures about the stage, the finest criticisms, the works that
+illustrated his scenes, the biographies of great actors, and we
+studied them together. We visited the Astor Library and the Society
+Library to verify costumes, and every picture or picture-gallery in
+New York, public or private, that was accessible. He discussed his
+parts with me, and with the conceit of youth I often ventured to
+differ with him on points in his art where he should have been an
+authority. Often we quarrelled all day about an interpretation or a
+rendering, and I went to the theatre at night to be convinced that he
+was right and I was wrong. Sometimes he gave me a private box, and I
+took notes of the performance, and of the criticisms or changes that
+occurred to me. Next day we went over them together, and at night he
+would play Richard or Iago according to my suggestions--perhaps as
+much to gratify me as because he thought my judgment correct.
+
+Oftener I went to his dressing-room. It was very fascinating to watch
+the face of the character he was to play grow and vary beneath his
+hand. The character itself seemed to grow at the same time. When we
+entered at the stage door he was my friend--"Ned," I always called
+him; but as the paint and the cotton eyebrows, the wig and the tights,
+were put on, the stage personage appeared; and when Hamlet or Romeo
+was ready his manner assumed all the grace and dignity of the Prince
+or the Montagu. After he had played a scene or two the transformation
+was complete, and lasted till the stage clothes were taken off.
+
+How completely he personated the characters that he assumed I can
+testify from comparison with what may be called his originals, the
+actual Hotspurs and Hamlets, the soldiers and princes, of the real
+world. One night in Louisiana before a battle I was with General T. W.
+Sherman while he was giving orders to his officers and aides-de-camp.
+It was nearly midnight, and there was to be an attack at dawn. First
+came in one messenger, then another, next the leader of the advance,
+last the captain of the reserves. The night was warm and the tent was
+thrown open; a candle burned on a table within, while the general
+paced up and down in the darkness outside. There was a hush and a
+bustle combined, a subdued intensity and a dramatic haste, as the
+commander gave his different orders and received his successive
+subordinates, that brought to my mind at the moment the tent scene in
+"Richard III." I thought, just then, "How like all this is to what I
+have seen on the stage." Yet Booth had never witnessed actual war.
+
+In the same way in Europe: I often thought of him when princes and
+sovereigns were holding levees or processions, receiving homage or
+conferring honors; no Guelph or Bourbon of them all went through his
+part with greater dignity or grace than the young American who had
+never been at court; and sometimes the magic of genius arrayed him in
+a majesty which all the reality of their grandeur could not inspire.
+
+There was one character, however, that he could not play--the lover.
+He was the poorest of Romeos, and he knew it. He looked the part, of
+course, in his youth; the women always wanted to see him play it, and
+the actresses all wanted to be Juliet; but there was a lack of
+tenderness in his eye, and of ardor in his tone; even the gestures
+were tame. He was not anxious or persuasive enough; he was too
+confident, or too indifferent. The only point in the play where he
+rose to his usual level was in the fight with Tybalt; but then there
+was killing to be done, and this was passion of a different sort--this
+was tragedy. Then he became inspired, and looked for a moment like one
+of the demi-gods in Homer's battles. But in the scenes with the friar
+and with Juliet, even in the balcony scene, he was comparatively
+spiritless. Whether he was not actually a good lover, or whether he
+felt a certain delicacy about love-making in public, the fact remains
+that he was always more effective in parts that represent harsh or
+violent emotions than in tender ones with women.
+
+So, too, though he had a keen sense of humor, and was full of jokes
+and funny stories off the stage, and told them with a genuine comic
+power, he could not act a comic part. I once saw him in "Little
+Toddlekins," in white trousers and a high hat, and I never wanted to
+see him in farce again. Even in high comedy he was not so interesting
+as in tragedy. Benedick himself was not to his taste, and his nearest
+approach to success in comedy was as Don C�sar de Bazan; but there the
+fascination was in his superb appearance and irresistible grace quite
+as much as in dramatic power. His Don C�sar, however, was a wonderful
+picture, an embodied romance. He delighted in the caustic speeches of
+Shylock or Hamlet, or the irony of Iago, but these can hardly be
+called comedy. His Petruchio was a game of romps; but it was Donatello
+romping with Miriam, or Bacchus with Ariadne.
+
+Yet, I repeat, he was bubbling over with a grim sort of humor in real
+life, like that which Shakespeare sprinkles over his tragedies. Behind
+the scenes he would mock and gibe at himself, had odd remarks to make
+about his face or his costume, and was alive with waggeries and
+witticisms. I once pulled aside his robes in Richelieu as he sat
+smoking between the acts, and he shrank back and screamed, "How dare
+you, sir?" in a shrill tone, exactly like a woman. The next moment he
+was the stately cardinal again.
+
+I was very anxious that Booth should receive a social recognition.
+Thirty years ago actors had not overleaped the barriers which had
+existed for centuries, to anything like the extent we know at present,
+and I wanted him to meet people of distinction, to hold the position
+which Garrick once occupied in England; but he hardly shared my
+ambition for him. If people wanted him they had to seek him, and even
+then were not sure of getting him. Social attentions sometimes
+gratified, but quite as often bored him. But his genius was so
+positive and so attractive, that the most prominent people all over
+the country courted his society. I had the pleasure of putting up his
+name at the Century Club, where he was more than cordially welcomed.
+The wits, the scholars, artists, authors, all were glad to know the
+man who had given them so refined a pleasure. Bancroft, Bryant,
+Curtis, and their families, Sumner, Mrs. Ward Howe, men and women of
+the first social position, as well as cultivation, were his personal
+friends, even at that early day. But he seemed indifferent to his
+fame.
+
+He had no trace of personal vanity. He said to me once he only cared
+for his good looks as the tools of his trade. Hundreds of women flung
+themselves at him in those days; they sent him notes in verse and
+prose, flowers, presents of jewels, shawls, feathers, to wear on the
+stage; they asked for appointments; they invited him to their houses,
+they offered to go to his; but he cared nothing for any of them.
+Sometimes they amused, but more often disgusted him. More than once he
+saved some foolish child from what might have been disgrace, and sent
+her home to her family. And he never injured a pure woman in his life.
+Off the stage he had no care for his looks; even in his youth his
+dress was more than plain; he was positively indifferent to his
+appearance.
+
+He always continued to have fits of sadness and silence; a feeling
+that evil was hanging over him, that he could not come to good. These
+moods would pass, but would return. Still, when he inclined to talk he
+was profoundly interesting. He had a wonderful fund of stories, and
+recollected the most minute and the most salient circumstances,
+showing the actor's power of observation. He studied character
+incessantly; not deliberately, but because he could not help seeing
+peculiar traits of character or peculiar circumstances. He acted all
+his stories, comic or tragic, without meaning to do it, and often just
+as well off as on the stage. I used to get him to make the faces he
+did on the stage, to look like Richelieu in the "curse of Rome," or
+Richard in "What do they in the North?" But it was only when he was in
+a very good humor that he would do this. Once or twice he painted his
+face to assume his father's appearance.
+
+But he hated to act off the stage, and even at rehearsal seldom raised
+his voice above the conversational tone, or struck an attitude. I
+often went to rehearsal with him and wondered at the calmness of his
+tones when he struck down Iago, or smothered Desdemona. One morning in
+Buffalo I missed him when we started, and followed him to the theatre;
+I entered at the stage door and went to the wings, looking for him. It
+was a minute or two before I recognized him, with a high hat and a
+cane, reciting passages from "Macbeth." But that night he was more
+tremendous than ever. His first entrance in the play he made by
+leaping from the rocks, as he exclaimed, "So foul and fair a day I
+have not seen"; and it was the very Highland thane that came upon the
+scene--full of his future dignity and oppressed by the feeling of Fate
+that fills this tragedy as it does the plays of Euripides. That
+feeling, indeed, almost illustrates the depression that settled over
+his nature at intervals, and seemed a premonition of some awful
+future. It was appalling to witness, and must have been still more
+appalling to endure. Doubtless he inherited it from his father. It was
+like a veil that shrouded him from other mortals, and he walked behind
+it, apart. He strove to describe his emotions at such times to me, for
+he wanted me to know all he felt; but the effort was like those sad
+ones of his later days, when he attempted to utter words and gave only
+inarticulate sounds. I cannot portray him unless I make this sadness
+apparent; it was so strange and weird.
+
+And yet this introspective, distant man, so old when he was young,
+so cold though gifted with every personal charm--was a warmly
+affectionate son, devoted to his mother, and generous to his family;
+he lived with his mother and sister for years, and provided for them
+after his marriage; he lent money not only to his brothers, but to
+hosts of friends, actors and others, for his profession brought him
+in large sums, and he gave away much in charity, especially to
+actors. His friendships, though steadfast, were not usually ardent
+or demonstrative. He who was gifted with such wonderful power to
+express the emotions of others was often unable or unwilling to give
+utterance to his own. When he was called out after the play, the
+man who had just enthralled an audience as Richard or Othello, or
+hurled the imprecations of Richelieu or Lear, stood modest and
+shrinking, only able to stammer a few words of thanks in his own
+person, on the very boards where he was most at home.
+
+He was not a good hater; when he was injured he felt it keenly, and I
+am not sure that he ever forgave a wrong, but the memory of it was
+not always keen, and I doubt if he ever revenged himself--he relented
+when it came to inflicting pain. In his business relations he more
+than once fell into foul hands, and he had himself little business
+faculty; but he was slow in making reprisals, even if opportunity
+offered. For he had a noble, gentle nature; I never knew him do a mean
+or vulgar thing. He was no backbiter; he refrained, even with me, from
+hostile criticism of other actors. I sometimes drew out opinions that
+were not favorable, but he never offered them, and always seemed to
+utter them unwillingly, as if he would not refuse to tell me what he
+thought, and yet was loath to speak severely of a brother artist.
+
+No one ever charged him with desertion of a friend or backwardness in
+time of need; and I have known of sacrifices that he made for others,
+greater than most men are capable of. He submitted to much from some
+members of his family, because he deemed it his duty, or from
+affectionate pity, and endured even cruel wrongs rather than resent
+them publicly. He was most averse to bringing his private affairs
+before the world, and disliked to extend the publicity of the stage to
+his every-day life. His friendships in his youth were almost confined
+to members of his own profession. Joseph Jefferson, and John Sleeper
+Clarke, who married his sister, were always very close to him, and in
+later years, Barrett. In time, however, he had many associates among
+artists and cultivated men, who naturally sought his company, and some
+of these he regarded as personal friends.[1]
+
+  [1] His three executors, Messrs. Benedict, Bispham, and McGonigle,
+      were, I suppose, as intimate with him as any one in later years;
+      he certainly showed them the most absolute confidence in his
+      will, and for years had consulted them on the management of his
+      affairs. Mr. McGonigle married the sister of his first wife.
+
+I once visited with him the place where he was born. It was a
+farmhouse twenty-five or thirty miles from Baltimore. We drove out in
+a one-horse vehicle, and he was Pha�ton. The house was partly
+furnished but unoccupied, and an old negro in an outbuilding gave us
+the keys. His father's library remained, and a part of his stage
+wardrobe, and we spent hours ransacking them both, studying old
+play-bills, even English ones of his father, examining rare copies of
+Shakespeare, and trying on trappings of Shylock or Lear. I made him
+put on a wig and act the parts for a single auditor. He was very
+complaisant that day, or night rather, for we sat up till late into
+the morning, and then made beds out of C�sar's mantle and Macbeth's
+robes. He picked out three volumes of Shakespeare which he had used in
+playing, full of his own stage directions written in, and variations
+of the text, and gave them to me as a memento of the visit, inscribing
+some lines from one of the sonnets. It was Verplanck's illustrated
+edition, and some of the plates were marked: "Form this picture." I
+remember afterward noticing that he made the picture on the stage.
+
+Many a night in those days we sat together till morning, for he had
+the actor's habit of turning night into day. Playing till nearly
+midnight, and supping still later, the excitement of the stage kept
+him awake afterward, and he never wanted to go to bed. He was never
+more animated in thought and look and gesture than after acting. Of
+course, he rose late, and during an engagement his only leisure hours
+were one or two in the afternoon; for in those early days he went
+regularly to rehearsal. That was before the era of long runs, and he
+played a range of parts in each engagement, changing them nearly every
+night. He sometimes slept after his early dinner, so as to be
+refreshed and ready for evening.
+
+Then there were the painters and sculptors and photographers, always
+one or two in every town, who wanted to take him, either in a popular
+part, or "in his habit as he lived." He never dined out while he was
+playing, except on Sundays, and a walk or a drive was almost his only
+exercise or amusement; there was not time for more; he had to reserve
+himself for the night. For he had to work when other men played; his
+work was their amusement. It was a life utterly unlike that of other
+men, and it is not strange that his character was unlike theirs. He
+was exposed to the temptations of youth, and he had his peculiar
+faults, but no gross vices, and he did no harm or wrong to man or
+woman--ever, that I knew. Of how many can this be said?
+
+In 1860 he married Miss Mary Devlin, a young actress, who retired from
+the stage as soon as she became engaged to him. She was a sweet gentle
+woman, of great natural refinement, and every way fit to be his wife.
+A year before he had told me he meant to marry, and I encouraged this
+intention. I thought he would be happier, that he needed the constant
+companionship and solace of a wife's society, though I knew that
+marriage must, to a certain extent, disturb the intimacy which I
+valued and enjoyed so highly. No man could be so intimate with two
+people at once as he had been with me. They were married at the
+clergyman's house on the afternoon of July 7. He and I went together
+to the simple ceremony; there were no other witnesses except his
+wife's sister and her husband and John Wilkes Booth. After it was
+over, Wilkes threw his arms about Edwin's neck and kissed him.
+
+In a week Booth wrote to me and wanted me to join them at Niagara.
+They had a cottage on the Canada side, and there I spent two weeks of
+his honeymoon with my friend. He was most anxious to show me that his
+marriage had made no difference in his feeling toward me, and his wife
+was quite as anxious that I should perceive none. In the autumn Booth
+played in New York, and I was with him almost as much as ever. We sat
+up late into the night as of old, and Mrs. Booth was often so good as
+to leave us together. I had the pleasure of accompanying them to
+distinguished houses, for Mrs. Booth was much invited, as well as he,
+and bore herself with quiet grace and modest dignity, as "to the
+manner born." We continued our studies, too. Mrs. Booth was as anxious
+as I for the artistic success of her husband; she and I went to the
+play together and discussed his performances. Their union was complete
+and their happiness unalloyed.
+
+But the currents of our lives ran different ways. In 1861 I entered
+the army and Booth went to England. His success in London at this
+time was not marked; he could not obtain the theatre he wanted, and
+English feeling just then was hostile to Americans. He played only a
+short engagement, and it was not until the second or third week that
+he made any impression. Then his Richelieu created a sensation, but it
+was late in the season, and he only acted a few nights afterward. In
+December his only child, Edwina, was born at Fulham, England.
+
+He returned to America early in 1862, and in September I was passing
+through New York and went to see them. I found the same dear friend I
+had known of old, with a sweet tender woman by his side, and a child
+of nine months playing on the floor. Mrs. Booth made me remark that
+the little one, creeping in its play, fell instinctively into the
+attitude of Richard III. in the terrible fight with Richmond; and the
+likeness was laughable. I left the same day for New Orleans, happy for
+this glimpse at their domestic happiness.
+
+They took a house in Boston, and the next year, in February, 1863,
+Booth was playing in New York, having left his wife at home because of
+her delicate health. During a performance at the Winter Garden a
+despatch was handed him, summoning him to her side. He left at the
+close of the play, but before he could reach her the dearest thing on
+earth to him was gone forever. The shock almost unbalanced his mind.
+His wife had been all that a perfect wife could be to a man of his
+peculiar temperament and needs. She sustained him, encouraged him,
+soothed him when the sad moods came on, and exorcised the evil spirit
+absolutely. She inspired his work, and comforted him in weariness,
+trouble, or physical pain. He wrote me, at once, the saddest letter I
+ever received. He was crushed, and saw no hope, no reason for living.
+The black cloud that she had lifted was lowered again; not even his
+child at first could interest or distract him. But he turned to me in
+his bereavement, for I had known her, and I did what I could to
+comfort him; at least, I could grieve with him.
+
+The young wife was buried at Mount Auburn, near Boston, at a spot
+which they had selected together. He built a tomb in which both
+were to lie; it was lined with brick, and when her remains were
+transferred, before the coffin was lowered Booth jumped into the grave
+as Hamlet did into Ophelia's. He joined her there last June, after
+thirty years.
+
+In May, 1863, I was seriously wounded, and it was his turn to solace
+me. I lay in hospital for many weeks, and he wrote me constantly. In
+July I was taken to New York, and arrived just before the riots of
+that year. I was carried to Booth's house. He and his brother Wilkes
+bore me to Edwin's bed, which he gave up for me, and there I was left
+alone with my distracted friend. I may not disclose all that he said
+in his grief, but, with his unusual nature, it can be imagined. He was
+inclined to think the spirit near him of her who had been so much to
+him in life, and I said nothing to disturb the impression. I remained
+at his house until it was possible to remove me to the country; both
+he and his brother dressed my wounds, and tended me with the greatest
+care.
+
+I saw much of him during the months of my convalescence, and early in
+1865, when I was again taken to New York after an attack of camp
+fever; Wilkes Booth was once more at his brother's house. He was
+excessively handsome, even physically finer than Edwin, but less
+intellectual in his manliness. I never saw him on the stage, but under
+Edwin's roof I thought him very captivating, though not so thoroughly
+distinguished as his greater brother.
+
+Two months later came the terrible event which plunged the nation, and
+especially the Booth family, into such awful sorrow. Edwin was playing
+in Boston, but at once gave up his engagement and returned to his home
+in New York. Numbers of the most eminent people hastened to assure him
+of their sympathy and their belief in his loyalty. He had indeed been
+stanch for the Union, and the only vote he ever cast was for Lincoln
+in 1864. But he was overwhelmed by this fresh misfortune, this new
+cloud that had settled on his house. His brother Junius and his
+brother-in-law were thrown into prison in Washington, and he felt
+himself an object of suspicion. I had returned to the field, and was
+in Richmond when the news reached me. I wrote to him at once, but my
+letter was withheld. All letters to him for awhile were kept back, and
+I suppose especially any from Richmond. I could not leave my post
+immediately, and it was a month or more before I reached New York,
+where I went, of course, direct to him. The first shock was over, but
+the old gloom was greater than ever.
+
+He told me he had seen nothing in his brother to excite suspicion, and
+I have always believed that the awful act was the result of a
+disturbed brain. It was so theatrical in plan and performance; the
+conspiracy, the dagger, the selection of a theatre, the brandishing of
+the weapon, the cry "_Sic Semper Tyrannis_" to the audience--all was
+exactly what a madman brought up in a theatre might have been expected
+to conceive; a man, too, of this peculiar family, the son of Junius
+Brutus Booth, used all his life to acting tragedies. He had not only
+nursed me tenderly, a soldier wounded for the cause he should have
+hated, but in all the exciting period of the riot he said no word that
+indicated sympathy with the South. He went out daily to inquire the
+news, and was indignant at the outrages he reported; he even assisted
+to shield my negro servant who remained hidden in the cellar for
+nearly a week. Two months before the end of the war he wished me well
+when I set out to rejoin Grant.
+
+After a few months Booth returned to the stage, and was welcomed back
+with an enthusiasm which showed that not only his genius but his
+nobility of character, his elevation of thought, his refinement of
+manner had all been appreciated. In 1869 he remarried--this time a
+Miss McVicker, an actress of Chicago, whom I never saw. She left the
+stage upon her marriage. In the same year he opened Booth's Theatre.
+His pecuniary success had been very brilliant, and he had long been
+ambitious to build and control a theatre where the most elevating
+influences of the drama should be exemplified. It was a beautiful
+tribute to his art. Everything was done that taste and study and care
+and elaborate expenditure could accomplish, to produce the greatest
+plays in the most admirable manner; but Booth had no business talent,
+and some of those with whom he was brought into contact had a large
+share of this talent, and used it to injure or betray his interests.
+He lost largely, and finally was obliged to declare himself a
+bankrupt. He gave up all he had in the world, his personal and private
+property, his theatre, his library and theatrical wardrobe, and many
+treasures of his profession, and became once more a travelling star.
+His performances, however, proved more attractive than ever; he was
+soon able to repay all his creditors, and afterward remained a man of
+fortune.
+
+Meanwhile the vicissitudes of life had drifted us far apart. I was in
+Europe officially for many years, but in 1880 had a leave of absence.
+During the month of June a public breakfast was offered Booth at
+Delmonico's by many of the most eminent men in New York, and I then
+met him for the first time since 1867. After the breakfast I went to
+his rooms, and he put his arms around me and begged that we should be
+to each other all we had ever been. Each promised, and each kept his
+word.
+
+But he started for England a few days afterward, and it was not till
+the next year that I returned there. Then I saw much of him. He played
+this time with great success, at Irving's theatre. The great English
+actor gave him every facility; relinquished his house to him for a
+while, and treated him with a distinguished courtesy worthy of his own
+position as head of the British stage. Irving had been in the stock
+company that supported Booth during his first English engagement, but
+now they were equals, and played on alternate nights, and sometimes
+together, in Othello and Iago. Booth's houses were crowded with the
+most cultivated and important people in England; and his acting,
+despite a certain national jealousy, was by many pronounced superior
+to that of the Englishman. Invitations came to him from aristocratic
+quarters, in which his daughter was included; but his wife was in
+miserable health and unable to go at all into the world, or even to
+receive any one but her own family. This marred the gratification at
+his success, and in 1881, after lingering in great suffering, both for
+herself and those about her, the second wife of Edwin Booth also died.
+I had returned from Europe and passed the night after her funeral in
+his rooms at New York. His mother and sister also passed away, and his
+daughter married, so that he was left, in a great degree, alone.
+
+His profession, however, remained to him. It was about this time that
+he began those remarkable dramatic tours with Barrett which were more
+successful from a pecuniary point of view than any other of his
+enterprises. It is even said, by those competent to pronounce, that
+the financial results surpassed any known in the history of the stage.
+Everywhere he was recognized as the head of the American theatre. His
+acting was ripened and chastened by study and long experience, by the
+development of his own powers, and the opportunities he had enjoyed of
+comparison with his greatest foreign rivals. He was accepted as the
+equal in America of what Garrick had been in his palmiest days--the
+peer and companion of whatever was best in American society.
+
+It is four or five years since he conceived the idea of founding the
+Players' Club, and, having become a man of more than ordinary means,
+he was able to gratify this ambition. He bought and rebuilt a fine
+house in a desirable position in New York, and filled it with choice
+books and pictures and relics of the stage, and then invited men of
+distinction and culture to meet actors of character and ability on an
+equal footing. The club has been eminently successful, and for several
+years Booth, its founder and president, made it his home. He had a
+suite of rooms, modestly but tastefully furnished, and among his
+friends and books and pictures passed the last days of his life. When
+he wrote the extracts from the Shakespearian sonnets in the volume he
+gave me thirty years ago, I think he felt some consciousness of the
+ban that the world then put upon his profession, but he could not have
+retained the feeling, for there was no ban applied to him. Exclusive
+English aristocrats invited him and his daughter, and visited them in
+return; and Edwin Booth voted to admit Grover Cleveland to the Century
+Club, and invited General Sherman to become a member of the Players'.
+
+I was very much struck, on my return from Europe in 1881, with the
+dignity and composure which years of recognition had given to his
+bearing. The glowing beauty of his youth, of course, was gone, his
+features bore traces of his own sorrows and experiences, and besides
+were worn and hardened by those terrible passions of the stage which
+were for the time so real to him. I have indeed no doubt that it was
+the intense strain on brain and nerve which his acting demanded, and
+not any private grief or anxiety, that broke him down before his
+time.
+
+Years, however, had enhanced his innate nobility. He was always
+reverent to religion, and had warm friends among the clergy of various
+denominations. A Catholic priest and the Protestant Bishop of New York
+were among the first to call after his paralysis was known. I never
+heard him speak disrespectfully of sacred themes or of good women. His
+character in later years took on a softer phase; his irritability was
+rarer, indeed it almost disappeared, while the range of his
+friendships was wider.
+
+When he received a foreign actor who came to call on him, as they all
+did, or welcomed some distinguished visitor to his club, he did it
+with a calm dignity and gracious courtesy that was very natural and
+yet imposing, while his more intimate bearing when we were alone was
+inexpressibly confiding and affectionate, though more subdued than in
+the earlier days.
+
+In his acting also there was something of the same inevitable change
+that time brings to all things and all men; but to me he always
+remained the most powerful and consummate tragedian I have ever seen.
+Some of the old force may have faded, but it flashed out at intervals
+in every performance with all its ancient brilliancy.
+
+The last time that I saw him on the stage,
+
+                      "Last scene of all,
+  That ends this strange eventful history,"
+
+was also the last night that Barrett ever played. The piece was
+"Richelieu," and it seemed to me that Booth excelled himself in the
+finish of the earlier scenes and in the tempest of passion at the
+climax. During this engagement I went behind the scenes as I had used
+to go a quarter of a century before, and found all the old fascination
+still, subdued and softened by his more chastened dignity. But he
+played only a few times after his friend Barrett was stricken, and
+then his own ailings increased.
+
+After this I never met him out of his own rooms but once. I called
+just as he was about to try to walk, and he asked me to go with him.
+He had to be assisted to the door, and when he reached the street I
+offered him my arm. He took it and leaned heavily. He stumbled as he
+walked, and it took us half an hour to move around the block of
+buildings in which the club-house stands. Then he was tired, and
+wanted to go in, and I knew that my friend would not recover.
+
+In his rooms at the Players' Club I saw my last of him. For a year or
+two he seldom left them except to visit his daughter in town or
+country, or perhaps to accompany her to a play. But he spent many
+hours in her society and that of her husband and children--his
+greatest solace. I fortunately was near him during this period, and we
+often passed a morning talking of our early manhood or his later
+career.
+
+But there was something inexpressibly painful in the spectacle of him,
+whose physical faculties had been so inextricably bound up with the
+intellectual, whose bodily gifts had been the incarnation of passion
+and romance and poetry, his corporal charm the fit embodiment of a
+noble soul--to see him decay, his powers crumble and waste away; to
+see him decrepit, weary, worn, who had been alive with expression,
+captivating in bearing, majestic, terrible, tender, by turns. Only his
+eyes retained their marvellous beauty, like a lamp burning in a
+deserted temple, or the soul looking out through the windows of that
+body it was soon to leave.
+
+[Illustration: THE DEATH MASK OF EDWIN BOOTH.]
+
+Farewell! beloved spirit! Thou hast given tens, nay hundreds of
+thousands pleasure by thy genius, expressed for them the subtlest and
+most delicate thoughts and sublimest conceptions of the greatest of
+poets, elevated their imaginations, refined their fancy, charmed their
+taste, subdued their moods, and soothed their weary hours; and never
+once, in all thy art, suggested an impure or vicious thought, never
+stimulated an evil desire, nor insinuated a wanton or vulgar feeling.
+Thou hast done much to elevate the profession thou hast adorned; hast
+assisted the needy, hast stretched out a hand to aid the worthy in
+arriving at thy own position, and introduced thy brethren to the
+company which sought and welcomed thee. Thou hast been a loving son, a
+reverent, filial admirer of him whose mantle fell upon thee, a
+faithful, devoted husband, a brother worthy of the name, a tender,
+bountiful father, a loyal, stanch, confiding friend. The world has
+been happier and better for thy passage across its stage.
+
+
+
+
+BURGLARS THREE.
+
+BY JAMES HARVEY SMITH
+
+
+As a usual thing, when they cracked a crib, one of the three remained
+outside to warn with a whistle, or some other previously concerted
+signal, his companions inside. But on this occasion, when Jim Baxter
+opened the simple catch that fastened the woodshed door, and thence
+gained access to the interior of the house, Wilson Graham and Harry
+Montgomery followed softly after him. This breach of burglarious
+custom was probably due to the fact that the Braithwait mansion was in
+the suburbs, some distance from the road, and several hundred yards
+from the nearest house.
+
+Once inside, Mr. Graham lighted the gas, and it was then the work of a
+very few minutes to open the sideboard and subtract therefrom the
+family silver and place it in a bag brought for that purpose. While
+this operation was taking place, Montgomery made a tour of the upper
+rooms.
+
+"I don't exactly like to trust Harry up-stairs," remarked Baxter, in a
+surly tone, after he had securely tied the mouth of the bag. "He is
+too soft. Like as not he'll go and git sentimental over a picture or
+somethin', or maybe git a-thinkin' of his mother, and leave half the
+ornyments."
+
+Graham, who had just opened a pearl inlaid _secretaire_, and was
+possessing himself of numerous valuable trinkets, laughed softly, as
+he replied:
+
+"I don't think so, Jim. Only yesterday I gave the boy a good talking
+to, and he promised to attend strictly to business in future. You must
+remember he is young, and, unless we give him a chance, how is he to
+learn? Of course, if there was a young girl in the house--but there
+isn't," he added quickly, observing the wrathful frown on his
+companion's face. "I made certain that the only people who sleep in
+the house are Mr. Braithwait and the housekeeper, who is rather old
+and nearly deaf; the rest of the family are in Florida for their
+health. If Braithwait makes a disturbance I reckon Harry can settle
+him without any sentimental nonsense."
+
+"I'd settle him," muttered Baxter, surlily.
+
+"You're a savage, Jim," said Graham, reproachfully. "How often have I
+told you that there is no virtue in violence. Haven't I convinced you
+that the easy way is the safe way?"
+
+"Yah! Don't give me no more of that!" said Baxter, contemptuously. "I
+ain't no missionary."
+
+At this juncture, when the argument threatened to develop into a
+quarrel, peace was restored by the reappearance of the young burglar,
+carrying a considerable quantity of jewelry, loose and in boxes, while
+he softly whistled "M'Appari."
+
+"Not a bad haul," observed Graham, turning over the plunder as it lay
+on the table. "_Two_ watches?"
+
+"They're them little tickers what the girls carry," said Baxter,
+scornfully. "We won't get two dollars apiece for 'em."
+
+"Won't we, though!" said Graham, smiling. "They are gold, and there is
+an inscription on each; that means a fancy reward, or I don't know
+human feminine nature. Two brooches, a necklace--h'm--h'm--very good,
+indeed."
+
+"There was no money," remarked Harry, adjusting his necktie before the
+mirror, and giving his small blonde mustache a curl.
+
+"I expected as much," commented Graham, storing away the trinkets in
+his pockets. "Braithwait has a hundred with him, I dare say, but it
+isn't worth the risk. If we kill a man in the city it's soon
+forgotten, but in the suburbs it creates a regular panic. The
+neighbors hire detectives and follow a man all over creation, and you
+can't buy them off or compromise the matter--money is no object.
+That's why I keep telling Jim--"
+
+"Let up, will ye!" exclaimed Baxter, roughly. "I ain't killin' nobody,
+am I?"
+
+"Certainly not; but I only say----"
+
+[Illustration: "I AIN'T NO MISSIONARY!"]
+
+"Say nothin'! where's the feed box?"
+
+Mr. Graham groaned, and looked at his young accomplice in comical
+alarm.
+
+"I knew how it would be! Jim, these luncheons will be the ruin of us
+all some night."
+
+"Can't help it," retorted Baxter, doggedly. "It's a good four-mile
+walk from the city and as much back, and we hadn't anything but a
+snack for supper. A man's got to eat, and when I'm hungry----"
+
+"Well, well," said the other, with a gesture of impatience, "if it
+must be, it must. Harry, see to the wine, and we will find the
+substantials. Now, Jim, _do_ be careful of the dishes, and _don't_
+grunt and puff while you're eating. It's vulgar."
+
+Jim Baxter grunted and puffed at this, but made no other reply as he
+busied himself spreading the contents of the refrigerator on the
+dining-room table, while Harry from the sideboard produced a decanter
+of whiskey and three bottles of claret. There was a nice piece of cold
+ham, some tongue, cheese and pickles, bread and butter, anchovies and
+sardines, a bottle of olives, and the remains of an oyster pie.
+
+"Quite a lay-out," remarked Baxter, with a ravenous chuckle. "D'ye
+remember the house at Barleytown where there wasn't nothin' but graham
+crackers and winegar in the box?"
+
+"I should say so," exclaimed Graham, with a look of disgust.
+
+"Some people are too mean to live," returned Baxter, savagely. "Come,
+shove over that decanter, and let's pitch in. Fingers, gents, 'cause
+there ain't nothin' but silver knives and forks in this house, unless
+I take 'em out of the bag, which I ain't doin'. Here's luck!"
+
+"Excellent claret, Wilson," said the young burglar, holding his glass
+up to the light.
+
+"Genuine Medoc," returned Graham, with the air of a connoisseur.
+"That's the worst of this business; not one gentleman out of ten is a
+judge of wine. Now, the whiskey----"
+
+"The whiskey's all right," interrupted Baxter, curtly. "All whiskey's
+good; some's better'n others, but it's all good. Blow claret!"
+
+"No style about Jim," said Harry, with a smile that was half a sneer.
+
+"No, you bet there ain't," said Baxter, stolidly. "You oughter call me
+'Old Business,' 'cause that's what I am. Pass them pickles."
+
+It was a most interesting sight. At the head of the table sat Graham,
+a smooth-faced, well-fed man of forty, who might have passed for a
+prosperous banker, or a man living on an annuity; to his right
+reclined, rather than sat, young Montgomery, a spruce and slender
+fellow, with soft blue eyes, tremulous lips, and light hair neatly
+brushed; while opposite Graham sat Baxter, a coarse, shaggy, grimy man
+of uncertain age, with small, shifty eyes, a heavy beard, and a
+general air of brutal strength. Had it not been for the fact that each
+man wore his hat, and that the bag of stolen goods lay on one corner
+of the table, it might have been taken for a small stag party, Graham
+personating the host to perfection.
+
+The resemblance was lost, however, a moment later. The door leading to
+the back stairway, directly behind Jim Baxter, opened and revealed a
+spare man with long blonde whiskers, wearing gold eye-glasses, and a
+flowered dressing-gown.
+
+Graham was the first to see the intruder, and his exclamation of
+astonishment caused Baxter to turn his head. In an instant that worthy
+was on his feet, with a pistol in his hand. Graham was quicker,
+however, and before his companion could raise the weapon he seized his
+arm and pushed him aside.
+
+"No violence, Jim," he said, sternly.
+
+"I warn't goin' to shoot," growled Jim. "I was only goin' to give him
+a crack on the head."
+
+"I won't have it," returned Graham, authoritatively. "Sit down."
+
+Baxter put up his pistol and sat down. Graham then turned to the spare
+gentleman, who had not moved from the doorway during this episode.
+
+"Mr. Braithwait, I presume?"
+
+"That is my name," was the composed reply. "Burglars, I presume?"
+
+"The presumption is correct. Will you take a seat?"
+
+Mr. Braithwait sat down opposite young Montgomery, to whom he bowed
+gravely. There was then a moment of silence, broken by Graham, who had
+resumed his place at the head of the table.
+
+"I am sorry," said he, "you have made your appearance, as we can't
+very well apologize for our intrusion."
+
+"No, I suppose not," said Mr. Braithwait, smiling. "Yet I am rather
+pleased that I did come, since I always enjoy an unusual experience."
+
+"Glad you enjoy it," muttered Baxter; but no one listened to him.
+
+"I was aroused by the reflection of the gaslight in the upper hall,"
+explained Mr. Braithwait, "and I supposed that the housekeeper had
+left it burning--she has done so more than once. I came down to
+extinguish it. I heard voices in this room, and I entered."
+
+"At the risk of your life," observed Graham, with a significant glance
+at Baxter, who had resumed eating.
+
+"I did not think of that," said Mr. Braithwait, simply. "My life has
+been threatened so often--you know I am a railroad man--that I give
+little thought to the risk of an undertaking. Professionals, I
+suppose?"
+
+He looked at Montgomery, who nodded nonchalantly and lighted a
+cigarette.
+
+Mr. Braithwait coughed.
+
+"I wish you wouldn't," he said, deprecatingly. "Apart from the looks,
+I can't bear cigarette-smoke. There's a box of very fine Conchas on
+the sideboard. Thank you"--to Graham--"if you will join me?--thank you
+again."
+
+Graham laughed with genuine enjoyment, yet without vulgarity.
+
+"I like you," he said, frankly, "and I am sorry that, in the line of
+business----" He waved his cigar at the bag.
+
+[Illustration: "EXCELLENT CLARET," SAID HARRY.]
+
+"Of course, yes, of course, I know that can't be helped," said Mr.
+Braithwait, smoking away easily, "and that's another reason why I'm
+glad I came. I suppose you have in that bag some trinkets belonging to
+my wife and daughters that have a special value as mementos. I hear
+that you gentlemen are frequently forced to sell your plunder at a
+simply ruinous sacrifice, and it occurred to me that if we could come
+to some arrangement--you understand?"
+
+"Perfectly," answered Graham. "It can be done, and I will open
+negotiations at an early date. Provided, of course," he added,
+severely, "that you play fair."
+
+"That is understood. As a business man I accept the situation. My loss
+is your gain."
+
+At this the youngest burglar broke silence for the first time.
+
+"You are a philosopher," he said, in a tone of admiration.
+
+"What sensible man is not?" responded Mr. Braithwait, cheerfully. "I
+suppose it is capable of proof that the accumulated wisdom of the
+ancients amounts simply to the homely proverb: 'What can't be cured
+must be endured.' My business is a sort of war, and I have my defeats
+as well as my victories. I must bear them both with equanimity."
+
+"So is ours," said the youngest burglar. "As Horace says in his
+'Epistles': 'C�dimur, et totidem plagis consumimus hostem.'"
+
+"Permit me," returned Mr. Braithwait, "to reply with Catullus: 'Nil
+mihi tam valde placeat, Rhamnusia virgo, quod temere invitis
+suscipiatur heris.'"
+
+Montgomery flushed slightly, and Baxter growled an incoherent protest
+against the use of foreign languages.
+
+"Of course, I do not claim that I enjoy being robbed," continued Mr.
+Braithwait, "but I realize that it is not as bad as it might be. Last
+week you would have caught me with two thousand in cash in the house,
+and last month you would have horribly scared my wife and daughters."
+
+"Not for worlds," murmured Mr. Montgomery.
+
+"Well, you might have done so--women have such a detestation of
+robbers, except when they are in jail. The pleasure of your visit--I
+hinted that I could extract pleasure from adversity--lies in the fact
+that it brings me in contact with a profession I have previously known
+only by hearsay. I suppose I may take it for granted you gentlemen are
+experts?"
+
+[Illustration: "NO VIOLENCE, JIM!"]
+
+"We've been there before," said Baxter, coarsely.
+
+"If an experience of fourteen years is any guaranty, then I am an
+expert," said Graham, with a certain air of pride in his tones. "Our
+friend there," nodding at Baxter, "has, I believe, been in the
+profession since childhood; while Mr."--indicating Montgomery with his
+cigar--"you'll excuse my not mentioning names?--is a beginner. A
+skilled workman, I admit, but this is only his second year."
+
+"I don't wonder that he"--and Mr. Braithwait glanced slightly at
+Baxter,--"remains in the business, but that you should follow the
+vocation for fourteen years surprises me greatly."
+
+"Indeed?" queried Graham, with perceptible stiffness. "Why?"
+
+"Because you appear to be a sensible man, and I should not think the
+business would pay. What is your annual income as a burglar?"
+
+"On an average, I should say three thousand a year."
+
+"And you are an expert! I receive six thousand a year, and I am only
+Assistant General Freight Agent, and have been but twelve years in the
+business. Then I may infer that these two gentlemen make much less
+than three thousand?"
+
+"I've seen the week when I didn't make hod-carrier's wages," growled
+Baxter, who had now finished eating, and was preparing to smoke a
+black wooden pipe.
+
+"You're not so sensible as I thought," rejoined Mr. Braithwait,
+frankly. "I can easily imagine a man exposing himself to dreadful
+dangers and cruel privations when there is a great prize in view. An
+explorer like Stanley, a pioneer like Pike or Fremont, a conqueror
+like Cortez, or a revolutionist like Washington, could well brave
+hardship and peril when success meant wealth as well as the
+plaudits of their fellow men. The early settlers of this and every
+other country, the gold hunters of '49, the pirates who ravaged the
+seas, all were actuated by the hope of a fortune at one swoop; but
+to risk prison, to say nothing of life itself, for a day laborer's
+wages!----"
+
+"But," spoke up Montgomery, quickly, "there is fame, if not fortune."
+
+"Pardon me. In what way?"
+
+"In the usual way. Who has not heard of Hickey, the man who cracked
+twenty banks before they tripped him up; Peters, the New England
+cracksman; Bronthers, the Chicago expert?"
+
+"I hope," said Mr. Braithwait, gently, "I won't offend you when I say
+I never heard of those gentlemen."
+
+"Is it possible!"
+
+"Honestly, I never did."
+
+"You have surely heard of Red Leary?"
+
+"I can't recall his name."
+
+"George Post? Louis Ludlum? Pete McCartney? Miles Ogle?"
+
+"Don't know them."
+
+"Perhaps," sarcastically, "you don't read the papers?"
+
+"Yes, I do, and I have a good memory. I can say without boasting that
+I have on my tongue's end all the professional, literary and artistic
+names in America, and many in Europe. In my library I have many
+biographies, but none of which a burglar is the theme, nor do I recall
+the name of a celebrated criminal, unless," pleasantly, "he has been
+hanged."
+
+"Yet there _are_ famous names in our profession," persisted the young
+burglar, somewhat sullenly.
+
+"Oh, yes," admitted Mr. Braithwait, taking a small drink of claret.
+"Literature has preserved Claude Duval, Jack Sheppard, Dick
+Turpin--all hung--Fra Diavolo, who was shot, and even our own James
+and Younger boys; and I have heard vaguely of one Billy the Kid
+somewhere out West. In a general sense, literature and the drama are
+saturated with bandits, brigands and outlaws, sometimes comical,
+sometimes heroic, but you will excuse me if I maintain that you stand
+on a different footing. Those fellows always had a poetical backing;
+somebody or something had driven them to their illegal calling, but
+you can scarcely make a similar claim."
+
+[Illustration: "WHAT IS YOUR ANNUAL INCOME AS A BURGLAR?"]
+
+"I don't know about that," protested Baxter, doggedly. "Who'd give
+_me_ a job?"
+
+"Did you ever try?"
+
+"No; nor I ain't goin' to!"
+
+"As I supposed. Honest work is plentiful, therefore you are absolutely
+without excuse. No one has usurped your name and fortune, stolen your
+ancestral home or intended bride; neither have you been outlawed for
+your political or religious beliefs, or unjustly accused of crime."
+
+The big burglar looked extremely blank at this pointed address, and
+took a grumbling drink of whiskey. Mr. Graham promptly came to his
+companion's relief.
+
+"You have made out a _prima facie_ case, as the lawyers say, but the
+fact remains that there _is_ a fascination in the life we lead, and
+some romance. There is mystery about it, for one thing, and danger
+for another. Then we certainly have the sympathy of a certain class of
+society, when we are prisoners."
+
+"Is not the sympathy to which you allude confined to murderers,
+especially those who kill their wives?"
+
+"As a rule, yes," admitted Graham; "but the people, who have sympathy
+for murderers, generally have such a superabundance that they can
+spare some for us. I have known burglars to receive six bouquets in a
+single day, and from real ladies, too."
+
+"I am afraid," said Mr. Braithwait, with a smile, "that the sympathy
+extended with such small discretion has little market value. But let
+us pass that by and glance at the disagreeable side of your
+profession. For instance, this night you have walked from the city,
+the nearest point of which is three miles."
+
+"We come four," growled Baxter.
+
+"Well, four; and four back is eight. It could not have been a pleasant
+walk, as the night is cloudy and the roads are heavy from recent
+rains."
+
+"There warn't no choice," said Baxter, savagely. "We _had_ to walk."
+
+"There it is," said Mr. Braithwait, triumphantly, "you _had_ to walk.
+Now, I don't have to walk; I ride in the train or my carriage at any
+hour of the day or night. No honest man has to walk, if he has
+money--and, of course, you have."
+
+"The point," admitted Mr. Graham, reluctantly, "is well taken."
+
+"I feel certain of it. Nor is this the only instance in which your
+pleasure is marred by fear. The very fame for which you strive is a
+constant bar to your enjoyment. If you take lodging at a hotel you are
+ejected; you may be refused admittance to any respectable theatre; in
+any place of entertainment, except the very lowest, you cannot make a
+new acquaintance for fear he may be a detective plotting your capture;
+you are compelled to eat, drink, and sleep among vile associates and
+vulgar surroundings; and all for a pitiful three thousand a year! By
+heaven! it is worth thirty!"
+
+"You use strong language, sir," exclaimed the youngest burglar,
+rising and pacing the floor in an agitated way.
+
+"I do," admitted the master of the house, "because my business sense
+is outraged by your stupidity."
+
+"Stupidity!" echoed Graham, sharply.
+
+"That is the word," returned Mr. Braithwait, sternly. "Your profession
+requires acuteness, courage, skill, caution, and endurance. Gentlemen,
+these are admirable traits, and with them you might be anything but
+burglars. The banking institutions, railways, private and civic
+corporations, are eager for such men; they pay them large wages and
+grant them great privileges. The governments, State and National, want
+such men, and are looking for them, while they are skulking through
+city alleys or walking miry roads at midnight. Gentlemen, with all
+your qualifications, you lack the one essential to success--common
+sense."
+
+"Permit me," said Graham, leaning over the table and speaking with
+much force, "to call your attention to the fact that we are bright
+enough to keep society eternally on the defensive."
+
+"Granted," said Mr. Braithwait.
+
+"Small in numbers though we are, we necessitate the employment of a
+police force in every village, town, and city in the Union, to say
+nothing of special constables and private watchmen. We force every
+bank and corporation to sink thousands in costly safes, locks, and
+other safeguards, and no householder is ever free from apprehension on
+our account. We are one against many, so to speak, but we make the
+many tremble! Could we exercise this power without brains?"
+
+"Ay! could we?" supplemented Montgomery, with flashing eyes.
+
+"Granted again," said Mr. Braithwait, cheerfully, "but quite foreign
+to the point at issue. Society is terrorized through its inertness,
+and when society enters on an active warfare you gentlemen cannot make
+a show of resistance. And even under our present policy of passive
+resistance there is but one thing that will save a criminal from the
+eventual clutch of the law, and that is--death."
+
+The youngest burglar turned white and Baxter cursed softly.
+
+"You cannot, with all your brightness, commit a crime without leaving
+a trace," went on Mr. Braithwait, impassively, "and every modern
+appliance is a stumbling-block in your path. The modern bank safe,
+equipped with time-locks, is impregnable; the electric light has made
+our streets as safe by night as day; and the telegraph has lengthened
+the arm of justice until it encircles the globe."
+
+"And yet," retorted Graham, with a slight sneer, "_you_ have been
+robbed."
+
+"And yet I have been robbed," repeated Mr. Braithwait, calmly.
+"Without interfering sadly with my comfort and ease, I cannot make my
+house a bank or surround myself with an army of watchmen. And I don't
+like dogs. So I have been robbed. Yet"--Mr. Braithwait looked Mr.
+Graham quietly in the eye--"yet I am not entirely defenceless."
+
+"Hello!" said Baxter, breathing hard. "Have you been up to somethin'?"
+
+"You shall judge whether I have rightly accused you of lack of common
+sense. Before attacking this house, did you make yourself acquainted
+with the surroundings?"
+
+"I did," answered Graham, confidently.
+
+"Do you know that I am a railroad man?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"Did you notice a wire running through the woods at the rear of my
+house?"
+
+"No!" cried Graham, violently.
+
+"A strange oversight on your part. Very stupid. It is a telephone
+wire, and leads from my chamber above to my office in the city. Now
+for the application of my remarks. From the moment of your entrance I
+was aware of your movements, and instantly explained the situation to
+the night operator. He, of course, notified the police----"
+
+"And while you kept us engaged in conversation--" cried Graham,
+advancing threateningly.
+
+"The police were coming on a special train to my assistance," said Mr.
+Braithwait, taking a second cigar.
+
+"Damn you!" exclaimed Baxter, threateningly.
+
+"Stop!" cried Graham, interposing. "We have no time for that. Let us
+run!"
+
+"Don't!" said the host, warningly. "The house is surrounded, and you
+will certainly be shot. Accept the situation, as I did. You gentlemen
+have been my guests this evening, and I have been highly entertained.
+May I hope that the pleasure has been mutual?"
+
+Before anyone could answer, the door leading to the woodshed was
+thrown open, and four policemen appeared on the threshold. Montgomery
+sank helplessly into a chair. Baxter made a dash for the door,
+while Graham remained impassive, but all were alike handcuffed
+expeditiously.
+
+"Sir," said Graham, taking a cigar from the box, "our misfortune is
+directly due to the uncontrollable appetite of our companion, but none
+the less I congratulate you upon your ingenuity."
+
+"Thanks," said Mr. Braithwait. "Did I not tell you that you were
+stupid?"
+
+Mr. Graham bowed.
+
+"You have taught us a lesson," he said gravely. "I think it is time to
+abandon the business."
+
+"Well, I'll be----" Baxter gasped, and could say no more.
+
+"We are disgraced!" exclaimed the youngest burglar, bitterly.
+
+Mr. Braithwait waved his hand.
+
+"I am sleepy," he said, with a yawn. "Gentlemen, good-night; I will
+see you again--in court."
+
+
+
+
+STRANGER THAN FICTION.
+
+UNPUBLISHED CHAPTERS FROM "THE BRONT�S IN IRELAND."
+
+BY DR. WILLIAM WRIGHT.
+
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+The sources of information regarding the Bront� family in England have
+been studiously investigated, and everything known about them there
+has been described with great wealth of literary skill and ingenuity;
+but the eager guesses and surmises as to what lay beyond the English
+boundaries have been mostly erroneous.
+
+Mrs. Gaskell's "Life of Charlotte Bront�" is an exquisite tribute from
+a gifted hand, but Mrs. Gaskell's dreary moorlands are as inadequate
+to account for the Bront� genius, as the general picture of suppressed
+sadness is unwarranted by the Bront� letters, or by the living
+testimony of Miss Ellen Nussey, Charlotte's life-long friend and
+confidante.
+
+Mr. Wemyss Reid has given us a picture of this singular family in
+brighter, truer colors; but his theory as to the "disillusioning" of
+Charlotte at Brussels is a pure assumption, and repudiated with
+indignation by Miss Nussey.
+
+Mr. Augustine Birrell's brilliant "Life of Charlotte Bront�" contains
+some additional facts gleaned in England, and deserves to be read, if
+only for the generous indignation called forth by the "Quarterly
+Reviewer," who sought to assassinate the reputation of the author of
+"Jane Eyre."
+
+A feeling of dissatisfaction was felt in some degree by each of these
+writers in turn, but by none more clearly expressed than by Mr. J. A.
+Erskine Stuart in his most useful book, "The Bront� Country." He
+writes: "For our own part, we desire a fuller biography of the family
+than has yet been written, and we trust, and are confident, that such
+will yet appear, and that there are many surprises yet in store for
+students of this Celtic circle."
+
+I now proceed, but not without misgivings, to justify the confidence
+thus expressed, and to fulfill the prediction implied, so far as
+regards the Bront�s in Ireland. I propose in the following pages to
+supply the Irish straws of Bront� history which I have been
+accumulating for nearly half a century. I have waited in hopes that
+some more skillful hand might undertake the task, but as no one else,
+since the death of Captain Mayne Reid, has the requisite information,
+the story of the Irish Bront�s must be told by me, or remain untold.
+
+My first classical teacher was the Reverend William McAllister, of
+Ryans, near Newry, a man of brilliant imagination, who under favorable
+conditions might have taken rank with John Bunyan or William Blake. He
+had known Patrick Bront� (Charlotte's father), and had often heard old
+Hugh, the grandfather, narrate to a spell-bound audience, the
+incidents which formed the ground-work of "Wuthering Heights." He used
+to take me for long walks in the fields, and tell me the story of Hugh
+Bront�'s early life, or narrate other Bront� adventures, which he
+assured me were just as worthy to be recounted as the wrath of
+Achilles or the wanderings of Pius �neas. It thus happened that I
+wrote screeds of the Bront� novels myself before a line of them had
+been penned at Haworth. I do not think that Branwell Bront� really
+meant to deceive when he spoke of having written "Wuthering Heights,"
+for the story in outline must have been common property at Haworth,
+and the children of the vicarage were all scribblers.
+
+Through my teacher's relatives, who lived quite near to the Bront�s, I
+was able to verify facts and incidents, and the pains thus taken has
+fixed them indelibly upon my mind. At a later period, I had still
+better opportunities for forming a sound judgment concerning the Irish
+Bront�s, for the pleasantest part of my undergraduate holidays was
+spent at the manse of the Reverend David McKee of Ballynaskeagh. Mr.
+McKee was a great educationalist, and prepared many students for
+college who afterwards became famous.
+
+This great and noble man, who stood six feet six inches high, was
+the friend of the Bront�s, as well as their near neighbor. He
+recognized the Bront� genius, where others only saw what was wild
+and unconventional. Mr. McKee's home was the center of mental
+activity in that neighborhood, and the early copies of the novels
+that came to the "Uncle Bront�'s" were cut, read, and criticised by
+Mr. McKee, and his criticisms forwarded to the Haworth nieces. Great
+was the joy of those uncles and aunts when Mr. McKee's approval
+was enthusiastically given.
+
+There are also several other persons, some of them still living, who
+knew the Bront�s, and have kindly communicated to me the information
+they possessed, so that I have had illumination from various points on
+this many-sided family.
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+THE DARK FOUNDLING.
+
+Hugh Bront�'s grandfather, the great-great-grandfather of the English
+novelist, formerly lived upon a farm on the banks of the Boyne, above
+Drogheda. He was a cattle-dealer, and often crossed to Liverpool to
+dispose of his stock. Once, when he was returning therefrom, a strange
+child was found in a bundle in the hold of the vessel. It was very
+young, very black, very dirty, and almost destitute of clothing. No
+one knew whence it had come, nor cared what became of it. There was no
+doctor in the ship, and no woman save Mrs. Bront�, who had accompanied
+her husband. The child was thrown on deck. Some one said, "Toss it
+overboard," but nobody would touch it, and its cries were distressing.
+From sheer pity Mrs. Bront� was obliged to succor the abandoned
+infant.
+
+On reaching Drogheda, it was taken ashore for food and clothing, with
+the intention of returning it to Liverpool; but the captain refused to
+allow it to be brought aboard of his ship again. As no one in Drogheda
+had an interest in the child, it was left in Mrs. Bront�'s hands. To
+be sure, there was a vestry tax at that time for the removal of
+illegitimate children, but Mrs. Bront� found it much easier to take
+the child home than to Dublin, where it might possibly be refused
+admission amongst the authorized foundlings--there being no hospital
+nearer than that point.
+
+When the infant was carried up out of the hold of the vessel, it was
+declared to be a Welsh child on account of its color. It might,
+doubtless, have laid claim to a more Oriental descent, but, when it
+became a Bront�, it was called "Welsh." The Bront�s, who were all
+golden-haired, exceedingly disliked the swarthy infant, but "pity
+melts the heart to love," and Mrs. Bront� brought it up amongst her
+own children. Little Welsh was a weak, delicate, and fretful thing,
+and being generally despised and pushed aside by the vigorous young
+Bront�s, he grew up morose, envious, and cunning. He used secretly to
+play many spiteful tricks upon the children, so that they were
+continually chastising him. On his part, he maintained a moody, sullen
+silence, except when Mr. Bront� was present to protect him. With Mr.
+Bront� he became a favorite, because he always ran to meet him on his
+return home, as if glad to see him, and anxious to render him any
+possible assistance. He followed his master about, while at home, with
+dog-like fidelity, telling him everything he knew to the other
+children's disadvantage, and thus succeeded in securing a permanent
+place between them and their father.
+
+Old Bront� took Welsh with him to fairs and markets, instead of his
+own sons, as soon as he was able to go, and found him of the greatest
+service. His very insignificance added to his usefulness. He would
+mingle with the people from whom Bront� wished to purchase cattle, and
+find out from their conversation the lowest price they would be
+willing to take, and then report to his master. Bront� would then
+offer the dealers a little less than he knew they wanted, and secure
+the cattle without the usual weary process of bargaining. The same
+course was repeated in Liverpool, and in the end Bront� became a rich
+and prosperous dealer. Welsh was now indispensable to him, and
+followed him like a shadow; but the more Bront� became attached to
+Welsh, the more the children hated the interloper. As time went on,
+Bront�'s affairs passed more and more into his assistant's hands,
+until at last he had the entire management. They were returning from
+Liverpool once, after selling the largest drove of cattle that had
+ever crossed the channel, when suddenly Bront� died in mid-ocean.
+Welsh, who was with him at the time of his death, professed ignorance
+of his master's money; and, as all books and accounts had disappeared,
+no one could tell what had become of the cash received for the
+cattle.
+
+The young Bront�s, who were now almost men and women, had been brought
+up in comparative luxury. They were well educated, but they understood
+neither farming nor dealing, and the land had been so neglected that
+it could not support a family, even if the requisite capital for its
+cultivation had not been lost. In this emergency Welsh requested an
+interview with the whole family. He declared that he had a proposal to
+make which would restore their fallen fortunes. He had been forbidden
+the house, but, as it was supposed that he was going to give back the
+money which he must have stolen, his request was reluctantly granted.
+
+Welsh appeared at the interview dressed up in broadcloth, black and
+shiny as his well-greased hair, and in fine linen, white and
+glistening as his prominent teeth. The effect was ludicrous to those
+who had always known the man. His sinister expression was intensified
+by a smile of satisfaction which gave emphasis to the cast in both
+eyes, and to his jackal-like mouth.
+
+He began at once, in the grand cattle-dealer style, to express
+sympathy with the family, and to declare that upon one condition only
+would he continue the dealing and supply their wants. This condition
+was that Mary, the youngest sister, should become his wife--a proposal
+which was rejected with indignant scorn. Many hot and bitter words
+were exchanged, but as Welsh was leaving the house, he turned and
+said, "Mary shall yet be my wife, and I will scatter the rest of you
+like chaff from this house, which shall be mine also." With these
+words he passed out into the darkness.
+
+The interview had two immediate results. It revealed the threatened
+dangers, and roused the brothers to an earnest effort to save their
+home. Welsh had robbed them, but he must not be permitted to ruin and
+disgrace them. They had many friends, and in a short time the three
+brothers were employed in remunerative occupations, two of them in
+England and one in Ireland. They were thus able to send home enough to
+pay the rent of the farm, and to maintain the family in comfort.
+
+The landlord of Bront�'s farm was an "absentee," the estate being
+administered by an agent. He was the great man of the district, local
+magistrate, grand juror, and "Pasha" in general. A parliament of
+landlords had given him despotic powers in the collection of rent, and
+in all matters of property, limb, and life. The agent of those days
+was served by attorneys, bailiffs and sub-agents. Welsh was appointed
+to a vacancy as sub-agent, in return for a large bribe paid to the
+agent.
+
+The sub-agent's business was to act as buffer between the tenant and
+the "Squire," as the agent was called. He was generally a man without
+heart, conscience, or bowels. Selected from the basest of the people,
+he had nominal wages, never paid and never demanded; but he managed to
+squeeze a large amount out of the tenants, first by alarming them, and
+then by promising to stand their friend with the rapacious agent. He
+cringed and grovelled before the "Squire," but at the same time was
+the chief medium of information concerning the condition of the
+tenants, and their ability to pay their rents. One of his duties was
+to mix in their festivities, when whiskey had opened their hearts and
+loosened their tongues, and discover their ability to pay an increased
+rent.
+
+Welsh was the very man for this post. He had lived by cunning and
+treachery, and in his new occupation had great scope for serving both
+himself and his master. He seldom saw his tenants without letting
+drop the fatal word, "eviction." But, while serving the "Squire,"
+and recouping himself from the tenants for the bribe he had paid
+him, he never forgot for a moment his double purpose of securing his
+late master's farm, and with it, the person of Mary Bront�. He
+straightway drew the agent's attention to the derelict condition of
+the farm, and to the likelihood of the rent falling into arrears,
+and declared himself willing to undertake the burden of his late
+master's desolate homestead. The agent promised Welsh that the farm
+should be transferred to him, on payment of a certain sum, in case
+the Bront�s were not able to pay the rent; but the rent did not
+fall into arrears. The agent's demands were punctually met, and
+besides this, considerable sums of money were spent in improving the
+house and the land. In consequence of this the rent was raised, but
+the increased rent was paid the day it fell due, and again raised.
+
+Finding himself foiled, Welsh changed his tactics, and turned his
+attention to the other object of his quest, Mary Bront�.
+
+In the neighborhood there lived a female sub-agent called Meg, as base
+and unprincipled as himself. Her services were utilized in many ways;
+in conveying bottles of whiskey to farmers' wives who were getting
+into drinking habits, and in aiding farmers' sons and daughters to
+dispose of eggs and apples and meal purloined from their parents in
+return for trinkets which they wished to possess. She had also great
+skill in furthering the wicked designs of rich but immoral men. She
+was the "spey-woman" who told fortunes to servant-girls, and lured
+them to their destruction. Like the male sub-agents, such women were
+supposed to have the black art, and to have sold themselves to the
+devil.
+
+Meg came often to tell the servants' fortunes, and had many
+opportunities of assuring Mary of Welsh's love and goodness. She told
+how he had restrained the agent for several years from evicting them,
+by the payment of large sums. All of this seemed incredible to the
+simple-minded girl, but the harpy was able to show receipts for the
+money thus expended.
+
+After a time, Mary listened to the vile woman's tale. Welsh could
+not be so bad as they believed him to be. Flowers taken from
+tenants' gardens found their way to Mary's room, and trinkets wrung
+from the anguish-stricken, in fear of eviction, were laid on her
+dressing-table. At length, she consented to meet Welsh in a lonely
+part of the farm, in company with the harpy, that she might express to
+him her gratitude for protecting the dear old home.
+
+That meeting sealed Mary's fate, and she was forced to consent to
+marry Welsh. The marriage was secretly performed by one of the
+"buckle-beggars" of the time, and then publicly proclaimed. Welsh was
+now the husband of one of the ladies on the farm, and, for a
+substantial bribe, the agent accepted him as tenant.
+
+The brothers on hearing the news hurried back to the old home, but
+arrived too late. The agent received them with great courtesy. They
+reminded him that their ancestors had reclaimed the place from mere
+bog and wilderness; that their father had expended large sums in
+building the houses and draining the land; that they themselves had
+paid exorbitant rents without demur; and that now their old home with
+all of these improvements had been confiscated, without cause or
+notice, by the man who had robbed and degraded the family.
+
+The agent seemed greatly pained, but of course he was only an agent,
+and obliged to do whatever the landlord desired. Failing to get
+redress from the agent, the brothers unfortunately took the law into
+their own hands, and were arrested for trespass and assault. They were
+tried before the agent, and sent to prison and hard labor.
+
+Thus the man Welsh, who afterward assumed the name Bront�, carried out
+his purpose. His threat of vengeance was also fulfilled. Mother,
+sisters, were scattered abroad, and so effectively that I have not
+been able, after much searching, to find a single trace of any of them
+save Hugh and his descendants.
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+THE KIDNAPPING OF HUGH BRONT�.
+
+Hugh Bront� first makes his appearance as if he had just stepped out
+of a Bront� novel. His father, a man in prosperous circumstances, had
+a large family, and resided somewhere in the south of Ireland, in a
+comfortable home, the exact locality being unknown.
+
+Some time about the middle of the last century, this entire family was
+thrown into excitement by the arrival of an uncle and aunt of whom
+they had never heard. The children did not like them at first, but, as
+they remained guests for a considerable time, these impressions wore
+off.
+
+These newly discovered relatives were the foundling Welsh and his
+wife, Mary. Their visit occurred many years subsequent to the events
+recorded in the last chapter. In the meantime, the house, from which
+the Bront�s had been driven by fraud, had been burnt to the ground,
+thus destroying all of Welsh's ill-gotten riches, and leaving him a
+poor and ruined man. But Welsh was always able to subordinate his
+pride to his interests, and, through his wife, he opened up a
+correspondence with one of her brothers, prosperously settled in
+Ireland. Welsh expressed deep penitence for all of his wrong-doing,
+and declared his earnest desire, if forgiven, to make amends.
+
+He and Mary were then childless, and getting on in years. They
+professed to be troubled at the prospect of the farm passing into the
+hands of strangers for lack of an heir. They offered, therefore, to
+adopt one of their numerous nephews and to bring him up as their own
+son. Conditions of adoption were agreed upon, including education, but
+a solemn oath was taken by the father never to communicate with his
+son in any way. Welsh and Mary also bound themselves never to let the
+child know where his father lived.
+
+The family oath in Ireland is regarded with superstitious awe, and
+binds like destiny. The man who breaks it is perjured and abandoned
+beyond all hope of salvation, here or hereafter.
+
+Hugh Bront� was about five or six years old when Welsh and Mary made
+the visit to his parents, and he soon became a great favorite with the
+newcomers.
+
+Many years later, the old man, when "beeking" a cornkiln in County
+Down, used to tell the simple incidents of that night. He had waited
+with impatience the local dressmaker, who had brought him home late at
+night a special suit of clothes to travel in. When they were fitted
+on, he was raised into a chair to give the dressmaker "beverage," as
+the first kiss in new clothes is called in Ireland. It is a mark of
+especial favor, and supposed to confer good luck. Hugh's sisters
+thronged around him for "second beverage," but the kiss and squeeze of
+the dressmaker remained a life-long memory. He always believed that
+she had a presentiment of his fate, for her voice choked and her eyes
+filled with tears, as she turned away from him.
+
+His mother never seemed happy about his going away, but her opposition
+was always borne down. For the few days previous, she had been
+accustomed to take him on her lap, and, with eyes full of tears, heap
+endearing epithets upon him, such as, "My sweet flower;" but he did
+not appreciate her sympathy, and always broke away from her. His
+father lifted him in his arms, carried him out into the darkness, and
+placed him gently between his uncle and aunt, on a seat with a raised
+back, which was laid across a cart from side to side. Sitting aloft,
+on this prototype of the Irish gig, little Hugh Bront�, with a heart
+full of childish anticipations, began his rough journey out into the
+big world.
+
+That Bront� covenant was indeed faithfully kept, for even when Mary,
+his aunt, visited Hugh in County Down about the beginning of this
+century, she could neither be coaxed nor compelled to give him, either
+directly or indirectly, the slightest clue by which he might discover
+the home of his childhood. It thus happened that Hugh Bront� was never
+able to retrace his steps to his father's house, after the darkness
+had closed around him, perched aloft on the cross-seat of a country
+cart, between his uncle and aunt. It was a cold night, and the child
+crept close under his aunt's wing for warmth. Soon he began to prattle
+in his childish way as he had done with his new friends for days, when
+suddenly a harsh torrent of corrosive words burst from Welsh,
+commanding him not to let another sound pass his lips. For a moment
+the child was stunned and bewildered, for the angry order fell like a
+blow. The young Bront� blood could not, however, rest passively in
+such a crisis. Disentangling himself from his aunt's shawl, Hugh drew
+towards his uncle and said, "Did you speak those unkind words to me?"
+
+"I'll teach you to disobey me, you magnificent whelp!" rasped out
+Welsh, bringing his great hand down with a sharp smack on the little
+fellow's face.
+
+Hurt and angry, little Bront� sprang from the seat into the bottom of
+the cart and, facing the cruel uncle, shouted:
+
+"I won't go with you one step further! I will go back and tell my
+father what a bad old monster you are!" and then clutching at the
+reins, screamed: "Turn the horse around and take me home!"
+
+A heavy hand grasped him, and choked the voice out of him. He was
+shaken and knocked against the bottom and sides of the cart, until he
+was able neither to escape nor to speak. Several hours later, he awoke
+and found himself lying in damp straw, sick, and sore, and hungry.
+Every jolt of the springless cart pained him.
+
+It was a moonlight night with occasional showers. He turned upon his
+side, and watched the two figures perched upon the seat above him,
+riding along in silence and caring nothing for him. A few hours before
+he had loved them passionately, and now he hated them to loathing. He
+felt the utter desolation of loneliness and home-sickness.
+
+That was the first night in his remembrance when he had ever neglected
+to say his prayers. He rose to his knees, put up his little folded
+hands, and said the only prayer he knew. A sobbing sound escaped him
+and startled his uncle. He turned suddenly, and with his whip struck
+the kneeling child and prostrated him. The blow was followed by a
+hurricane of oaths and threats.
+
+The child was badly hurt, but he did not cry nor let his uncle know
+that he was suffering.
+
+Seventy years afterwards Hugh Bront� used to say, "I grew fast that
+night. I was Christian child, ardent lover, vindictive hater,
+enthusiast, misanthrope, atheist, and philosopher, in one cruel
+hour!"
+
+The sun was shining hot in his face when he awoke. The cart had been
+drawn up close to a little thatched cottage, in which there was a
+grocer's shop and a public house. He tried to get out of the cart, but
+was unable to do so. A blacksmith, whose smithy stood on the other
+side of the road, seeing his fruitless efforts, came and lifted him
+down. Just as he was beginning to recite the story of his wrongs his
+aunt, who had approached him from behind, caught his arms and led him
+gently into the cottage, where he had some potatoes and buttermilk. He
+slept by the kitchen fire until late in the afternoon without having
+been permitted to speak to a soul. He was still dreaming of home, when
+he was roughly awakened to mount the cart again. Heavy imprecations
+fell upon his aunt for detaining him to wash the blood-stains from
+his face. A penny "bap" was given him, and he was allowed to buy
+apples with the money which had been put by his brothers and sisters
+into the pockets of his new clothes as "hansel." "It was ten years,"
+said old Bront�, "before I fingered another penny that I could call my
+own!"
+
+As the shades of evening gathered, the journey was continued in a
+drizzling rain. A "bottle" of fresh straw had been added to the hard
+bed on which little Hugh was to spend the night. He arranged the straw
+under the cross-seat on which his uncle and aunt sat, so as to be
+sheltered from the rain, and, placing his heap of apples and the "bap"
+beside him, he settled down in comparative comfort for the night.
+
+The night was long, the rain incessant. The horse stumbled and
+splashed along, and the harsh uncle varied the monotony by whipping
+the horse into a trot, and swearing at it when it did trot. By ten
+o'clock the next morning a large village was reached, where was an inn
+of considerable importance. The child was carried, stiff and cold, and
+put to bed in a little room in this inn, no one but his aunt being
+allowed to come near him. She placed some bread and milk beside him,
+took away his clothes, and locked the door of his room.
+
+In the afternoon she returned bringing a suit of bottle-green corduroy
+with shining brass buttons, much too large for him. The trousers were
+so stiff that he could hardly sit down in them, and he hated the smell
+of corduroy. His own warm woolen garments had been exchanged for these
+others, and for a horse cover, which became his coverlet by night.
+Beneath it he slept more comfortably than before.
+
+At an early hour the following morning, while Hugh was still asleep,
+they reached another large town, and, as usual, the cart was drawn up
+at an inn, where the travellers passed the day. While Welsh was out in
+the town, and the aunt dozing by the fire, Hugh tried to tell the
+innkeeper the story of his wrongs, but neither could understand the
+other, owing to the man's brogue. The child's earnestness drew a
+little crowd around him, however, and he was just beginning to make
+himself understood, when his uncle returned suddenly and whisked him
+off to the cart to spend the long afternoon, until they resumed their
+journey at nightfall. Angry words passed between the innkeeper and his
+uncle, but no deliverance came. After another miserable night they
+arrived at Drogheda on the forenoon of the following day. Here they
+made a short pause, but he was not permitted to descend from the cart,
+nor communicate with any stranger. The party arrived at Welsh's home,
+on the banks of the Boyne, late in the afternoon.
+
+Such is the story of Hugh Bront�'s journey to Welsh's house, as first
+told me by the Reverend William McAllister, and subsequently confirmed
+by four independent narrators. I have given a mere outline of the
+boy's experience on that dreadful journey, without attempting to
+reproduce Hugh Bront�'s style. As told by the man in after years, it
+never failed to hold his listeners spell-bound. The stunted trees on
+the wind-swept mountains, the ghostly shadows on the moon-bleached
+plains, the desolate bogs on every side, the interminable stretches of
+road leading over narrow bridges and through shallow fords, the
+heavens on fire with stars, and the autumn stricken into gold by the
+setting sun, all lent color and reality to Hugh Bront�'s eloquence.
+Mr. McAllister had heard most of the orators of his time, O'Connell
+and Chalmers and Cook, but no man ever roused and thrilled him by his
+dramatic power as did Hugh Bront�.
+
+Welsh Bront� traveled at night partly for economy, but more especially
+that little Hugh should see no landmark, by which his footsteps might
+ever be guided home. Do the incidents of the journey give us any clue
+to discover the region where Hugh Bront� lived? They spent four whole
+nights on the road, and traversed a distance from one hundred to one
+hundred and twenty miles.
+
+My own efforts to find the early home of Hugh Bront� resulted in
+discovering no trace or tradition of a Bront� family south of the
+Boyne. I have written hundreds of letters to various parts of Ireland
+with an equal lack of success, and it is probable that the exact
+locality will never be discovered. What is of more importance, is the
+fact that the ancient home of the Bront�s, where Hugh's grandfather,
+the great-great-grandfather of the novelists, lived, was on the north
+side of the river Boyne between Oldbridge and Navan, not far from the
+spot where William of Orange won his famous battle. Some thirty-five
+years ago, the place where the Bront� house once stood, was pointed
+out to me. The potato-blight and other calamities have been steadily
+removing landmarks in Ireland, and it is not surprising that local
+tradition has now faded from the district. Few families there, of the
+rank of the Bront�s, could trace their pedigrees to the seventh
+generation; but that the ancestors of the Bront�s lived on the banks
+of the Boyne seven generations back is beyond all doubt.
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+A MISERABLE HOME.
+
+Upon arrival at their destination, Welsh seized his nephew and ward by
+the shoulders, and, looking fiercely in his face, informed him that
+his father was a mean and black-hearted scoundrel. Welsh declared that
+he had agreed to make Hugh his heir, with "the education of a
+gentleman," in consideration of the sum of fifty pounds, but, as the
+"spalpeen" had only paid five pounds, Hugh would have to work for his
+bread and go without education; all emphasized by very strong words.
+
+There was present at this family interview a tall, gaunt, half-naked
+savage called Gallagher, who expressed audible approval of Welsh's
+remarks, and, at their close, called on the Blessed Virgin and all the
+saints to _blast_ Hugh's father and protect his uncle. This
+sanctimonious individual was the steward of Welsh's house, and had
+formerly been his most valuable ally. Hugh's father had once denounced
+Gallagher as a spy at a public gathering, whence he had been
+ignominiously ejected, and, in return, he had supplied the false
+evidence which led to the imprisonment and conviction of the three
+brothers. Gallagher had been of service to Welsh in many ways. He had
+aided Meg in the schemes which led to Mary Bront� becoming Welsh's
+wife, and he had been a partner with Meg in the foundling business.
+Their ways of dealing with superfluous children had been effective.
+These were supposed to be carried to the Dublin Foundling Hospital,
+but, inasmuch as no questions were asked, and no receipts given, the
+guilty parents were satisfied that their offspring should go "where
+the wicked cease from troubling." Gallagher was the original from
+which Emily Bront� drew her portrait of Joseph, in "Wuthering
+Heights," just as Heathcliff is modelled on Welsh. It was to the
+companionship of this human monster that Welsh committed his little
+nephew and ward. His name became of common use in County Down as a
+synonym for objectionable persons, and is so still.
+
+As soon as Welsh and Gallagher ceased speaking, Hugh looked around the
+mansion to which he had become presumptive heir. A happy pig with a
+large family lay on one side of the room, and a stack of peat was
+heaped up on the other side of the great open chimney. A broad, square
+bed stood in the end of the room, raised about a foot from the ground.
+The damp, uneven, earthen floor was unswept. On the backs of a few
+chairs, upholstered with straw ropes, a succession of hens perched,
+preliminary to flight to the cross-beams close up to the thatch. A
+lean, long-backed, rough-haired yellow dog stood by his side smelling
+him, without signs of welcome. Hugh listened to his uncle's hard,
+rasping words, and in reply said:
+
+"Are you going home soon?"
+
+"You are at home now," declared his uncle. "This is the only home you
+shall ever know, and you are beholden to me for it. Your father was
+glad to be rid of you, and this is your gratitude to me! No airs here,
+my fine fellow. Get to bed out of my way, and I'll find you something
+to do in the morning."
+
+But in the morning the child was unable to leave the bed where he had
+lain across his uncle and aunt's feet, his slumbers incessantly
+disturbed by the grunting, squealing pigs. Welsh arose early to let
+out the animals, and then dragged little Hugh from his bed to resume
+the responsibility of heirship. The child tottered to the floor. His
+uncle's fierce imprecations could not exorcise fever and delirium, and
+for many weeks little Hugh lingered between life and death. He
+remained weak and unable to go out during the winter, but he made many
+friends, of which the chief was the rough yellow dog. The child in
+return loved the great shaggy creature with all the strength of his
+poor crushed heart. But better than the devotion of the fowls, the pig
+and the dog, his Aunt Mary conceived a great affection for him, and
+grew to love him during his illness as her own child. When Welsh was
+absent, she would give him an egg, or a little fresh butter from the
+"meskin" prepared for market, or even a cup of peppermint tea; and
+over this, she told him secretly the tragic story of the Bront�
+family. In after years it was a satisfaction to Hugh to know that his
+cowardly uncle was no Bront� after all, and not even an Irishman.
+
+The spring came early that year, and with it health and vigor. Hugh's
+aunt had told him of the burning of the old Bront� house. The squalor
+and wretchedness of Welsh's home, into which so many things crept at
+night, compared with the ruins of the house in which his father had
+been reared, made a lasting impression upon Hugh's mind. But he was
+not left long to such reflections. As soon as he was able to go, he
+was sent to herd cattle, which were housed at night in the ruined
+rooms of the burnt edifice, with his dog, Keeper, for a faithful
+companion. Emily Bront�'s love for her dog, which was actually named
+Keeper, was a weak platonic affair compared with the tie that bound
+the desolate boy and friendless dog together.
+
+In no land has attachment to home so firm a grip of the heart as in
+Ireland. Year followed year in slow procession, but Hugh grew up in
+solitariness, and his heart never ceased to yearn for the lost friends
+of his old home. His corduroy suit soon grew too small for him, and
+when his boots became unwearable, he was obliged to go bare-footed.
+His highest enjoyment was to be away with his dog somewhere, remote
+from the espionage of Gallagher, and the violent blasphemy of Welsh.
+But his idle days among the bees in the clover soon gave place to
+sterner duties. He had to gather potatoes in sleet and rain, collect
+stones from winter fields to drain bog-land, perform the drudgery of
+an ill-cultivated farm from sunrise to sunset, and then thresh and
+winnow grain in the barn until near midnight. His uncle hated him
+fiercely and bitterly, and once told him that he could never beat him
+when he did not deserve it, because, like a goat, he was always either
+going to mischief, or coming from it.
+
+Hugh found Gallagher's cunning malignity harder to endure than the
+harsh cruelty of his uncle. The boy's clear instinct told him that
+Gallagher was a bad man, but sometimes his pent-up heart would
+overflow to the one human being near him in his working hours. When
+Gallagher had got all the secrets of the boy from him, he would
+denounce him to Welsh in such a way as to best stir up his cruelty; or
+he would mock at Hugh's rags, and tell him that all of his evils had
+come upon him because of his father's sins, assuring him that the
+Devil would carry him away from the barn some night, as he had often
+taken bad men's sons before.
+
+The cruelties practised upon the boy were Gallagher's base revenge for
+the whippings formerly administered to him by Hugh's father. Every
+means that cunning could devise was employed to render the boy's life
+miserable. He would purloin eggs, break the farming-tools, and maim
+the cattle in order to have him beaten by his uncle, a ceremony which
+he always managed to witness.
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+ESCAPE FROM CAPTIVITY.
+
+Nothing in Ireland is supposed to test a man's honesty so severely as
+a bog lying contiguous to his own land. "If a man escape with honor as
+a trustee, try him with a bit of bog," is an Irish proverb. This
+temptation had come in Welsh's way when a sub-agent. He had robbed the
+Bront�s of their farm, why should he hesitate to add a slice of bog to
+it? The owner was known as an objectionable tenant who had dared to
+vote contrary to his landlord, and there was not likely to be any
+trouble, for the bog was of little use to anybody, all of the turf
+having been removed, leaving only a swamp covered with star-grass, and
+tenanted by water-hen, coots and snipe.
+
+The agent agreed to let Welsh have his neighbor's bog for a
+consideration. Welsh paid the sum demanded, but the tenant, being a
+cantankerous person, did not fall in pleasantly with this arrangement.
+Difficulties were raised. The plundering of the Bront�s had been
+watched by their neighbors with sullen indignation, but, when it
+became known that the sub-agent was about to grasp the property of
+another farmer, the smouldering fire burst into a conflagration. At
+this crisis, the agent was murdered, and Welsh's house was burnt to
+the ground.
+
+The ownership of the bog now remained for a long time in a doubtful
+condition. Welsh lost his official position, and for years the new
+agent gave promises to both claimants, and accepted presents from
+both. The landlord would of course decide the matter upon his return
+to Ireland, but, in the meantime, both paid rent for the bog and then
+fought for the useless star-grass.
+
+Welsh maintained his claim until one day, after many hot words with
+the owner, blows ensued, and the trespasser was badly beaten. He
+called on Hugh, who was then a large boy of fifteen, for help; but he
+called in vain, for Hugh had overhead a full recital of his uncle's
+crimes before the battle began. He heard him accused to his teeth of
+murdering old Bront� for his money, and of betraying his daughter in
+order to rob the family of the estate. The misery he had brought to
+many homes was comprehensively set forth; and Hugh believed his uncle
+to be absolutely in the wrong in his attempt to take possession of his
+neighbor's property, and deserving of the beating he received.
+Besides, this neighbor had always treated Hugh kindly, and had
+frequently shared with him his collation of bread and milk in the
+fields in the afternoon.
+
+This battle led to important issues. Welsh was carried home bleeding
+by Gallagher and Hugh, and put to bed. On the following morning he
+sent for Hugh, and in a choking passion demanded why he had not helped
+him in the fight. Hugh replied that he considered his uncle in the
+wrong and any assistance unfair. Inasmuch as Welsh could not get out
+of bed to chastise him, the boy seized his long-deferred opportunity,
+and pleaded his case with a courage that surprised himself. He told
+his uncle that he was a false and cruel bully, who thoroughly merited
+a beating at the hands of the man he had tried to rob, and, carried
+away by his rising passion, he informed him that he knew he was not a
+true Bront�, but a gutter-monster, who had stolen the name, defiantly
+adding that he hoped before long to avenge his ancestors for the
+desecration of their name by thrashing him himself.
+
+Having delivered this speech Hugh realized that another crisis in his
+life had arrived. Even the chaff bed in the half-roofed barn would now
+cease for him. His uncle's house was no longer childless. A son and
+heir had appeared upon the scene a twelve-month before, and Hugh knew
+that he had nothing except harsh treatment to expect in the future. He
+could not even hope, in the event of his uncle's death, to inherit the
+old Bront� home and restore its fallen fortunes, for a legal heir was
+now in full possession. His uncle had declared his intention to punish
+him once for all, as soon as he got well, and a severe beating was
+his immediate prospect.
+
+In a few days Welsh was out of bed and able to move about, his head
+wrapped in bandages and his two eyes in mourning. Hugh saw that the
+time had now come for him to shift for himself. He first resolved to
+fight his uncle, but wisely concluded that, even if victorious, this
+would only make his position in the house more unendurable. Then he
+resolved on flight, but how could he fly? If followed and brought
+back, his state with his uncle would be worse than ever. Besides, he
+was almost naked, for the few rags that hung around him left his body
+visible at many points.
+
+Hugh was now in a state of rebellion, and in his desperation he went
+to his uncle's enemy. He told this chastiser the full tale of his
+sorrows, and found him a sympathizing and resourceful ally.
+
+The day on which Hugh was to get his great beating arrived. Everybody
+except Gallagher awaited it in gloomy silence. Even Keeper seemed to
+know what was coming. Welsh had provided himself with a stout hazel
+rod which he playfully called "the tickler." Aunt Mary's eyes were, as
+usual, red with weeping. The chastisement was to be administered when
+the cattle were brought home at midday.
+
+Hugh and Gallagher spent that morning weeding in a field of oats in a
+remote corner of the farm. Hugh was silent, but Gallagher passed the
+whole morning in jeers, and taunts, and mockery.
+
+As the hour arrived for Hugh to go for the cows, Gallagher surpassed
+all previous brutality by telling Hugh that he had once been his
+mother's lover. He was proceeding to develop this false and cruel tale
+when Hugh, stung to the quick, and blind with passion, sprang upon his
+mother's defamer like a tiger. There was a short fierce struggle, and
+Hugh had his tormentor on the ground beating his face into a jelly,
+while Keeper was engaged in tearing the ruffian's clothes to shreds.
+
+Hugh's fury cooled when Gallagher no longer resisted. Throwing his
+"thistle-hook" on top of the prostrate form, he walked into the house.
+He bade his aunt, who was baking bread, good-by, kissed the baby, and
+then left to bring home the cattle to be milked. Keeper, who had laid
+aside his melancholy during the encounter with Gallagher, responded to
+his master's whistle by barking and gambolling as if to keep up his
+spirits. As Hugh turned for a last look at the old Bront� home, he saw
+Gallagher approaching Welsh, who was waiting near the cow-shed,
+evidently enjoying the pleasures of the imagination.
+
+The cattle were grazing on the banks of the Boyne, near the spot where
+a wing of William's army crossed on that era-making day in 1690. Hugh
+proceeded to the river and divested himself of his rags, preparatory
+to a plunge, as was his wont. He told Keeper to lie down upon his heap
+of tattered garments; then throwing himself down naked beside his
+faithful friend, he took him in his arms, kissed him again and again,
+and, starting up with a sob, plunged headlong into the river.
+
+Keeper could not see his master enter the river, nor mark the
+direction in which he had gone, owing to a little ridge. It was a swim
+for life. The current soon carried him opposite the farm of his
+uncle's enemy, who awaited his approach in a clump of willows by the
+water's edge. He had brought with him an improvised suit of clothes to
+further the boy's escape. The pockets of the coat were stuffed with
+oat-bread, and there were a few pence in the pockets of the trousers.
+Hugh hurried on these garments, which were much too large for him, and
+thrust his feet, the first time for seven years, into a pair of boots.
+With a heart full of gratitude, and a final squeeze of the hand,
+unaccompanied by words from either, Hugh Bront� started on his race
+for life and freedom.
+
+With buoyant spirits Hugh sped on the road to Dunleer, where he
+did not pause, and continuing his flight struck straight for
+Castlebellingham. He did not know where the road led to, nor whither
+he was going, but he believed there was a city of refuge ahead, and
+his pace was quickened by the fear of the avenger at his heels.
+
+As he approached Castlebellingham he heard a car coming behind him, so
+he hid behind a fence until it had passed. It was filled with
+policemen, but Welsh was not on the car. He reached Dundalk at an
+early hour, and after a short sleep in a hay-rick, continued his
+journey, not by the public road, but eastward through level fields
+where now runs the Dundalk and Greenore railway. He spent his last
+copper in a small public house for a little food, and then started for
+Carlingford, which the publican had told him was an important town
+behind the mountain. After a couple of hours of wandering by the
+shore, he turned inland, and came upon lime-kilns at a place called
+Mount Pleasant, or Faquahart. These kilns were known as Swift
+McNeil's, and people came great distances to purchase lime for
+agricultural and building purposes.
+
+When Hugh arrived, there were thirty or forty carts from Down, Armagh,
+and Louth, waiting for their loads, and there were not enough hands to
+keep up the supply. Limestone had to be quarried, wheeled to the
+kilns, then broken, and thrown in at the top with layers of coal.
+After burning for a time the lime was drawn out from the eye of the
+kiln into shallow barrels, and emptied into carts, the price being so
+much per barrel.
+
+Here Hugh Bront� found his first job, and regular remuneration for his
+free labor. In a short time he had earned enough money to provide
+himself with a complete suit of clothes. His wages more than supplied
+his wants, and he had a great deal to spare for personal adornment.
+Being steady, and better dressed than the other workers, he was soon
+advanced to the responsible position of overseer.
+
+Hugh became a favorite with purchasers and employers. Among the
+regular customers were the Todds and McAllisters of Ballynaskeagh and
+Glascar, in County Down. Their servants were often accompanied by a
+youth named McGlory, who drove his own cart.
+
+McGlory and Bront�, who were about the same age, resembled each other
+in the fiery color of their hair. They became great friends, and it
+was arranged that Bront� should visit McGlory in County Down during
+the Christmas holidays. This visit was fraught with important
+consequences for Hugh, and marked an epoch in his eventful career.
+
+
+
+
+EDITOR'S ANNOUNCEMENT.--In the September number of McClure's Magazine
+will be told the romantic story of Hugh Bront�'s courtship, and his
+elopement with Alice McGlory upon the very day appointed by her family
+for her marriage with Joe Burns.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Transcribers Note
+
+Table of Contents and Illustration List added.
+
+Passages in italics indicated by _underscores_.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of McClure's Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 3,
+August, 1893, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE, AUGUST, 1893 ***
+
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+<title>McClure's Magazine, Vol. I, No. 3, August 1893, a Project Gutenberg eBook</title>
+
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of McClure's Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 3, August,
+1893, 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: McClure's Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 3, August, 1893
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: March 18, 2011 [EBook #35610]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE, AUGUST, 1893 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Katherine Ward, and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<h1>McClure&#8217;s Magazine</h1>
+<hr class='mini' />
+<p class='center larger'><b>August, 1893.</b></p>
+<p class='center larger'><b>Vol. I. No. 3</b></p>
+<p class='center padtop smaller'><i>Copyright, 1893, by <span class='smcap'>S. S. McClure</span>, Limited. All rights reserved.</i></p>
+<h2>Table of Contents</h2>
+<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right'><p class="smaller ralign">PAGE</p></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Dialogue Between Eugene Field and Hamlin Garland.</span> Recorded by Hamlin Garland.</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#REAL_CONVERSATIONSII_A_DIALOGUE_BETWEEN_EUGENE_FIELD_AND_HAMLIN_GARLAND__RECORDED_BY_HAMLIN_GARLAND'>195</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Shadow Boatswain.</span> By Bliss Carman.</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_SHADOW_BOATSWAIN_BY_BLISS_CARMAN'>205</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Slapping Sal.</span> By Conan Doyle.</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_SLAPPING_SAL_BY_CONAN_DOYLE___PICTURES_BY_A_BRENNAN'>206</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>&#8220;Human Documents.&#8221;</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#HUMAN_DOCUMENTS'>213</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Some Professional Adventures of Karl Hagenbeck.</span> By Raymond Blathwayt.</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#SOME_PROFESSIONAL_ADVENTURES_OF_KARL_HAGENBECK_BY_RAYMOND_BLATHWAYT'>219</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Story I Heard on the Cars.</span> By Mrs. E. V. Wilson.</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_STORY_I_HEARD_ON_THE_CARS_BY_MRS_E_V_WILSON'>224</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Mrs. Gladstone and Her Good Works.</span> By Mary G. Burnett.</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#MRS_GLADSTONE_AND_HER_GOOD_WORKS_BY_MARY_G_BURNETT'>235</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Boys&#8217; Republic.</span> By Alfred Balch.</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#A_BOYS_REPUBLIC_THE_STORY_OF_CAMP_CHOCORUA__BY_ALFRED_BALCH'>242</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Happy Life.</span> By Sir Henry Wotton.</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_HAPPY_LIFE_BY_SIR_HENRY_WOTTON___15681639'>254</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Edwin Booth. On and Off the Stage.</span> By Adam Badeau.</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#EDWIN_BOOTH_ON_AND_OFF_THE_STAGE__PERSONAL_RECOLLECTIONS_BY_ADAM_BADEAU'>255</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Burglars Three.</span> By James Harvey Smith.</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#BURGLARS_THREE_BY_JAMES_HARVEY_SMITH'>268</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Stranger Than Fiction.</span> By Dr. William Wright.</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#STRANGER_THAN_FICTION_UNPUBLISHED_CHAPTERS_FROM_THE_BRONTS_IN_IRELAND__BY_DR_WILLIAM_WRIGHT'>277</a></td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+<h2>Illustrations</h2>
+<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto;'>
+<col style='width:75%;' />
+<col style='width:25%;' />
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right'><p class="smaller ralign">PAGE</p></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>The Old Homestead at Fayetteville, Vermont.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_2'>196</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>Eugene Field&#8217;s Home at Buena Park, Chicago.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_3'>197</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>The Hall.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_4'>198</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>A Bit of Library.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_5'>199</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>The Dining-Room.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_6'>199</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>The Drawing-Room.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_7'>201</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>Field&#8217;s &#8220;Treasures.&#8221;</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_9'>203</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>Hairy Hudson.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_11'>206</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>Captain Johnson and Mr. Wharton.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_12'>207</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>The Action.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_13'>209</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>Aboard the &#8220;Leda.&#8221;</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_14'>210</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>Oliver Wendell Holmes.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_19'>214</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>J. J. Ingalls.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_24'>216</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>Jules Verne.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_30'>218</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>Karl Hagenbeck&#8217;s Father and His First Show in Berlin.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_37'>220</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>The Scramble in Munich.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_40'>223</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>The Old and New Castle of Hawarden.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_50'>236</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>Miss Glynne (Mrs. Gladstone), 1838.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_51'>237</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>The Orphanage, Hawarden.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_52'>237</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>The Inmates of Woodsford Hall in the Forest.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_53'>239</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>The Annual Lunch Party of the Notting Hill School Girls.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_54'>240</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>Mrs. Gladstone To-day.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_55'>241</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>The Chapel.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_59'>243</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>The Camp on March.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_67'>249</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>A Halt for Supper.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_68'>250</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>The Barge.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_69'>250</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>Captain Cairn&#8217;s House.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_74'>253</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>The Death Mask of Edwin Booth.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_77'>267</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>&#8220;I Ain&#8217;t No Missionary!&#8221;</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_80'>269</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>&#8220;Excellent Claret,&#8221; Said Harry.</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_82'>271</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>&#8220;No Violence, Jim!&#8221;</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_83'>272</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>&#8220;What Is Your Annual Income as a Burglar?&#8221;</span></td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_84'>273</a></td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<a name='REAL_CONVERSATIONSII_A_DIALOGUE_BETWEEN_EUGENE_FIELD_AND_HAMLIN_GARLAND__RECORDED_BY_HAMLIN_GARLAND' id='REAL_CONVERSATIONSII_A_DIALOGUE_BETWEEN_EUGENE_FIELD_AND_HAMLIN_GARLAND__RECORDED_BY_HAMLIN_GARLAND'></a>
+<h2>REAL CONVERSATIONS.&mdash;II.<br /><span class='smcaplc'>A DIALOGUE BETWEEN EUGENE FIELD AND HAMLIN GARLAND.</span>
+<span class='chsub'> <br /><br /><span class='smcap'>Recorded by Hamlin Garland.</span></span></h2>
+</div>
+<p>One afternoon quite
+recently two men
+sat in an attic study
+in one of the most
+interesting homes
+in the city of
+Chicago. A home
+that was a museum
+of old books, rare books, Indian relics,
+dramatic souvenirs and bric-a-brac
+indescribable, but each piece with a
+history.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus194.jpg' alt='' title='Cordilly yours, Eugene Field. Chicago, June 26, 1893.' width='365' height='700' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>It was a beautiful June day, and the
+study window looked out upon a lawn
+of large trees where children were rioting.
+It was a part of Chicago which
+the traveler never sees, green and restful
+and dignified, the lake not far
+off.</p>
+<p>The host was a tall, thin-haired man
+with a New England face of the Scotch
+type, rugged, smoothly shaven, and
+generally very solemn&mdash;suspiciously
+solemn in expression. His infrequent
+smile curled his wide, expressive mouth
+in fantastic grimaces which seemed not
+to affect the steady gravity of the blue-gray
+eyes. He was stripped to his
+shirt-sleeves and sat with feet on a
+small stand. He chewed reflectively
+upon a cigar during the opening of the
+talk. His voice was deep but rather
+dry in quality.</p>
+<p>The other man was a rather heavily
+built man with brown hair and beard
+cut rather close. He listened, mainly,
+going off into gusts of laughter occasionally
+as the other man gave a quaint
+turn to some very frank phrase. The
+tall host was Eugene Field, the interviewer
+a Western writer by the name of
+Garland.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well now, brother Field,&#8221; said Garland,
+interrupting his host as he was
+about to open another case of rare
+books. &#8220;You remember I&#8217;m to interview
+you to-day.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Field scowled savagely.</p>
+<p>&#8220;O say, Garland, can&#8217;t we put that
+thing off?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No. Must be did,&#8221; replied his
+friend decisively. &#8220;Now there are two
+ways to do this thing. We can be as
+literary and as deliciously select in our
+dialogue as Mr. Howells and Professor
+Boyesen were, or we can be wild and
+woolly. How would it do to be as wild
+and woolly as those Eastern fellers expect
+us to be?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;All right,&#8221; said Field, taking his
+seat well upon the small of his back.
+&#8220;What does it all mean anyway?
+What you goin&#8217; to do?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m goin&#8217; to take notes while we
+talk, and I&#8217;m goin&#8217; to put this thing
+down pretty close to the fact, now, you
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span>
+bet,&#8221; said Garland, sharpening a pencil.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Where you wan&#8217;to begin?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, we&#8217;ll have to begin with your
+ancestry, though it&#8217;s a good deal like
+the introductory chapter to the old-fashioned
+novels. We&#8217;ll start early,
+with your birth for instance.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, I was born in St. Louis.&#8221;</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:422px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus196.png' alt='' title='' width='422' height='280' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+THE OLD HOMESTEAD AT FAYETTEVILLE, VERMONT.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;Is that so?&#8221; the interviewer showed
+an unprofessional surprise. &#8220;Why, I
+thought you were born in Massachusetts?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; said Field, reflectively. &#8220;No,
+I&#8217;m sorry of course, but I was born in
+St. Louis; but my parents were Vermont
+people.&#8221; He mentioned this as an
+extenuating circumstance, evidently.
+&#8220;My father was a lawyer. He was a
+precocious boy,&mdash;graduated from Middlebury
+College when he was fifteen,
+and when he was nineteen was made
+States-Attorney by special act of the
+legislature; without that he would have
+had to wait till he was twenty-one.
+He married and came West, and I was
+born in 1850.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;So you&#8217;re forty-three? Where does
+the New England life come in?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;When I was seven years old my
+mother died, and father packed us boys
+right off to Massachusetts and put us
+under the care of a maiden cousin, a
+Miss French,&mdash;she was a fine woman
+too.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Garland looked up from his scratchpad
+to ask, &#8220;This was at Amherst?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. I stayed there until I was
+nineteen, and they were the sweetest
+and finest days of my life. I like old
+Amherst.&#8221; He paused a
+moment, and his long face
+slowly lightened up. &#8220;By
+the way, here&#8217;s something
+you&#8217;ll like. When I was
+nine years old father sent
+us up to Fayetteville, Vermont,
+to the old homestead
+where my grandmother
+lived. We stayed there
+seven months,&#8221; he said with
+a grim curl of his lips, &#8220;and
+the old lady got all the
+grandson she wanted. She
+didn&#8217;t want the visit repeated.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He sat a moment in silence,
+and his face softened and his
+eyes grew tender. &#8220;I tell you, Garland,
+a man&#8217;s got to have a layer of
+country experience somewhere in him.
+My love for nature dates from that
+visit, because I had never lived in the
+country before. Sooner or later a man
+rots if he lives too far away from the
+grass and the trees.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re right there, Field, only I
+didn&#8217;t know you felt it so deeply. I
+supposed you hated farm life.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I do, but farm life is not nature.
+I&#8217;d like to live in the country without
+the effects of work and dirt and flies.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The word &#8220;flies&#8221; started him off on
+a side-track. &#8220;Say! You should see
+my boys. I go up to a farm near Fox
+Lake and stay a week every year, suffering
+all sorts of tortures, in order to
+give my boys a chance to see farm life.
+I sit there nights trying to read by a
+vile-smelling old kerosene lamp, the
+flies trooping in so that you can&#8217;t keep
+the window down, you know, and those
+boys lying there all the time on a hot
+husk bed, faces spattered with mosquito
+bites and sweating like pigs&mdash;and happy
+as angels. The roar of the flies
+and mosquitoes is sweetest lullaby to a
+tired boy.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, now, going back to that
+visit,&#8221; said the interviewer with persistency
+to his plan.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes. Well, my grandmother
+was a regular old New England Congregationalist.
+Say, I&#8217;ve got a sermon
+I wrote when I was nine. The old
+lady used to give me ten cents for
+every sermon I&#8217;d write. Like to see it?&#8221;</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a>
+</div>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span>
+<img src='images/illus197.png' alt='' title='' width='547' height='334' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+EUGENE FIELD&#8217;S HOME AT BUENA PARK, CHICAGO.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;Well, I should say. A sermon at
+nine years! Field, you started in
+well.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Didn&#8217;t I?&#8221; he replied, while getting
+the book. &#8220;And you bet it&#8217;s a
+corker.&#8221; He produced the volume,
+which was a small bundle of note-paper
+bound beautifully. It was written in
+a boy&#8217;s formal hand. He sat down to
+read it:</p>
+<blockquote>
+<p>&#8220;I would remark secondly that conscience
+makes the way of transgressors hard; for every
+act of pleasure, every act of Guilt his conscience
+smites him. The last of his stay on earth will
+appear horrible to the beholder. Some times,
+however, he will be stayed in his guilt. A death
+in a family of some favorite object or be attacked
+by Some disease himself is brought to the
+portals of the grave. Then for a little time
+perhaps he is stayed in his wickedness, but before
+long he returns to his worldly lust. Oh, it is
+indeed bad for sinners to go down into perdition
+over all the obstacles which God has placed in
+his path. But many I am afraid do go down
+into perdition, for wide gate and broad is the
+way that leadeth to destruction and many there
+be that go in thereat.&#8221;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>He stopped occasionally to look at
+Garland gravely, as he read some particularly
+comical phrase: &#8220;&#8216;I secondly
+remark&#8217;&mdash;ain&#8217;t that great?&mdash;&#8216;that the
+wise man remembers even how near he
+is to the portals of death.&#8217; &#8216;Portals of
+death&#8217; is good. &#8216;One should strive to
+walk the narrow way and not the one
+which leads to perdition.&#8217; I was heavy
+on quotations, you notice.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is this the first and last of your
+sermons?&#8221; queried Garland, with an
+amused smile.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The first and last. Grandmother
+soon gave me up as bad material for a
+preacher. She paid me five dollars for
+learning the Ten Commandments. I
+used to be very slow at &#8216;committing to
+memory.&#8217; I recall that while I was
+thus committing the book of Acts,
+my brother committed that book and
+the Gospel of Matthew, part of John,
+the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians
+and the Westminster Catechism.
+I would not now exchange for any
+amount of money the acquaintance
+with the Bible that was drummed into
+me when I was a boy. At learning
+&#8216;pieces to speak&#8217; I was, however, unusually
+quick, and my favorites were:
+&#8216;Marco Bozzaris,&#8217; &#8216;Psalm of Life,&#8217;
+Drake&#8217;s &#8216;American Flag,&#8217; Longfellow&#8217;s
+&#8216;Launching of the Ship,&#8217; Webster&#8217;s
+&#8216;Action,&#8217; Shakspeare&#8217;s &#8216;Clarence&#8217;s
+Dream&#8217; (Richard III.), and &#8216;Wolsey
+to Cromwell,&#8217; &#8216;Death of Virginia,&#8217;
+&#8216;Horatius at the Bridge,&#8217; &#8216;Hymn of
+the Moravian Nuns,&#8217; &#8216;Absalom,&#8217; &#8216;Lochiel&#8217;s
+Warning,&#8217; &#8216;Maclean&#8217;s Revenge,&#8217;
+Bulwer&#8217;s translation of Schiller&#8217;s &#8216;The
+Diver,&#8217; &#8216;Landing of the Pilgrims,&#8217; Bryant&#8217;s
+&#8216;Melancholy Days,&#8217; &#8216;Burial of
+Sir John Moore,&#8217; and &#8216;Hohenlinden.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I remember when I was thirteen,
+our cousin said she&#8217;d give us a Christmas
+tree. So we went down into Patrick&#8217;s
+swamp&mdash;I suppose the names are
+all changed now&mdash;and dug up a little
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span>
+pine tree, about as tall as we were, and
+planted it in a tub. On the night of
+Christmas Day, just when we were
+dancing around the tree, making merry
+and having a high-old-jinks of a time,
+the way children will, grandma came
+in and looked at us. &#8216;Will this popery
+never cease?&#8217; was all she said, and out
+she flounced.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, that was the old Puritan idea
+of it. But did live&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now hold on,&#8221; he interrupted. &#8220;I
+want to finish. We planted that tree
+near the corner of Sunset
+Avenue and Amity Street,
+and it&#8217;s there now, a magnificent
+tree. Sometime
+when I&#8217;m East I&#8217;m going to
+go up there with my brother
+and put a tablet on it&mdash;&#8216;Pause,
+busy traveller, and
+give a thought to the happy
+days of two Western boys
+who lived in old New England,
+and make resolve to
+render the boyhood near you
+happier and brighter,&#8217; or
+something like that.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s a pretty idea,&#8221;
+Garland agreed. He felt
+something fine and tender
+in the man&#8217;s voice which was
+generally hard and dry but
+wonderfully expressive.</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:414px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus199.png' alt='' title='' width='414' height='505' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+THE HALL.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;Now, this sermon I had
+bound just for the sake of
+old times. If I didn&#8217;t have
+it right here, I wouldn&#8217;t
+believe I ever wrote such
+stuff. I tell you, a boy&#8217;s a
+queer combination,&#8221; he
+ended, referring to the book
+again.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll see that I signed my name,
+those days, &#8216;E. P. Field.&#8217; The &#8216;P.&#8217;
+stands for Phillips.</p>
+<p>&#8220;As I grew old enough to realize it,
+I was much chagrined to find I had no
+middle name like the rest of the boys,
+so I took the name of Phillips. I was
+a great admirer of Wendell Phillips,
+am yet, though I&#8217;m not a reformer.
+You&#8217;ll see here,&#8221;&mdash;he pointed at the top
+of the pages,&mdash;&#8220;I wrote the word &#8216;sensual.&#8217;
+Evidently I was struck with the
+word, and was seeking a chance to ring
+it in somewhere, but failed.&#8221; They
+both laughed over the matter while
+Field put the book back.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Are you a college man?&#8221; asked
+Garland. &#8220;I&#8217;ve noticed your deplorable
+tendency toward the classics.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I fitted for college when I was sixteen.
+My health was bad, or I should
+have entered right off. I had pretty
+nearly everything that was going in the
+way of diseases,&#8221; this was said with a
+comical twist voice, &#8220;so I didn&#8217;t get
+to Williams till I was eighteen. My
+health improved right along, but I&#8217;m
+sorry to say that of the college did
+not.&#8221; He smiled again, a smile that
+meant a very great deal.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What happened then?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, my father died, and I returned
+West. I went to live with my guardian,
+Professor Burgess, of Knox College.
+This college is situated at Galesburg,
+Illinois. This is the college that
+has lately conferred A. M. upon me.
+The Professor&#8217;s guardianship was
+merely nominal, however. I did about
+as I pleased.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I next went to the State University
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span>
+at Columbia, Missouri. It was an old
+slave-holding town, but I liked it. I&#8217;ve
+got a streak of Southern feeling in me.&#8221;
+He said abruptly, &#8220;I&#8217;m an aristocrat.
+I&#8217;m looking for a M�cenas. I have
+mighty little in common with most of
+the wealthy, but I like the idea of
+wealth in the abstract.&#8221; He failed to
+make the distinction quite clear, but
+he went on as if realizing that this
+might be a thin spot of ice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;At twenty-one, I came into sixty
+thousand dollars, and I went to Europe,
+taking a friend, a young fellow of
+about my own age, with me. I had a
+lovely time!&#8221; he added, and again
+the smile conveyed vast meaning.</p>
+<p>Garland looked up from his pad.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You must have had. Did you
+&#8216;blow in the whole business&#8217;?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pretty near. I <i>swatted</i> the money
+around. Just think of it!&#8221; he exclaimed,
+warming with the recollection.
+&#8220;A boy of twenty-one, without father
+or mother, and sixty thousand dollars.
+Oh, it was a lovely combination! I saw
+more things and did more things than
+are dreamt of in your philosophy,
+Horatio,&#8221; he paraphrased, looking at
+his friend with a strange expression of
+amusement, and pleasure, and regret.
+&#8220;I had money. I paid it out for experience&mdash;it
+was plenty. Experience
+was laying around loose.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Came home when the money gave
+out, I reckon?&#8221;</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:313px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_5' id='linki_5'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus199a.png' alt='' title='' width='313' height='263' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+A BIT OF LIBRARY.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Came back to St. Louis, and
+went to work on the &#8216;Journal,&#8217; I had
+previously tried to &#8216;enter journalism&#8217;
+as I called it then. About the time
+I was twenty-one, I went to Stilson
+Hutchins, and told him who I was,
+and he said:</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;All right. I&#8217;ll give you a chance,
+but we don&#8217;t pay much.&#8217; Of course, I
+told him pay didn&#8217;t matter.</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:384px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_6' id='linki_6'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus199b.png' alt='' title='' width='384' height='311' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+THE DINING-ROOM.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Well!&#8217; he said, &#8216;go down to the
+Olympia, and write up the play there
+to-night,&#8217; I went down, and I brought
+most of my critical acumen to bear
+upon an actor by the name of Charley
+Pope, who was playing Mercutio for
+Mrs. D. P. Bowers. His wig didn&#8217;t fit,
+and all my best writing centred about
+that wig. I sent the critique in, blame
+fine as I thought, with illuminated initial
+letters, and all that. Oh, it was
+lovely! and the next morning I was
+deeply pained and disgusted to find it
+mutilated,&mdash;all that about the wig, the
+choicest part, was cut out. I thought
+I&#8217;d quit journalism forever. I don&#8217;t
+suppose Hutchins connects Eugene
+Field with the &mdash;&mdash; fool
+that wrote that critique. I
+don&#8217;t myself,&#8221; he added with a
+quick half-smile, lifting again
+the corner of his solemn mouth.
+It was like a ripple on a still
+pool.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, when did you really
+get into the work?&#8221; his friend
+asked, for he seemed about to
+go off into another by-path.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, after I came back from
+Europe I was busted, and had
+to go to work. I met Stanley
+Waterloo about that time, and
+his talk induced me to go to
+work for the &#8216;Journal&#8217; as a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span>
+reporter. I soon got to be city editor,
+but I didn&#8217;t like it. I liked to have fun
+with people. I liked to have my fun as I
+went along. About this time I married
+the sister of the friend who went with
+me to Europe, and feeling my new
+responsibilities, I went up to St. Joseph
+as city editor.&#8221; He mused for a moment
+in silence. &#8220;It was terrific hard
+work, but I wouldn&#8217;t give a good deal
+for those two years.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Have you ever drawn upon them
+for material?&#8221; asked Garland with a
+novelist&#8217;s perception of their possibilities.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, but I may some time. Things
+have to get pretty misty before I can
+use &#8217;em. I&#8217;m not like you fellows,&#8221; he
+said, referring to the realists. &#8220;I got
+thirty dollars a week; wasn&#8217;t that
+princely?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nothing else, but you earned it, no
+doubt.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Earned it? Why, Great Scott! I
+did the whole business except turning
+the handle of the press.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, in 1877 I was called back to
+the &#8216;Journal&#8217; in St. Louis, as editorial
+writer of paragraphs. That was the
+beginning of my own line of work.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;When did you do your first work in
+verse?&#8221; asked Garland.</p>
+<p>The tall man brought his feet down
+to the floor with a bang and thrust his
+hand out toward his friend. &#8220;<i>There!</i>
+I&#8217;m glad you said <i>verse</i>. For heaven&#8217;s
+sake don&#8217;t ever say I call my stuff
+poetry. I never do. I don&#8217;t pass judgment
+on it like that.&#8221; After a little he
+resumed. &#8220;The first that I wrote was
+&#8216;Christmas Treasures.&#8217; I wrote that
+one night to fill in a chink in the
+paper.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Give me a touch of it?&#8221; asked his
+friend.</p>
+<p>He chewed his cigar in the effort to
+remember. &#8220;I don&#8217;t read it much.
+I put it with the collection for the
+sake of old times.&#8221; He read a few
+lines of it, and read it extremely well,
+before returning to his history.</p>
+<h3>CHRISTMAS TREASURES.</h3>
+<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'>
+<p>I count my treasures o&#8217;er with care,&mdash;</p>
+<p class='indent2'>The little toy my darling knew,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>A little sock of faded hue,</p>
+<p>A little lock of golden hair.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>Long years ago this holy time,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>My little ones&mdash;my all to me&mdash;</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Sat robed in white upon my knee,</p>
+<p>And heard the merry Christmas chime.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>&#8220;Tell me, my little golden-head,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>If Santa Claus should come to-night,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>What shall he bring my baby bright,&mdash;</p>
+<p>What treasure for my boy?&#8221; I said.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>Then he named this little toy,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>While in his round and mournful eyes</p>
+<p class='indent2'>There came a look of sweet surprise,</p>
+<p>That spake his quiet, trustful joy.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>And as he lisped his evening prayer,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>He asked the boon with childish grace,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Then, toddling to the chimney-place,</p>
+<p>He hung this little stocking there.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>That night, while lengthening shadows crept,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>I saw the white-winged angels come</p>
+<p class='indent2'>With singing to our lowly home,</p>
+<p>And kiss my darling as he slept.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>They must have heard his little prayer,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>For in the morn with rapturous face,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>He toddled to the chimney-place,</p>
+<p>And found this little treasure there.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>They came again one Christmas-tide,&mdash;</p>
+<p class='indent2'>That angel host, so fair and white!</p>
+<p class='indent2'>And singing all that glorious night,</p>
+<p>They lured my darling from my side.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>A little sock, a little toy,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>A little lock of golden hair,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>The Christmas music on the air,</p>
+<p>A watching for my baby boy!</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>But if again that angel train</p>
+<p class='indent2'>And golden head come back to me,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>To bear me to Eternity,</p>
+<p>My watching will not be in vain!</p>
+</div></div>
+<p>&#8220;I went next to the Kansas City
+&#8216;Times&#8217; as managing editor. I wrote
+there that &#8216;Little Peach,&#8217; which still
+chases me round the country.&#8221;</p>
+<h3>THE LITTLE PEACH.</h3>
+<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'>
+<p>A little peach in the orchard grew,</p>
+<p>A little peach of emerald hue;</p>
+<p>Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew,</p>
+<p class='indent6'>It grew.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>One day, passing that orchard through,</p>
+<p>That little peach dawned on the view</p>
+<p>Of Johnny Jones and his sister Sue,</p>
+<p class='indent6'>Them two.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>Up at that peach a club they threw,</p>
+<p>Down from the stem on which it grew,</p>
+<p>Fell that peach of emerald hue.</p>
+<p class='indent6'>Mon Dieu!</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span></p>
+<p>John took a bite and Sue a chew,</p>
+<p>And then the trouble began to brew,</p>
+<p>Trouble the doctor couldn&#8217;t subdue.</p>
+<p class='indent6'>Too true!</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>Under the turf where the daisies grew,</p>
+<p>They planted John and his sister Sue,</p>
+<p>And their little souls to the angels flew,</p>
+<p class='indent6'>Boo hoo!</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>What of that peach of the emerald hue,</p>
+<p>Warmed by the sun, and wet by the dew?</p>
+<p>Ah, well, its mission on earth is through.</p>
+<p class='indent6'>Adieu!</p>
+</div></div>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_7' id='linki_7'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus202.jpg' alt='' title='' width='673' height='391' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+THE DRAWING-ROOM.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;I went to the &#8216;Denver Tribune&#8217;
+next, and stayed there till 1883. The
+most conspicuous thing I did there,
+was the burlesque primer series. &#8216;See
+the po-lice-man. Has he a club? Yes
+he has a club,&#8217; etc. These were so
+widely copied and pirated that I put
+them into a little book which is very
+rare, thank heaven. I hope I have the
+only copy of it. The other thing which
+rose above the level of my ordinary
+work was a bit of verse, &#8216;The Wanderer,&#8217;
+which I credited to Modjeska, and
+which has given her no little annoyance.&#8221;</p>
+<h3>THE WANDERER.</h3>
+<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'>
+<p>Upon a mountain height, far from the sea,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>I found a shell,</p>
+<p>And to my listening ear the lonely thing</p>
+<p>Ever a song of ocean seemed to sing,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Ever a tale of ocean seemed to tell.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>How came the shell upon that mountain height?</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Ah, who can say</p>
+<p>Whether there dropped by some too careless hand,</p>
+<p>Or whether there cast when Ocean swept the Land,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Ere the Eternal had ordained the day?</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>Strange, was it not? Far from its native deep,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>One song it sang,</p>
+<p>Sang of the awful mysteries of the tide,</p>
+<p>Sang of the misty sea, profound and wide,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Ever with echoes of the ocean rang.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>And as the shell upon the mountain height</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Sings of the sea,</p>
+<p>So do I ever, leagues and leagues away,</p>
+<p>So do I ever, wandering where I may,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Sing, O my home! sing, O my home! of thee.</p>
+</div></div>
+<p>&#8220;That brings you up to Chicago,
+doesn&#8217;t it?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;In 1883 Melville Stone asked me
+to join him on the &#8216;News,&#8217; and I did.
+Since then my life has been uneventful.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I might not think so. Did you
+establish the column &#8216;Sharps and Flats&#8217;
+at once?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. I told Stone I&#8217;d write a good
+deal of musical matter, and the name
+seemed appropriate. We tried to
+change it several times, but no go.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I first saw your work in the &#8216;News.&#8217;
+I was attracted by your satirical studies
+of Chicago. I don&#8217;t always like what
+you write, but I liked your war against
+sham.&#8221;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span></div>
+<p>Field became serious at once, and
+leaned towards the other man in an
+attitude of great earnestness. The
+deepest note in the man&#8217;s voice came
+out. &#8220;I hate a sham or a fraud; not
+so much a fraud, for a fraud means
+brains very often, but a sham makes
+me mad clear through,&#8221; he said
+savagely. His fighting quality came
+out in the thrust of the chin. Here
+was the man whom the frauds and
+shams fear.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is evident. But I don&#8217;t think
+the people make the broadest application
+of your satires. They apply
+them to Chicago. There is quite a
+feeling. I suppose you know about
+this. They say you&#8217;ve hurt Chicago
+art.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I hope I have, so far as the bogus
+art and imitation culture of my city is
+concerned. As a matter of fact the
+same kind of thing exists in Boston
+and New York, only they&#8217;re used to it
+there. I&#8217;ve jumped on that crowd of
+faddists, I&#8217;ll admit, as hard as I could,
+but I don&#8217;t think anyone can say I&#8217;ve
+ever willingly done a real man or
+woman an injury. If I have, I&#8217;ve
+always tried to square the thing up.&#8221;
+Here was the man&#8217;s fairness, kindliness
+of heart, coming to the surface in good
+simple way.</p>
+<p>The other man was visibly impressed
+with his friend&#8217;s earnestness, but he
+pursued his course. &#8220;You&#8217;ve had
+offers to go East, according to the
+papers.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, but I&#8217;m not going&mdash;why
+should I? I&#8217;m in my element here.
+They haven&#8217;t any element there.
+They&#8217;ve got atmosphere there, and it&#8217;s
+pretty thin sometimes, I call it.&#8221; He
+uttered &#8220;atmosphere&#8221; with a drawling
+attenuated nasal to express his contempt.
+&#8220;I don&#8217;t want literary atmosphere.
+I want to be in an <i>element</i> where
+I can tumble around and yell without
+falling in a fit for lack of breath.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The interviewer was scratching away
+like mad&mdash;this was his chance.</p>
+<p>Field&#8217;s mind took a sudden turn now,
+and he said emphatically: &#8220;Garland,
+I&#8217;m a newspaper man. I don&#8217;t claim
+to be anything else. I&#8217;ve never written
+a thing for the magazines, and I never
+was asked to, till about four years ago.
+I never have put a high estimate upon
+my verse. That it&#8217;s popular is because
+my sympathies and the public&#8217;s happen
+to run on parallel lines just now.
+That&#8217;s all. Not much of it will live.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know about that, brother
+Field,&#8221; said Garland, pausing to rest.
+&#8220;I think you underestimate some of
+that work. Your reminiscent boy-life
+poems and your songs of children are
+thoroughly American, and fine and
+tender. They&#8217;ll take care of themselves.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, but my best work has been
+along lines of satire. I&#8217;ve consistently
+made war upon shams. I&#8217;ve stood
+always in my work for decency and
+manliness and honesty. I think that&#8217;ll
+remain true, you&#8217;ll find. I&#8217;m not much
+physically, but morally I&#8217;m not a coward.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, I don&#8217;t think anybody will rise
+up to charge you with time-serving.
+By the way, what a rare chance you
+have in the attitude of the Chicago
+people toward the Spanish princess!&#8221;</p>
+<p>The tall man straightened up. His
+whole nature roused at this point, and
+his face grew square. His Puritan
+grandfather looked from his indignant
+eyes and set jaw as he said:</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know what&#8217;s coming upon
+us.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Aha!&#8221; Garland exulted, &#8220;even
+you are bitten with the same.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He flung his hand out in quick deprecation.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I don&#8217;t pretend to be a reformer.
+I leave that to others. I hate
+logarithms. I like speculative astronomy.
+I am naturally a lover of romance.
+My mind turns toward the far
+past or future. I like to illustrate the
+foolery of these society folks by stories
+which I invent. The present don&#8217;t
+interest me&mdash;at least not taken as it is.
+Possibilities interest me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s a good way to put it,&#8221; said
+the other man. &#8220;It&#8217;s a question of the
+impossible, the possible, and the probable.
+I like the probable. I like the
+near-at-hand. I feel the most vital
+interest in the average fact.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I know you do, and I like it after
+you get through with it, but I don&#8217;t
+care to deal with the raw material myself.
+I like the archaic.&#8221;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span></div>
+<p>&#8220;Yet some of your finest things, I
+repeat, are your reminiscent verses of
+boy-life,&#8221; pursued Garland, who called
+himself a veritist and enjoyed getting
+his friend as nearly on his ground as
+possible.</p>
+<div class='figleft' style='width:229px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_8' id='linki_8'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus205a.png' alt='' title='' width='229' height='496' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<div class='figleft' style='width:643px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_9' id='linki_9'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus205b.jpg' alt='' title='' width='643' height='389' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+FIELD&#8217;S &#8220;TREASURES:&#8221; THE GLADSTONE AXE, C. A. DANA&#8217;S SHEARS, THE HORACES.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, that&#8217;s so, but that&#8217;s in the far
+past,&#8221; Field admitted. Garland took
+the thought up.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Time helps you then. Time is a
+romancer. He halves the fact, but we
+veritists find the <i>present</i> fact haloed,
+with significance if not beauty.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Field dodged the point.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I like to do those boy-life
+verses. I like to live over the joys
+and tragedies&mdash;because we had our
+tragedies.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Didn&#8217;t we! Weeding the onion-bed
+on circus day, for example.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, or gettin&#8217; a terrible strappin&#8217;
+for goin&#8217; swimming without permission.
+Oh, it all comes back to me, all sweet
+and fine somehow. I&#8217;ve forgotten all
+the unpleasant things. I remember
+only the best of it all. I like boy-life.
+I like children. I like young men. I like
+the buoyancy of youth and its freshness.
+It&#8217;s a God&#8217;s pity that every young child
+can&#8217;t get a taste of country life at some
+time. It&#8217;s a fund of inspiration to a
+man.&#8221; Again the finer quality in the
+man came out in his face and voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Your life in New England and the
+South, and also in the West, has been
+of great help to you, I think.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, and a big disadvantage. When
+I go East, Stedman calls me a typical
+Westerner, and when I come West they
+call me a Yankee&mdash;so there I am!&#8221;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span></div>
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s no doubt of your being a
+Westerner.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I hope not. I believe in the West.
+I tell you, brother Garland, the West
+is the coming country. We ought to
+have a big magazine to develop the
+West. It&#8217;s absurd to suppose we&#8217;re
+going on always being tributary to the
+East!&#8221;</p>
+<p>Garland laid down his pad and lifted
+his big fist in the air like a maul. His
+enthusiasm rose like a flood.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now you touch a great theme.
+You&#8217;re right, Field. The next ten years
+will see literary horizons change mightily.
+The West is dead sure to be in the
+game from this time on. A man can&#8217;t
+be out here a week without feeling the
+thrill of latent powers. The West is
+coming to its manhood. The West is
+the place for enthusiasm. Her history
+is making.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Field took up the note. &#8220;I&#8217;ve got
+faith in it. I love New England for
+her heritage to you. I like her old
+stone walls and meadows, but when I
+get back West&mdash;well, I&#8217;m home, that&#8217;s
+all. My love for the West has got
+blood in it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Garland laughed in sudden perception
+of their earnestness. &#8220;We&#8217;re both
+talking like a couple of boomers. It
+might be characteristic, however, to
+apply the methods of the boomers of
+town lots to the development of art and
+literature. What say?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It can be done. It will come in the
+course of events.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;In our enthusiasm we have skated
+away from the subject. You are forty-three,
+then&mdash;you realize there&#8217;s a lot of
+work before you, I hope.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, yes, my serious work is just
+begun. I&#8217;m a man of slow development.
+I feel that. I know my faults
+and my weaknesses. I&#8217;m getting myself
+in hand. Now, Garland, I&#8217;m with you
+in your purposes, but I go a different
+way. You go into things direct. I&#8217;m
+naturally allusive. My work is almost
+always allusive, if you&#8217;ve noticed.&#8221;</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:251px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_10' id='linki_10'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus206.jpg' alt='' title='' width='251' height='514' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;Do you write rapidly?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I write my verse easily, but my
+prose I sweat over. Don&#8217;t you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I toil in revision even when I have
+what the other fellows call an inspiration.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I tell you, Garland, genius is not in
+it. It&#8217;s work and patience, and staying
+with a thing. Inspiration is all
+right and pretty and a suggestion, but
+it&#8217;s when a man gets a pen in his hand
+and sweats blood, that inspiration begins
+to enter in.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, what are your plans for the future&mdash;your
+readers want to know that?&#8221;</p>
+<p>His face glowed as he replied, &#8220;I&#8217;m
+going to write a sentimental life of
+Horace. We know mighty little of him,
+but what I don&#8217;t know I&#8217;ll make up.
+I&#8217;ll write such a life as he <i>must</i> have
+lived. The life we all live when boys.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The younger man put up his notes,
+and they walked down and out under
+the trees with the gibbous moon shining
+through the gently moving leaves.
+They passed a couple of young people
+walking slow&mdash;his voice a murmur,
+hers a whisper.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There they go. Youth! Youth!&#8221;
+said Field.</p>
+<blockquote>
+<p><span class='smcap'>Note.</span>&mdash;A series of portraits of Mr. Field at different ages will be printed among the
+&#8220;Human Documents&#8221; in the September number.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span>
+<a name='THE_SHADOW_BOATSWAIN_BY_BLISS_CARMAN' id='THE_SHADOW_BOATSWAIN_BY_BLISS_CARMAN'></a>
+<h2>THE SHADOW BOATSWAIN.
+<span class='chsub'> <br /><br /><span class='smcap'>By Bliss Carman.</span></span></h2>
+</div>
+<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'>
+<p>Don&#8217;t you know the sailing orders?</p>
+<p class='indent2'>It is time to put to sea,</p>
+<p>And the stranger in the harbor</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Sends a boat ashore for me.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>With the thunder of her canvas,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Coming on the wind again,</p>
+<p>I can hear the Shadow Boatswain</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Piping to his shadow men.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>Is it firelight or morning</p>
+<p class='indent2'>That red flicker on the floor?</p>
+<p>Your good-bye was braver, Sweetheart,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>When I sailed away before.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>Think of this last lovely summer!</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Love, what ails the wind to-night?</p>
+<p>What&#8217;s he saying in the chimney</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Turns your berry cheek so white?</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>What a morning! How the sunlight</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Sparkles on the outer bay,</p>
+<p>Where the brig lies waiting for me</p>
+<p class='indent2'>To trip anchor and away.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>That&#8217;s the Doomkeel. You may know her</p>
+<p class='indent2'>By her clean run aft; and, then,</p>
+<p>Don&#8217;t you hear the Shadow Boatswain</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Piping to his shadow men?</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>Off the freshening sea to windward,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Is it a white tern I hear</p>
+<p>Shrilling in the gusty weather</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Where the far sea-line is clear?</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>What a morning for departure!</p>
+<p class='indent2'>How your blue eyes melt and shine!</p>
+<p>Will you watch us from the headland</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Till we sink below the line?</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>I can see the wind already</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Steer the scruf marks of the tide,</p>
+<p>As we slip the wake of being</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Down the sloping world, and wide.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>I can feel the vasty mountains</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Heave and settle under me,</p>
+<p>And the Doomkeel veer and tremor,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Crumbling on the hollow sea.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>There&#8217;s a call, as when a white gull</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Cries and beats across the blue;</p>
+<p>That must be the Shadow Boatswain</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Piping to his shadow crew.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>There&#8217;s a boding sound, like winter,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>When the pines begin to quail;</p>
+<p>That must be the gray wind moaning</p>
+<p class='indent2'>In the belly of the sail.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>I can feel the icy fingers</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Creeping in upon my bones;</p>
+<p>There must be a berg to windward</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Somewhere in these border zones.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>Stir the fire.... I love the sunlight,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Always loved my shipmate sun.</p>
+<p>How the sunflowers beckon to me</p>
+<p class='indent2'>From the dooryard one by one!</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>How the royal lady-roses</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Strew this summer world of ours.</p>
+<p>There&#8217;ll be none in Lonely Haven,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>It is too far north for flowers.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>There, Sweetheart! And I must leave you.</p>
+<p class='indent2'>What should touch my wife with tears?</p>
+<p>There&#8217;s no danger with the Master,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>He has sailed the sea for years.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>With the sea-wolves on her quarter,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>And the white bones in her teeth,</p>
+<p>He will steer the shadow cruiser,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Dark before and doom beneath,</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>Down the last expanse till morning</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Flares above the broken sea,</p>
+<p>And the midnight storm is over,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>And the isles are close alee.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>So some twilight, when your roses</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Are all blown, and it is June,</p>
+<p>You will turn your blue eyes seaward,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Through the white dusk of the moon.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>Wondering, as that far sea-cry</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Comes upon the wind again,</p>
+<p>And you hear the Shadow Boatswain</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Piping to his shadow men.</p>
+</div></div>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span>
+<a name='THE_SLAPPING_SAL_BY_CONAN_DOYLE___PICTURES_BY_A_BRENNAN' id='THE_SLAPPING_SAL_BY_CONAN_DOYLE___PICTURES_BY_A_BRENNAN'></a>
+<h2>THE SLAPPING SAL.
+<span class='chsub'> <br /><br /><span class='smcap'>By Conan Doyle.</span><br /><br /><span class='smaller smcap'>PICTURES BY A. BRENNAN.</span></span></h2>
+</div>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_11' id='linki_11'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus208.png' alt='' title='' width='670' height='507' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+HAIRY HUDSON.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>It was in the days when France&#8217;s
+power was already broken upon the
+seas, and when more of her three-deckers
+lay rotting in the Medway than
+were to be found in Brest Harbor. But
+her frigates and corvettes still scoured
+the ocean, closely followed ever by
+those of her rival. At the uttermost
+ends of the earth these dainty vessels,
+with sweet names of girls or of flowers,
+mangled and shattered each other for
+the honor of the four yards of bunting
+that flapped from their gaffs.</p>
+<p>It had blown hard in the night, but
+the wind had dropped with the dawning,
+and now the rising sun tinted the
+fringe of the storm wrack as it dwindled
+into the west, and glinted on the
+endless crests of the long green waves.
+To north and south and west lay a sky-line
+which was unbroken, save by the
+spout of foam when two of the great
+Atlantic seas dashed each other into
+spray. To the east was a rocky island,
+jutting out into craggy points, with a
+few scattered clumps of palm-trees, and
+a pennant of mist streaming out from
+the bare conical hill which capped it.
+A heavy surf beat upon the shore, and
+at a safe distance from it the British
+32-gun frigate &#8220;Leda,&#8221; Captain A. P.
+Johnson, raised her black, glistening
+side upon the crest of a wave, or
+swooped down into an emerald valley,
+dipping away to the nor&#8217;ard under
+easy sail. On her snow-white quarter-deck
+stood a stiff, little, brown-faced
+man, who swept the horizon with his
+glass.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Wharton,&#8221; he cried, with a voice
+like a rusty hinge.</p>
+<p>A thin, knock-kneed officer shambled
+across the poop to him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve opened the sealed orders, Mr.
+Wharton.&#8221;</p>
+<p>A glimmer of curiosity shone upon
+the meagre features of the first lieutenant.
+The &#8220;Leda&#8221; had sailed with
+her consort the &#8220;Dido&#8221; from Antigua
+the week before, and the admiral&#8217;s orders
+had been contained in a sealed
+envelope.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We were to open them on reaching
+the deserted island of Sombriero, lying
+in north latitude eighteen, thirty-six,
+west longitude sixty-three, twenty-eight.
+Sombriero bore four miles to
+the northeast from our port bow when
+the gale cleared, Mr. Wharton.&#8221;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span></div>
+<p>The lieutenant bowed stiffly. He and
+the captain had been bosom friends
+from childhood. They had gone to
+school together, joined the navy together,
+fought again and again together, and
+married into each other&#8217;s families; but
+as long as their feet were on the poop
+the iron discipline of the service struck
+all that was human out of them, and
+left only the superior and the subordinate.
+Captain Johnson took a blue
+paper from his pocket, which crackled
+as he unfolded it.</p>
+<blockquote>
+<p>&#8220;The 32-gun frigates, &#8216;Leda&#8217; and &#8216;Dido&#8217;
+(Captains A. P. Johnson and James Munro), are
+to cruise from the point at which these instructions
+are read to the mouth of the Caribbean
+Sea, in the hope of encountering the French
+frigate &#8216;La Gloire&#8217; (48), which has recently harassed
+our merchant ships in that quarter. H. M.
+frigates are also directed to hunt down the piratical
+craft known sometimes as the &#8216;Slapping
+Sal&#8217; and sometimes as the &#8216;Hairy Hudson,&#8217;
+which has plundered the British ships as per
+margin, inflicting barbarities upon their crews.
+She is a small brig carrying ten light guns, with
+one twenty-four pound carronade forward. She
+was last seen upon the 23d ult., to the northeast
+of the island of Sombriero.&#8221;</p>
+<p class='sig1'>  (Signed)</p>
+<p class='sig2'>    <span class='smcap'>James Montgomery</span>,</p>
+<p class='sig3'>      Rear-Admiral.</p>
+<p>H. M. S. &#8220;Colossus,&#8221; Antigua.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&#8220;We appear to have lost our consort,&#8221;
+said Captain Johnson, folding
+up his instructions and again sweeping
+the horizon with his glass. &#8220;She
+drew away after we reefed down. It
+would be a pity if we met this heavy
+Frenchman without the &#8216;Dido,&#8217; Mr.
+Wharton, eh?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The lieutenant twinkled and smiled.</p>
+<p>&#8220;She has eighteen-pounders on the
+main and twelves on the poop, sir,&#8221;
+said the captain. &#8220;She carries four
+hundred to our two hundred and thirty-one.
+Captain de Milon is the smartest
+man in the French service. O Bobby,
+boy, I&#8217;d give my hopes of my flag to
+rub my side up against her!&#8221; He
+turned on his heel, ashamed of his momentary
+lapse. &#8220;Mr. Wharton,&#8221; said he,
+looking back sternly over his shoulder,
+&#8220;get those square sails shaken out, and
+bear away a point more to the west.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;A brig on the port bow,&#8221; came a
+voice from the forecastle.</p>
+<p>&#8220;A brig on the port bow,&#8221; said the
+lieutenant.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_12' id='linki_12'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus209.png' alt='' title='' width='672' height='231' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+CAPTAIN JOHNSON AND MR. WHARTON.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>The captain sprang up on the bulwarks,
+and held on by the mizzen
+shrouds, a strange little figure with flying
+skirts and puckered eyes. The lean
+lieutenant craned his neck and whispered
+to Smeaton, the second, while
+officers and men came popping up from
+below and clustered along the weather-rail,
+shading their eyes with their hands,
+for the tropical sun was already clear
+of the palm trees. The strange brig
+lay at anchor in the throat of a curving
+estuary, and it was already obvious
+that she could not get out without
+passing under the guns of the frigate.
+A long rocky point to the north of her
+held her in.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Keep her as she goes, Mr. Wharton,&#8221;
+said the captain. &#8220;Hardly worth
+while clearing for action, Mr. Smeaton,
+but the men can stand by the guns in
+case she tries to pass us. Cast loose
+the bowchasers, and send the small arm
+men on to the forecastle.&#8221;</p>
+<p>A British crew went to its quarters
+in those days with the quiet serenity
+of men on their daily routine. In a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span>
+few minutes, without fuss or sound, the
+sailors were knotted round their guns,
+the marines were drawn up and leaning
+on their muskets, and the frigate&#8217;s
+bowsprit pointed straight for her little
+victim.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is it the &#8216;Slapping Sal,&#8217; sir?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have no doubt of it, Mr. Wharton.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;They don&#8217;t seem to like the look
+of us, sir. They&#8217;ve cut their cable and
+are clapping on sail.&#8221;</p>
+<p>It was evident that the brig meant
+struggling for her freedom. One little
+patch of canvas fluttered out above another,
+and her people could be seen
+working like mad men in the rigging.
+She made no attempt to pass her antagonist,
+but headed up the estuary.
+The captain rubbed his hands.</p>
+<p>&#8220;She&#8217;s making for shoal water, Mr.
+Wharton, and we shall have to cut her
+out, sir. She&#8217;s a footy little brig, but
+I should have thought a fore-and-after
+would have been more handy.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was a mutiny, sir.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, indeed!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir, I heard of it at Manilla&mdash;a
+bad business, sir. Captain and two
+mates murdered. This Hudson, or
+Hairy Hudson, as they call him, led
+the mutiny. He&#8217;s a Londoner, sir, but
+a cruel villain as ever walked.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;His next walk will be to Execution
+Dock, Mr. Wharton. She seems
+heavily manned. I wish I could take
+twenty topmen out of her, but they
+would be enough to corrupt the crew
+of the ark, Mr. Wharton.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Both officers were looking through
+their glasses at the brig. Suddenly
+the lieutenant showed his teeth in a
+grin, while the captain flushed to a
+deeper red.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s Hairy Hudson on the afterrail,
+sir.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The low, impertinent blackguard!
+He&#8217;ll play some other antics before we
+are done with him. Could you reach
+him with the long eighteen, Mr. Smeaton?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Another cable length will do it, sir.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The brig yawed as they spoke, and
+as she came round, a spurt of smoke
+whiffed out from her quarter. It was
+a pure piece of bravado, for the gun
+could scarce carry half way. Then
+with a jaunty swing the little ship
+came into the wind again and shot
+round a fresh curve of the winding
+channel.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The water&#8217;s shoaling rapidly, sir,&#8221;
+reported the second lieutenant.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s six fathoms, by the chart.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Four, by the lead, sir.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;When we clear this point we shall
+see how we lie. Ha! I thought as
+much! Lay her to, Mr. Wharton.
+Now we have got her at our mercy.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The frigate was quite out of sight of
+the sea now, at the head of this river-like
+estuary. As she came round the
+curve the two shores were seen to converge
+at a point about a mile distant.
+In the angle, as near shore as she
+could get, the brig was lying with her
+broadside towards her pursuer, and a
+wisp of black cloth streaming from her
+mizzen. The lean lieutenant, who had
+reappeared upon deck with a cutlass
+strapped to his side and two pistols
+rammed into his belt, peered curiously
+at the ensign.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is it the &#8216;Jolly Roger,&#8217; sir?&#8221; he
+asked.</p>
+<p>But the captain was furious. &#8220;He
+may hang where his breeches are hanging
+before I have done with him,&#8221;
+said he. &#8220;What boats will you want,
+Mr. Wharton?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;We should do it with the launch
+and the jolly-boat.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Take four and make a clean job of
+it. Pipe away the crews at once, and
+I&#8217;ll work her in and help you with the
+long eighteens.&#8221;</p>
+<p>With a rattle of ropes and a creaking
+of blocks the four boats splashed
+into the water. Their crews clustered
+thickly into them&mdash;bare-footed sailors,
+stolid marines, laughing middies, and
+in the sheets of each the senior officers
+with their stern, schoolmaster
+faces. The captain, his elbows on
+the binnacle, still watched the distant
+brig. Her crew were tricing up the
+boarding netting, dragging round the
+starboard guns, knocking new portholes
+for them, and making every
+preparation for a desperate resistance.
+In the thick of it all a huge
+man, bearded to the eyes, with a red
+night-cap upon his head, was straining
+and stooping and hauling. The captain
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span>
+watched him with a sour smile,
+and then snapping up his glass he
+turned upon his heel. For an instant
+he stood staring.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Call back the boats!&#8221; he cried, in
+his thin, creaking voice. &#8220;Clear away
+for action there! Cast loose those
+main-deck guns. Brace back the
+yards, Mr. Smeaton, and stand by to
+go about when she has weigh enough.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Round the curve of the estuary was
+coming a huge vessel. Her great yellow
+bowsprit and white-winged figure-head
+were jutting out from the cluster
+of palm-trees, while high above them
+towered three immense masts, with the
+tricolor flag floating superbly from the
+mizzen. Round she came, the deep-blue
+water creaming under her fore-foot,
+until her long, curving, black
+side, her line of shining copper beneath,
+and of snow-white hammocks
+above, and the thick clusters of men
+who peered over her bulwarks were all
+in full view.</p>
+<p>Her lower yards were slung, her
+ports triced up, and her guns run out
+all ready for action. Lying behind
+one of the promontories of the island
+the look-out men of the &#8220;Gloire&#8221; upon
+the shore had seen the <i>cul-de-sac</i> into
+which the British frigate had headed,
+so that Captain de Milon had observed
+the &#8220;Leda&#8221; as Captain Johnson had
+the &#8220;Slapping Sal.&#8221;</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_13' id='linki_13'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus212.png' alt='' title='' width='612' height='350' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+THE ACTION.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>But the splendid discipline of the
+British service was at its best in such
+a crisis. The boats flew back, their
+crews clustered aboard, they were
+swung up at the davits, and the fall-ropes
+made fast. Hammocks were
+brought up and stowed, bulkheads sent
+down, ports and magazines opened,
+the fires put out in the galley, and
+the drums beat to quarters. Swarms
+of men set the head-sails and brought
+the frigate round, while the gun-crews
+threw off their jackets and shirts,
+tightened their belts, and ran out their
+eighteen-pounders, peering through
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span>
+the open portholes at the stately
+Frenchman. The wind was very light.
+Hardly a ripple showed itself upon the
+clear blue water, but the sails blew
+gently out as the breeze came over
+the wooded banks. The Frenchman
+had gone about also, and both ships
+were now heading slowly for the sea
+under fore-and-aft canvas, the &#8220;Gloire&#8221;
+a hundred yards in advance. She luffed
+up to cross the &#8220;Leda&#8217;s&#8221; bows, but
+the British ship came round also, and
+the two rippled slowly on in such a
+silence that the ringing of the ramrods,
+as the French marines drove home
+their charges, clanged quite loudly
+upon the ear.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not much sea room, Mr. Wharton,&#8221;
+remarked the captain.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have fought actions in less, sir.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;We must keep our distance, and
+trust to our gunnery. She is very
+heavily manned, and if she got alongside
+we might find ourselves in trouble.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I see the shakoes of soldiers
+aboard of her&mdash;two companies of light
+infantry from Martinique. Now we
+have her! Hard a port, and let her
+have it as we cross her stern!&#8221;</p>
+<p>The keen eye of the little commander
+had seen the surface ripple which
+told of a passing breeze. He had used
+it to dart across behind the big Frenchman
+and to rake her with every gun as
+he passed. But, once past her, the &#8220;Leda&#8221;
+had to come back into the wind
+to keep out of shoal water. The man&oelig;uvre
+brought her on the starboard
+side of the Frenchman, and the trim
+little frigate seemed to heel right over
+under the crashing broadside which
+burst from the gaping ports. A moment
+later her topmen were swarming
+aloft to set her topsails and royals,
+and she strove to cross the &#8220;Gloire&#8217;s&#8221;
+bows and rake her again. The French
+captain, however, brought his frigate&#8217;s
+head round, and the two rode side by
+side within easy pistol shot, pouring
+broadsides into each other in one of
+those murderous duels which, could
+they all be recorded, would mottle our
+charts with blood.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_14' id='linki_14'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus213.png' alt='' title='' width='594' height='386' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+ABOARD THE &#8220;LEDA.&#8221;<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>In that heavy tropical air, with so
+faint a breeze, the smoke formed a
+thick bank round the two vessels, from
+which the topmasts only protruded.
+Neither could see anything of its enemy
+save the throbs of fire in the darkness,
+and the guns were sponged and
+trained and fired into a dense wall of
+vapor. On the poop and the forecastle
+the marines, in two little red lines, were
+pouring in their volleys, but neither
+they nor the seamen-gunners could see
+what effect their fire was having. Nor,
+indeed, could they tell how far they
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span>
+were suffering themselves, for standing
+at a gun one could but hazily see that
+upon the right and left. But above
+the roar of the cannon came the sharper
+sound of the piping shot, the crashing
+of riven planks, and the occasional
+heavy thud as spar or block came
+hurtling onto the deck. The lieutenants
+paced up and down behind the
+line of guns, while Captain Johnson
+fanned the smoke away with his cocked
+hat, and peered eagerly out.</p>
+<p>&#8220;This is rare, Bobby,&#8221; said he, as
+the lieutenant joined him. Then, suddenly
+restraining himself, &#8220;What have
+we lost, Mr. Wharton?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Our main-topsail yard and our gaff,
+sir.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Where&#8217;s the flag?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Gone overboard, sir.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;They&#8217;ll think we&#8217;ve struck. Lash
+a boat&#8217;s ensign on the starboard arm
+of the mizzen cross jack-yard.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir.&#8221;</p>
+<p>A round shot dashed the binnacle
+to pieces between them. A second
+knocked two marines into a bloody,
+palpitating mass. For a moment the
+smoke rose, and the English captain
+saw that his adversary&#8217;s heavier metal
+was producing a horrible effect. The
+&#8220;Leda&#8221; was a shattered wreck. Her
+deck was strewed with corpses. Several
+of her portholes were knocked
+into one, and one of her eighteen-pounder
+guns had been thrown right
+back onto her breech, and pointed
+straight up to the sky. The thin line
+of marines still loaded and fired, but
+half the guns were silent, and their
+crews were piled thickly around
+them.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Stand by to repel boarders!&#8221; yelled
+the captain.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Cutlasses, lads, cutlasses!&#8221; roared
+Wharton.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hold your volley till they touch!&#8221;
+cried the captain of marines.</p>
+<p>The huge loom of the Frenchman
+was seen bursting through the smoke.
+Thick clusters of boarders hung upon
+her sides and shrouds. A final broadside
+leapt from her ports, and the mainmast
+of the &#8220;Leda,&#8221; snapping short off
+a few feet above the deck, spun into the
+air and crashed down upon the port
+guns, killing ten men and putting the
+whole battery out of action. An instant
+later the two ships scraped together,
+and the starboard bower anchor
+of the &#8220;Gloire&#8221; caught the mizzen
+chains of the &#8220;Leda&#8221; upon the port
+side. With a yell the black swarm of
+boarders steadied themselves for a
+spring.</p>
+<p>But their feet were never to reach
+that blood-stained deck. From somewhere
+there came a well-aimed whiff
+of grape, and another, and another.
+The English marines and seamen, waiting
+with cutlass and musket behind the
+silent guns, saw with amazement the
+dark masses thinning and shredding
+away. At the same time the port
+broadside of the Frenchman burst into
+a roar.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Clear away the wreck!&#8221; roared the
+captain. &#8220;What the devil are they
+firing at?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Get the guns clear!&#8221; panted the
+lieutenant. &#8220;We&#8217;ll do them yet, boys!&#8221;</p>
+<p>The wreckage was torn and hacked
+and splintered until first one gun and
+then another roared into action again.
+The Frenchman&#8217;s anchor had been cut
+away, and the &#8220;Leda&#8221; had worked
+herself free from that fatal hug. But
+now suddenly there was a scurry up
+the shrouds of the &#8220;Gloire,&#8221; and a
+hundred Englishmen were shouting
+themselves hoarse.</p>
+<p>&#8220;They&#8217;re running! They&#8217;re running!
+They&#8217;re running!&#8221;</p>
+<p>And it was true. The Frenchman
+had ceased to fire, and was intent only
+upon clapping on every sail that she
+could carry.</p>
+<p>But that shouting hundred could not
+claim it all as their own. As the smoke
+cleared, it was not difficult to see the
+reason. The ships had gained the
+mouth of the estuary during the fight,
+and there, about four miles out to sea,
+was the &#8220;Leda&#8217;s&#8221; consort bearing down
+under full sail to the sound of the guns.
+Captain de Milon had done his part
+for one day, and presently the &#8220;Gloire&#8221;
+was drawing off swiftly to the north,
+while the &#8220;Dido&#8221; was bowling along
+at her skirts, rattling away with her
+bowchasers, until a headland hid them
+both from view.</p>
+<p>But the &#8220;Leda&#8221; lay sorely stricken,
+with her mainmast gone, her bulwarks
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span>
+shattered, her mizzen topmast and gaff
+shot away, her sails like a beggar&#8217;s rags,
+and a hundred of her crew dead and
+wounded. Close beside her a mass of
+wreckage floated upon the waves. It
+was the stern post of a mangled vessel,
+and across it, in white letters on a black
+ground, was printed &#8220;The Slapping
+Sal.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;By the Lord, it was the brig that
+saved us!&#8221; cried Mr. Wharton. &#8220;Hudson
+brought her into action with the
+Frenchman, and was blown out of the
+water by a broadside.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The little captain turned on his heel
+and paced up and down the deck. Already
+his crew were plugging the shot-holes,
+knotting and splicing and mending.
+When he came back the lieutenant
+saw a softening of the stern lines about
+his mouth and eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Are they all gone?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Every man. They must have sunk
+with the wreck.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The two officers looked down at the
+sinister name and at the stump of wreckage
+which floated in the discolored
+water. Something black washed to
+and fro beside a splintered gaff and a
+tangle of halyards. It was the outrageous
+ensign, and near it a scarlet
+cap was floating.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He was a villain, but he was a
+Briton,&#8221; said the captain at last. &#8220;He
+lived like a dog, but, by God, he died
+like a man!&#8221;</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_15' id='linki_15'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus216.png' alt='' title='' width='564' height='302' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span>
+<a name='HUMAN_DOCUMENTS' id='HUMAN_DOCUMENTS'></a>
+<h2>&#8220;HUMAN DOCUMENTS.&#8221;</h2>
+</div>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_16' id='linki_16'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus217.png' alt='' title='' width='595' height='249' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'>
+<p><i>&#8220;For of the soule the bodie forme doth take,</i></p>
+<p><i>For soule is forme and doth the bodie make.&#8221;</i></p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p class='indent4'>&mdash;From &#8220;An Hymne in Honour of Beautie.&#8221;&mdash;<span class='smcap'>Spenser.</span></p>
+</div></div>
+<h3>BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES.</h3>
+<p><span class='smcap'>Oliver Wendell Holmes</span> was born eighty-four
+years ago on the 29th of August, 1809. He
+was educated at the Phillips Andover Academy,
+and graduated at Harvard in 1829, and was one
+of the founders of the
+<span lang='el' title='Phi Beta Kappa'>&Phi;&Beta;&Kappa;</span>
+Society of that
+university. His first general reception as a
+poet was gained by his successful lyrical effort
+to save the old frigate, &#8220;The Constitution,&#8221;
+from being broken up. He graduated in medicine
+in 1836 (after studying law in the Cambridge
+Law School), and in the same year published
+his first volume of verse. In 1839 he
+was made Professor of Anatomy and Physiology
+at Dartmouth, and in 1847 he filled the
+same position at Harvard. He has published
+several volumes of poems, and the famous books
+known, respectively, as &#8220;The Autocrat,&#8221; &#8220;The
+Poet,&#8221; and the &#8220;Professor at the Breakfast
+Table.&#8221; He has written many medical works,
+and of his novels, &#8220;Elsie Venner&#8221; and &#8220;The
+Guardian Angel&#8221; are best known.</p>
+<p><span class='smcap'>John James Ingalls</span> was born in Middleton,
+Massachusetts, on December 29th, 1833.
+He graduated at Williams College in 1855. He
+then studied law, and was admitted to the bar
+in 1857. Going to Atchison, Kansas, in the
+following year, he there practised his profession,
+and from that time to the present has been
+closely connected with the development of his
+adopted State and that of the country. In 1862
+he was elected a Senator in the State of Kansas,
+and in 1863 and 1864 was defeated for the
+Lieut.-Governorship. For some years he was
+editor of the Atchison &#8220;Champion.&#8221; In 1873
+he was chosen United States Senator, and
+served without interruption until 1889.</p>
+<p><span class='smcap'>Jules Verne</span> was born at Nantes in France
+on February 8, 1828, and was educated there.
+After leaving school he studied law in Paris,
+but, while still very young, he became known
+as a popular writer of dramas, comedies and
+burlesques for the Parisian theatres. &#8220;Les
+Pailles Rompues&#8221; was produced at the Gymnase
+Theatre in 1850, when Jules was but twenty-two
+years old, and &#8220;Onze Jours de Si�ge&#8221;
+shortly afterwards. He first became known
+as a writer of highly imaginative stories with a
+strong current of science in them in 1863, when
+his &#8220;Five Weeks in a Balloon&#8221; made a great
+success. Since then he has produced more than
+sixty novels of the same class, the most noted
+of which are &#8220;The Voyage to the Moon,&#8221;
+&#8220;20,000 Leagues under the Sea,&#8221; and &#8220;Michael
+Strogoff.&#8221; Many of his works have been
+successfully dramatized, and he has been translated
+into almost every modern language, including
+Arabic and Japanese.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span></div>
+<h3>OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.</h3>
+<div class='figleft' style='width:218px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_17' id='linki_17'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus218a.jpg' alt='' title='' width='218' height='294' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<div class='figright' style='width:231px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_18' id='linki_18'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus218b.jpg' alt='' title='' width='231' height='295' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_19' id='linki_19'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus218c.jpg' alt='' title='' width='510' height='700' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+ALL FROM DAGUERREOTYPES&mdash;THE TWO LAST ONES, BETWEEN 1845 AND 1855. THE FIRST IS THE EARLIEST PICTURE OF DOCTOR HOLMES, AND HE IS UNABLE TO PLACE A DATE UPON IT.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class='figleft' style='width:211px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_20' id='linki_20'></a>
+</div>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span>
+<img src='images/illus219a.jpg' alt='' title='' width='211' height='554' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+MARCH, 1869. AGE 60.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class='figright' style='width:254px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_21' id='linki_21'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus219b.jpg' alt='' title='' width='254' height='409' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+AUGUST, 1874. AGE 65.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class='figleft' style='width:246px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_22' id='linki_22'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus219c.jpg' alt='' title='' width='246' height='349' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+ABOUT 1882. AGE 73.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class='figright' style='width:345px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_23' id='linki_23'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus219d.jpg' alt='' title='' width='345' height='474' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+NOVEMBER, 1891. AGE 82.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span></div>
+<h3>J. J. INGALLS.</h3>
+<div class='figleft' style='width:322px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_24' id='linki_24'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus220a.jpg' alt='' title='' width='322' height='391' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+1847. AGE 14.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class='figright' style='width:298px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_25' id='linki_25'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus220b.jpg' alt='' title='' width='298' height='396' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+1853. AGE 20.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_26' id='linki_26'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus220c.jpg' alt='' title='' width='252' height='365' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+1865. AGE 32.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class='figleft' style='width:257px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_27' id='linki_27'></a>
+</div>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span>
+<img src='images/illus221a.jpg' alt='' title='' width='257' height='378' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+1873. AGE 40.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class='figright' style='width:273px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_28' id='linki_28'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus221b.jpg' alt='' title='' width='273' height='376' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+1877. AGE 44.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_29' id='linki_29'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus221c.jpg' alt='' title='' width='551' height='575' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+TO-DAY. AGE 60.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span></div>
+<h3>JULES VERNE.</h3>
+<div class='figleft' style='width:269px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_30' id='linki_30'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus222a.jpg' alt='' title='' width='269' height='318' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+1848. AGE 20.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class='figright' style='width:280px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_31' id='linki_31'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus222b.jpg' alt='' title='' width='280' height='421' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+1858. AGE 30.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class='figleft' style='width:279px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_32' id='linki_32'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus222c.jpg' alt='' title='' width='279' height='457' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+1868. AGE 40.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class='figright' style='width:263px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_33' id='linki_33'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus222d.jpg' alt='' title='' width='263' height='352' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+1886. AGE 58.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span>
+<a name='SOME_PROFESSIONAL_ADVENTURES_OF_KARL_HAGENBECK_BY_RAYMOND_BLATHWAYT' id='SOME_PROFESSIONAL_ADVENTURES_OF_KARL_HAGENBECK_BY_RAYMOND_BLATHWAYT'></a>
+<h2>SOME PROFESSIONAL ADVENTURES OF KARL HAGENBECK.
+<span class='chsub'> <br /><br /><span class='smcap'>By Raymond Blathwayt.</span></span></h2>
+</div>
+<div class='figleft' style='width:382px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_34' id='linki_34'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus223.png' alt='' title='' width='382' height='534' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>As Karl Hagenbeck
+stood with me,
+in his Hamburg
+Wild Beast Emporium,
+before
+the great cage
+of the boa constrictors
+and
+pythons, he naturally
+fell to relating
+some of
+the curious adventures
+that
+have befallen
+him with snakes
+and other brutes.</p>
+<p>There was a
+great ugly looking
+boa constrictor
+coiled up in
+a corner by itself, a most
+repulsive looking animal.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s a beauty, isn&#8217;t
+he?&#8221; said Mr. Hagenbeck,
+looking fondly on him.
+&#8220;He swallowed four whole sheep in
+one day, and only nine days after
+that he got another, and seemed to
+enjoy it as much as if he had been
+fasting for months. Come and look at
+this cage, where you can see a revengeful
+member of the species. He once
+had a companion, but now he&#8217;s alone
+through his own fault. He and his
+companion were peculiarly fond of rabbits,
+and we threw one into their cage
+one day. They both darted for it, and,
+while the poor little shivering animal
+crept into a corner in a fright, the
+snakes quarrelled as to whose &#8216;bonne
+bouche&#8217; the rabbit was to be. The
+smaller one won, and this great wretch
+retired to a corner and watched his
+foe devour the rabbit, and then lie
+down in that state of repleteness
+which it is the highest ambition of these
+great snakes to attain. The big fellow
+then, seeing his rival&#8217;s helpless condition,
+roused himself, and a moment
+afterwards he vigorously attacked the
+creature that lay gorged in the corner.
+We all rushed to see what would happen,
+and I declare to you, that in a very
+short time the big snake had swallowed
+the small snake, rabbit and all.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Would you like to see them in action?&#8221;
+said Mr. Hagenbeck to me, and,
+as he spoke, he opened a cage door and
+boldly stepped in amongst a number
+of big sleepy reptiles. He coolly began
+lifting them up by their enormous coils,
+just as one would lift up great coils of
+rope, and there was soon a mighty stirring
+amongst the previously inert masses.
+They writhed to and fro, their
+scales glittering in the pale light of the
+winter sun, and with a great hissing, an
+irritated rearing back of their heads
+and a constant projection of their long
+forked tongues, they began to move
+about the cage&mdash;a hideous, mixed-up
+mass of repulsive life, that made one
+involuntarily step back from their bars.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t like the look of them,&#8221;
+said Mr. Hagenbeck, with a smile, as
+he stepped out and rejoined me. &#8220;They
+are queer fellows, certainly, and gave
+me a big fright once.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I should have imagined more than
+once,&#8221; I said, as we turned from the
+ugly mass of twisted snakes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, perhaps,&#8221; said Mr. Hagenbeck,
+&#8220;but this particular once was
+something to remember. In one cage
+I had eight full-grown pythons, which I
+wanted to put into one huge box to
+send them off to a menagerie. I
+handled the first six all right enough,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span>
+catching them, as is usual, by the back
+of the neck and dropping them into the
+box. Then I went for number seven,
+but as soon as I entered the cage she,
+the lady of the flock, flew at me with
+open mouth. Seeing her coming I took
+off my hat and thrust it at her. She bit
+her teeth into it. I then seized her with
+the right hand at the back of her neck,
+and I dragged her down into the lower
+partition of the cage. Just when I was
+going to fetch her out she reared her
+head to attack me again. I then made
+a cautious movement forward, and at
+the same moment she darted her head
+at me. I met the second attack with
+my hat in the same way that I had the
+first. With a quick dart I grabbed her
+by the back of the neck, only to find, to
+my horror, that I couldn&#8217;t let her go if
+I wanted to, as she had coiled herself
+firmly round my legs. One of my assistants,
+standing near, heard me yell,
+and he came rushing up to me with all
+the speed he could, for I fancy my
+shout told everybody within hearing
+that I had to do with a matter of life
+and death. I managed, however, to
+retain my nerve, and gave the order to
+the helper to try and uncoil the serpent,
+which with great difficulty and my assistance
+he at last managed to do.&#8221;</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:493px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_35' id='linki_35'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus224a.png' alt='' title='' width='493' height='287' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>Mr. Hagenbeck laughed a little as
+he recalled the experience, but I confess
+I didn&#8217;t feel like laughing much.
+The horror of having those massive
+coils pressing tightly on your legs and
+bruising your muscles with irresistible
+strength seemed very real to me.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wasn&#8217;t done even then,&#8221; Mr.
+Hagenbeck resumed, &#8220;for just as I
+thought that I
+could get the big
+snake safely in the
+cage, another python,
+and really an
+enormous fellow,
+attacked me. I
+had just time to
+shout to my man
+to throw a blanket
+over it, and this he
+luckily managed to
+do. At the same
+moment I moved
+backwards out of
+the cage and got
+free of it altogether, and then I had a
+little rest. My men tried to dissuade
+me from going back, each of them saying
+he would do it. I felt very exhausted,
+but my temper was fairly up,
+and I determined I wouldn&#8217;t be beaten.
+So, after a few moments, I stepped
+again into the cage, caught them both
+round the backs of their necks, dragged
+them as quickly as I could to the edge
+of the cage, and then, all helping, we
+flung them into the box waiting for
+them. Had not my assistant been near
+me, nothing could
+have saved me from
+being squeezed to
+death.&#8221;</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:147px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_36' id='linki_36'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus224b.png' alt='' title='' width='147' height='169' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>The wild-beast
+tamer then motioned
+me away from the serpent
+cages, and we
+went to those of their
+cousins, the crocodiles
+and alligators. We
+passed by an aviary of very great size,
+where parrots and other beautifully
+plumed birds chattered, laughed, quarrelled,
+and made love in a long, ear-piercing
+enjoyment of their captivity;
+and further on we came to a large tank,
+in which were slowly paddling round
+some spiteful-looking alligators&mdash;huge-jawed,
+soulless-eyed, each one a
+waiting, watching destroyer of life.</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:296px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_37' id='linki_37'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus225.png' alt='' title='' width='296' height='700' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+KARL HAGENBECK&#8217;S FATHER AND HIS FIRST SHOW IN BERLIN.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>We looked at them for a little while,
+and then Mr. Hagenbeck said: &#8220;Once
+I had to pack sixteen of these fellows
+up for the D�sseldorf Zo�logical Gardens.
+I grappled hold of the first one
+and was pulling him ashore, when he
+gave me a frightful blow with his tail
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span>
+and knocked me into the tank, where,
+for a brief moment, I was alone with
+fifteen alligators. Those who were
+standing by told me that as soon as I
+splashed in a number of them made a
+rush, but I was
+out again like an
+India-rubber ball.
+The swirl of the
+water and the
+open jaws of the
+disappointed
+beasts told me
+that I had not
+been one second
+too smart. This
+was a very narrow
+escape, as, if one
+of the crocodiles
+had happened to
+get hold of me, all
+the rest would
+have attacked me,
+snapping and biting
+at me at one
+and the same
+moment, until
+there would have
+been little, if anything,
+left of me at all.
+They are the most determined
+fighters even
+amongst themselves. Six
+of them, each about fourteen
+feet long, had a fight
+amongst themselves once,
+and so desperately did
+they set to, that within
+fourteen days they were
+all dead. Three of them
+had their jaws broken,
+and in some cases their
+legs were torn right out
+of their bodies. This occurred
+at night, and one
+of the keepers, happening
+to hear the frightful noise
+which was made by the
+clashing of their jaws,
+rushed off to tell me what
+was happening. We lit
+our lanterns and hurried to the scene
+of action, but, beyond trying to separate
+them with long poles, it was little
+we could do. When we managed to
+part them for a time they only renewed
+the fight with greater fierceness than
+ever, and so terribly were they wounded,
+that, as I said, they were all dead
+in a fortnight. Nowadays, when I get
+a new consignment of alligators I
+always muzzle them for four days with
+a rope. They then
+calm down, and I
+cut the rope off;
+otherwise, if I did
+not do that they
+would begin fighting
+as soon as
+they came out of
+the box, for the
+first sight of day-light
+after the
+long journey always
+seems to excite
+them. A
+fight amongst the
+snakes, also, is a
+terrible thing. I
+had once five big
+pythons in one
+cage. One of the
+keepers flung a
+dead rabbit
+amongst them,
+and two of them,
+being very hungry, attacked
+it at once. At the
+same moment the other
+four flew for the prey,
+and in one moment all
+the six were in one big
+writhing lump. The
+keepers fetched me, and
+I at once attempted to
+uncoil them. I succeeded,
+but hardly had I done
+so when the fight began
+again between the first
+two. The larger one
+threw his tail round the
+small one&#8217;s neck and
+squeezed it with such
+force against the wall
+that it lost all power.
+Then the bigger snake
+got hold of the rabbit
+and swallowed it, after
+which it gradually loosened its hold of
+the smaller snake. The little one then
+sought revenge, and flew at the big
+python, which was rendered almost
+helpless by its huge meal, bit it in
+the back, coiled round and round it,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span>
+and squeezed it till it could hardly
+breathe, although it screamed as I had
+never heard any living creature scream
+before. The funny thing was that
+when I went to see them next morning
+they were all right and perfectly good
+friends.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_38' id='linki_38'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus226a.png' alt='' title='' width='399' height='397' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;Talking of fights, I was once
+turned out of bed at one o&#8217;clock in the
+morning by one of my keepers, who
+came in with the news that the big
+kangaroo had jumped a six-foot fence
+into the next stable, in which there was
+a large hippopotamus. When I came
+down there was the queerest kind of a
+duel going on. The kangaroo stood
+up to his belly in water, whilst the
+hippopotamus, with wide-open jaws,
+snapped at him right and left. However,
+the kangaroo managed to &#8216;get
+in&#8217; a good right and left with
+his front legs, and scratched
+the hippopotamus in the face
+tremendously. When the amphibian
+came to close quarters,
+the kangaroo jumped up,
+gave him a tremendous blow
+with his hind legs, and then
+managed to get on to dry
+land. I caught the kangaroo
+with a big net, and after all
+the fighting there wasn&#8217;t so
+very much harm done.&#8221;</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_39' id='linki_39'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus226b.png' alt='' title='' width='451' height='245' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>Just as Mr. Hagenbeck finished
+talking, the Polar bear
+at our rear began growling.
+Mr. Hagenbeck went up to
+soothe and pet him. Then he
+said:</p>
+<p>&#8220;I expect I am pretty well
+the only man in the world who
+can say that he ever cut the
+toe nails of a Polar bear. It was this
+very beast, and I will tell you how it all
+happened. The poor beast&#8217;s nails had
+grown into its foot, causing it a great
+deal of pain. We tried to get the feet
+into a sling and pull them through the
+bars, but this proved to be too awkward
+an arrangement. So I got him
+into a narrow cage which had an iron
+barred front, and this I turned upside
+down so that the bear had to stand on
+the bars of the cage, which we lifted up
+about four feet above the ground. I
+went underneath with a sharp pair of
+pincers, and, as he stood there with his
+toes pressed through the bars, I managed
+to pull the nails out. Then I
+stood him in water to wash and cool
+his wounds, and in a few days he was
+all right. On yet another occasion a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span>
+royal Bengal tiger was suffering very
+much from toothache, so two of my
+men held him by the collar and, whilst
+one of my attendants opened his mouth,
+my brother-in-law and I took some pincers
+and pulled out the teeth which had
+been giving him so much pain, and
+which, indeed, had grown so badly that
+they had hindered him from biting his
+food properly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The most risky thing, however, that
+ever occurred to me happened in
+Munich during the Centennial F�te in
+1888. I was passing in the long procession
+with eight elephants, and the
+streets were very much crammed. It
+chanced that we had to pass a great big
+iron dragon, which, by some mechanical
+contrivance, began to spit fire as soon
+as we got near it. Four of the elephants
+at once took fright and ran
+away, which was only natural, and the
+other four followed suit. The people
+rushed after them with sticks and loud
+cries, which of course only made matters
+worse. I managed to get between
+two of them, and caught hold of them,
+but it was of no use, as they ran with
+me for at least a mile. I was badly
+hurled from side to side and, indeed, at
+one moment I was very nearly crushed
+to death by them against the walls of
+a house. At last two other elephants
+came up, and I managed to persuade
+the lot of them to stand still; just as I
+had done so the stupid crowd again
+came rushing up, and away the elephants
+went again. I was too tired to
+do anything more. All four of them
+rushed into a house; the bottom gave
+way and the excited creatures fell into
+the cellar. A new house has now been
+built there which is called to this day
+&#8216;The four wild elephants.&#8217; A lot of
+people were hurt, some indeed were
+killed, but, as the Police President had
+seen all that had happened, I was held
+free of blame. That was, however, the
+worst trouble with my captive friends
+I ever have had, and how I escaped
+being crushed to death then I cannot
+understand to this day.&#8221;</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_40' id='linki_40'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus227.png' alt='' title='' width='549' height='415' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+THE SCRAMBLE IN MUNICH.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span>
+<a name='THE_STORY_I_HEARD_ON_THE_CARS_BY_MRS_E_V_WILSON' id='THE_STORY_I_HEARD_ON_THE_CARS_BY_MRS_E_V_WILSON'></a>
+<h2>THE STORY I HEARD ON THE CARS.
+<span class='chsub'> <br /><br /><span class='smcap'>By Mrs. E. V. Wilson.</span></span></h2>
+</div>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_41' id='linki_41'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus228a.png' alt='' title='' width='634' height='508' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>It was very tiresome
+riding on the cars all
+day, with the same
+monotonous stretch
+of prairie to be seen
+from the window; so
+I am sure it was pardonable
+in me to listen
+to the conversation of my fellow-passengers.</p>
+<p>Just in front of me (their bundles
+on a seat before them) sat two elderly
+women, old friends, it seemed,
+who had chanced to meet in their
+journeying; and it was a sentence
+or two of their talk that caught my
+attention, and presently I became so
+interested that I no longer felt my
+weariness.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And so,&#8221; said one, &#8220;you say they
+are livin&#8217; all alone in that big house of
+their&#8217;n! I knowed the girls was all
+married an&#8217; gone, but I heerd Jim had
+tuk a wife home to live with the old
+folks, and I said to Simon, says I, &#8216;Well,
+it&#8217;ll take more&#8217;n a mortal woman to
+live with Mary Ann Curtis onless she&#8217;s
+mightily changed sence I use ter know
+her,&#8217; says I.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said the other voice, and a
+sweet, patient-sounding voice it was&mdash;so
+sweet, indeed, that I glanced over
+to look at its owner. She was a little,
+quaint old woman, with soft brown eyes
+and a pathetic, lovable face. I fell in
+love with her at once. Her companion
+was a younger woman, with shrewd,
+black, observing eyes and sharp nose
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span>
+and chin. From appearances and manner,
+I judged both were wives of well-to-do
+farmers.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said the sweet voice, &#8220;Jim
+did marry a mortal woman, but Mary
+Ann soon made a angel out of her. I
+knowed Jim Curtis&#8217;s wife as well as if
+she&#8217;d ben my own child; and no wonder,
+seein&#8217; as she boarded with me and
+Jonathan nigh on to a year. You see,
+she was left an orphan, and her uncle
+that raised her, not bein&#8217; well off, give
+her what schoolin&#8217; he could, an&#8217; then
+when she was about sixteen year old
+he got her first the summer school in
+our deestric, and then, as she suited the
+folks, the d&#8217;rectors they let her have it
+fur the winter. I was sort o&#8217; feared for
+her to tackle the winter school, seein&#8217;
+as some of the big boys, and girls, too,
+for that matter, &#8217;s
+pritty obstreperous;
+but Rhody she
+laughed and tossed
+her head an&#8217; said,
+&#8216;I&#8217;ll get along, Aunt
+Nancy!&#8217; (You know
+everybody in the
+neighborhood calls
+me Aunt Nancy, and
+Rhody she picked it
+up as natral as could
+be.)</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, she did
+manage somehow,
+an&#8217; never had a bit
+of trouble. An&#8217; I
+use ter watch o&#8217; evenin&#8217;s
+for her to come,
+allus smilin&#8217;, and
+with somethin&#8217; funny
+to tell about the
+scholars. I declare
+to you, Mis&#8217; Johnson,
+if she&#8217;d ben our own,
+Jonathan an&#8217; me
+couldn&#8217;t a sot more
+by her. Why, whenever
+it was rainy or
+snowy the ole man
+would saddle a horse
+an&#8217; go for her, an&#8217; she&#8217;d look that cute,
+settin&#8217; behin&#8217; on ole Molly an&#8217; holdin&#8217;
+on to the ole man!</p>
+<p>&#8220;One cold evenin&#8217; (it was a Friday
+evenin&#8217;, too&mdash;I&#8217;ll never forgit it), jist
+as Jonathan got the saddle on the mare,
+we heard sleigh-bells, for I was out at
+the fence talkin&#8217; to the ole man, an&#8217; who
+should come sailin&#8217; up the road, large
+as life, but Jim Curtis in his new sleigh,
+with our Rhody, smilin&#8217; and rosy, beside
+him. &#8216;There, ole man,&#8217; says I,
+&#8216;your cake&#8217;s dough.&#8217; And I declare
+fur it, ef he warn&#8217;t that cut up he could
+scarce be civil to the youngsters.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Of course you know how it was
+after that&mdash;no needcessity fur the ole
+man botherin&#8217; any more; not &#8217;at it was
+bother, for he allus liked goin&#8217; fur
+Rhody; but laws! Jim was allus on
+hand, no matter how the weather was,
+an&#8217; he tuk her to her uncle&#8217;s two or
+three times, an&#8217; to meetin&#8217; Sundays,
+an&#8217; I up an&#8217; tole her one day that I
+b&#8217;lieved I&#8217;d ask Jim to board with us,
+an&#8217; her face got mighty red, an&#8217; she
+stepped up an&#8217; put both arms roun&#8217; my
+neck, she was such a lovin&#8217; leetle critter,
+an&#8217; she says, &#8216;You aint mad, Aunt
+Nancy, are you? You like Jim, don&#8217;t
+you?&#8217;</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_42' id='linki_42'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus229.png' alt='' title='' width='486' height='549' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Well,&#8217; says I, &#8216;ef I don&#8217;t, somebody
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span>
+else does; but I&#8217;d like to know what
+this deestric&#8217;s goin&#8217; to do fur a teacher.&#8217;</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_43' id='linki_43'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus230.png' alt='' title='' width='665' height='507' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Oh,&#8217; she says, blushin&#8217; more &#8217;an
+ever, &#8216;I am goin&#8217; to teach my school
+out.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;An&#8217; then what?&#8217; says I.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Then I&#8217;ll tell you,&#8217; she says, and
+run off laughin&#8217;.</p>
+<p>&#8220;So I says to the ole man that night,
+after we&#8217;d gone to bed, says I, &#8216;Jonathan,
+Rhody is goin&#8217; to marry Jim Curtis,
+an&#8217; I dunno whether to be glad or
+sorry.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;An&#8217; he laughed till the bed shuk,
+an&#8217; says he, &#8216;Why, whot on &#8217;arth is
+ther&#8217; to be sorry &#8217;bout?&#8217; says he; &#8216;ther&#8217;
+aint a likelier feller&#8217;n the neighborhood
+than Jim, an&#8217; as for Rhody,
+pshaw! she&#8217;s good enough an&#8217; purty
+&#8217;nough for anybody.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Oh,&#8217; says I, &#8216;&#8217;tain&#8217;t that&mdash;they&#8217;re
+both well &#8217;nough; but how&#8217;s our little
+girl goin&#8217; to git along with Mis&#8217; Curtis?&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; interrupted Mrs. Johnson,
+appreciatively, &#8220;that was a question.
+What did you let &#8217;em go there to live
+for? That&#8217;s what I want to know,
+Nancy Riley.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; sighed Aunt Nancy, &#8220;I did
+try to prevent it. I talked to Rhody,
+but she thought she could surely git
+along with Jim&#8217;s mother&mdash;said she
+loved her already, pore thing! Then I
+tuk Jim to task, an&#8217; he said the ole
+folks weren&#8217;t willin&#8217; fur him to leave
+&#8217;em; his father was gittin&#8217; old, an&#8217;
+ther&#8217; were lots &#8217;o rooms in the house,
+an&#8217; his mother was glad he was goin&#8217;
+to marry an&#8217; bring his wife there, she
+was so lonesome now all her girls was
+gone, an&#8217; a heap more sich stuff.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Lonesome, indeed!&#8221; snapped Mrs.
+Johnson. &#8220;She was glad to git rid of
+her girls, so she was! Laws! don&#8217;t I
+mind what times them poor girls had
+to git decent clothes? She jist
+grudged &#8217;em everything, an&#8217; kep&#8217; &#8217;em
+workin&#8217; like&mdash;I was goin&#8217; to say
+darkys, but no darky ever worked
+like old Mis&#8217; Curtis made her girls. No
+wonder they up an&#8217; tuk the first feller
+&#8217;at came along an&#8217; asked &#8217;em. But I
+stopped you, Aunt Nancy&mdash;excuse me&mdash;for
+I knowed Mis&#8217; Curtis so well.
+The idea of her a-bein&#8217; lonesome! She
+wanted somebody to help with the
+work, she did. Her own girls got
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span>
+away soon&#8217;s they could. That Jim must
+&#8217;a&#8217; been a fool!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, no, he wasn&#8217;t,&#8221; went on the
+soft voice. &#8220;It&#8217;s mighty little a young
+feller like him knows about housework,
+an&#8217; his mother&#8217;s work never bothered
+him. So as soon as Rhody&#8217;s school
+was out in the spring they was married.
+You see, her uncle thought for a pore
+girl she was doin&#8217; purty well, an&#8217; I &#8217;low
+she was ef she had been jes&#8217; marryin&#8217;
+Jim Curtis, but she warn&#8217;t&mdash;she was a
+tyin&#8217; of herself to his mother.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;More fool Jim!&#8221; snarled Mrs.
+Johnson.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now, Mis&#8217; Johnson,&#8221; said Aunt
+Nancy, &#8220;Jim meant well, an&#8217; he worshipped
+the very ground Rhody walked
+on; but, you see, old Mis&#8217; Curtis she
+didn&#8217;t believe in young folks makin&#8217;
+simpletons of theirselves, and when she
+see Jim slip his arm &#8217;roun&#8217; Rhody, or
+her run her hand through his curly
+hair, she&#8217;d snap out something sort o&#8217;
+hateful; so Rhody she got afraid of
+her, an&#8217; there&#8217;s where the trouble begun,
+in my &#8217;pinion, fur if my pore child
+had let Jim see how she was imposed
+on, he certingly&#8217;d have made a change,
+but to keep peace she jist made believe
+she was happy &#8217;nough. I use&#8217; ter go
+over sometimes, though I knowed Mis&#8217;
+Curtis set no store by my comin&#8217;, but
+Rhody was allus that glad, and I tell
+you it riled me to see how she was
+treated. It was: &#8216;Rhody, bring the
+milk out of the suller&#8217;; &#8216;Rhody, fetch
+some wood&#8217;; &#8216;Rhody, set the table,&#8217; till
+I wondered she didn&#8217;t drop.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_44' id='linki_44'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus233.png' alt='' title='' width='623' height='650' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;One awful hot day I was there, an&#8217;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span>
+Rhody she was ironin&#8217; in the back porch,
+an&#8217; Mis&#8217; Curtis she was makin&#8217; pies;
+she was a master-hand at cookin&#8217;; you&#8217;ll
+&#8217;low that, Mis&#8217; Johnson.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes,&#8221; snapped Mrs. Johnson,
+&#8220;Mary Ann Curtis was a master at anything
+she put her hand to.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;As I was sayin&#8217;,&#8221; went on Aunt
+Nancy meekly, &#8220;Rhody was ironin&#8217;;
+and sich a pile of clothes!&mdash;white winder-curtains
+starched like boards, an&#8217;
+table-cloths, let alone shirts and other
+things&mdash;an&#8217; I was thinkin&#8217; how pale she
+was, an&#8217; peaked-lookin&#8217;, when Mis&#8217; Curtis
+calls out, &#8216;Rhody, the fire&#8217;s goin&#8217;
+down. I wonder if you &#8217;spect to iron
+with cold irons. Ef you do, you kin
+quit, for I don&#8217;t have my ironin&#8217; done
+that way, if some folks does.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Rhody never said a word, but jist
+went to the wood-pile for more wood,
+an&#8217; I says to Mis&#8217; Curtis, says I, &#8216;Ef I
+was you, I&#8217;d hev some of the men-folks
+bring in the wood. Rhody don&#8217;t look
+well.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You oughter seen her look at me;
+her eyes fairly scared me. &#8216;Our men-folks,&#8217;
+says she, &#8216;&#8217;s tired enough when
+they come in, &#8217;thout havin&#8217; women&#8217;s
+work to do. Ef they was shiftless as
+some I knows, that&#8217;s all they&#8217;d be fit
+fur.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I tell you, that sort o&#8217; riled me,&#8221;
+went on the gentle voice; &#8220;but Rhody
+came in with a big armful of wood, so
+I didn&#8217;t say anything.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;As if you would have said anything,
+you good soul!&#8221; said Mrs. Johnson.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t know me,&#8221; said Aunt
+Nancy. &#8220;Jonathan says I am right
+smart when I get riled&mdash;scares him;&#8221;
+and a mellow laugh rippled over her
+thin lips, which sounded so sweet that
+more than one passenger turned to see
+the laugher. Mrs. Johnson joined in
+the merriment, and I smiled too&mdash;the
+idea of that voice scolding was so absurd.
+And now it went on again:</p>
+<p>&#8220;I thought I&#8217;d say something to Jim
+about Rhody, for I felt oneasy about
+her; an&#8217; so when he was helpin&#8217; me on
+my horse in the evenin&#8217; (Rhody couldn&#8217;t
+come to the fence, &#8217;cause Mis&#8217; Curtis
+called her back when she started), I
+says to him, &#8216;Jim,&#8217; says I, &#8216;Rhody looks
+mighty bad; I&#8217;m feered she&#8217;s doin&#8217; too
+much this hot weather.&#8217; You see, it
+was September, an&#8217; you know what
+tirin&#8217; weather we sometimes have in
+September.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Oh, she&#8217;s all right,&#8217; says Jim.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;No, she ain&#8217;t,&#8217; says I.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Jim laughed, and his face reddened
+up, and says I,</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;You better take good care of her,
+Jim; she&#8217;s not a strong woman like
+your mother; she can&#8217;t stand everything,&#8217;
+an&#8217; no more she couldn&#8217;t, pore
+little thing.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, the very nex&#8217; Sunday, here
+came Jim and Rhody to see us. An&#8217; I
+tell you the ole man an&#8217; me was that
+glad he would have Rhody sing for us,
+an&#8217; she sang some of the songs he
+liked, but not many; she said she
+hadn&#8217;t sung any fur so long it tired
+her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Why don&#8217;t you sing, Rhody?&#8217; says
+the ole man; &#8216;you used to sing like a
+bird.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;I guess I&#8217;m not like a bird any
+more, Uncle Jonathan,&#8217; she says. An&#8217;
+then she sighed, but catchin&#8217; Jim lookin&#8217;
+at her, she lightened up and says,
+&#8216;I am an old married woman now.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;After a while Jim an&#8217; the ole man
+they went out to the stable, and then
+the pore little darlin&#8217; says,</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Oh, Aunt Nancy, I&#8217;d be the happiest
+woman in the world if Jim and
+me was livin&#8217; by ourselves! Mother
+Curtis is a good woman, but somehow
+I can&#8217;t please her, an&#8217; I try so hard.
+Sometimes I&#8217;m so tired I can&#8217;t sleep or
+eat, an&#8217; she thinks I&#8217;m puttin&#8217; on airs,
+she calls it, an&#8217; she&#8217;s allus saying she
+pities a man with a do-nothin&#8217;, whiny
+wife.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;It&#8217;s a shame!&#8217; says I; &#8216;why don&#8217;t
+you tell Jim, and coax him to get another
+place?&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Oh, Aunt Nancy,&#8217; she says, wipin&#8217;
+her purty eyes, &#8216;I can&#8217;t bear to make
+trouble, and what would Pap Curtis
+do? He&#8217;s awful good to us. He brings
+me candy and sometimes oranges from
+town, and gives &#8217;em to me when she
+don&#8217;t see him, and he often helps
+me, too; gets wood and water and
+milks the cows&mdash;but there&#8217;s Jim with
+the buggy,&#8217; and off she went.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I made up my mind to have another
+talk with Jim Curtis, but laws!
+we never can tell. The ole man he
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span>
+took the bed with rheumatiks
+in October, and
+I never seen anybody
+much fur three months,
+and then our Sarah&#8217;s baby
+was born, and I was over
+there awhile, an&#8217; my own
+worriments drove other
+people&#8217;s clean out of my
+head, till one day &#8217;long
+the last of February Jonathan
+came in (he&#8217;d be&#8217;n
+to town for somethin&#8217; or
+other), an&#8217; says he,</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:453px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_45' id='linki_45'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus234.png' alt='' title='' width='453' height='600' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Nancy, Rhody&#8217;s got
+a boy!&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Laws! I was jist as
+s&#8217;prised as ef I&#8217;d never
+thought of sich a thing,
+an&#8217; says I, &#8216;Who tole
+you?&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Ole man Curtis,&#8217;
+says he, &#8216;an&#8217; he&#8217;s that sot
+up he wants you to come
+right over.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;An&#8217; so I will,&#8217; says I.
+&#8216;The blessed darlin&#8217;; an&#8217;
+it&#8217;s a boy, an&#8217; our Sarah&#8217;s
+is a boy, too. Well, that
+beats me.&#8217; An&#8217; I &#8217;low
+&#8217;twas odd, Mis&#8217; Johnson;&#8221;
+and Mrs. Johnson
+&#8220;&#8217;lowed&#8221; it was, too,
+and the story went on:</p>
+<p>&#8220;In a day or two I managed to go
+over to the Curtis place, an&#8217; though
+Mary Ann Curtis didn&#8217;t seem over-pleased
+to see me, I&#8217;ll say that for her,
+she treated me well enough, and asked
+me right up stairs to see Rhody and
+the baby. My! but my girl was glad
+to see me!</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Aunt Nancy,&#8217; she says, &#8216;is Sarah&#8217;s
+baby bigger&#8217;n mine?&#8217; and she turned
+down the kiver and showed me the
+littlest mite of a boy, with such a
+wrinkled old face! I wonder what
+does make a pore weakly baby look so
+much like old folks, anyhow. Did you
+ever notice it, Mis&#8217; Johnson?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes, often,&#8221; said Mrs. Johnson.
+&#8220;There was my Silas, looked just like
+his Grandfather Johnson when he was
+born. But was her baby weakly?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I saw it was in a minute,&#8221; said Aunt
+Nancy, &#8220;but I never let on. I looked
+at the baby an&#8217; praised it all I could&mdash;said
+it wasn&#8217;t as big as Sary&#8217;s, but size
+was nothin&#8217;.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mis&#8217; Curtis she sniffed sort o&#8217; scornful,
+an&#8217; says she, &#8216;The child might have
+been bigger ef its mother&#8217;d knowed
+how to take keer of herself;&#8217; an&#8217; then
+she says, &#8216;Well, I ain&#8217;t no time to be
+a-foolin&#8217;. I must go to work.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;I suppose you&#8217;ve got a girl?&#8217;
+says I.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;No, I ain&#8217;t,&#8217; says she; &#8216;an&#8217; what&#8217;s
+more, I don&#8217;t want one. I never seen
+one yet that they didn&#8217;t eat an&#8217; waste
+more than their work came to, let alone
+their wages;&#8217; an&#8217; off she went down-stairs.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Rhody said nothing for a minute,
+an&#8217; I didn&#8217;t, either. We just looked at
+the baby, an&#8217; it begun to pucker its face
+and cry a little, &#8217;bout as loud as a young
+kitten. I thought of Sary&#8217;s squaller of
+a boy, but I didn&#8217;t say anything, and
+when it was quiet Rhody says:</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Aunt Nancy, is my baby like Sary&#8217;s
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span>
+baby?&#8217; and she looked so pitiful I felt
+as if I could cry.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Well,&#8217; I says, &#8216;Sary&#8217;s is bigger.
+Why do you ask that?&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Her lips quivered, an&#8217; she says:</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Everybody &#8217;at sees it says, &#8220;What
+an old-fashioned baby! Poor little
+thing! Re&#8217;ly it&#8217;s so odd-looking.&#8221; Is
+it odd, Aunt Nancy? An&#8217; is there fashions
+in babies? I thought babies were
+all alike;&#8217; an&#8217; she tried to smile while
+tears rolled down her white face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I tried to cheer her up. She was a
+baby herself&mdash;only a little over eighteen,
+you know; an&#8217; I went down and
+made her some toast and tea, and then
+fed the baby and got it to sleep, an&#8217;
+left her feelin&#8217; pretty cheerful.</p>
+<p>&#8220;After that I went over as often as
+ever I could, and sometimes carried a
+little somethin&#8217; I cooked to Rhody, but
+I saw Mis&#8217; Curtis didn&#8217;t thank me.
+Once she&#8217;s good as said so&mdash;said her
+victuals was good &#8217;nough for anybody.
+Says I, &#8216;Sick folks like strange
+cookin&#8217; sometimes, Mis&#8217; Curtis, an&#8217;
+Rhody allus liked my ways.&#8217; Which
+was an unfortunate thing for me to
+say, fur Mis&#8217; Curtis she flew all to
+pieces, and said I put mischief in
+Rhody&#8217;s head.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_46' id='linki_46'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus235.png' alt='' title='' width='631' height='497' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Here,&#8217; she says, &#8216;is her baby three
+weeks old, an&#8217; her barely settin&#8217; up.
+Your Sary was at work afore her baby
+was that old, an&#8217; I know it; an&#8217; if Mis&#8217;
+Rhody can&#8217;t wait on herself now, she
+can go &#8217;thout waitin&#8217; on for all of me,&#8217;
+she says.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Mis&#8217; Curtis,&#8217; says I, &#8216;my Sary&#8217;s a
+different woman from Rhody.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;I guess she is,&#8217; says Mis&#8217; Curtis,
+mad as fire.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;An,&#8217; says I, &#8216;Jim ought to get
+somebody to help wait on Rhody and
+take care of the baby,&#8217; says I, &#8216;or else
+it&#8217;s my &#8217;pinion he won&#8217;t have &#8217;em long;
+fur,&#8217; says I, &#8216;Rhody&#8217;s gettin&#8217; weaker
+instead of stronger, and she ain&#8217;t got
+milk fur that pore baby.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then Mis&#8217; Curtis she jes&#8217; let loose,
+an&#8217; I ketched it. She said it was all
+my doin&#8217;s that Jim married that pore
+no-&#8217;count, stuck-up school-mistress, an&#8217;
+brought her there to be waited on, an&#8217;
+she knowed it all along, and now I
+needn&#8217;t come a-tryin&#8217; to make out as
+Rhody wasn&#8217;t treated well, fur she had
+wore herself out trottin&#8217; up and down
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span>
+stairs, an&#8217; she didn&#8217;t mean to do it any
+longer.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Just then the kitchen door was
+opened, and old Mr. Curtis came in.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Why, howdy, Aunt Nancy?&#8217; says
+he as cheerful, though I knowed he
+must have seen somethin&#8217; was up.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; interrupted Mrs. Johnson angrily,
+&#8220;that&#8217;s the way people do, and
+call it keepin&#8217; peace. I despise sich
+ways. Why didn&#8217;t he make her behave
+herself? Suppose there was a fuss; ef
+she&#8217;d found he was goin&#8217; to be boss,
+she&#8217;d soon give up.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I guess not, Mis&#8217; Johnson,&#8221; said the
+other; &#8220;she had sich a temper.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;As if I didn&#8217;t know that! an&#8217; I
+know when folks give up to sich tempers
+they make &#8217;em worse. Wouldn&#8217;t
+it been better if ole man Curtis had jes&#8217;
+let her see from the first that he didn&#8217;t
+care for her temper? Why, she jesso
+natrally drove her girls to marry; and
+think of poor Molly tied to that
+drunken, shiftless Ned Pelton, and Betsy
+married to a old widower with seven or
+eight children, and him nearly as old
+as her father! I tell you, Aunt Nancy,
+Curtis is to blame.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said the old lady gently,
+&#8220;I went up-stairs and found Rhody
+looking better&#8217;n I expected, with that
+midget of a baby with its eyes wide
+open on her lap. She was glad to see
+me.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;O Aunt Nancy!&#8217; she cried before
+I got my bunnit off, &#8216;Jim has rented
+the old Duncan place, and as soon as I
+am able we are going there to live. He
+is over there now, fixing up.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Aha!&#8217; thought I, &#8216;that&#8217;s what&#8217;s
+up!&#8217; but I said I was glad, and that I
+had brought her some sponge cake and
+other things; an&#8217; I &#8217;mused the baby
+while she et a little&mdash;a mighty little, I
+was sorry to see; but she went on to
+tell me Jim had been to the doctor
+about her, an&#8217; he said she needed tonics,
+and he sent her some, an&#8217; she was
+goin&#8217; to take the med&#8217;cin&#8217; an&#8217; would
+soon be well and strong, an&#8217; so happy!
+&#8216;But, Aunt Nancy,&#8217; she says, &#8216;baby
+don&#8217;t grow a bit. I&#8217;m afraid he is too
+old-fashioned. Mother Curtis says I
+don&#8217;t stir &#8217;round enough to get an appetite.
+Do you think that&#8217;s it&mdash;that
+baby don&#8217;t get enough to make him
+grow because I can&#8217;t eat?&#8217; She looked
+so weak and pitiful.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I says, &#8216;Well, it ain&#8217;t your fault; I
+reckon you can&#8217;t make yourself eat.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;She laughed a little. &#8216;You are such
+a comfort, auntie!&#8217; she says; &#8216;but that
+wonderful tonic&#8217;ll set me up again.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;An&#8217; so I left her an&#8217; went home,
+promising to be back in a day or two
+an&#8217; take her home with me for a little
+visit if she was strong enough. You&#8217;d
+jes&#8217; oughter to seen her face when I
+said that; it jes&#8217; lit up.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Mother Curtis?&#8217; she whispered.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Oh,&#8217; says I, &#8216;she&#8217;ll be glad to get
+rid of you for a while,&#8217; an&#8217; I went off
+plannin&#8217; how I&#8217;d see Jim and make him
+bring her over. But it did seem as if
+there was a spite to be worked out agin
+me, for that very evenin&#8217; it set in to
+rain, an&#8217; that stiffened the ole man up
+bad, an&#8217; for days he could not move
+hisself, an&#8217; I was kep&#8217; close at home
+for three weeks, hearin&#8217; from the neighbors
+every once in a while that Rhody
+was gainin&#8217; slowly, but the baby wasn&#8217;t
+right somehow.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, Jonathan got able to hobble
+round again, an&#8217; a purty spell of weather
+sot in, but there was garden to make, an&#8217;
+soap to bile, an&#8217; another week slipped
+away, an&#8217; I says to Jonathan, says I,
+&#8216;As sure as I live I am going to see
+Rhody to-morrer ef old Mis&#8217; Curtis&#8217;ll
+let me in;&#8217; an&#8217; the words wasn&#8217;t hardly
+out of my mouth when somebody
+knocked at the door. &#8216;Come in,&#8217; says
+I, and who was it but old man Curtis,
+looking like a ghost. &#8216;What&#8217;s the
+matter?&#8217; says I. He r&#8217;al&#8217;y couldn&#8217;t
+speak for a minit, an&#8217; then he got out
+somethin&#8217; &#8217;bout Rhody an&#8217; the baby,
+and comin&#8217;, but I sensed it all, an&#8217; in
+less&#8217;n a minit I was ready an&#8217; in the
+buggy with him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;From what I could make out as we
+druv as fast as we could, Jim had been
+away from home over to the Duncan
+place from airly in the mornin&#8217; till
+about five o&#8217;clock that afternoon. When
+he got home he run right up to Rhody&#8217;s
+room, an&#8217; found her a-settin&#8217; there with
+the baby in her arms, asleep he thought,
+but when he spoke to Rhody she began
+to scream, so that he was scared
+an&#8217; tuk hold of the baby an&#8217; it was
+dead.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span></div>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Then he hollered,&#8217; said the old
+man, &#8216;an&#8217; me an&#8217; Mary Ann an&#8217; Tom
+(that&#8217;s the hired man) ran up there, fur
+we was jes&#8217; settin&#8217; down to supper, an&#8217;
+when we saw what it was Tom went for
+the doctor and I came for you.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;An&#8217; oh, Mis&#8217; Johnson, I never want
+to see such sights agin! The baby was
+dead, sure enough, poor little thing,
+an&#8217; out of its misery, but Rhody, she
+jes&#8217; went out o&#8217;
+one faint into
+another till the
+doctor came, an&#8217;
+then we worked
+over her a long
+time, an&#8217; when
+she quit faintin&#8217;
+she was ravin&#8217; in
+a high fever.
+Dangerous, the
+doctor said, an&#8217;
+turned everybody
+but Jim an&#8217;
+me out o&#8217; the
+room. Such an
+awful time!
+Rhody would
+scream, &#8216;Oh, do
+come, Mother!
+Mother! Mother!
+Baby&#8217;s
+dyin&#8217;!&#8217; till she
+couldn&#8217;t scream
+any more, an&#8217;
+then she&#8217;d ask
+for the baby, an&#8217;
+lie still, waitin&#8217;
+like, an&#8217; then
+scream again.</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:351px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_47' id='linki_47'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus238.png' alt='' title='' width='351' height='624' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;It was midnight
+before the
+doctor got her
+quiet, and then
+she lay in a
+stupor like, with Jim settin&#8217; watchin&#8217;
+her. Then I thought of the pore baby
+an&#8217; went to see about it, but some of
+the other neighbors hed come in, an&#8217; I
+found they had it laid out nice in the
+parlor.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mis&#8217; Curtis was settin&#8217; by the kitchen
+stove, fur it was a cool evenin&#8217;, an&#8217; I
+says to her, &#8216;Mary Ann,&#8217; says I, &#8216;what
+ailed the child? It was tuk suddent,
+wasn&#8217;t it?&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;She looked at me. I knowed she
+was mad as well as feelin&#8217; bad, but she
+didn&#8217;t want to show it then, an&#8217; she
+says,</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Yes, I reckon you might say it was,
+&#8217;though I never spected the child to
+live from the first. What&#8217;d Jim marry
+that no-&#8217;count spindly girl fur? He
+might &#8217;a &#8217;knowed.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Mis&#8217; Curtis,&#8217; says I, &#8216;Rhody&#8217;ll
+not trouble you long; and it&#8217;s my belief,&#8217;
+says I,
+&#8216;you&#8217;ve hurried
+her into her
+grave.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;It&#8217;s no sich
+thing,&#8217; says she.
+&#8216;I waited on her
+as good as if she
+was my own; but
+I had lots to do
+to-day, an&#8217; I tole
+her this mornin&#8217;
+I was done packin&#8217;
+victuals up
+stairs for a lazy
+trollop like her,
+an&#8217; she could
+come down to
+dinner if she
+wanted any.
+She&#8217;s plenty able
+to, Nancy Riley,
+an&#8217; it&#8217;s my &#8217;pinion
+she didn&#8217;t
+take half care of
+that baby. An&#8217;
+she set Jim agin
+me. He&#8217;s fixin&#8217;
+to go off to live
+by hisself.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I jes&#8217; turned
+round and left
+her, an&#8217; she
+bounced up an&#8217;
+says to one of
+the women, &#8216;I spect you&#8217;re all hungry,
+an&#8217; I&#8217;ll get supper&#8217;; an&#8217; in spite of all
+they could do, to work she went.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes,&#8221; said Mrs. Johnson, &#8220;the
+madder she got the harder she&#8217;d work,
+an&#8217; a mighty good worker, too, she
+was; but how did that poor Rhody get
+along?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, she lay quiet all that mornin&#8217;,
+but about the middle of the afternoon
+she roused up and seemed to know me
+an&#8217; Jim, an&#8217; asked for the baby.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span></div>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;It&#8217;s down stairs, Rhody,&#8217; says I.</p>
+<p>&#8220;She looked at me so queer.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Is it?&#8217; she said. &#8216;Mother was
+mad, Jim, an&#8217; wouldn&#8217;t come up stairs;
+an&#8217; baby was so sick, an&#8217; I tried to call
+her, an&#8217; I couldn&#8217;t make her hear, an&#8217;
+then I tried to go down stairs an&#8217; I
+couldn&#8217;t, an&#8217; baby got so stiff and cold,
+an&#8217; I couldn&#8217;t get him warm.&#8217; An&#8217; then,
+O Mis&#8217; Johnson, she began to scream
+again. It was awful, but after a while
+she was still again for several hours,
+an&#8217; I tried to get Jim to lay down, but
+he wouldn&#8217;t leave her; an&#8217; his mother
+come up for him to get him to go down
+an&#8217; eat somethin&#8217;, but he jes&#8217; looked at
+her, an&#8217; she went an&#8217; left him.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_48' id='linki_48'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus239.png' alt='' title='' width='556' height='610' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;It was night when Rhody roused
+up agin&#8217;, an&#8217; she looked so much better
+out of her eyes that I felt sort a cheered.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Jim,&#8217; she says, whispering, &#8216;is that
+Aunt Nancy?&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Yes, dear,&#8217; he says.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;An&#8217; has she got the baby?&#8217; she
+went on.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, Jim didn&#8217;t say nothin&#8217;, pore
+feller, an&#8217; she says,</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Aunt Nancy, when Jim an&#8217; me&#8217;s
+keepin&#8217; house you&#8217;ll come an&#8217; see
+us?&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Yes, dear,&#8217; I says. &#8216;Now go to
+sleep, like a good girl.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;All right,&#8217; she says, &#8216;you keep the
+baby, an&#8217;, Jim, kiss me good night. I
+love you&mdash;Jim. We&#8217;ll be&mdash;so happy&mdash;by&mdash;ourselves.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The last words were a long time
+comin&#8217;, an&#8217; Jim, after he kissed her,
+looked at me an&#8217; whispered, &#8216;Send for
+the doctor.&#8217; I hurried out, but before
+the doctor came he was not
+needed. Rhody had said her last good
+night.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;How did Mary Ann take it?&#8221; said
+Mrs. Johnson, wiping her eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Laws, she tuk on like all possessed,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span>
+cried and hollered till I thought she&#8217;d
+go inter fits; but somehow I felt sorrier
+for the ole man. He&#8217;d stan&#8217; an&#8217;
+look at the pore thing after she was
+laid out, an&#8217; the big tears&#8217;d run down
+his wrinkled face, an&#8217; he says to me,
+&#8216;She&#8217;s too good fur this world, Nancy,
+Rhody was.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+<p>Just then the brakeman shouted the
+name of the town at which I was
+to stop, and I must gather up my
+traps. I leaned over and whispered to
+&#8220;Aunt Nancy,&#8221; &#8220;What did poor Jim
+do?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The old lady&#8217;s face flushed. &#8220;Was
+you a-listenin&#8217;?&#8221; says she.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I couldn&#8217;t help it,&#8221; I said. &#8220;Poor
+Rhoda! But what about Jim, Aunt
+Nancy?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;This way, Madam,&#8221; said the conductor
+briskly. &#8220;Let me have your
+valise.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Jim?&#8221; she whispered excitedly, &#8220;he
+like to went wild, but he was mighty
+quiet, an&#8217; soon&#8217;s the funeral was over
+he sold everything he had and went
+to Californy.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Did he forgive his mother?&#8221; I
+asked, but the conductor took my arm
+and marched me out, and to this day I
+am wondering about &#8220;Jim&#8221; and his
+mother and &#8220;ole man Curtis.&#8221; If I
+knew where &#8220;Aunt Nancy&#8221; lived, I
+would write to her.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_49' id='linki_49'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus240.png' alt='' title='' width='627' height='272' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span>
+<a name='MRS_GLADSTONE_AND_HER_GOOD_WORKS_BY_MARY_G_BURNETT' id='MRS_GLADSTONE_AND_HER_GOOD_WORKS_BY_MARY_G_BURNETT'></a>
+<h2>MRS. GLADSTONE AND HER GOOD WORKS.
+<span class='chsub'> <br /><br /><span class='smcap'>By Mary G. Burnett.</span></span></h2>
+</div>
+<p>The mistress of Hawarden Castle
+is something more than the devoted
+wife of the great statesman who
+sways the destinies of Great Britain.
+She has a notable personality of her
+own, worthy in its energy and sagacity
+of him with whom her life is linked.
+While the husband&#8217;s career has always
+been interwoven with the highest
+affairs of state, the wife has shown her
+genius for administration by the charitable
+enterprises in which she has taken
+so active a part. Most things come
+about naturally as the effect of growth;
+and it is interesting to go back to the
+childhood of Mrs. Gladstone to trace
+the influences which directed her mind
+to deeds of beneficence. Things have
+changed since Mrs. Gladstone was a
+little girl, living with her sister and
+brothers at Hawarden Castle, nearly
+eighty years ago.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Gladstone&#8217;s father, Sir Stephen
+Glynne, died young, when his eldest
+daughter Catherine (Mrs. Gladstone)
+was scarcely five years old. Tradition
+remembers him as a very handsome,
+lively-minded man, and it is said that
+Catherine Glynne grew up very like her
+father. One of Mrs. Gladstone&#8217;s first
+vivid impressions is of the fright she
+got by seeing the &#8220;mutes,&#8221; then the
+fashion at important funerals, standing
+about the castle while her dead father
+lay in state. It gave her a life-long
+horror of elaborate and expensive
+funerals. Her father was succeeded
+in the baronetcy and estates by his
+eldest son, Stephen Richard, then but
+a little boy of eight. Lady Glynne, a
+daughter of Lord Brabrooke, was left
+with the sole charge of the property
+and the children. She was a beautiful
+woman of strong character. Fortunately
+about this time her brother, the
+Honorable George Neville, came to
+be rector of Hawarden parish. The
+castle and rectory were within a quarter
+hour&#8217;s walk of each other, and it was
+a precious boon for Lady Glynne to
+have her brother&#8217;s judicious help in the
+management of the large estates, and
+in the education of her two boys and
+her two girls.</p>
+<p>This was about the year 1813. At
+that date Hawarden, in common with a
+village in Cheshire, had the deserved
+reputation of being the most wicked
+place in all the country round. Mr.
+Neville, with Lady Glynne&#8217;s consent,
+closed the worst of the public houses,
+and inaugurated a system of education
+for the parish, setting up schools in
+Hawarden village and in the districts
+round.</p>
+<h3>MRS. GLADSTONE&#8217;S EARLY TRAINING.</h3>
+<p>It was a serious problem at the outset
+to obtain either teachers or scholars.
+It was necessary to employ bribery to
+get the mothers to send their children
+to school, and the aid of Lady Glynne
+and her young girls was brought to
+bear, in the first place, to talk the
+mothers over; and, secondly, to prepare
+a store of frocks, coats, cloaks,
+and other useful garments. These were
+given away as Christmas prizes, to
+recompense the mothers for remitting
+the services of their little girls, and
+the pence which the boys could pick
+up at scaring crows and such like juvenile
+occupations.</p>
+<p>It was a matter of still greater
+difficulty to find teachers who knew
+anything of the art of instruction;
+this was long before the day of colleges
+for elementary teachers. An old
+woman at Hawarden boasted to me
+that she had received for many years
+a Christmas prize for regular attendance
+at school. Naturally the question
+was asked: &#8220;How was it, then, Mrs.
+Catheral, you never learned either to
+read or write?&#8221;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span></div>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I never wanted to,&#8221; said she.
+&#8220;I never tried. But I liked the pretty
+frock or warm cloak the Miss Glynnes
+always gave us for prizes at Christmas
+time, if we went to school regular.&#8221;
+Then she added, &#8220;Bless you! you
+should have seen the prizes in those
+days! They were worth looking at;
+none of your books and rubbish, like
+what children get in these days.&#8221; In
+such an atmosphere did the children of
+Lady Glynne grow up, systematically
+trained to assist their mother and uncle
+in everything they projected for the
+parish good. Then came the full tide
+of the Oxford movement, which swept
+like a wave of light and heat through
+the sluggish heart of English religious
+and social reform, though it landed
+some of its brightest lights afterwards
+in Romanism. The names of Pusey,
+Keble, Manning, and Newman were
+household words at Hawarden Castle.
+Catherine&#8217;s brothers were then at
+Christ Church, Oxford; and, in the
+midst of it all, intimate with the leaders
+of the movement, amongst whom
+were young Gladstone and many other
+brilliant young men, destined to be
+friends through life of those two
+bright and beautiful young girls at
+Hawarden.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_50' id='linki_50'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus242.png' alt='' title='' width='632' height='524' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+THE OLD AND NEW CASTLE OF HAWARDEN.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>Thus a happy childhood matured
+into womanhood, under revolutionary
+influences. The breezes of intellectual
+and spiritual awakening stirred the air.
+Theirs never was a life of mere social
+excitement which so often plunges the
+<i>d�butante</i> into a whirl of pleasure without
+feeding the better life. They entered,
+it is true, into all the pleasures
+of London seasons, their beauty and
+bright minds fitting them to enjoy these
+to the full. But behind and above it
+all was the intelligence which kept
+them in touch with the movement of
+their day&mdash;a movement which, when
+turned into practical channels, brought
+about, for example, the great work of
+Florence Nightingale, who re-created
+the hospital-nursing service. The same
+potency inspired the establishment of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span>
+homes and refuges and many of the
+philanthropic schemes which have made
+the last forty years so notable. Certain
+it is that Catherine Glynne came
+under the influence of the Oxford movement,
+and was predisposed by it to take
+a leading part in the philanthropic
+work of the
+day.</p>
+<h3>MARRIAGE AND PHILANTHROPY.</h3>
+<div class='figright' style='width:196px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_51' id='linki_51'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus243a.png' alt='' title='' width='196' height='233' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+MISS GLYNNE (MRS. GLADSTONE), 1838.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>In 1839 she married
+William Ewart Gladstone,
+whose great genius already
+foreshadowed his
+future eminence. The
+same day her younger sister
+married Lord Lyttleton.
+Those who were eye-witnesses
+of that double
+wedding, and all the wonderful
+festivities in the village, are becoming
+few, indeed. In her married
+life Mrs. Gladstone found occupation
+to the full. She was always the true
+and careful mother who would not give
+over her duties to another, even to the
+best of nurses. She was devoted to
+her husband in his incessant political
+toils. She did not need to look around
+her for work. Still her assistance was
+from the first prompt to the furtherance
+of any schemes where a helping
+hand was needed.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Gladstone soon became a centre
+for philanthropic
+work of all kinds.
+She and Mr. Gladstone
+started Newport
+Market Refuge,
+which is now
+carried on at
+Westminster, with
+an industrial
+school attached.
+Begun in Soho in
+1863, it was Mr.
+Gladstone&#8217;s idea,
+for he saw many
+friendless wanderers
+as he went at night between the
+House of Commons and his home.
+Mrs. Gladstone threw herself into his
+scheme, and the work was started with
+an efficient committee. From the beginning
+Mr. Gladstone has been president
+and his wife a regular visitor.
+The object of the refuge is to give
+shelter to persons out of work and in
+temporary distress, to enable them to
+tide over their difficulties, and to find
+fresh employment. It
+does not take in the practised
+casual, or loafer, but
+weary, sore-footed travellers,
+who have walked far
+in search of work and
+found none. Such are always
+admitted as far as
+room permits, and have
+the assurance of a week&#8217;s
+lodging free, with the
+prospect of an extension
+of time if the committee
+see a reasonable chance
+of their getting work.</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:318px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_52' id='linki_52'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus243b.png' alt='' title='' width='318' height='224' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+THE ORPHANAGE, HAWARDEN.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>In the course of a single
+year about thirteen thousand
+nights&#8217; lodgings and thirty thousand
+rations have been granted, and
+three hundred and nine men and women
+have obtained employment, or else have
+been sent home to their friends.</p>
+<p>It need scarcely be said to those
+who have kept pace with recent events
+that the most vital feature of General
+Booth&#8217;s great work in London follows
+closely the model set by the Gladstone
+institution.</p>
+<p>It was soon found advisable to add
+a Boys&#8217; Industrial School to the work
+of the Refuge. Many lads in distress
+were constantly
+being discovered,
+who would certainly
+drift into a
+life of idleness
+and dishonesty if
+not taken in hand.
+So the managers
+of the Refuge determined
+to try
+this novel combination&mdash;refuge
+and
+school&mdash;which,
+hazardous as it was
+at its commencement,
+has proved an entire success.</p>
+<p>In 1866 a sharp epidemic of cholera
+reached England, and the East End of
+London was severely attacked. Mrs.
+Gladstone came in contact with it, in
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span>
+her regular visits to the London hospital.
+Whole families were brought in
+together, some to die, others to recover.
+Parents dying left their children
+behind them, friendless and helpless.
+Mrs. Gladstone carried away
+many of the poor little wretches virtually
+in her arms. They were naked,
+for their only clothing had to be
+burned, but she found cloaks and blankets
+to wrap them in, and took them
+with her to her own house or to lodgings
+which she had provided.</p>
+<p>She induced her friends to furnish
+fresh garments without delay, and she
+rented an empty house at Clapton,
+wherein to lodge her orphans. She
+set about raising money to provide for
+their needs and those of other cholera
+patients. She wrote a letter to the
+&#8220;Times,&#8221; asking subscriptions for this
+object, and speedily five thousand
+pounds rolled in. With this she was
+able to keep her little cholera orphans
+in comfort. One who saw the sight,
+when she accompanied Mrs. Gladstone
+to Clapton, says she can never forget it.
+As soon as the door was opened she
+was surrounded by the little ones, who
+clung to her and almost overwhelmed
+her in their eagerness to obtain a caress
+from the one they loved so dearly.</p>
+<p>VARIED ENTERPRISES OF AN ACTIVE
+LIFE.</p>
+<p>Her Free Convalescent Home had
+its genesis in the necessities of the sick
+poor, brought to light by this cholera
+epidemic. It was forced upon her
+notice that many, who had passed
+safely through the dangers of acute
+disease, relapsed into serious, and
+sometimes fatal, illness for lack of
+that timely change of air, wholesome
+food and comfortable lodging which
+they were unable to find at home.
+There were convalescent establishments
+in operation, but it was found
+that they were already full, or else
+admission was hampered by such conditions
+of privileged tickets, weekly payments,
+and distance, that, before these
+could be complied with, the evils
+sought to be averted had actually
+occurred.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Gladstone determined to establish
+a Convalescent Home, where
+admission could be quickly arranged,
+free of cost. She called to her aid a
+committee of ladies and gentlemen,
+qualified by business experience, professional
+knowledge, or familiarity with
+the needs of the poor, to co�perate
+with her. Such confidence did she
+inspire, that a beginning was quickly
+made in a house at Snaresbrook, the
+remainder of the lease being made
+over to Mrs. Gladstone and her committee.
+When the lease came to an
+end, the convalescents were transferred
+for a short time to the houses
+which Mrs. Gladstone had at Clapton,
+but in 1868 a freehold property, known
+as Woodsford Hall, most healthily situated
+in Essex, was bought by the
+committee. Here this good work has
+been carried on ever since. It is a
+charming house close to the forest, surrounded
+by lawns and trees and flowers.
+In fine weather the house is
+nearly empty all day long. The invalids
+from the squalid city lanes spend
+their time in the forest, gathering wild
+flowers, and drinking in the perfumed
+air which pours rich draughts of health
+and strength into their wasted bodies.</p>
+<p>When in London, Mrs. Gladstone has
+for nearly a quarter of a century gone
+down to the London Hospital every
+Monday morning, to examine into the
+circumstances of those who apply to
+go down to Woodsford. The clergy
+and ministers of all denominations in
+the parishes around the London Hospital
+have a right to send their sick
+poor with a note of recommendation,
+but those who are recovering in the
+London Hospital have the special
+claim. The business is carefully supervised
+by Mrs. Gladstone and her assistants,
+even to the day of going, and
+the train. Attention is always directed
+to the express object of the home&mdash;as
+a resort solely for those who have been
+ill, are slowly recovering, and require,
+for complete restoration to health,
+change of air, good food, rest, and
+kindly treatment.</p>
+<p>Every year more than a thousand
+men, women, and children enjoy the
+benefit of this retreat. One report
+gives the numbers at six hundred and
+thirty-nine men, three hundred and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span>
+sixty-nine women, seventy boys, and
+forty girls. The large excess of men
+and boys over women and girls has revealed
+the fact that working men are
+much more liable than are women, not
+only to accidents, but to disease. This
+holds good among the children, as more
+sickness rages among the boys than
+among the girls. In this great undertaking
+Mrs. Gladstone has been ably
+assisted by many friends, among whom
+may be specially mentioned her niece,
+Lady Frederick Cavendish, whose terribly
+imposed sorrow has always found
+relief in works of love and charity. It
+is impossible, too, to say good-by to
+the Free Convalescent Home at Woodsford
+without mentioning Miss Simmons,
+the superintendent for many years&mdash;an
+ideal mother for such a home. To
+see her play games with the patients
+is something one remembers, for the
+humor with which it is done and the
+mirth it creates. Mrs. Gladstone herself
+delights the patients on her visits
+by playing dance music to them. Her
+country dances and Sir Roger de Coverely
+are special favorites.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_53' id='linki_53'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus246.png' alt='' title='' width='503' height='625' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+THE INMATES OF WOODSFORD HALL IN THE FOREST.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>Another prominent feature of her
+charities is the orphanage at Hawarden,
+which arose out of the American war
+of 1862, and the subsequent cotton
+famine in Lancashire.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Gladstone&#8217;s brother, Sir Stephen
+Glynne, was alive, and Mr. and Mrs.
+Gladstone lived at Hawarden Castle
+with him. When the distress was most
+severe, Mr. Gladstone collected a number
+of men who were idle in Lancashire,
+and found them employment in cutting
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span>
+foot-paths through the park and woods
+of Hawarden&mdash;as he could not give
+them work which would displace any of
+the permanent laborers on the estates.
+At the same time Mrs. Gladstone sent
+for some of their young daughters,
+and her brother, Sir Stephen, gave her
+the use of a nice old house which stood
+in the courtyard, formerly the dower
+house belonging to the Ravenscrofts,
+who in time past had owned Hawarden
+Castle, then called &#8220;Broad Lane
+Hall.&#8221; (The heiress of the Ravenscrofts
+had married Mrs. Gladstone&#8217;s
+great-grandfather, Sir John Glynne.)
+This dower house Mrs. Gladstone
+converted into a training home for
+the girls, under the charge of a very
+charming nurse of her own children,
+who had lately married. The experiment
+proved a great success. The girls
+had all worked in the mills, but they
+learned quickly something of domestic
+work. Then Mrs. Gladstone found
+them places amongst her own friends
+in the neighborhood, whereupon she
+was able to send for more girls to be
+similarly assisted. Some of them were
+lovely young women, and most of them
+married extremely well while in service.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_54' id='linki_54'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus247.png' alt='' title='' width='603' height='437' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+THE ANNUAL LUNCH PARTY OF THE NOTTING HILL SCHOOL GIRLS.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>In the autumn of 1867 Mrs. Gladstone
+brought down about a dozen of
+her orphans from Clapton and lodged
+them in another small house, which her
+brother had lent to her. These she put
+under the care of a widow with a little
+boy of her own. There they dwelt
+happily, going every day up to the village
+to attend the infant school. When
+the Lancashire distress was quite over,
+and all need of the old dower house
+at an end for the mill girls, Mrs. Gladstone
+transferred her Clapton orphans
+there, and added to their number other
+children whose fathers and mothers had
+died in the London Hospital. When
+the orphanage was properly established
+in the larger house, it accommodated
+comfortably about thirty children. Experience
+taught Mrs. Gladstone that
+poor parents found it more difficult to
+provide for and manage their boys
+than their girls. So the Hawarden orphanage
+has come to be filled by boys.
+They attend the parish schools till they
+are old enough to be apprenticed to
+trades. There is now a whole army of
+well-doing young men who have been
+brought up in the Hawarden Castle orphanage.
+It is still in full tide of the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span>
+work it has carried on for over twenty-five
+years.</p>
+<p>About 1880 a home for training young
+women for service was opened at Notting
+Hill, London, under the management
+of a committee of ladies. The
+object of the home was to take girls
+under its protection who had bad homes,
+and were therefore likely to be totally
+neglected and to drift into a life of uselessness
+and vice. Mrs. Gladstone was
+asked to become the president, and
+consented. It is organized on a small
+scale, a fact much in favor of its purpose.
+Not more than fifteen girls are
+there at one time, and a few lady boarders
+are taken in, as this works well
+for training the girls in the various
+branches of domestic service. The
+proud characteristic of the school is
+its determination never to despair of
+any pupil, however discouraging she
+may be in her first trial of service. The
+reward seems great when a girl, who
+has failed in several places, at last finds
+a mistress who understands her and
+draws out the best in her, when she receives
+praise as a good servant instead
+of the fault-finding hitherto her portion.
+There are now numbers of respectable,
+well-doing servants who have been
+trained here, and the institution has
+proved a boon to employers as well as
+the employed.</p>
+<h3>A CROWN OF HONOR.</h3>
+<div class='figright' style='width:458px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_55' id='linki_55'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus248.png' alt='' title='' width='458' height='558' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+MRS. GLADSTONE TO-DAY.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>Mrs. Gladstone gives the girls who
+are in service an annual treat every
+summer down at the Convalescent
+Home at Woodsford. About a year ago
+a party of them enjoyed luncheon and
+tea on the lawn there, under the shadow
+of a rare kind of sycamore which their
+hostess had brought
+in a flower-pot, as a
+little seedling, from an
+old tree which spreads
+its ample branches
+close to her orphanage
+at Hawarden. Mrs.
+Gladstone told the
+girls that, when she
+planted it, she never
+thought to live so
+long as to see it large
+enough to shelter a
+party of forty in the shadow of its
+foliage. Such works of beneficence as
+have just been sketched are only a few
+of those forming a crown of honor and
+glory for the head of the great Premier&#8217;s
+wife. She was in that early band
+who began penitentiary work at Clewer
+before it took shape under Mrs. Monsel&#8217;s
+management. That must have
+been soon after her marriage. To that
+early time, too, belong the beginnings
+of the House of Charity for distressed
+persons in London, which is carried on
+at Soho, and rejoices in its forty-sixth
+annual report. This is to help persons
+a little higher than the working-class,
+who have fallen into temporary distress
+from sickness or other vicissitudes.</p>
+<p>As for the deeds of private kindness,
+it can truly be said that Mrs. Gladstone
+has sown them on all sides, and it is
+characteristic of that noble woman&#8217;s
+nature that she is loyal to the last to
+those who need her help, even if it be
+for a lifetime.</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span>
+<a name='A_BOYS_REPUBLIC_THE_STORY_OF_CAMP_CHOCORUA__BY_ALFRED_BALCH' id='A_BOYS_REPUBLIC_THE_STORY_OF_CAMP_CHOCORUA__BY_ALFRED_BALCH'></a>
+<h2>A BOYS&#8217; REPUBLIC.<br /><span class='smcaplc'>THE STORY OF CAMP CHOCORUA.</span>
+<span class='chsub'> <br /><br /><span class='smcap'>By Alfred Balch.</span></span></h2>
+</div>
+<div class='figleft' style='width:110px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_56' id='linki_56'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus249a.png' alt='' title='' width='110' height='260' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>There is an island
+in Big Asquam
+Lake,
+New Hampshire,
+lying almost
+under the shadow
+of Mount Chocorua,
+and on it there are
+many buildings, rough
+but weather-tight;
+paths which have been
+carefully built to
+grade; a boat-yard,
+with ways leading to
+the water; a long wharf projecting
+out toward a swimming raft which
+is floating where there is depth for
+diving; a sea wall of heavy stone,
+against which the ice is powerless.
+Down by the water&#8217;s edge, and squatting
+on a wooden stage within easy
+reach, a group of boys are washing
+dishes. From time to time one of
+them, who while working as hard as
+any, keeps his eye on the others, gives
+a short order which is instantly obeyed.
+Other boys are sitting on the porch,
+polishing lantern and lamps, while yet
+others are sweeping up the litter which
+disfigures the open space. There are
+buildings to the right and left, there
+are canvas canoes and boats floating
+near the wharf, and a great flat boat&mdash;somewhat
+rudely made&mdash;is moored in
+front of the sea wall. With each group
+of boys is a young man, busily employed
+in the same work, but it is
+noticeable that he gives no orders.</p>
+<p>From the island itself the view is
+exquisitely beautiful. To the north
+the White Mountains rest like a mighty
+barrier, walling in the valley at their
+feet. The lake itself lies smiling
+under the sunlight of the perfect day,
+or darkening under the shadow of the
+drifting cloud. The breeze is barely
+enough to fill the sails of the white
+canoe outside there, while the scarlet
+cap of the boy sailing it makes a patch
+of color. There are other islands with
+long vistas of water between them,
+relieving the vivid green of the trees
+which cover them with foliage, and
+coming toward the wharf is a boat
+filled with girls; in the stillness their
+gay laughter sounds pleasantly. Everywhere
+is the beauty of the mountains
+and the lake, and the voices of the
+boys at work fill the very air with life.</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:352px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_57' id='linki_57'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus249b.png' alt='' title='' width='352' height='398' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>Big Asquam Lake was more picturesque
+during the summers from 1881
+to 1889, because Camp Chocorua was
+there, than it has been since. The camp
+was founded by Mr. Ernest Berkeley
+Balch as a summer camp for boys, in
+which they could have plenty of outdoor
+sport, a reasonable amount of
+work, and abundant opportunity to
+enjoy themselves in their own way.
+Starting with five boys and a small
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span>
+frame shanty in 1881, it grew into one
+of the oddest institutions that may be
+imagined. It was different in many
+ways from anything else of the kind,
+and its great success was due to the
+fact that it was modelled on real life
+as men see it. The motive underlying
+all of its pleasant features and most
+quaint customs was twofold: first, responsibility,
+personally and for others;
+and, second, work&mdash;not only the work
+which each one must do for himself,
+but also that extra work which brings
+with it a tangible reward. The boys
+were encouraged in everything that
+would tend to develop them physically,
+to make them strong and healthy, but
+they also found themselves members
+of a little world that had a high standard
+of honor, a world in which the laws
+governing the conflicting interests of
+men were recognized and obeyed. How
+this was done, how Camp Chocorua was
+governed and run, and why the boys
+who were there still look on it so affectionately
+is not an uninteresting story.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_58' id='linki_58'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus250.png' alt='' title='' width='631' height='423' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;The Camp,&#8221; as it is always called
+by those who were there, took in all of
+the space on the island. In 1889, the
+last year, the buildings included the
+office; the big dormitory&mdash;in the upper
+story of which was the library, with a
+large room below, having at one end
+the great fireplace, where the camp-fire
+blazed and burned; the dining-house&mdash;an
+open shed; the cook-house, with
+the ice-house at its back; the store-house
+and faculty quarters&mdash;the upper
+story of this was the hospital; and the
+carpenter&#8217;s shop, down by the boat-yard.
+There were many paths built
+carefully to grade, and one of these
+led to the grove of silver birches, in the
+midst of which was the chapel. I think
+this was one of the prettiest places I
+ever saw. The walls were the living
+trees, the seats were rustic benches, and
+the reading-desk was a rock, oddly
+fashioned, of the stone of the Granite
+State, into the form of a lectern. Every
+Sunday afternoon when it was fair
+weather the service was held here.</p>
+<p>It is not, however, in the buildings,
+on the island, nor in the trees that one
+can find the interest of Camp Chocorua.
+It was in the life led by the boys, in
+their customs and laws, in their courts
+and contracts, that this resides.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_59' id='linki_59'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus251.png' alt='' title='' width='594' height='566' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+THE CHAPEL.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>One of the fundamental rules of the
+place was that every boy or man there
+should do his own work and his share
+of the common work of the camp.
+Many of the boys who came had never
+in their lives done anything for themselves,
+and the first thing demanded of
+them, that they should make up their
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span>
+own beds and take care of their own
+clothes, came very hard. The boy was
+careless, he lost his waterproof, he could
+not put on his shoes, or could not remember
+to put away his clothes. There
+was no punishment for his fault; he
+was simply ranked as an &#8220;Incapable.&#8221;
+An Incapable was a boy who did no
+work of any kind, who belonged to no
+crew, who had no part
+in the busy life of the
+camp except that of a
+spectator. More than
+this, an Incapable was
+forbidden to refuse assistance
+from any member
+of a crew, and as
+it speedily became the
+fashion to help an Incapable,
+he had no lack
+of such assistance. Any
+one who can remember
+the scorn a boy feels for
+another who, he thinks,
+is less manly than himself
+will understand the
+sort of blistering sore
+applied to an Incapable.
+It was not without a pathetic side, the
+way in which these little chaps would
+work to learn how to dress themselves
+and lace their own shoes, and the anxiety
+they showed to keep their clothes
+and bed in order; and as an Incapable
+had the right to an examination, by a
+member of the faculty, at any time, as
+to his capability, few there were who
+were not assigned to a crew within two
+weeks.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_60' id='linki_60'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus252.jpg' alt='' title='' width='671' height='370' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>The supreme power in Camp Chocorua
+resided in the founder, although
+he could not, except in extreme cases,
+traverse one of the customs of the
+camp, for these were, in fact, unwritten
+laws. Associated with him were the
+members of the faculty, generally four
+in number, and it was their duty to
+oversee and watch the boys. One of
+the faculty was always with a crew,
+and he had the right to give general
+orders and to inspect the work done,
+as a whole. He had no power, however,
+over the individual
+members of that
+crew, for this resided
+wholly in the stroke, or,
+in his absence, in the
+sub-stroke. To compare
+one thing with another,
+the member of
+the faculty was the general
+commanding the
+brigade, and the stroke
+was the colonel in command
+of a regiment. The
+general could give his
+orders and comment on
+how they were carried
+out, but it was the colonel
+who decided on details.
+The member of the faculty
+with a crew worked as they worked,
+taking such part of the labor as he saw
+fit, or doing that which the stroke asked
+him to. The boys in the camp were
+divided into four crews, and at the beginning
+of the camp year the strokes
+were appointed by the faculty. As
+soon as a stroke was named, he had
+the power of appointing his sub-stroke,
+or second in command of the crew, on
+the principle that as he was responsible
+for all the sub-stroke did, it was
+but fair he should have his choice.</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:524px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_61' id='linki_61'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus253.png' alt='' title='' width='524' height='346' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>The crews did all the routine work
+of the camp, three being on duty every
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span>
+day and one off. These three were the
+kitchen crew, which supplied the cook&#8217;s
+boy to prepare vegetables and run errands,
+and which cleaned all the pots,
+pans, and kitchen utensils; the police
+crew, which cleaned the lamps, swept
+the rooms, and removed all litter from
+the grounds; and the dish crew, which
+washed all the larger dishes used on
+the table, as well as the plate, cup,
+knife, fork, and spoon of any guest for
+the first three days of his stay on the
+island. After that the guest did his
+own work. The dish crew supplied
+the inspector of dishes&mdash;generally the
+sub-stroke&mdash;and visitors, I remember,
+got useful lessons on what constituted
+cleanliness as they stood meekly before
+him. It was safe to say that any article
+passing inspection was in a condition
+to be used again. Each crew in
+turn became kitchen, police, and dish,
+during three days, and on the fourth,
+the off crew. This was expected to do
+any work outside of the regular duties
+of the day, such as manning a boat for
+visitors, handling express matter or
+supplies, or, in short, anything not
+done by the others. The milk boat
+was manned by the kitchen crew, and
+the mail boat by the police. Practically
+speaking, each crew worked about
+five hours a day.</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:403px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_62' id='linki_62'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus254a.png' alt='' title='' width='403' height='422' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>It was a cardinal principle in Camp
+Chocorua that the boys should govern
+the boys. The strokes were to all intents
+and purposes supreme over their
+crews, and under no circumstances did
+a member of the faculty give an order
+to a member of a crew. The order was
+given to the stroke or sub-stroke in
+command, and he carried it out as he
+saw fit. The stroke was expected not
+only to rule his crew and see they did
+the work, he must also set them an
+example by doing as much or more
+than any one of them. In point of fact,
+the stroke and sub-stroke were generally
+the two most efficient boys in a
+crew. But in such a system as this,
+that a member of a crew might be disobedient,
+or a stroke might be tyrannical,
+was not lost sight of. The
+stroke had no power to punish, but he
+could, were his orders disobeyed, direct
+a boy to report to the faculty. On the
+other hand, although the presence of
+a member of the faculty prevented any
+open bullying, it was within the power
+of a stroke to &#8220;work&#8221; a boy, and that
+boy had an appeal to the faculty. As
+in Camp Chocorua in proportion to the
+power was the responsibility, the appeal
+was a much more serious thing
+than the report. When the latter was
+made by order of a stroke, the boy
+might be reprimanded, given a good
+talking, or be shifted into another crew.
+In extreme cases he might be declared
+an Incapable&mdash;than which nothing was
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span>
+more detested. If it were found that
+a boy could not get along with any
+stroke he might be sent home, because
+this meant he refused to submit to the
+discipline of the camp.</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:318px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_63' id='linki_63'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus254b.png' alt='' title='' width='318' height='382' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>The position of stroke was the most
+sought for in Camp Chocorua. It was
+understood the stroke had to get the
+work done perfectly, rule his crew
+justly and without friction, and personally
+be a model of a camp boy. If he
+failed in either of these, the inference
+was obvious&mdash;he was unfit for the
+position; the faculty had made a mistake
+in putting him into it. If a complaint
+of tyranny was proved, there
+was but one thing to do&mdash;the stroke was
+reduced in rank. He lost all the privileges
+of his position, and in the eyes
+of all, men and boys alike, he was disgraced;
+he was officially declared to be
+unfit to govern others. It is difficult to
+find among the possible experiences of
+men anything equal in severity, and
+the boys in the camp dreaded such
+punishment as they dreaded nothing
+else. It was bad enough when a sub-stroke
+was reduced, but to a stroke
+it was terrible. The system, however,
+was in itself almost enough to prevent
+this punishment. A stroke was expected
+to keep his crew happy and contented,
+and there were keen eyes watching
+him all the while, and kindly men
+ready to give a hint.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_64' id='linki_64'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus254c.png' alt='' title='' width='320' height='243' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>Under its curious double government
+by faculty and boys, Camp Chocorua
+prospered
+and grew. The
+personal and
+routine work
+was done, the
+boys played
+baseball or tennis,
+they swam
+and dived, and
+went sailing,
+rowing and paddling.
+No ambition
+was greater
+in the mind of a
+camp boy than
+that of owning
+a canoe, and as
+many of them
+were not rich
+enough to buy,
+the boat-yard was established in the
+cove. Here was the carpenter shop,
+with a full set of tools and a bench, and
+outside its open door were the ways on
+which the canoes were built. At one
+time the yard was full of the pretty little
+boats in all stages, from the keel
+with its newly joined ribs to the completed
+canoe on whose canvas cover
+the paint was slowly drying. Exceedingly
+good canoe builders some of the
+boys turned out to be, and their models
+were not only fast but safe. Here, too,
+was the floor on which they cut their
+sails, or sat and talked as they stitched
+in the leach lines or fastened the reef
+points in place. Many of the canoes
+were the work of their owners&#8217; hands in
+every part&mdash;hull, paddle, sails, and rigging.
+When the fleet came in, paddling
+in open order, I never saw anything
+prettier in my life than the white
+hulls gliding so easily over the placid
+water, the boys singing and keeping
+stroke, while beyond lay the green
+islands, casting the long shadows from
+their trees under the setting sun. It
+was in this yard that the great flatboat
+was built in which the whole camp
+moved about the lake, ten oars on a
+side, and every boy tugging for all he
+knew. An unwieldy craft, in which one
+earned his passage. It was in this
+yard, too, that the best canoe designers
+earned much money from their less
+skilful comrades.</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:307px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_65' id='linki_65'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus255a.png' alt='' title='' width='307' height='365' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>The financial system of Camp Chocorua
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span>
+was as odd, when one
+thinks of it as applied to boys
+from eight to fourteen years,
+as were many other things
+about the place. Each boy
+had an allowance of twenty-five
+cents a week paid by the
+camp, and no boy, no matter
+what the wealth of his parents,
+was allowed to bring
+money given him to the camp.
+His outfit might include fishing-tackle,
+but a canoe was
+barred. If, as was generally
+the case, he wanted more
+money than his allowance, he could
+get it by working during his own
+time. While the boys did the routine
+work of the camp as a part of their
+duty, they had nothing to do with permanent
+improvements, yet there were
+many of these made during the nine
+years. These were paid for by the
+camp, and it was a cardinal principle
+that when work of this kind was to be
+done, the boys should earn the money
+if they chose. Out of this rose the
+system of contracts. The work to be
+done was announced beforehand, and
+then sold to the lowest bidder, who was
+required to sign a contract. This was
+printed in legal form, with the camp as
+party of the first part, and the contractor
+as party of the second, the price to
+be paid and the time being duly entered.
+The book of contracts is one of the
+most curious things to study. One of
+the pages reads &#8220;building one yard on
+the chapel path to grade,&#8221; price five
+cents, and time one week. &#8220;Removing
+a stump in front of the office and filling
+the hole,&#8221; is another, price twenty-five
+cents. Some of the contracts were
+taken by firms and others by companies.
+&#8220;The Goodwill Contract
+Company&#8221; takes a contract to do the
+washing of the camp, and the president&#8217;s
+signature is affixed. If a contract was
+performed, the price was credited to the
+contractor in the bank. It might be
+that, owing to circumstances, the time
+was extended, or the contract might be
+forfeited for non-performance. In the
+latter case it was sold again to the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span>
+lowest bidder, and the difference&mdash;if
+any&mdash;between the original contract
+price and the sum charged to finish
+the work was charged to the contractor.
+It was very rarely that an old camp boy
+either underestimated the amount of
+work necessary or the time required,
+and the forfeitures were for the most
+part among the new boys. They
+learned quickly, however. Under this
+contract system the paths were made,
+the wharf built, and, in fact, the majority
+of the permanent improvements carried
+out. The contracts were not always
+with the camp. The boys made them
+with each other, as in the building of
+canoes, and as the boys had no power
+to put up a forfeited contract at auction,
+the courts became necessary. The
+camp, the men or the boys were all
+alike subordinate to the courts; either
+could sue or be sued, and each was
+bound by the result.</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:502px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_66' id='linki_66'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus255b.png' alt='' title='' width='502' height='378' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>In the court of first instance one
+of the faculty presided as judge, and
+there might or might not be a jury. The
+parties to the cause could argue their
+own cases, or they could appear by
+counsel chosen from the boys or the
+faculty. In case plaintiff or defendant
+chose, he could appeal from the decision,
+providing he deposited a check
+for the full amount of damages and
+costs. The Appellate Court consisted
+of a majority of the members of the
+faculty&mdash;not less than three&mdash;and in
+this there was no jury. It must be
+acknowledged that in appeal cases the
+judges took cognizance of the facts as
+well as the law. But the law of the
+camp was so well known to every boy
+there, and it was so simple, that no
+boy could fail to see the justice of the
+decision. It must be remembered when
+these courts are considered that to
+the boys they were very real. It cost
+five cents to bring a suit, and fifteen
+for an appeal, and the sums sued for
+were lost or won in reality. The costs
+went to the officers
+of the court,
+excluding the
+judges, who
+served for honor.
+If counsel were
+employed they
+had to be paid,
+unless they volunteered,
+and it
+came to be naturally
+understood
+that a plaintiff
+or defendant in
+the wrong could
+not get volunteer
+counsel. The
+verdict&mdash;when
+there was a jury&mdash;was
+that of the
+boys themselves;
+they condemned
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span>
+or approved of what other boys had
+done. As the boys were trusted to rule
+each other, so they were the guardians
+of each other&#8217;s rights, while the power
+of appeal made it impossible that any
+wave of temporary unpopularity should
+bring injustice to any boy. Camp
+Chocorua was builded on this idea of
+the boys managing themselves, but
+there was ever present the superior
+authority to prevent wrong being done,
+and the very existence of this authority
+made it rarely called on.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_67' id='linki_67'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus256a.png' alt='' title='' width='671' height='219' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+THE CAMP ON MARCH.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>The keenness in business of these
+boys is well illustrated by the story of
+the Soda-Water Trust. Whenever the
+boys went to the store in Holderness
+they generally bought soda-water.
+This went on until some one suggested
+the apparatus could be bought and the
+soda-water made in the camp. Two
+firms&mdash;one of three boys and the other
+of two&mdash;each firm having a bank account
+large enough to purchase the
+apparatus and supplies, were formed
+at once. But the privileges or monopolies
+in the camp were always sold
+for the benefit of the Charity Fund,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span>
+and it was promptly announced the
+soda-water franchise would be put up
+at auction. The two firms were rich,
+but they were not willing to enter a
+contest of this kind. The members
+got together and talked matters over
+at length, finally resolving to form a
+trust. When the time came the trust
+bid one cent for the franchise, and
+there being no other bid it was sold at
+this price. When their apparatus came
+the trust did a rushing business.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_68' id='linki_68'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus256b.png' alt='' title='' width='626' height='535' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+A HALT FOR SUPPER.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class='figright' style='width:316px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_69' id='linki_69'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus257a.png' alt='' title='' width='316' height='200' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+THE BARGE.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>In the Camp Chocorua bank, each
+man and boy had an account. Payments
+of all kinds were made by check.
+The allowance was added to the account
+each week, and as the boys made
+money the credits grew larger. At the
+end of the camp season the depositor
+could either draw out his balance or
+have it carried over to the next summer.
+During the winter he was allowed
+to earn money by work, provided he
+received no more for it than would
+have been paid to anyone else, and
+this money could be added to the bank
+account. One boy brought nine dollars
+and seventy-five cents as the result
+of shovelling snow, but the canoe his
+father gave him could only be kept
+when he showed himself able to pay
+for it. This he could only do by borrowing
+from the bank the necessary
+balance; but his credit was good, and
+the summer was not half over before
+he had paid back the loan. I have
+often laughed when I have thought of
+the feeling with which that father must
+have looked on his son&#8217;s check, and
+realized what it meant. If the boys in
+Camp Chocorua learned anything, they
+learned not to be ashamed of labor in
+any form. The dignity of work was
+silently taught them, even as they were
+taught to expect the tangible rewards.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_70' id='linki_70'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus257b.png' alt='' title='' width='631' height='423' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>It was towards the middle of the
+second term of the camp that the
+sports took place. For days before,
+the boys were at work cleaning the
+camp up, and the cooks&mdash;two of the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span>
+boys&mdash;were busy getting the lunch
+ready. To the sports all the friends
+and relations of the boys were invited,
+and there were usually many grown
+people present. There was a game at
+baseball, some sets at tennis; there
+were sailing, rowing, and paddling
+matches, swimming and diving contests,
+foot races, and the like. The
+prizes were simple enough, bits of ribbons
+with the name of the camp, the
+contest, and the date painted on, yet
+they were valued very highly. Splendid
+work the boys did in these sports,
+and conclusive was the evidence of
+their thorough training during the
+summer. Those who attended the
+sports once were always glad to come
+again, for long as the days were, they
+were filled with fun and frolic. In the
+evening the boys and their visitors
+gathered around the great fireplace in
+the dormitory building, and there, in
+the light of the camp fire, joined in the
+camp songs. The last song of all was
+&#8220;The Battle Hymn of the Republic,&#8221;
+the verses being sung as a solo, and the
+chorus by everyone present; and it was
+with the grand old melody still ringing
+in their ears that the guests took the
+boats which carried them home.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_71' id='linki_71'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus258a.png' alt='' title='' width='599' height='338' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>There was one prize awarded at the
+sports which might come to any boy.
+This was the &#8220;C. C.&#8221; pin in silver.
+Those who won it were the boys who
+had in their own way shown themselves
+to have got the greatest good
+out of the camp, and who had done the
+most good to others. The pins were
+not common; two or three, perhaps,
+were given in a summer, and sometimes
+none at all. It is most difficult
+to define the conditions under which
+the pin was given; it came as the result
+of a unanimous feeling in the faculty
+that it had been won, rather than
+as the result of rules obeyed. A conscious
+effort to win it was enough to
+prevent success. The boy had to show
+the manliness, justice, truth, conscientiousness
+in him, not for reward, but
+because he had them in him; and then
+the reward, or rather the recognition,
+came. Intrinsically these little pins
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span>
+are worth nothing; but those who
+have them value them as they value
+few things, and they are right.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_72' id='linki_72'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus258b.png' alt='' title='' width='555' height='241' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>The cruise which marked the end
+of the summer&#8217;s camp life was one of
+the most picturesque things imaginable.
+An ox-cart with four oxen carried the
+blankets, dishes, and stores; Porgus,
+the great, slobbering bloodhound, was
+fastened to the rear axle, the Infant&mdash;the
+youngest boy in camp&mdash;mounted
+the donkey, and with faculty and boys
+on foot, the camp set out. The routes
+taken during the nine cruises included
+all the best known roads in the White
+Mountains. Generally, those boys
+who wished to made up a separate party,
+and climbed some one of the great
+peaks, while the rest confined themselves
+to lower levels. At night they
+all slept in some barn. The routine
+work of the cooks and crews went on
+as usual, and the whole thing was pick-nicking
+on a grand scale. Sometimes
+the ox-cart would stall, or the oxen be
+unable to haul it up a hill, and then the
+rope was fastened on, and the whole
+camp toiled on and pulled. It was an
+experience to pass them at this time, to
+listen to the orders of the strokes, to
+hear the chaff flying back and forward,
+and to watch the crowd, all clad in
+gray knickerbockers and jackets, gray
+stockings and flannel shirts, and wearing
+the scarlet knit Scotch caps which
+completed the camp uniform.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_73' id='linki_73'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus259.jpg' alt='' title='' width='671' height='541' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>There is a story about Porgus, the
+big bloodhound, which is worth telling.
+When they first got him everyone supposed
+he was exceedingly fierce, and,
+lest he should bite, he was tied up on
+another island, and his food taken to
+him twice a day. Suddenly, one day,
+Porgus was seen swimming towards
+Chocorua, and, the alarm being given,
+everyone except the man who knew
+him took refuge in the house. The
+dog was taken back and tied up, but
+as he could gain nothing by howling
+he broke away once more. The fact
+of the matter was, that Porgus was
+lonely, and that so far from being
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span>
+fierce, he was one of the most good-natured
+beasts in the world. This
+having been found out, he was added
+to the list of camp pets. These at
+various times included a flying squirrel
+that had a habit of jumping on your
+shoulder as you passed his tree; a black
+sheep called Billy, who learned to butt
+anyone in the neighborhood; the donkey,
+and the kyuse&mdash;the latter a mustang
+pony. All of these in their time
+were important members of the camp.
+Old Captain Cairns, too, a man who
+lived alone in a most curious house on
+one of the islands, was one of the
+greatest friends of the boys, and always
+came to the sports. The captain was
+a curiosity in his way, and he never
+got tired of telling yarns about the
+places he had been to or the people he
+had seen.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_74' id='linki_74'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus260a.png' alt='' title='' width='445' height='424' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+CAPTAIN CAIRN&#8217;S HOUSE.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>The story of Camp Chocorua, of the
+healthy, open-air life, of the high standards
+so rigidly lived up to, of the fun
+they had, of the work they did, and of
+the lessons in manliness they so unconsciously
+learned, is really written in the
+memories of the boys who, during those
+nine summers, spent their time on that
+little island. This article is but a brief
+account of the methods through which
+so much was done. The place now belongs
+to the founder, and a custodian is
+kept there to look after it. The buildings
+are open to the old camp boys,
+and many of them spend their vacation
+time there. For the most part, they
+are men in the world now, but none
+the less do they look back at the camp
+with pleasant memories, feeling and
+realizing, as they never did then, all that
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span>
+the camp life meant to them. Everything
+is ready for them; they have but
+to hang up the great Chinese gong on
+which the hours were struck, and the
+camp is open. They can sail, row, and
+swim, and at night, sitting before the
+&#8220;camp fire,&#8221; they can bring back the
+days when they were boys; they can
+tell their stories of the contracts and
+the trials, the sports and the cruises;
+they can laugh over half-forgotten
+jokes, or speak in lower tones of the
+boys who are now dead. For although
+Camp Chocorua has ceased to be, Camp
+Chocorua lives in the memories of the
+camp boys.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_75' id='linki_75'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus260b.png' alt='' title='' width='554' height='253' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<a name='THE_HAPPY_LIFE_BY_SIR_HENRY_WOTTON___15681639' id='THE_HAPPY_LIFE_BY_SIR_HENRY_WOTTON___15681639'></a>
+<h2>THE HAPPY LIFE.
+<span class='chsub'> <br /><br /><span class='smcap'>By Sir Henry Wotton.</span><br /><br />(1568-1639.)</span></h2>
+</div>
+<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'>
+<p>How happy is he, born and taught,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>That serveth not another&#8217;s will,</p>
+<p>Whose armor is his honest thought,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>And simple truth his utmost skill.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>Whose passions not his masters are;</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Whose soul is still prepared for death,</p>
+<p>Untied unto the worldly care</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Of public fame or private breath!</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>Who envies none that chance doth raise,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Or vice; who never understood</p>
+<p>How deepest wounds are given by praise,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Nor rules of state, but rules of good.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>Who hath his life from humors freed,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Whose conscience is his strong retreat;</p>
+<p>Whose state can neither flatterers feed,</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Nor ruin make accusers great.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>Who God doth late and early pray</p>
+<p class='indent2'>More of his grace than gifts to lend,</p>
+<p>And entertains the harmless day</p>
+<p class='indent2'>With a well-chosen book or friend.</p>
+</div><div class='stanza'>
+<p>This man is freed from servile bands</p>
+<p class='indent2'>Of hope to rise, or fear to fall&mdash;</p>
+<p>Lord of himself, though not of lands;</p>
+<p class='indent2'>And having nothing yet hath all.</p>
+</div></div>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span>
+<a name='EDWIN_BOOTH_ON_AND_OFF_THE_STAGE__PERSONAL_RECOLLECTIONS_BY_ADAM_BADEAU' id='EDWIN_BOOTH_ON_AND_OFF_THE_STAGE__PERSONAL_RECOLLECTIONS_BY_ADAM_BADEAU'></a>
+<h2>EDWIN BOOTH.<br /><span class='smcaplc'>ON AND OFF THE STAGE.</span><br /><span class='smaller smcap'>Personal Recollections.</span>
+<span class='chsub'> <br /><br /><span class='smcap'>By Adam Badeau.</span></span></h2>
+</div>
+<p>The Friday before Booth was taken
+ill, I spent two or three hours with
+him in his rooms at the Players&#8217; Club,
+and while there it occurred to me that a
+picture, not of the actor merely, but of
+the man whom I had known for more
+than thirty years, in the glow of youth
+and the prime of manhood, down to the
+weary invalid, stricken before his time,
+in the characters that were not assumed&mdash;of
+husband, father, brother,
+son, and friend&mdash;would have an interest
+far beyond any critical analysis of
+his performances or historical account
+of his engagements. He did not object
+to my painting him as I had known
+him in the most intimate relations of
+his life&mdash;an actor is always used to
+being described and criticised&mdash;and he
+gave me incidents and information, all
+that I sought. Thus in what I have to
+say there will be nothing second-hand,
+nothing that he has not himself told
+me at one time or another, or that I
+have not observed in the friendship
+of a lifetime.</p>
+<p>I first met him when he was twenty-three,
+and I only twenty-five years
+old, and from that time till his marriage
+and my own entrance into the
+army we were as intimate as it is possible
+for two young men to be. I have
+the right, therefore, to tell what I shall
+unfold, for he gave it to me, and I have
+a further right in the certainty that
+nothing I can tell will depreciate his
+fame. If I portray all that I know, no
+one who reads will fail to think more
+highly and tenderly of the nature that
+was cloaked under Richard and Iago,
+suggested perhaps by points in Othello
+and Lear, but only really indicated
+in Hamlet, the melancholy, moody,
+dreamy, filial, tender Dane.</p>
+<p>He was born in 1833, in the night of
+the historical meteoric display&mdash;the
+&#8220;star-shower,&#8221; he always called it.
+His father was a famous actor in the
+parts which the son so often played.
+I never saw the elder, but others assured
+me he possessed a tragic genius
+perhaps at times even more tremendous
+than that of the Booth I knew. He
+was an Englishman, and the rival of
+Edmund Kean. The family tradition
+is that he was driven from London by
+a cabal of Kean&#8217;s admirers, and came
+to America in 1821, almost immediately
+after his marriage.</p>
+<p>Junius Brutus Booth must have been
+an extraordinary person off the stage;
+erratic almost to insanity, gloomy,
+given to fits of passion, but full of
+warm affections; a man with a temper
+almost uncontrollable, yet more often
+morose than violent, who refused to
+play, even when announced, unless he
+was in the vein, and walked the streets
+for hours after acting, and sometimes
+before. His wife for years accompanied
+him to the theatre, acting as dresser,
+and Edwin was taken with them. He
+thus received his first impressions of
+the stage when he was three or four
+years old. The wife remained in the
+dressing-room during the play, and
+when the child grew sleepy he was put
+to bed in a chest of drawers that held
+his father&#8217;s wardrobe. If he wakened
+he had the theatrical wigs and paint-pots
+for his toys. A few years later he
+took his mother&#8217;s place and dressed
+his father for the stage.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_76' id='linki_76'></a>
+</div>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span>
+<img src='images/illus263.jpg' alt='' title='' width='516' height='700' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+<i>From photo by F. Gutekunst.</i><br />
+<br />
+<i>Copyright by F. Gutekunst, Philadelphia.</i><br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>There were several children, and three
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span>
+of the sons became actors. I asked
+him whether he was the favorite, but
+he said no: his father always preferred
+John Wilkes. Yet Edwin had the
+greatest influence with the tragedian
+when the gloomy fits came on, and followed
+him many a night through the
+streets to see that he got no harm. He
+could prevail on him to act when no
+other could, and often told me of his
+attempts to direct their wanderings so
+that they might reach the stage-door
+in time. He himself was melancholy
+and moody, and lived very much in the
+imagination. It must have been a
+strange spectacle&mdash;this erratic genius
+and his anxious child, both slightly
+formed, with the same wonderful piercing
+eyes, stumbling about the streets
+at dark, the boy trying to persuade the
+father, sometimes succeeding, sometimes
+failing altogether.</p>
+<p>The story of Edwin&#8217;s first appearance
+on any stage has often been told. It
+was as Tressel to his father&#8217;s Richard
+III. He was not yet sixteen and received
+no encouragement nor sign of
+approval from his strangely constituted
+parent, but a little later the two were
+walking in Broadway, when they met a
+Mr. Conway, an English actor well
+known to play-goers of the last generation.
+Booth stopped to talk, and
+Conway, who was pompous in speech,
+inquired rather elaborately:</p>
+<p>&#8220;Upon which of your sons do you
+intend to confer your mantle?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The great player did not reply in
+words, but laid his hand on Edwin&#8217;s
+head with a sort of solemnity, perhaps
+suggested by Conway&#8217;s tone. The lad
+attached little significance to the action
+at the moment, but afterward felt certain
+that his father meant all that the
+gesture implied. I asked him how old
+he was when this occurred. &#8220;Only a
+stripling,&#8221; he said, &#8220;about as high as
+the top of that candle,&#8221; and he pointed
+to the mantelpiece.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why,&#8221; I exclaimed, &#8220;you are not
+as high as that now.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah! but I wore a hat,&#8221; he replied;
+&#8220;and my father had to reach up to
+put his hand on me. I was taller than
+he.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He first played Richard III. at the
+old Chatham Street Theatre in New
+York, as a substitute for his father,
+who either could not be found or refused
+to act. When the manager
+learned this fact he said to Edwin:
+&#8220;Then you must play Richard.&#8221;
+The lad, just seventeen, was naturally
+unwilling, but he knew the text from
+having heard his father so often in the
+part, and their figures were not unlike.
+The assistants dressed him in his
+father&#8217;s clothes, and he made up his
+face as like as possible to the great
+actor in Richard III. The audience
+was surprised when he appeared, but
+allowed him to go on, and he must
+have played with a certain degree of
+power, for he was called out at the end
+of the first act, and went through the
+entire exacting tragedy. When the
+play was over he hastened home and
+found his father, who offered neither
+comment nor inquiry. In this way the
+strange pair went on, leading a life as
+curious as any of the mimic ones they
+portrayed on the stage; for Edwin
+now played at times, even in prominent
+parts, but made no especial mark,
+being dwarfed, of course, by his father&#8217;s
+superlative ability.</p>
+<p>In 1852 they went to California, but
+the wayward elder remained only a few
+months, then suddenly returned to the
+Atlantic States, leaving Edwin behind
+with his brother Junius, also an actor
+of some prominence. The brothers
+played together occasionally, but the
+times were rough and their success was
+small. Edwin was soon reduced to the
+hard straits of a strolling player&#8217;s
+life: borrowing a few dollars now and
+then, walking hungry through mountain
+snows, living sometimes in a
+ranch, sometimes on the pittance of
+a stock-actor&#8217;s salary, but sometimes
+making a hit, drawing crowded houses
+and filling his purse for a while.</p>
+<p>In November, 1852, he got word of
+the death of his father, a terrible blow
+to him, whose relations with the great
+actor were so peculiar. Throughout
+his life he retained the liveliest memories
+of his father&#8217;s character and presence.
+He liked to talk of him, and
+spent hours with me describing the
+peculiarities that left so profound an
+impression on him. But though he saw
+their strangeness, the reverent tone in
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span>
+which he told of them was always
+marked.</p>
+<p>Doubtless he inherited the dramatic
+genius and some of the temperament
+of his parent. He was not so wildly
+passionate on the stage, and his temper
+was never so uncontrollable, but his
+brooding melancholy, the sensitiveness
+of his nature, the depth of his affections,
+the quaint humor so strange in a
+tragic actor, his vivid imagination&mdash;many,
+indeed, of his especial gifts
+and faults&mdash;were unquestionably transmitted
+with his blood by him who was
+at once the author of his physical being
+and the begetter of his genius. The
+likeness extended to feature and gesture.
+I have a picture of the father
+given me by the son, which might easily
+be taken for one of Edwin in Richard
+III.; and older play-goers always declared
+that in the great tragic scenes
+the son recalled, in tone and look and
+power, the peculiar magnetic quality
+that made the elder so remarkable. I
+have thought sometimes that the awful
+bursts of passion of his younger days
+were more effective even than the elaborate
+manner of his later art. He
+told me more than once that his life-long
+friend and comrade, Joseph Jefferson,
+often warned him against refining
+away his power, and thought
+the classic finish hardly compensated
+for the natural intensity which it replaced.</p>
+<p>His feeling for his father certainly
+added to the power of his performance
+of Hamlet. His greatest scenes
+in this tragedy were those with the
+ghost, and when Booth addressed the
+shade, and exclaimed:</p>
+<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'>
+<p class='indent10'>&#8220;I&#8217;ll call thee Hamlet,</p>
+<p>King, <i>Father</i>, royal Dane,&#8221;</p>
+</div></div>
+<p>there was a pathos in the word
+&#8220;father&#8221; which those who ever heard
+him utter it must recall. He dropped
+on one knee as he spoke it, and
+bowed his head, not in terror, but in
+awe and love, and tender memory of
+the past; he had a feeling that he was
+actually in the presence of that weird
+shade whom he had known on earth,
+and he was not afraid.</p>
+<p>The fatherless son remained in California,
+playing with varied success,
+sometimes as leading-man with Miss
+Heron, Laura Keene, or Mrs. Forrest
+Sinclair, sometimes as a star, sometimes
+in the stock company of those
+days, taking any part to which he was
+assigned. The experience was doubtless
+valuable to him, and he acknowledged
+that he owed to it much of his
+ease on the stage, his familiarity with
+the business, his self-possession under
+all circumstances, and his readiness in
+emergencies.</p>
+<p>During his stay on the Pacific Coast
+he once visited the Sandwich Islands,
+and with an impromptu company gave
+a few performances. He had great
+trouble in announcing his plays, for
+the boys who were employed to post
+the bills ate up all the paste; but the
+houses were full, and the audience included
+the king. The court, however,
+was in mourning, and His Majesty
+could not be seen in front, so a chair
+was draped with theatrical robes behind
+the scenes, and there the real
+king applauded the mimic one in &#8220;Richard
+III.&#8221; The throne was needed for
+the coronation scene, and Kamehameha
+kindly abdicated for that occasion.
+In 1851 young Booth, as he was now
+called, returned to the Eastern States
+and played in Baltimore, Richmond,
+Boston&mdash;everywhere with great success.
+He was at once recognized as
+the dramatic descendant of his father,
+and the future head of the American
+stage.</p>
+<p>In May, 1857, he entered upon his
+first engagement in New York, and on
+one of the earlier nights I strolled into
+the theatre while he was playing
+Richard III. I had seen his name in
+the bills, but he was heralded as the
+&#8220;Hope of the Living Drama,&#8221; and I
+had no great expectations from such
+an announcement. But I was struck
+at once with his dramatic fire, his
+grace, his expressive eye and mobile
+mouth, his natural elocution, and the
+decided genius he displayed. I remember
+even now, after the lapse of
+thirty-six years, the prodigious effect
+in the fourth act, when Richard exclaims:</p>
+<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'>
+<p class='indent10'>&#8220;What do they in the North</p>
+<p>When they should serve their sovereign in the West?&#8221;</p>
+</div></div>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span></div>
+<p>His whole face and form were ablaze
+with expression&mdash;literally transfigured;
+and his voice embodied a majestic terrible
+rage that electrified the listeners.
+Men rose in all parts of the house and
+shouted with delight. I had seen Rachel
+and Forrest and Cushman and
+Grisi then, and I have seen Bernhardt
+and Irving and Salvini and Ristori
+since, but I never saw or heard on the
+stage anything more tremendous than
+the picture he presented and the passion
+he portrayed in his youth in
+Richard III.</p>
+<p>I went the next night and the next,
+and found the fascination increase. I
+saw him in Petruchio, Brutus, Hamlet,
+Richelieu, Lear, Iago, Claude Melnotte,
+Sir Giles Overreach, Romeo,
+and Pescara. He was uneven and fitful
+in everything, but in every part he
+played he did something that no other
+actor could rival. His youth, too, had
+a charm; the very crudeness of his
+acting gave a certain interest&mdash;it left
+room for anticipation. I was very
+much attracted by the stage at that
+time, so I called on young Booth and
+told him what I thought of his acting.
+He had plenty of admirers, but my
+enthusiasm seemed to touch him, and
+we struck up a friendship at once. At
+the end of a week he consented to
+spend Sunday with me; and from that
+time dated a peculiar intimacy. I had
+a good deal of leisure and could pass
+my days as well as nights in his company,
+and I knew no greater pleasure
+than he gave me, either on or off the
+stage. He was not then a finished
+scholar, nor by any means the great
+artist that he afterward became, and I
+was anxious that he should be both.
+I used to hunt up books and pictures
+about the stage, the finest criticisms,
+the works that illustrated his scenes,
+the biographies of great actors, and we
+studied them together. We visited the
+Astor Library and the Society Library
+to verify costumes, and every picture
+or picture-gallery in New York, public
+or private, that was accessible. He
+discussed his parts with me, and with
+the conceit of youth I often ventured
+to differ with him on points in his art
+where he should have been an authority.
+Often we quarrelled all day
+about an interpretation or a rendering,
+and I went to the theatre at night to
+be convinced that he was right and I
+was wrong. Sometimes he gave me a
+private box, and I took notes of the
+performance, and of the criticisms or
+changes that occurred to me. Next
+day we went over them together, and
+at night he would play Richard or
+Iago according to my suggestions&mdash;perhaps
+as much to gratify me as because
+he thought my judgment correct.</p>
+<p>Oftener I went to his dressing-room.
+It was very fascinating to watch the
+face of the character he was to play
+grow and vary beneath his hand.
+The character itself seemed to grow at
+the same time. When we entered at
+the stage door he was my friend&mdash;&#8220;Ned,&#8221;
+I always called him; but as
+the paint and the cotton eyebrows, the
+wig and the tights, were put on, the
+stage personage appeared; and when
+Hamlet or Romeo was ready his manner
+assumed all the grace and dignity
+of the Prince or the Montagu. After
+he had played a scene or two the
+transformation was complete, and
+lasted till the stage clothes were taken
+off.</p>
+<p>How completely he personated the
+characters that he assumed I can testify
+from comparison with what may
+be called his originals, the actual Hotspurs
+and Hamlets, the soldiers and
+princes, of the real world. One night
+in Louisiana before a battle I was with
+General T. W. Sherman while he was
+giving orders to his officers and aides-de-camp.
+It was nearly midnight, and
+there was to be an attack at dawn.
+First came in one messenger, then another,
+next the leader of the advance,
+last the captain of the reserves. The
+night was warm and the tent was
+thrown open; a candle burned on a
+table within, while the general paced
+up and down in the darkness outside.
+There was a hush and a bustle combined,
+a subdued intensity and a dramatic
+haste, as the commander gave his
+different orders and received his successive
+subordinates, that brought to
+my mind at the moment the tent scene
+in &#8220;Richard III.&#8221; I thought, just then,
+&#8220;How like all this is to what I have
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span>
+seen on the stage.&#8221; Yet Booth had
+never witnessed actual war.</p>
+<p>In the same way in Europe: I often
+thought of him when princes and sovereigns
+were holding levees or processions,
+receiving homage or conferring
+honors; no Guelph or Bourbon of
+them all went through his part with
+greater dignity or grace than the young
+American who had never been at court;
+and sometimes the magic of genius
+arrayed him in a majesty which all the
+reality of their grandeur could not
+inspire.</p>
+<p>There was one character, however,
+that he could not play&mdash;the lover.
+He was the poorest of Romeos, and
+he knew it. He looked the part, of
+course, in his youth; the women always
+wanted to see him play it, and
+the actresses all wanted to be Juliet;
+but there was a lack of tenderness in
+his eye, and of ardor in his tone; even
+the gestures were tame. He was not
+anxious or persuasive enough; he was
+too confident, or too indifferent. The
+only point in the play where he rose
+to his usual level was in the fight with
+Tybalt; but then there was killing to
+be done, and this was passion of a different
+sort&mdash;this was tragedy. Then
+he became inspired, and looked for
+a moment like one of the demi-gods
+in Homer&#8217;s battles. But in the scenes
+with the friar and with Juliet, even in
+the balcony scene, he was comparatively
+spiritless. Whether he was not
+actually a good lover, or whether he
+felt a certain delicacy about love-making
+in public, the fact remains that he
+was always more effective in parts that
+represent harsh or violent emotions
+than in tender ones with women.</p>
+<p>So, too, though he had a keen sense
+of humor, and was full of jokes and
+funny stories off the stage, and told
+them with a genuine comic power, he
+could not act a comic part. I once
+saw him in &#8220;Little Toddlekins,&#8221; in
+white trousers and a high hat, and I
+never wanted to see him in farce again.
+Even in high comedy he was not so
+interesting as in tragedy. Benedick
+himself was not to his taste, and his
+nearest approach to success in comedy
+was as Don C�sar de Bazan; but
+there the fascination was in his superb
+appearance and irresistible grace quite
+as much as in dramatic power. His
+Don C�sar, however, was a wonderful
+picture, an embodied romance. He
+delighted in the caustic speeches of
+Shylock or Hamlet, or the irony of
+Iago, but these can hardly be called
+comedy. His Petruchio was a game of
+romps; but it was Donatello romping
+with Miriam, or Bacchus with Ariadne.</p>
+<p>Yet, I repeat, he was bubbling over
+with a grim sort of humor in real life,
+like that which Shakespeare sprinkles
+over his tragedies. Behind the scenes
+he would mock and gibe at himself,
+had odd remarks to make about his
+face or his costume, and was alive with
+waggeries and witticisms. I once pulled
+aside his robes in Richelieu as he
+sat smoking between the acts, and he
+shrank back and screamed, &#8220;How dare
+you, sir?&#8221; in a shrill tone, exactly like
+a woman. The next moment he was
+the stately cardinal again.</p>
+<p>I was very anxious that Booth should
+receive a social recognition. Thirty
+years ago actors had not overleaped
+the barriers which had existed for centuries,
+to anything like the extent we
+know at present, and I wanted him to
+meet people of distinction, to hold the
+position which Garrick once occupied
+in England; but he hardly shared my
+ambition for him. If people wanted
+him they had to seek him, and even
+then were not sure of getting him.
+Social attentions sometimes gratified,
+but quite as often bored him. But
+his genius was so positive and so attractive,
+that the most prominent people
+all over the country courted his
+society. I had the pleasure of putting
+up his name at the Century Club, where
+he was more than cordially welcomed.
+The wits, the scholars, artists, authors,
+all were glad to know the man who
+had given them so refined a pleasure.
+Bancroft, Bryant, Curtis, and their families,
+Sumner, Mrs. Ward Howe, men
+and women of the first social position,
+as well as cultivation, were his personal
+friends, even at that early day. But
+he seemed indifferent to his fame.</p>
+<p>He had no trace of personal vanity.
+He said to me once he only cared for
+his good looks as the tools of his trade.
+Hundreds of women flung themselves
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span>
+at him in those days; they sent him
+notes in verse and prose, flowers, presents
+of jewels, shawls, feathers, to wear
+on the stage; they asked for appointments;
+they invited him to their
+houses, they offered to go to his; but
+he cared nothing for any of them.
+Sometimes they amused, but more often
+disgusted him. More than once he
+saved some foolish child from what
+might have been disgrace, and sent her
+home to her family. And he never injured
+a pure woman in his life. Off the
+stage he had no care for his looks;
+even in his youth his dress was more
+than plain; he was positively indifferent
+to his appearance.</p>
+<p>He always continued to have fits of
+sadness and silence; a feeling that evil
+was hanging over him, that he could
+not come to good. These moods would
+pass, but would return. Still, when he
+inclined to talk he was profoundly interesting.
+He had a wonderful fund
+of stories, and recollected the most
+minute and the most salient circumstances,
+showing the actor&#8217;s power of
+observation. He studied character incessantly;
+not deliberately, but because
+he could not help seeing peculiar
+traits of character or peculiar circumstances.
+He acted all his stories, comic
+or tragic, without meaning to do it,
+and often just as well off as on the
+stage. I used to get him to make the
+faces he did on the stage, to look like
+Richelieu in the &#8220;curse of Rome,&#8221; or
+Richard in &#8220;What do they in the
+North?&#8221; But it was only when he was
+in a very good humor that he would do
+this. Once or twice he painted his
+face to assume his father&#8217;s appearance.</p>
+<p>But he hated to act off the stage,
+and even at rehearsal seldom raised
+his voice above the conversational
+tone, or struck an attitude. I often
+went to rehearsal with him and wondered
+at the calmness of his tones when
+he struck down Iago, or smothered
+Desdemona. One morning in Buffalo
+I missed him when we started, and
+followed him to the theatre; I entered
+at the stage door and went to the
+wings, looking for him. It was a minute
+or two before I recognized him,
+with a high hat and a cane, reciting
+passages from &#8220;Macbeth.&#8221; But that
+night he was more tremendous than
+ever. His first entrance in the play
+he made by leaping from the rocks, as
+he exclaimed, &#8220;So foul and fair a day
+I have not seen&#8221;; and it was the very
+Highland thane that came upon the
+scene&mdash;full of his future dignity and
+oppressed by the feeling of Fate that
+fills this tragedy as it does the plays
+of Euripides. That feeling, indeed,
+almost illustrates the depression that
+settled over his nature at intervals, and
+seemed a premonition of some awful
+future. It was appalling to witness,
+and must have been still more appalling
+to endure. Doubtless he inherited it
+from his father. It was like a veil
+that shrouded him from other mortals,
+and he walked behind it, apart. He
+strove to describe his emotions at such
+times to me, for he wanted me to know
+all he felt; but the effort was like those
+sad ones of his later days, when he
+attempted to utter words and gave
+only inarticulate sounds. I cannot
+portray him unless I make this sadness
+apparent; it was so strange and
+weird.</p>
+<p>And yet this introspective, distant
+man, so old when he was young, so
+cold though gifted with every personal
+charm&mdash;was a warmly affectionate son,
+devoted to his mother, and generous to
+his family; he lived with his mother
+and sister for years, and provided
+for them after his marriage; he lent
+money not only to his brothers, but to
+hosts of friends, actors and others,
+for his profession brought him in
+large sums, and he gave away much
+in charity, especially to actors. His
+friendships, though steadfast, were not
+usually ardent or demonstrative. He
+who was gifted with such wonderful
+power to express the emotions of
+others was often unable or unwilling
+to give utterance to his own. When
+he was called out after the play, the
+man who had just enthralled an
+audience as Richard or Othello, or
+hurled the imprecations of Richelieu
+or Lear, stood modest and shrinking,
+only able to stammer a few words of
+thanks in his own person, on the very
+boards where he was most at home.</p>
+<p>He was not a good hater; when he
+was injured he felt it keenly, and I am
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span>
+not sure that he ever forgave a wrong,
+but the memory of it was not always
+keen, and I doubt if he ever revenged
+himself&mdash;he relented when it came to
+inflicting pain. In his business relations
+he more than once fell into foul hands,
+and he had himself little business
+faculty; but he was slow in making
+reprisals, even if opportunity offered.
+For he had a noble, gentle nature; I
+never knew him do a mean or vulgar
+thing. He was no backbiter; he refrained,
+even with me, from hostile
+criticism of other actors. I sometimes
+drew out opinions that were not favorable,
+but he never offered them, and
+always seemed to utter them unwillingly,
+as if he would not refuse to tell
+me what he thought, and yet was loath
+to speak severely of a brother artist.</p>
+<p>No one ever charged him with desertion
+of a friend or backwardness in
+time of need; and I have known of
+sacrifices that he made for others,
+greater than most men are capable of.
+He submitted to much from some
+members of his family, because he
+deemed it his duty, or from affectionate
+pity, and endured even cruel wrongs
+rather than resent them publicly. He
+was most averse to bringing his private
+affairs before the world, and disliked to
+extend the publicity of the stage to his
+every-day life. His friendships in his
+youth were almost confined to members
+of his own profession. Joseph Jefferson,
+and John Sleeper Clarke, who married
+his sister, were always very close to him,
+and in later years, Barrett. In time,
+however, he had many associates among
+artists and cultivated men, who naturally
+sought his company, and some of
+these he regarded as personal friends.<a name='FNanchor_0001' id='FNanchor_0001'></a><a href='#Footnote_0001' class='fnanchor'>[1]</a></p>
+<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0001' id='Footnote_0001'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0001'><span class='label'>[1]</span></a>
+<p>His three executors, Messrs. Benedict, Bispham,
+and McGonigle, were, I suppose, as intimate with him
+as any one in later years; he certainly showed them
+the most absolute confidence in his will, and for years
+had consulted them on the management of his affairs.
+Mr. McGonigle married the sister of his first wife.</p>
+</div>
+<p>I once visited with him the place
+where he was born. It was a farmhouse
+twenty-five or thirty miles from
+Baltimore. We drove out in a one-horse
+vehicle, and he was Pha�ton.
+The house was partly furnished but
+unoccupied, and an old negro in an
+outbuilding gave us the keys. His
+father&#8217;s library remained, and a part
+of his stage wardrobe, and we spent
+hours ransacking them both, studying
+old play-bills, even English ones of
+his father, examining rare copies of
+Shakespeare, and trying on trappings
+of Shylock or Lear. I made him put
+on a wig and act the parts for a single
+auditor. He was very complaisant
+that day, or night rather, for we sat
+up till late into the morning, and then
+made beds out of C�sar&#8217;s mantle and
+Macbeth&#8217;s robes. He picked out three
+volumes of Shakespeare which he had
+used in playing, full of his own stage
+directions written in, and variations of
+the text, and gave them to me as a
+memento of the visit, inscribing some
+lines from one of the sonnets. It
+was Verplanck&#8217;s illustrated edition,
+and some of the plates were marked:
+&#8220;Form this picture.&#8221; I remember
+afterward noticing that he made the
+picture on the stage.</p>
+<p>Many a night in those days we sat
+together till morning, for he had the
+actor&#8217;s habit of turning night into day.
+Playing till nearly midnight, and supping
+still later, the excitement of the
+stage kept him awake afterward, and
+he never wanted to go to bed. He
+was never more animated in thought
+and look and gesture than after acting.
+Of course, he rose late, and during an
+engagement his only leisure hours were
+one or two in the afternoon; for in
+those early days he went regularly to
+rehearsal. That was before the era of
+long runs, and he played a range of
+parts in each engagement, changing
+them nearly every night. He sometimes
+slept after his early dinner, so as
+to be refreshed and ready for evening.</p>
+<p>Then there were the painters and
+sculptors and photographers, always
+one or two in every town, who wanted
+to take him, either in a popular part, or
+&#8220;in his habit as he lived.&#8221; He never
+dined out while he was playing, except
+on Sundays, and a walk or a drive was
+almost his only exercise or amusement;
+there was not time for more; he had
+to reserve himself for the night. For
+he had to work when other men played;
+his work was their amusement. It was
+a life utterly unlike that of other men,
+and it is not strange that his character
+was unlike theirs. He was exposed to
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span>
+the temptations of youth, and he had
+his peculiar faults, but no gross vices,
+and he did no harm or wrong to man
+or woman&mdash;ever, that I knew. Of how
+many can this be said?</p>
+<p>In 1860 he married Miss Mary Devlin,
+a young actress, who retired from
+the stage as soon as she became engaged
+to him. She was a sweet gentle
+woman, of great natural refinement, and
+every way fit to be his wife. A year
+before he had told me he meant to
+marry, and I encouraged this intention.
+I thought he would be happier, that he
+needed the constant companionship and
+solace of a wife&#8217;s society, though I
+knew that marriage must, to a certain
+extent, disturb the intimacy which I
+valued and enjoyed so highly. No
+man could be so intimate with two
+people at once as he had been with me.
+They were married at the clergyman&#8217;s
+house on the afternoon of July 7. He
+and I went together to the simple ceremony;
+there were no other witnesses
+except his wife&#8217;s sister and her husband
+and John Wilkes Booth. After
+it was over, Wilkes threw his arms
+about Edwin&#8217;s neck and kissed him.</p>
+<p>In a week Booth wrote to me and
+wanted me to join them at Niagara.
+They had a cottage on the Canada
+side, and there I spent two weeks of
+his honeymoon with my friend. He
+was most anxious to show me that his
+marriage had made no difference in his
+feeling toward me, and his wife was
+quite as anxious that I should perceive
+none. In the autumn Booth played in
+New York, and I was with him almost
+as much as ever. We sat up late into
+the night as of old, and Mrs. Booth was
+often so good as to leave us together.
+I had the pleasure of accompanying
+them to distinguished houses, for Mrs.
+Booth was much invited, as well as
+he, and bore herself with quiet grace
+and modest dignity, as &#8220;to the manner
+born.&#8221; We continued our studies, too.
+Mrs. Booth was as anxious as I for the
+artistic success of her husband; she
+and I went to the play together and
+discussed his performances. Their
+union was complete and their happiness
+unalloyed.</p>
+<p>But the currents of our lives ran different
+ways. In 1861 I entered the
+army and Booth went to England.
+His success in London at this time was
+not marked; he could not obtain the
+theatre he wanted, and English feeling
+just then was hostile to Americans.
+He played only a short engagement,
+and it was not until the second or third
+week that he made any impression.
+Then his Richelieu created a sensation,
+but it was late in the season, and
+he only acted a few nights afterward.
+In December his only child, Edwina,
+was born at Fulham, England.</p>
+<p>He returned to America early in
+1862, and in September I was passing
+through New York and went to see
+them. I found the same dear friend I
+had known of old, with a sweet tender
+woman by his side, and a child of nine
+months playing on the floor. Mrs.
+Booth made me remark that the little
+one, creeping in its play, fell instinctively
+into the attitude of Richard
+III. in the terrible fight with Richmond;
+and the likeness was laughable.
+I left the same day for New
+Orleans, happy for this glimpse at their
+domestic happiness.</p>
+<p>They took a house in Boston, and
+the next year, in February, 1863, Booth
+was playing in New York, having left
+his wife at home because of her delicate
+health. During a performance at
+the Winter Garden a despatch was
+handed him, summoning him to her
+side. He left at the close of the play,
+but before he could reach her the
+dearest thing on earth to him was gone
+forever. The shock almost unbalanced
+his mind. His wife had been all that
+a perfect wife could be to a man of his
+peculiar temperament and needs. She
+sustained him, encouraged him, soothed
+him when the sad moods came on, and
+exorcised the evil spirit absolutely. She
+inspired his work, and comforted him
+in weariness, trouble, or physical pain.
+He wrote me, at once, the saddest letter
+I ever received. He was crushed, and
+saw no hope, no reason for living. The
+black cloud that she had lifted was lowered
+again; not even his child at first
+could interest or distract him. But
+he turned to me in his bereavement,
+for I had known her, and I did what I
+could to comfort him; at least, I could
+grieve with him.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span></div>
+<p>The young wife was buried at Mount
+Auburn, near Boston, at a spot which
+they had selected together. He built
+a tomb in which both were to lie; it
+was lined with brick, and when her remains
+were transferred, before the coffin
+was lowered Booth jumped into the
+grave as Hamlet did into Ophelia&#8217;s.
+He joined her there last June, after
+thirty years.</p>
+<p>In May, 1863, I was seriously wounded,
+and it was his turn to solace me.
+I lay in hospital for many weeks, and
+he wrote me constantly. In July I
+was taken to New York, and arrived
+just before the riots of that year. I was
+carried to Booth&#8217;s house. He and his
+brother Wilkes bore me to Edwin&#8217;s
+bed, which he gave up for me, and
+there I was left alone with my distracted
+friend. I may not disclose all
+that he said in his grief, but, with his
+unusual nature, it can be imagined.
+He was inclined to think the spirit
+near him of her who had been so much
+to him in life, and I said nothing to
+disturb the impression. I remained at
+his house until it was possible to remove
+me to the country; both he and
+his brother dressed my wounds, and
+tended me with the greatest care.</p>
+<p>I saw much of him during the months
+of my convalescence, and early in 1865,
+when I was again taken to New York
+after an attack of camp fever; Wilkes
+Booth was once more at his brother&#8217;s
+house. He was excessively handsome,
+even physically finer than Edwin, but
+less intellectual in his manliness. I
+never saw him on the stage, but under
+Edwin&#8217;s roof I thought him very captivating,
+though not so thoroughly distinguished
+as his greater brother.</p>
+<p>Two months later came the terrible
+event which plunged the nation, and
+especially the Booth family, into such
+awful sorrow. Edwin was playing in
+Boston, but at once gave up his engagement
+and returned to his home in
+New York. Numbers of the most
+eminent people hastened to assure him
+of their sympathy and their belief
+in his loyalty. He had indeed been
+stanch for the Union, and the only
+vote he ever cast was for Lincoln in
+1864. But he was overwhelmed by
+this fresh misfortune, this new cloud
+that had settled on his house. His
+brother Junius and his brother-in-law
+were thrown into prison in Washington,
+and he felt himself an object of
+suspicion. I had returned to the field,
+and was in Richmond when the news
+reached me. I wrote to him at once,
+but my letter was withheld. All letters
+to him for awhile were kept back,
+and I suppose especially any from
+Richmond. I could not leave my post
+immediately, and it was a month or
+more before I reached New York,
+where I went, of course, direct to him.
+The first shock was over, but the old
+gloom was greater than ever.</p>
+<p>He told me he had seen nothing in
+his brother to excite suspicion, and I
+have always believed that the awful
+act was the result of a disturbed brain.
+It was so theatrical in plan and performance;
+the conspiracy, the dagger,
+the selection of a theatre, the brandishing
+of the weapon, the cry &#8220;<i>Sic Semper
+Tyrannis</i>&#8221; to the audience&mdash;all was
+exactly what a madman brought up in
+a theatre might have been expected to
+conceive; a man, too, of this peculiar
+family, the son of Junius Brutus Booth,
+used all his life to acting tragedies.
+He had not only nursed me tenderly,
+a soldier wounded for the cause he
+should have hated, but in all the exciting
+period of the riot he said no word
+that indicated sympathy with the
+South. He went out daily to inquire
+the news, and was indignant at the
+outrages he reported; he even assisted
+to shield my negro servant who remained
+hidden in the cellar for nearly
+a week. Two months before the end
+of the war he wished me well when I
+set out to rejoin Grant.</p>
+<p>After a few months Booth returned
+to the stage, and was welcomed back
+with an enthusiasm which showed that
+not only his genius but his nobility of
+character, his elevation of thought, his
+refinement of manner had all been appreciated.
+In 1869 he remarried&mdash;this
+time a Miss McVicker, an actress of
+Chicago, whom I never saw. She left
+the stage upon her marriage. In the
+same year he opened Booth&#8217;s Theatre.
+His pecuniary success had been very
+brilliant, and he had long been ambitious
+to build and control a theatre
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span>
+where the most elevating influences of
+the drama should be exemplified. It
+was a beautiful tribute to his art.
+Everything was done that taste and
+study and care and elaborate expenditure
+could accomplish, to produce the
+greatest plays in the most admirable
+manner; but Booth had no business
+talent, and some of those with whom
+he was brought into contact had a
+large share of this talent, and used it
+to injure or betray his interests. He
+lost largely, and finally was obliged to
+declare himself a bankrupt. He gave
+up all he had in the world, his personal
+and private property, his theatre, his
+library and theatrical wardrobe, and
+many treasures of his profession, and
+became once more a travelling star.
+His performances, however, proved
+more attractive than ever; he was
+soon able to repay all his creditors,
+and afterward remained a man of
+fortune.</p>
+<p>Meanwhile the vicissitudes of life
+had drifted us far apart. I was in
+Europe officially for many years, but
+in 1880 had a leave of absence. During
+the month of June a public breakfast
+was offered Booth at Delmonico&#8217;s by
+many of the most eminent men in New
+York, and I then met him for the first
+time since 1867. After the breakfast I
+went to his rooms, and he put his arms
+around me and begged that we should
+be to each other all we had ever been.
+Each promised, and each kept his
+word.</p>
+<p>But he started for England a few
+days afterward, and it was not till the
+next year that I returned there. Then
+I saw much of him. He played this
+time with great success, at Irving&#8217;s
+theatre. The great English actor
+gave him every facility; relinquished
+his house to him for a while, and treated
+him with a distinguished courtesy
+worthy of his own position as head of
+the British stage. Irving had been in
+the stock company that supported
+Booth during his first English engagement,
+but now they were equals, and
+played on alternate nights, and sometimes
+together, in Othello and Iago.
+Booth&#8217;s houses were crowded with the
+most cultivated and important people
+in England; and his acting, despite a
+certain national jealousy, was by many
+pronounced superior to that of the
+Englishman. Invitations came to him
+from aristocratic quarters, in which
+his daughter was included; but his
+wife was in miserable health and unable
+to go at all into the world, or even
+to receive any one but her own family.
+This marred the gratification at his
+success, and in 1881, after lingering in
+great suffering, both for herself and
+those about her, the second wife of
+Edwin Booth also died. I had returned
+from Europe and passed the
+night after her funeral in his rooms at
+New York. His mother and sister also
+passed away, and his daughter married,
+so that he was left, in a great
+degree, alone.</p>
+<p>His profession, however, remained
+to him. It was about this time that
+he began those remarkable dramatic
+tours with Barrett which were more
+successful from a pecuniary point of
+view than any other of his enterprises.
+It is even said, by those competent to
+pronounce, that the financial results
+surpassed any known in the history of
+the stage. Everywhere he was recognized
+as the head of the American
+theatre. His acting was ripened and
+chastened by study and long experience,
+by the development of his own
+powers, and the opportunities he had
+enjoyed of comparison with his greatest
+foreign rivals. He was accepted
+as the equal in America of what Garrick
+had been in his palmiest days&mdash;the
+peer and companion of whatever
+was best in American society.</p>
+<p>It is four or five years since he conceived
+the idea of founding the Players&#8217;
+Club, and, having become a man
+of more than ordinary means, he was
+able to gratify this ambition. He
+bought and rebuilt a fine house in a
+desirable position in New York, and
+filled it with choice books and pictures
+and relics of the stage, and then invited
+men of distinction and culture to
+meet actors of character and ability on
+an equal footing. The club has been
+eminently successful, and for several
+years Booth, its founder and president,
+made it his home. He had a suite
+of rooms, modestly but tastefully furnished,
+and among his friends and books
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span>
+and pictures passed the last days of his
+life. When he wrote the extracts from
+the Shakespearian sonnets in the volume
+he gave me thirty years ago, I think
+he felt some consciousness of the ban
+that the world then put upon his profession,
+but he could not have retained
+the feeling, for there was no ban applied
+to him. Exclusive English aristocrats
+invited him and his daughter,
+and visited them in return; and Edwin
+Booth voted to admit Grover
+Cleveland to the Century Club, and
+invited General Sherman to become a
+member of the Players&#8217;.</p>
+<p>I was very much struck, on my return
+from Europe in 1881, with the dignity
+and composure which years of recognition
+had given to his bearing. The
+glowing beauty of his youth, of course,
+was gone, his features bore traces of
+his own sorrows and experiences, and
+besides were worn and hardened by
+those terrible passions of the stage
+which were for the time so real to him.
+I have indeed no doubt that it was the
+intense strain on brain and nerve which
+his acting demanded, and not any private
+grief or anxiety, that broke him
+down before his time.</p>
+<p>Years, however, had enhanced his
+innate nobility. He was always reverent
+to religion, and had warm friends
+among the clergy of various denominations.
+A Catholic priest and the Protestant
+Bishop of New York were among
+the first to call after his paralysis was
+known. I never heard him speak disrespectfully
+of sacred themes or of good
+women. His character in later years
+took on a softer phase; his irritability
+was rarer, indeed it almost disappeared,
+while the range of his friendships was
+wider.</p>
+<p>When he received a foreign actor
+who came to call on him, as they all
+did, or welcomed some distinguished
+visitor to his club, he did it with a calm
+dignity and gracious courtesy that was
+very natural and yet imposing, while
+his more intimate bearing when we
+were alone was inexpressibly confiding
+and affectionate, though more subdued
+than in the earlier days.</p>
+<p>In his acting also there was something
+of the same inevitable change
+that time brings to all things and all
+men; but to me he always remained the
+most powerful and consummate tragedian
+I have ever seen. Some of the old
+force may have faded, but it flashed out
+at intervals in every performance with
+all its ancient brilliancy.</p>
+<p>The last time that I saw him on the
+stage,</p>
+<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'>
+<p class='indent20'>&#8220;Last scene of all,</p>
+<p>That ends this strange eventful history,&#8221;</p>
+</div></div>
+<p>was also the last night that Barrett
+ever played. The piece was &#8220;Richelieu,&#8221;
+and it seemed to me that Booth
+excelled himself in the finish of the
+earlier scenes and in the tempest of
+passion at the climax. During this engagement
+I went behind the scenes as I
+had used to go a quarter of a century before,
+and found all the old fascination
+still, subdued and softened by his more
+chastened dignity. But he played only
+a few times after his friend Barrett was
+stricken, and then his own ailings increased.</p>
+<p>After this I never met him out of
+his own rooms but once. I called just
+as he was about to try to walk, and he
+asked me to go with him. He had to
+be assisted to the door, and when he
+reached the street I offered him my
+arm. He took it and leaned heavily.
+He stumbled as he walked, and it took
+us half an hour to move around the
+block of buildings in which the club-house
+stands. Then he was tired, and
+wanted to go in, and I knew that my
+friend would not recover.</p>
+<p>In his rooms at the Players&#8217; Club I
+saw my last of him. For a year or two
+he seldom left them except to visit his
+daughter in town or country, or perhaps
+to accompany her to a play. But
+he spent many hours in her society and
+that of her husband and children&mdash;his
+greatest solace. I fortunately was near
+him during this period, and we often
+passed a morning talking of our early
+manhood or his later career.</p>
+<p>But there was something inexpressibly
+painful in the spectacle of him,
+whose physical faculties had been so
+inextricably bound up with the intellectual,
+whose bodily gifts had been
+the incarnation of passion and romance
+and poetry, his corporal charm the fit
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span>
+embodiment of a noble soul&mdash;to see him
+decay, his powers crumble and waste
+away; to see him decrepit, weary, worn,
+who had been alive with expression,
+captivating in bearing, majestic, terrible,
+tender, by turns. Only his eyes
+retained their marvellous beauty, like
+a lamp burning in a deserted temple,
+or the soul looking out through the
+windows of that body it was soon to
+leave.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_77' id='linki_77'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus284.png' alt='' title='' width='377' height='548' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+THE DEATH MASK OF EDWIN BOOTH.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>Farewell! beloved spirit! Thou
+hast given tens, nay hundreds of thousands
+pleasure by thy genius, expressed
+for them the subtlest and most delicate
+thoughts and sublimest conceptions of
+the greatest of poets, elevated their imaginations,
+refined their fancy, charmed
+their taste, subdued their moods, and
+soothed their weary hours; and never
+once, in all thy art, suggested an impure
+or vicious thought, never stimulated
+an evil desire, nor insinuated a wanton
+or vulgar feeling. Thou hast done
+much to elevate the profession thou
+hast adorned; hast assisted the needy,
+hast stretched out a hand to aid the
+worthy in arriving at thy own position,
+and introduced thy brethren to the
+company which sought and welcomed
+thee. Thou hast been a loving son, a
+reverent, filial admirer of him whose
+mantle fell upon thee, a faithful, devoted
+husband, a brother worthy of
+the name, a tender, bountiful father, a
+loyal, stanch, confiding friend. The
+world has been happier and better for
+thy passage across its stage.</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span>
+<a name='BURGLARS_THREE_BY_JAMES_HARVEY_SMITH' id='BURGLARS_THREE_BY_JAMES_HARVEY_SMITH'></a>
+<h2>BURGLARS THREE.
+<span class='chsub'> <br /><br /><span class='smcap'>By James Harvey Smith</span></span></h2>
+</div>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_78' id='linki_78'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus285b.png' alt='' title='' width='454' height='244' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<div class='figleft' style='width:269px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_79' id='linki_79'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus285a.png' alt='' title='' width='269' height='642' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>As a usual
+thing, when
+they cracked
+a crib, one of the
+three remained
+outside to warn
+with a whistle, or
+some other previously
+concerted
+signal, his companions
+inside.
+But on this occasion,
+when Jim
+Baxter opened the simple
+catch that fastened the
+woodshed door, and
+thence gained access to
+the interior of the house, Wilson
+Graham and Harry Montgomery
+followed softly after him. This
+breach of burglarious custom
+was probably due to the fact that the
+Braithwait mansion was in the suburbs,
+some distance from the road, and several
+hundred yards from the nearest
+house.</p>
+<p>Once inside, Mr. Graham lighted the
+gas, and it was then the work of a very
+few minutes to open the sideboard and
+subtract therefrom the family silver
+and place it in a bag brought for that
+purpose. While this operation was taking
+place, Montgomery made a tour of
+the upper rooms.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t exactly like to trust Harry
+up-stairs,&#8221; remarked Baxter, in a surly
+tone, after he had securely tied the
+mouth of the bag. &#8220;He is too soft.
+Like as not he&#8217;ll go and git sentimental
+over a picture or somethin&#8217;, or maybe
+git a-thinkin&#8217; of his mother, and
+leave half the ornyments.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Graham, who had just opened a pearl
+inlaid <i>secretaire</i>, and was possessing
+himself of numerous valuable trinkets,
+laughed softly, as he replied:</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t think so, Jim. Only yesterday
+I gave the boy a good talking to,
+and he promised to attend strictly to
+business in future. You must remember
+he is young, and, unless we give
+him a chance, how is he to learn? Of
+course, if there was a young girl in
+the house&mdash;but there isn&#8217;t,&#8221; he added
+quickly, observing the wrathful frown
+on his companion&#8217;s face. &#8220;I made certain
+that the only people who sleep in
+the house are Mr. Braithwait and the
+housekeeper, who is rather old and
+nearly deaf; the rest of the family are
+in Florida for their health. If Braithwait
+makes a disturbance I reckon
+Harry can settle him without any sentimental
+nonsense.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;d settle him,&#8221; muttered Baxter,
+surlily.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re a savage, Jim,&#8221; said Graham,
+reproachfully. &#8220;How often have
+I told you that there is no virtue in
+violence. Haven&#8217;t I convinced you
+that the easy way is the safe way?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yah! Don&#8217;t give me no more of
+that!&#8221; said Baxter, contemptuously.
+&#8220;I ain&#8217;t no missionary.&#8221;</p>
+<p>At this juncture, when the argument
+threatened to develop into a quarrel,
+peace was restored by the reappearance
+of the young burglar, carrying a considerable
+quantity of jewelry, loose
+and in boxes, while he softly whistled
+&#8220;M&#8217;Appari.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not a bad haul,&#8221; observed Graham,
+turning over the plunder as it
+lay on the table. &#8220;<i>Two</i> watches?&#8221;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span></div>
+<p>&#8220;They&#8217;re them little tickers what
+the girls carry,&#8221; said Baxter, scornfully.
+&#8220;We won&#8217;t get two dollars apiece for
+&#8217;em.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Won&#8217;t we, though!&#8221; said Graham,
+smiling. &#8220;They are gold, and there is
+an inscription on each; that means a
+fancy reward, or I don&#8217;t know human
+feminine nature. Two brooches, a
+necklace&mdash;h&#8217;m&mdash;h&#8217;m&mdash;very good, indeed.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;There was no money,&#8221; remarked
+Harry, adjusting his necktie before the
+mirror, and giving his small blonde
+mustache a curl.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I expected as much,&#8221; commented
+Graham, storing away the trinkets in
+his pockets. &#8220;Braithwait has a hundred
+with him, I dare say, but it isn&#8217;t
+worth the risk. If we kill a man in
+the city it&#8217;s soon forgotten, but in the
+suburbs it creates a regular panic. The
+neighbors hire detectives and follow a
+man all over creation, and you can&#8217;t
+buy them off or compromise the matter&mdash;money
+is no object. That&#8217;s why
+I keep telling Jim&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Let up, will ye!&#8221; exclaimed Baxter,
+roughly. &#8220;I ain&#8217;t killin&#8217; nobody,
+am I?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Certainly not; but I only say&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+<div class='figleft' style='width:279px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_80' id='linki_80'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus286.png' alt='' title='' width='279' height='455' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+&#8220;I AIN&#8217;T NO MISSIONARY!&#8221;<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;Say nothin&#8217;! where&#8217;s the feed
+box?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Mr. Graham groaned, and looked at
+his young accomplice in comical alarm.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I knew how it would be! Jim,
+these luncheons will be the ruin of us
+all some night.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Can&#8217;t help it,&#8221; retorted Baxter, doggedly.
+&#8220;It&#8217;s a good four-mile walk
+from the city and as much back, and
+we hadn&#8217;t anything but a snack for
+supper. A man&#8217;s got to eat, and when
+I&#8217;m hungry&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, well,&#8221; said the other, with a
+gesture of impatience, &#8220;if it must be,
+it must. Harry, see to the wine, and
+we will find the substantials. Now,
+Jim, <i>do</i> be careful of the dishes, and
+<i>don&#8217;t</i> grunt and puff while you&#8217;re eating.
+It&#8217;s vulgar.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Jim Baxter grunted and puffed at
+this, but made no other reply as he
+busied himself spreading the contents
+of the refrigerator on the dining-room
+table, while Harry from the sideboard
+produced a decanter of whiskey and
+three bottles of claret. There was a
+nice piece of cold ham, some tongue,
+cheese and pickles, bread and butter,
+anchovies and sardines, a bottle of
+olives, and the remains of an oyster
+pie.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Quite a lay-out,&#8221; remarked Baxter,
+with a ravenous chuckle. &#8220;D&#8217;ye remember
+the house at Barleytown
+where there wasn&#8217;t nothin&#8217; but graham
+crackers and winegar in the box?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I should say so,&#8221; exclaimed Graham,
+with a look of disgust.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Some people are too mean to live,&#8221;
+returned Baxter, savagely. &#8220;Come,
+shove over that decanter, and let&#8217;s
+pitch in. Fingers, gents, &#8217;cause there
+ain&#8217;t nothin&#8217; but silver knives and
+forks in this house, unless I take &#8217;em
+out of the bag, which I ain&#8217;t doin&#8217;.
+Here&#8217;s luck!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Excellent claret, Wilson,&#8221; said the
+young burglar, holding his glass up to
+the light.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Genuine Medoc,&#8221; returned Graham,
+with the air of a connoisseur.
+&#8220;That&#8217;s the worst of this business;
+not one gentleman out of ten is a judge
+of wine. Now, the whiskey&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The whiskey&#8217;s all right,&#8221; interrupted
+Baxter, curtly. &#8220;All whiskey&#8217;s
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span>
+good; some&#8217;s better&#8217;n others, but it&#8217;s
+all good. Blow claret!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No style about Jim,&#8221; said Harry,
+with a smile that was half a sneer.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, you bet there ain&#8217;t,&#8221; said Baxter,
+stolidly. &#8220;You oughter call me
+&#8216;Old Business,&#8217; &#8217;cause that&#8217;s what I am.
+Pass them pickles.&#8221;</p>
+<p>It was a most interesting sight. At
+the head of the table sat Graham, a
+smooth-faced, well-fed man of forty,
+who might have
+passed for a prosperous
+banker, or a
+man living on an
+annuity; to his
+right reclined,
+rather than sat,
+young Montgomery,
+a spruce and
+slender fellow, with
+soft blue eyes, tremulous
+lips, and light
+hair neatly brushed;
+while opposite Graham
+sat Baxter, a
+coarse, shaggy,
+grimy man of uncertain
+age, with
+small, shifty eyes,
+a heavy beard, and
+a general air of brutal
+strength. Had
+it not been for the
+fact that each man
+wore his hat, and
+that the bag of
+stolen goods lay on
+one corner of the
+table, it might have
+been taken for a
+small stag party,
+Graham personating
+the host to perfection.</p>
+<p>The resemblance was lost, however,
+a moment later. The door leading to
+the back stairway, directly behind Jim
+Baxter, opened and revealed a spare
+man with long blonde whiskers, wearing
+gold eye-glasses, and a flowered
+dressing-gown.</p>
+<p>Graham was the first to see the intruder,
+and his exclamation of astonishment
+caused Baxter to turn his
+head. In an instant that worthy was
+on his feet, with a pistol in his hand.
+Graham was quicker, however, and
+before his companion could raise the
+weapon he seized his arm and pushed
+him aside.</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:304px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_81' id='linki_81'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus288.png' alt='' title='' width='304' height='599' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;No violence, Jim,&#8221; he said, sternly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I warn&#8217;t goin&#8217; to shoot,&#8221; growled
+Jim. &#8220;I was only goin&#8217; to give him a
+crack on the head.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I won&#8217;t have it,&#8221; returned Graham,
+authoritatively. &#8220;Sit down.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Baxter put up his pistol and sat
+down. Graham
+then turned to the
+spare gentleman,
+who had not moved
+from the doorway
+during this episode.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Braithwait,
+I presume?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is my
+name,&#8221; was the
+composed reply.
+&#8220;Burglars, I presume?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The presumption
+is correct. Will
+you take a seat?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Mr. Braithwait
+sat down opposite
+young Montgomery,
+to whom he
+bowed gravely.
+There was then a
+moment of silence,
+broken by Graham,
+who had resumed
+his place at the head
+of the table.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am sorry,&#8221;
+said he, &#8220;you have
+made your appearance,
+as we can&#8217;t
+very well apologize
+for our intrusion.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, I suppose
+not,&#8221; said Mr. Braithwait, smiling.
+&#8220;Yet I am rather pleased that I did
+come, since I always enjoy an unusual
+experience.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Glad you enjoy it,&#8221; muttered Baxter;
+but no one listened to him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I was aroused by the reflection of
+the gaslight in the upper hall,&#8221; explained
+Mr. Braithwait, &#8220;and I supposed
+that the housekeeper had left it
+burning&mdash;she has done so more than
+once. I came down to extinguish it.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span>
+I heard voices in this room, and I entered.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;At the risk of your life,&#8221; observed
+Graham, with a significant glance at
+Baxter, who had resumed eating.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I did not think of that,&#8221; said Mr.
+Braithwait, simply. &#8220;My life has been
+threatened so often&mdash;you know I am a
+railroad man&mdash;that I give little thought
+to the risk of an undertaking. Professionals,
+I suppose?&#8221;</p>
+<p>He looked at Montgomery, who nodded
+nonchalantly and lighted a cigarette.</p>
+<p>Mr. Braithwait coughed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wish you wouldn&#8217;t,&#8221; he said, deprecatingly.
+&#8220;Apart from the looks, I
+can&#8217;t bear cigarette-smoke. There&#8217;s a
+box of very fine Conchas on the sideboard.
+Thank you&#8221;&mdash;to Graham&mdash;&#8220;if
+you will join me?&mdash;thank you
+again.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Graham laughed with genuine enjoyment,
+yet without vulgarity.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I like you,&#8221; he said, frankly, &#8220;and
+I am sorry that, in the line of business&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;
+He waved his cigar at the
+bag.</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:498px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_82' id='linki_82'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus289.png' alt='' title='' width='498' height='380' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+&#8220;EXCELLENT CLARET,&#8221; SAID HARRY.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;Of course, yes, of course, I know
+that can&#8217;t be helped,&#8221; said Mr. Braithwait,
+smoking away easily, &#8220;and
+that&#8217;s another reason why I&#8217;m glad I
+came. I suppose you have in that
+bag some trinkets belonging to my
+wife and daughters that have a special
+value as mementos. I hear that you
+gentlemen are frequently forced to sell
+your plunder at a simply ruinous sacrifice,
+and it occurred to me that if we
+could come to some arrangement&mdash;you
+understand?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Perfectly,&#8221; answered Graham. &#8220;It
+can be done, and I will open negotiations
+at an early date. Provided, of
+course,&#8221; he added, severely, &#8220;that you
+play fair.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is understood. As a business
+man I accept the situation. My loss
+is your gain.&#8221;</p>
+<p>At this the youngest burglar broke
+silence for the first time.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You are a philosopher,&#8221; he said, in
+a tone of admiration.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What sensible man is not?&#8221; responded
+Mr. Braithwait, cheerfully. &#8220;I
+suppose it is capable of proof that the
+accumulated wisdom of the ancients
+amounts simply to the homely proverb:
+&#8216;What can&#8217;t be cured must be endured.&#8217;
+My business is a sort of war, and I
+have my defeats
+as well as my victories.
+I must
+bear them both
+with equanimity.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;So is ours,&#8221;
+said the youngest
+burglar. &#8220;As
+Horace says in his
+&#8216;Epistles&#8217;: &#8216;C�dimur,
+et totidem
+plagis consumimus
+hostem.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Permit me,&#8221;
+returned Mr.
+Braithwait, &#8220;to
+reply with Catullus:
+&#8216;Nil mihi
+tam valde placeat,
+Rhamnusia virgo,
+quod temere invitis
+suscipiatur
+heris.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+<p>Montgomery flushed slightly, and
+Baxter growled an incoherent protest
+against the use of foreign languages.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Of course, I do not claim that I
+enjoy being robbed,&#8221; continued Mr.
+Braithwait, &#8220;but I realize that it is not
+as bad as it might be. Last week you
+would have caught me with two thousand
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span>
+in cash in the house, and last
+month you would have horribly scared
+my wife and daughters.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not for worlds,&#8221; murmured Mr.
+Montgomery.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, you might have done so&mdash;women
+have such a detestation of
+robbers, except when they are in jail.
+The pleasure of your visit&mdash;I hinted
+that I could extract pleasure from
+adversity&mdash;lies in the fact that it
+brings me in contact with a profession
+I have previously known only
+by hearsay. I suppose I may take
+it for granted you gentlemen are experts?&#8221;</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_83' id='linki_83'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus290.png' alt='' title='' width='661' height='505' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+&#8220;NO VIOLENCE, JIM!&#8221;<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;ve been there before,&#8221; said
+Baxter, coarsely.</p>
+<p>&#8220;If an experience of fourteen years
+is any guaranty, then I am an expert,&#8221;
+said Graham, with a certain air of pride
+in his tones. &#8220;Our friend there,&#8221;
+nodding at Baxter, &#8220;has, I believe,
+been in the profession since childhood;
+while Mr.&#8221;&mdash;indicating Montgomery
+with his cigar&mdash;&#8220;you&#8217;ll excuse my not
+mentioning names?&mdash;is a beginner. A
+skilled workman, I admit, but this is
+only his second year.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t wonder that he&#8221;&mdash;and Mr.
+Braithwait glanced slightly at Baxter,&mdash;&#8220;remains
+in the business, but that you
+should follow the vocation for fourteen
+years surprises me greatly.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Indeed?&#8221; queried Graham, with
+perceptible stiffness. &#8220;Why?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Because you appear to be a sensible
+man, and I should not think the
+business would pay. What is your
+annual income as a burglar?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;On an average, I should say three
+thousand a year.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And you are an expert! I receive
+six thousand a year, and I am
+only Assistant General Freight Agent,
+and have been but twelve years in the
+business. Then I may infer that these
+two gentlemen make much less than
+three thousand?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve seen the week when I didn&#8217;t
+make hod-carrier&#8217;s wages,&#8221; growled
+Baxter, who had now finished eating,
+and was preparing to smoke a black
+wooden pipe.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span></div>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re not so sensible as I thought,&#8221;
+rejoined Mr. Braithwait, frankly. &#8220;I
+can easily imagine a man exposing
+himself to dreadful dangers and cruel
+privations when there is a great prize
+in view. An explorer like Stanley, a
+pioneer like Pike or Fremont, a conqueror
+like Cortez, or a revolutionist
+like Washington, could well brave hardship
+and peril when success meant
+wealth as well as the plaudits of their
+fellow men. The early settlers of this
+and every other country, the gold
+hunters of &#8217;49, the pirates who ravaged
+the seas, all were actuated by the hope
+of a fortune at one swoop; but to risk
+prison, to say nothing of life itself, for
+a day laborer&#8217;s wages!&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But,&#8221; spoke up Montgomery, quickly,
+&#8220;there is fame, if not fortune.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pardon me. In what way?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;In the usual way. Who has not
+heard of Hickey, the man who cracked
+twenty banks before they tripped him
+up; Peters, the New England cracksman;
+Bronthers, the Chicago expert?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I hope,&#8221; said Mr. Braithwait, gently,
+&#8220;I won&#8217;t offend you when I say I
+never heard of those gentlemen.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is it possible!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Honestly, I never did.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You have surely heard of Red
+Leary?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t recall his name.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;George Post? Louis Ludlum? Pete
+McCartney? Miles Ogle?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t know them.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps,&#8221; sarcastically, &#8220;you don&#8217;t
+read the papers?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I do, and I have a good
+memory. I can say without boasting
+that I have on my tongue&#8217;s end all the
+professional, literary and artistic names
+in America, and many in Europe. In
+my library I have many biographies,
+but none of which a burglar is the
+theme, nor do I recall the name of a
+celebrated criminal, unless,&#8221; pleasantly,
+&#8220;he has been hanged.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yet there <i>are</i> famous names in our
+profession,&#8221; persisted the young burglar,
+somewhat sullenly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes,&#8221; admitted Mr. Braithwait,
+taking a small drink of claret.
+&#8220;Literature has preserved Claude Duval,
+Jack Sheppard, Dick Turpin&mdash;all
+hung&mdash;Fra Diavolo, who was shot, and
+even our own James and Younger
+boys; and I have heard vaguely of one
+Billy the Kid somewhere out West.
+In a general sense, literature and the
+drama are saturated with bandits, brigands
+and outlaws, sometimes comical,
+sometimes heroic, but you will excuse
+me if I maintain that you stand on
+a different footing. Those fellows
+always had a poetical backing; somebody
+or something had driven them
+to their illegal calling, but you can
+scarcely make a similar claim.&#8221;</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:338px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_84' id='linki_84'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus292.png' alt='' title='' width='338' height='343' />
+<br />
+<p class='caption'>
+&#8220;WHAT IS YOUR ANNUAL INCOME AS A BURGLAR?&#8221;<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know about that,&#8221; protested
+Baxter, doggedly. &#8220;Who&#8217;d give
+<i>me</i> a job?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Did you ever try?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No; nor I ain&#8217;t goin&#8217; to!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;As I supposed. Honest work is
+plentiful, therefore you are absolutely
+without excuse. No one has usurped
+your name and fortune, stolen your
+ancestral home or intended bride;
+neither have you been outlawed for
+your political or religious beliefs, or
+unjustly accused of crime.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The big burglar looked extremely
+blank at this pointed address, and took
+a grumbling drink of whiskey. Mr.
+Graham promptly came to his companion&#8217;s
+relief.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You have made out a <i>prima facie</i>
+case, as the lawyers say, but the fact
+remains that there <i>is</i> a fascination in
+the life we lead, and some romance.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span>
+There is mystery about it, for one
+thing, and danger for another. Then
+we certainly have the sympathy of a
+certain class of society, when we are
+prisoners.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is not the sympathy to which you
+allude confined to murderers, especially
+those who kill their wives?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;As a rule, yes,&#8221; admitted Graham;
+&#8220;but the people, who have sympathy
+for murderers, generally have such a
+superabundance that they can spare
+some for us. I have known burglars to
+receive six bouquets in a single day,
+and from real ladies, too.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am afraid,&#8221; said Mr. Braithwait,
+with a smile, &#8220;that the sympathy extended
+with such small discretion has
+little market value. But let us pass
+that by and glance at the disagreeable
+side of your profession. For instance,
+this night you have walked from the
+city, the nearest point of which is
+three miles.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;We come four,&#8221; growled Baxter.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, four; and four back is eight.
+It could not have been a pleasant
+walk, as the night is cloudy and the
+roads are heavy from recent rains.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;There warn&#8217;t no choice,&#8221; said Baxter,
+savagely. &#8220;We <i>had</i> to walk.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;There it is,&#8221; said Mr. Braithwait,
+triumphantly, &#8220;you <i>had</i> to walk. Now,
+I don&#8217;t have to walk; I ride in the
+train or my carriage at any hour of the
+day or night. No honest man has to
+walk, if he has money&mdash;and, of course,
+you have.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The point,&#8221; admitted Mr. Graham,
+reluctantly, &#8220;is well taken.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I feel certain of it. Nor is this the
+only instance in which your pleasure is
+marred by fear. The very fame for
+which you strive is a constant bar to
+your enjoyment. If you take lodging
+at a hotel you are ejected; you may
+be refused admittance to any respectable
+theatre; in any place of entertainment,
+except the very lowest, you
+cannot make a new acquaintance for
+fear he may be a detective plotting
+your capture; you are compelled to
+eat, drink, and sleep among vile associates
+and vulgar surroundings; and
+all for a pitiful three thousand a year!
+By heaven! it is worth thirty!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You use strong language, sir,&#8221; exclaimed
+the youngest burglar, rising
+and pacing the floor in an agitated
+way.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I do,&#8221; admitted the master of the
+house, &#8220;because my business sense is
+outraged by your stupidity.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Stupidity!&#8221; echoed Graham,
+sharply.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is the word,&#8221; returned Mr.
+Braithwait, sternly. &#8220;Your profession
+requires acuteness, courage, skill, caution,
+and endurance. Gentlemen, these
+are admirable traits, and with them
+you might be anything but burglars.
+The banking institutions, railways, private
+and civic corporations, are eager
+for such men; they pay them large
+wages and grant them great privileges.
+The governments, State and National,
+want such men, and are looking for
+them, while they are skulking through
+city alleys or walking miry roads at
+midnight. Gentlemen, with all your
+qualifications, you lack the one essential
+to success&mdash;common sense.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Permit me,&#8221; said Graham, leaning
+over the table and speaking with much
+force, &#8220;to call your attention to the
+fact that we are bright enough to keep
+society eternally on the defensive.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Granted,&#8221; said Mr. Braithwait.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Small in numbers though we are,
+we necessitate the employment of a
+police force in every village, town, and
+city in the Union, to say nothing of
+special constables and private watchmen.
+We force every bank and corporation
+to sink thousands in costly
+safes, locks, and other safeguards, and
+no householder is ever free from apprehension
+on our account. We are
+one against many, so to speak, but we
+make the many tremble! Could we
+exercise this power without brains?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ay! could we?&#8221; supplemented
+Montgomery, with flashing eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Granted again,&#8221; said Mr. Braithwait,
+cheerfully, &#8220;but quite foreign
+to the point at issue. Society is terrorized
+through its inertness, and when
+society enters on an active warfare you
+gentlemen cannot make a show of resistance.
+And even under our present
+policy of passive resistance there is
+but one thing that will save a criminal
+from the eventual clutch of the law,
+and that is&mdash;death.&#8221;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span></div>
+<p>The youngest burglar turned white
+and Baxter cursed softly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You cannot, with all your brightness,
+commit a crime without leaving
+a trace,&#8221; went on Mr. Braithwait, impassively,
+&#8220;and every modern appliance
+is a stumbling-block
+in your path.
+The modern bank
+safe, equipped with
+time-locks, is impregnable;
+the electric
+light has made
+our streets as safe
+by night as day;
+and the telegraph
+has lengthened the
+arm of justice until
+it encircles the
+globe.&#8221;</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:303px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_85' id='linki_85'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus295.png' alt='' title='' width='303' height='527' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;And yet,&#8221; retorted
+Graham,
+with a slight sneer,
+&#8220;<i>you</i> have been
+robbed.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And yet I have
+been robbed,&#8221; repeated
+Mr. Braithwait,
+calmly.
+&#8220;Without interfering
+sadly with my
+comfort and ease, I
+cannot make my
+house a bank or
+surround myself
+with an army of
+watchmen. And I
+don&#8217;t like dogs. So I have been robbed.
+Yet&#8221;&mdash;Mr. Braithwait looked Mr. Graham
+quietly in the eye&mdash;&#8220;yet I am not
+entirely defenceless.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hello!&#8221; said Baxter, breathing
+hard. &#8220;Have you been up to somethin&#8217;?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You shall judge whether I have
+rightly accused you of
+lack of common sense.
+Before attacking this
+house, did you make yourself
+acquainted with the
+surroundings?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I did,&#8221; answered Graham,
+confidently.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you know that I
+am a railroad man?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Certainly.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Did you notice a wire
+running through the woods at the rear
+of my house?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No!&#8221; cried Graham, violently.</p>
+<p>&#8220;A strange oversight on your part.
+Very stupid. It is a telephone wire,
+and leads from my chamber above to
+my office in the city.
+Now for the application
+of my remarks.
+From the
+moment of your entrance
+I was aware
+of your movements,
+and instantly explained
+the situation
+to the night
+operator. He, of
+course, notified the
+police&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And while you
+kept us engaged
+in conversation&mdash;&#8221;
+cried Graham, advancing
+threateningly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The police were
+coming on a special
+train to my assistance,&#8221;
+said Mr.
+Braithwait, taking a
+second cigar.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Damn you!&#8221;
+exclaimed Baxter,
+threateningly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Stop!&#8221; cried
+Graham, interposing.
+&#8220;We have no
+time for that. Let us run!&#8221;</p>
+<div class='figright' style='width:428px'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_86' id='linki_86'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus295b.png' alt='' title='' width='428' height='218' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t!&#8221; said the host, warningly.
+&#8220;The house is surrounded, and you
+will certainly be shot. Accept the situation,
+as I did. You gentlemen have
+been my guests this evening, and I have
+been highly entertained. May I hope
+that the pleasure has been mutual?&#8221;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span></div>
+<p>Before anyone could answer, the door
+leading to the woodshed was thrown
+open, and four policemen appeared on
+the threshold. Montgomery sank helplessly
+into a chair. Baxter made a dash
+for the door, while Graham remained
+impassive, but all were alike handcuffed
+expeditiously.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_87' id='linki_87'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus296a.png' alt='' title='' width='552' height='397' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;Sir,&#8221; said Graham, taking a cigar
+from the box, &#8220;our misfortune is directly
+due to the uncontrollable appetite of
+our companion, but none the less I congratulate
+you upon your ingenuity.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thanks,&#8221; said Mr. Braithwait.
+&#8220;Did I not tell you that you were
+stupid?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Mr. Graham bowed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You have taught us a lesson,&#8221; he
+said gravely. &#8220;I think it is time to
+abandon the business.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, I&#8217;ll be&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; Baxter gasped,
+and could say no more.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We are disgraced!&#8221; exclaimed the
+youngest burglar, bitterly.</p>
+<p>Mr. Braithwait waved his hand.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am sleepy,&#8221; he said, with a yawn.
+&#8220;Gentlemen, good-night; I will see you
+again&mdash;in court.&#8221;</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_88' id='linki_88'></a>
+</div>
+<img src='images/illus296b.png' alt='' title='' width='493' height='196' />
+<br />
+</div>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span>
+<a name='STRANGER_THAN_FICTION_UNPUBLISHED_CHAPTERS_FROM_THE_BRONTS_IN_IRELAND__BY_DR_WILLIAM_WRIGHT' id='STRANGER_THAN_FICTION_UNPUBLISHED_CHAPTERS_FROM_THE_BRONTS_IN_IRELAND__BY_DR_WILLIAM_WRIGHT'></a>
+<h2>STRANGER THAN FICTION.<br /><span class='smcaplc'>UNPUBLISHED CHAPTERS FROM &#8220;THE BRONT�S IN IRELAND.&#8221;</span>
+<span class='chsub'> <br /><br /><span class='smcap'>By Dr. William Wright.</span></span></h2>
+</div>
+<h3>INTRODUCTION.</h3>
+<p>The sources of
+information regarding the
+Bront� family
+in England
+have been studiously
+investigated,
+and
+everything
+known about
+them there has been described with
+great wealth of literary skill and ingenuity;
+but the eager guesses and surmises
+as to what lay beyond the English
+boundaries have been mostly erroneous.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Gaskell&#8217;s &#8220;Life of Charlotte
+Bront�&#8221; is an exquisite tribute from a
+gifted hand, but Mrs. Gaskell&#8217;s dreary
+moorlands are as inadequate to account
+for the Bront� genius, as the general
+picture of suppressed sadness is unwarranted
+by the Bront� letters, or by
+the living testimony of Miss Ellen
+Nussey, Charlotte&#8217;s life-long friend and
+confidante.</p>
+<p>Mr. Wemyss Reid has given us a picture
+of this singular family in brighter,
+truer colors; but his theory as to the
+&#8220;disillusioning&#8221; of Charlotte at Brussels
+is a pure assumption, and repudiated
+with indignation by Miss Nussey.</p>
+<p>Mr. Augustine Birrell&#8217;s brilliant &#8220;Life
+of Charlotte Bront�&#8221; contains some
+additional facts gleaned in England,
+and deserves to be read, if only for the
+generous indignation called forth by
+the &#8220;Quarterly Reviewer,&#8221; who sought
+to assassinate the reputation of the
+author of &#8220;Jane Eyre.&#8221;</p>
+<p>A feeling of dissatisfaction was felt
+in some degree by each of these writers
+in turn, but by none more clearly expressed
+than by Mr. J. A. Erskine
+Stuart in his most useful book, &#8220;The
+Bront� Country.&#8221; He writes: &#8220;For our
+own part, we desire a fuller biography
+of the family than has yet been written,
+and we trust, and are confident, that
+such will yet appear, and that there
+are many surprises yet in store for
+students of this Celtic circle.&#8221;</p>
+<p>I now proceed, but not without misgivings,
+to justify the confidence thus
+expressed, and to fulfill the prediction
+implied, so far as regards the Bront�s
+in Ireland. I propose in the following
+pages to supply the Irish straws of
+Bront� history which I have been accumulating
+for nearly half a century.
+I have waited in hopes that some
+more skillful hand might undertake the
+task, but as no one else, since the
+death of Captain Mayne Reid, has
+the requisite information, the story of
+the Irish Bront�s must be told by me,
+or remain untold.</p>
+<p>My first classical teacher was the
+Reverend William McAllister, of Ryans,
+near Newry, a man of brilliant imagination,
+who under favorable conditions
+might have taken rank with John Bunyan
+or William Blake. He had known
+Patrick Bront� (Charlotte&#8217;s father), and
+had often heard old Hugh, the grandfather,
+narrate to a spell-bound audience,
+the incidents which formed the
+ground-work of &#8220;Wuthering Heights.&#8221;
+He used to take me for long walks in
+the fields, and tell me the story of
+Hugh Bront�&#8217;s early life, or narrate
+other Bront� adventures, which he
+assured me were just as worthy to be
+recounted as the wrath of Achilles or
+the wanderings of Pius �neas. It
+thus happened that I wrote screeds of
+the Bront� novels myself before a line
+of them had been penned at Haworth.
+I do not think that Branwell Bront�
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span>
+really meant to deceive when he spoke
+of having written &#8220;Wuthering Heights,&#8221;
+for the story in outline must have been
+common property at Haworth, and the
+children of the vicarage were all
+scribblers.</p>
+<p>Through my teacher&#8217;s relatives, who
+lived quite near to the Bront�s, I was
+able to verify facts and incidents, and
+the pains thus taken has fixed them
+indelibly upon my mind. At a later
+period, I had still better opportunities
+for forming a sound judgment concerning
+the Irish Bront�s, for the pleasantest
+part of my undergraduate holidays
+was spent at the manse of the Reverend
+David McKee of Ballynaskeagh.
+Mr. McKee was a great educationalist,
+and prepared many students for college
+who afterwards became famous.</p>
+<p>This great and noble man, who stood
+six feet six inches high, was the friend
+of the Bront�s, as well as their near
+neighbor. He recognized the Bront�
+genius, where others only saw what
+was wild and unconventional. Mr.
+McKee&#8217;s home was the center of mental
+activity in that neighborhood, and
+the early copies of the novels that
+came to the &#8220;Uncle Bront�&#8217;s&#8221; were cut,
+read, and criticised by Mr. McKee, and
+his criticisms forwarded to the Haworth
+nieces. Great was the joy of
+those uncles and aunts when Mr.
+McKee&#8217;s approval was enthusiastically
+given.</p>
+<p>There are also several other persons,
+some of them still living, who knew
+the Bront�s, and have kindly communicated
+to me the information they possessed,
+so that I have had illumination
+from various points on this many-sided
+family.</p>
+<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3>
+<p class='center'>THE DARK FOUNDLING.</p>
+<p>Hugh Bront�&#8217;s grandfather, the
+great-great-grandfather of the English
+novelist, formerly lived upon a farm
+on the banks of the Boyne, above
+Drogheda. He was a cattle-dealer, and
+often crossed to Liverpool to dispose
+of his stock. Once, when he was returning
+therefrom, a strange child was
+found in a bundle in the hold of the
+vessel. It was very young, very black,
+very dirty, and almost destitute of
+clothing. No one knew whence it had
+come, nor cared what became of it.
+There was no doctor in the ship, and
+no woman save Mrs. Bront�, who had
+accompanied her husband. The child
+was thrown on deck. Some one said,
+&#8220;Toss it overboard,&#8221; but nobody would
+touch it, and its cries were distressing.
+From sheer pity Mrs. Bront� was
+obliged to succor the abandoned infant.</p>
+<p>On reaching Drogheda, it was taken
+ashore for food and clothing, with the
+intention of returning it to Liverpool;
+but the captain refused to allow it to
+be brought aboard of his ship again.
+As no one in Drogheda had an interest
+in the child, it was left in Mrs. Bront�&#8217;s
+hands. To be sure, there was a vestry tax
+at that time for the removal of illegitimate
+children, but Mrs. Bront� found
+it much easier to take the child home
+than to Dublin, where it might possibly
+be refused admission amongst the
+authorized foundlings&mdash;there being no
+hospital nearer than that point.</p>
+<p>When the infant was carried up out
+of the hold of the vessel, it was declared
+to be a Welsh child on account
+of its color. It might, doubtless, have
+laid claim to a more Oriental descent,
+but, when it became a Bront�, it was
+called &#8220;Welsh.&#8221; The Bront�s, who
+were all golden-haired, exceedingly disliked
+the swarthy infant, but &#8220;pity
+melts the heart to love,&#8221; and Mrs.
+Bront� brought it up amongst her own
+children. Little Welsh was a weak,
+delicate, and fretful thing, and being
+generally despised and pushed aside
+by the vigorous young Bront�s, he
+grew up morose, envious, and cunning.
+He used secretly to play many
+spiteful tricks upon the children, so
+that they were continually chastising
+him. On his part, he maintained a
+moody, sullen silence, except when
+Mr. Bront� was present to protect him.
+With Mr. Bront� he became a favorite,
+because he always ran to meet him on
+his return home, as if glad to see him,
+and anxious to render him any possible
+assistance. He followed his master
+about, while at home, with dog-like
+fidelity, telling him everything he knew
+to the other children&#8217;s disadvantage,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span>
+and thus succeeded in securing a permanent
+place between them and their
+father.</p>
+<p>Old Bront� took Welsh with him to
+fairs and markets, instead of his own
+sons, as soon as he was able to go, and
+found him of the greatest service. His
+very insignificance added to his usefulness.
+He would mingle with the
+people from whom Bront� wished to
+purchase cattle, and find out from their
+conversation the lowest price they
+would be willing to take, and then report
+to his master. Bront� would then
+offer the dealers a little less than he
+knew they wanted, and secure the cattle
+without the usual weary process of
+bargaining. The same course was repeated
+in Liverpool, and in the end
+Bront� became a rich and prosperous
+dealer. Welsh was now indispensable
+to him, and followed him like a
+shadow; but the more Bront� became
+attached to Welsh, the more the children
+hated the interloper. As time
+went on, Bront�&#8217;s affairs passed more
+and more into his assistant&#8217;s hands,
+until at last he had the entire management.
+They were returning from Liverpool
+once, after selling the largest
+drove of cattle that had ever crossed
+the channel, when suddenly Bront�
+died in mid-ocean. Welsh, who was
+with him at the time of his death, professed
+ignorance of his master&#8217;s money;
+and, as all books and accounts had disappeared,
+no one could tell what had
+become of the cash received for the
+cattle.</p>
+<p>The young Bront�s, who were now
+almost men and women, had been
+brought up in comparative luxury.
+They were well educated, but they
+understood neither farming nor dealing,
+and the land had been so neglected
+that it could not support a
+family, even if the requisite capital for
+its cultivation had not been lost. In
+this emergency Welsh requested an interview
+with the whole family. He
+declared that he had a proposal to
+make which would restore their fallen
+fortunes. He had been forbidden the
+house, but, as it was supposed that he
+was going to give back the money
+which he must have stolen, his request
+was reluctantly granted.</p>
+<p>Welsh appeared at the interview
+dressed up in broadcloth, black and
+shiny as his well-greased hair, and in
+fine linen, white and glistening as his
+prominent teeth. The effect was ludicrous
+to those who had always known
+the man. His sinister expression was
+intensified by a smile of satisfaction
+which gave emphasis to the cast in both
+eyes, and to his jackal-like mouth.</p>
+<p>He began at once, in the grand cattle-dealer
+style, to express sympathy
+with the family, and to declare that
+upon one condition only would he continue
+the dealing and supply their
+wants. This condition was that Mary,
+the youngest sister, should become his
+wife&mdash;a proposal which was rejected
+with indignant scorn. Many hot and
+bitter words were exchanged, but as
+Welsh was leaving the house, he turned
+and said, &#8220;Mary shall yet be my wife,
+and I will scatter the rest of you like
+chaff from this house, which shall be
+mine also.&#8221; With these words he
+passed out into the darkness.</p>
+<p>The interview had two immediate
+results. It revealed the threatened
+dangers, and roused the brothers to an
+earnest effort to save their home.
+Welsh had robbed them, but he must
+not be permitted to ruin and disgrace
+them. They had many friends, and in
+a short time the three brothers were
+employed in remunerative occupations,
+two of them in England and one in
+Ireland. They were thus able to send
+home enough to pay the rent of the
+farm, and to maintain the family in
+comfort.</p>
+<p>The landlord of Bront�&#8217;s farm was
+an &#8220;absentee,&#8221; the estate being administered
+by an agent. He was the great
+man of the district, local magistrate,
+grand juror, and &#8220;Pasha&#8221; in general.
+A parliament of landlords had given
+him despotic powers in the collection
+of rent, and in all matters of property,
+limb, and life. The agent of those
+days was served by attorneys, bailiffs
+and sub-agents. Welsh was appointed
+to a vacancy as sub-agent, in return for
+a large bribe paid to the agent.</p>
+<p>The sub-agent&#8217;s business was to act
+as buffer between the tenant and the
+&#8220;Squire,&#8221; as the agent was called. He
+was generally a man without heart,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span>
+conscience, or bowels. Selected from
+the basest of the people, he had nominal
+wages, never paid and never demanded;
+but he managed to squeeze a
+large amount out of the tenants, first
+by alarming them, and then by promising
+to stand their friend with the rapacious
+agent. He cringed and grovelled
+before the &#8220;Squire,&#8221; but at the same
+time was the chief medium of information
+concerning the condition of the
+tenants, and their ability to pay their
+rents. One of his duties was to mix
+in their festivities, when whiskey had
+opened their hearts and loosened their
+tongues, and discover their ability to
+pay an increased rent.</p>
+<p>Welsh was the very man for this
+post. He had lived by cunning and
+treachery, and in his new occupation
+had great scope for serving both himself
+and his master. He seldom saw
+his tenants without letting drop the
+fatal word, &#8220;eviction.&#8221; But, while
+serving the &#8220;Squire,&#8221; and recouping
+himself from the tenants for the bribe
+he had paid him, he never forgot for a
+moment his double purpose of securing
+his late master&#8217;s farm, and with it, the
+person of Mary Bront�. He straightway
+drew the agent&#8217;s attention to the
+derelict condition of the farm, and to
+the likelihood of the rent falling into
+arrears, and declared himself willing to
+undertake the burden of his late master&#8217;s
+desolate homestead. The agent
+promised Welsh that the farm should
+be transferred to him, on payment of a
+certain sum, in case the Bront�s were
+not able to pay the rent; but the rent
+did not fall into arrears. The agent&#8217;s
+demands were punctually met, and besides
+this, considerable sums of money
+were spent in improving the house and
+the land. In consequence of this the
+rent was raised, but the increased rent
+was paid the day it fell due, and again
+raised.</p>
+<p>Finding himself foiled, Welsh changed
+his tactics, and turned his attention to
+the other object of his quest, Mary
+Bront�.</p>
+<p>In the neighborhood there lived a
+female sub-agent called Meg, as base
+and unprincipled as himself. Her
+services were utilized in many ways;
+in conveying bottles of whiskey to
+farmers&#8217; wives who were getting into
+drinking habits, and in aiding farmers&#8217;
+sons and daughters to dispose of eggs
+and apples and meal purloined from
+their parents in return for trinkets
+which they wished to possess. She had
+also great skill in furthering the wicked
+designs of rich but immoral men. She
+was the &#8220;spey-woman&#8221; who told fortunes
+to servant-girls, and lured them
+to their destruction. Like the male
+sub-agents, such women were supposed
+to have the black art, and to have sold
+themselves to the devil.</p>
+<p>Meg came often to tell the servants&#8217;
+fortunes, and had many opportunities
+of assuring Mary of Welsh&#8217;s love and
+goodness. She told how he had restrained
+the agent for several years
+from evicting them, by the payment of
+large sums. All of this seemed incredible
+to the simple-minded girl, but the
+harpy was able to show receipts for the
+money thus expended.</p>
+<p>After a time, Mary listened to the
+vile woman&#8217;s tale. Welsh could not
+be so bad as they believed him to be.
+Flowers taken from tenants&#8217; gardens
+found their way to Mary&#8217;s room, and
+trinkets wrung from the anguish-stricken,
+in fear of eviction, were laid
+on her dressing-table. At length, she
+consented to meet Welsh in a lonely
+part of the farm, in company with the
+harpy, that she might express to him
+her gratitude for protecting the dear
+old home.</p>
+<p>That meeting sealed Mary&#8217;s fate, and
+she was forced to consent to marry
+Welsh. The marriage was secretly
+performed by one of the &#8220;buckle-beggars&#8221;
+of the time, and then publicly
+proclaimed. Welsh was now the husband
+of one of the ladies on the farm,
+and, for a substantial bribe, the agent
+accepted him as tenant.</p>
+<p>The brothers on hearing the news
+hurried back to the old home, but
+arrived too late. The agent received
+them with great courtesy. They reminded
+him that their ancestors had
+reclaimed the place from mere bog and
+wilderness; that their father had expended
+large sums in building the
+houses and draining the land; that
+they themselves had paid exorbitant
+rents without demur; and that now
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span>
+their old home with all of these improvements
+had been confiscated, without
+cause or notice, by the man who
+had robbed and degraded the family.</p>
+<p>The agent seemed greatly pained,
+but of course he was only an agent, and
+obliged to do whatever the landlord
+desired. Failing to get redress from
+the agent, the brothers unfortunately
+took the law into their own hands, and
+were arrested for trespass and assault.
+They were tried before the agent, and
+sent to prison and hard labor.</p>
+<p>Thus the man Welsh, who afterward
+assumed the name Bront�, carried out
+his purpose. His threat of vengeance
+was also fulfilled. Mother, sisters,
+were scattered abroad, and so effectively
+that I have not been able, after much
+searching, to find a single trace of any
+of them save Hugh and his descendants.</p>
+<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3>
+<p class='center'>THE KIDNAPPING OF HUGH BRONT�.</p>
+<p>Hugh Bront� first makes his appearance
+as if he had just stepped out
+of a Bront� novel. His father, a man
+in prosperous circumstances, had a
+large family, and resided somewhere
+in the south of Ireland, in a comfortable
+home, the exact locality being unknown.</p>
+<p>Some time about the middle of the
+last century, this entire family was
+thrown into excitement by the arrival
+of an uncle and aunt of whom they
+had never heard. The children did
+not like them at first, but, as they remained
+guests for a considerable time,
+these impressions wore off.</p>
+<p>These newly discovered relatives
+were the foundling Welsh and his wife,
+Mary. Their visit occurred many years
+subsequent to the events recorded in
+the last chapter. In the meantime, the
+house, from which the Bront�s had been
+driven by fraud, had been burnt to the
+ground, thus destroying all of Welsh&#8217;s
+ill-gotten riches, and leaving him a
+poor and ruined man. But Welsh was
+always able to subordinate his pride to
+his interests, and, through his wife, he
+opened up a correspondence with one
+of her brothers, prosperously settled
+in Ireland. Welsh expressed deep penitence
+for all of his wrong-doing, and
+declared his earnest desire, if forgiven,
+to make amends.</p>
+<p>He and Mary were then childless,
+and getting on in years. They professed
+to be troubled at the prospect
+of the farm passing into the hands of
+strangers for lack of an heir. They
+offered, therefore, to adopt one of their
+numerous nephews and to bring him up
+as their own son. Conditions of adoption
+were agreed upon, including education,
+but a solemn oath was taken
+by the father never to communicate
+with his son in any way. Welsh and
+Mary also bound themselves never to
+let the child know where his father
+lived.</p>
+<p>The family oath in Ireland is regarded
+with superstitious awe, and
+binds like destiny. The man who
+breaks it is perjured and abandoned
+beyond all hope of salvation, here or
+hereafter.</p>
+<p>Hugh Bront� was about five or six
+years old when Welsh and Mary made
+the visit to his parents, and he soon
+became a great favorite with the newcomers.</p>
+<p>Many years later, the old man, when
+&#8220;beeking&#8221; a cornkiln in County Down,
+used to tell the simple incidents of that
+night. He had waited with impatience
+the local dressmaker, who had brought
+him home late at night a special suit of
+clothes to travel in. When they were
+fitted on, he was raised into a chair to
+give the dressmaker &#8220;beverage,&#8221; as
+the first kiss in new clothes is called in
+Ireland. It is a mark of especial favor,
+and supposed to confer good luck.
+Hugh&#8217;s sisters thronged around him for
+&#8220;second beverage,&#8221; but the kiss and
+squeeze of the dressmaker remained a
+life-long memory. He always believed
+that she had a presentiment of his fate,
+for her voice choked and her eyes filled
+with tears, as she turned away from
+him.</p>
+<p>His mother never seemed happy
+about his going away, but her opposition
+was always borne down. For the
+few days previous, she had been accustomed
+to take him on her lap, and, with
+eyes full of tears, heap endearing epithets
+upon him, such as, &#8220;My sweet
+flower;&#8221; but he did not appreciate her
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span>
+sympathy, and always broke away from
+her. His father lifted him in his
+arms, carried him out into the darkness,
+and placed him gently between
+his uncle and aunt, on a seat with a
+raised back, which was laid across a
+cart from side to side. Sitting aloft, on
+this prototype of the Irish gig, little
+Hugh Bront�, with a heart full of childish
+anticipations, began his rough journey
+out into the big world.</p>
+<p>That Bront� covenant was indeed
+faithfully kept, for even when Mary,
+his aunt, visited Hugh in County Down
+about the beginning of this century, she
+could neither be coaxed nor compelled
+to give him, either directly or indirectly,
+the slightest clue by which he might
+discover the home of his childhood. It
+thus happened that Hugh Bront� was
+never able to retrace his steps to his
+father&#8217;s house, after the darkness had
+closed around him, perched aloft on the
+cross-seat of a country cart, between
+his uncle and aunt. It was a cold night,
+and the child crept close under his
+aunt&#8217;s wing for warmth. Soon he began
+to prattle in his childish way as he
+had done with his new friends for days,
+when suddenly a harsh torrent of corrosive
+words burst from Welsh, commanding
+him not to let another sound
+pass his lips. For a moment the child
+was stunned and bewildered, for the
+angry order fell like a blow. The young
+Bront� blood could not, however, rest
+passively in such a crisis. Disentangling
+himself from his aunt&#8217;s shawl, Hugh
+drew towards his uncle and said, &#8220;Did
+you speak those unkind words to me?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll teach you to disobey me, you
+magnificent whelp!&#8221; rasped out Welsh,
+bringing his great hand down with a
+sharp smack on the little fellow&#8217;s face.</p>
+<p>Hurt and angry, little Bront� sprang
+from the seat into the bottom of the
+cart and, facing the cruel uncle,
+shouted:</p>
+<p>&#8220;I won&#8217;t go with you one step further!
+I will go back and tell my father
+what a bad old monster you are!&#8221; and
+then clutching at the reins, screamed:
+&#8220;Turn the horse around and take me
+home!&#8221;</p>
+<p>A heavy hand grasped him, and
+choked the voice out of him. He was
+shaken and knocked against the bottom
+and sides of the cart, until he was
+able neither to escape nor to speak.
+Several hours later, he awoke and
+found himself lying in damp straw, sick,
+and sore, and hungry. Every jolt of
+the springless cart pained him.</p>
+<p>It was a moonlight night with occasional
+showers. He turned upon
+his side, and watched the two figures
+perched upon the seat above him,
+riding along in silence and caring nothing
+for him. A few hours before he
+had loved them passionately, and now
+he hated them to loathing. He felt
+the utter desolation of loneliness and
+home-sickness.</p>
+<p>That was the first night in his remembrance
+when he had ever neglected
+to say his prayers. He rose to his
+knees, put up his little folded hands,
+and said the only prayer he knew. A
+sobbing sound escaped him and startled
+his uncle. He turned suddenly,
+and with his whip struck the kneeling
+child and prostrated him. The blow
+was followed by a hurricane of oaths
+and threats.</p>
+<p>The child was badly hurt, but he did
+not cry nor let his uncle know that he
+was suffering.</p>
+<p>Seventy years afterwards Hugh
+Bront� used to say, &#8220;I grew fast that
+night. I was Christian child, ardent
+lover, vindictive hater, enthusiast, misanthrope,
+atheist, and philosopher, in
+one cruel hour!&#8221;</p>
+<p>The sun was shining hot in his face
+when he awoke. The cart had been
+drawn up close to a little thatched
+cottage, in which there was a grocer&#8217;s
+shop and a public house. He tried to
+get out of the cart, but was unable to
+do so. A blacksmith, whose smithy
+stood on the other side of the road,
+seeing his fruitless efforts, came and
+lifted him down. Just as he was beginning
+to recite the story of his
+wrongs his aunt, who had approached
+him from behind, caught his arms and
+led him gently into the cottage, where
+he had some potatoes and buttermilk.
+He slept by the kitchen fire until late
+in the afternoon without having been
+permitted to speak to a soul. He was
+still dreaming of home, when he was
+roughly awakened to mount the cart
+again. Heavy imprecations fell upon
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span>
+his aunt for detaining him to wash the
+blood-stains from his face. A penny
+&#8220;bap&#8221; was given him, and he was allowed
+to buy apples with the money
+which had been put by his brothers
+and sisters into the pockets of his new
+clothes as &#8220;hansel.&#8221; &#8220;It was ten
+years,&#8221; said old Bront�, &#8220;before I
+fingered another penny that I could
+call my own!&#8221;</p>
+<p>As the shades of evening gathered,
+the journey was continued in a drizzling
+rain. A &#8220;bottle&#8221; of fresh straw
+had been added to the hard bed on
+which little Hugh was to spend the
+night. He arranged the straw under
+the cross-seat on which his uncle and
+aunt sat, so as to be sheltered from
+the rain, and, placing his heap of apples
+and the &#8220;bap&#8221; beside him, he settled
+down in comparative comfort for the
+night.</p>
+<p>The night was long, the rain incessant.
+The horse stumbled and splashed
+along, and the harsh uncle varied the
+monotony by whipping the horse into
+a trot, and swearing at it when it did
+trot. By ten o&#8217;clock the next morning
+a large village was reached, where was
+an inn of considerable importance.
+The child was carried, stiff and cold,
+and put to bed in a little room in this
+inn, no one but his aunt being allowed
+to come near him. She placed some
+bread and milk beside him, took away
+his clothes, and locked the door of his
+room.</p>
+<p>In the afternoon she returned bringing
+a suit of bottle-green corduroy with
+shining brass buttons, much too large
+for him. The trousers were so stiff
+that he could hardly sit down in them,
+and he hated the smell of corduroy.
+His own warm woolen garments had
+been exchanged for these others, and
+for a horse cover, which became his
+coverlet by night. Beneath it he slept
+more comfortably than before.</p>
+<p>At an early hour the following morning,
+while Hugh was still asleep, they
+reached another large town, and, as
+usual, the cart was drawn up at an inn,
+where the travellers passed the day.
+While Welsh was out in the town, and
+the aunt dozing by the fire, Hugh tried
+to tell the innkeeper the story of his
+wrongs, but neither could understand
+the other, owing to the man&#8217;s brogue.
+The child&#8217;s earnestness drew a little
+crowd around him, however, and he
+was just beginning to make himself
+understood, when his uncle returned
+suddenly and whisked him off to the
+cart to spend the long afternoon, until
+they resumed their journey at nightfall.
+Angry words passed between the
+innkeeper and his uncle, but no deliverance
+came. After another miserable
+night they arrived at Drogheda on the
+forenoon of the following day. Here
+they made a short pause, but he was
+not permitted to descend from the cart,
+nor communicate with any stranger.
+The party arrived at Welsh&#8217;s home,
+on the banks of the Boyne, late in the
+afternoon.</p>
+<p>Such is the story of Hugh Bront�&#8217;s
+journey to Welsh&#8217;s house, as first told
+me by the Reverend William McAllister,
+and subsequently confirmed by
+four independent narrators. I have
+given a mere outline of the boy&#8217;s
+experience on that dreadful journey,
+without attempting to reproduce Hugh
+Bront�&#8217;s style. As told by the man
+in after years, it never failed to hold
+his listeners spell-bound. The stunted
+trees on the wind-swept mountains,
+the ghostly shadows on the moon-bleached
+plains, the desolate bogs on
+every side, the interminable stretches
+of road leading over narrow bridges
+and through shallow fords, the heavens
+on fire with stars, and the autumn
+stricken into gold by the setting sun,
+all lent color and reality to Hugh
+Bront�&#8217;s eloquence. Mr. McAllister
+had heard most of the orators of his
+time, O&#8217;Connell and Chalmers and
+Cook, but no man ever roused and
+thrilled him by his dramatic power as
+did Hugh Bront�.</p>
+<p>Welsh Bront� traveled at night
+partly for economy, but more especially
+that little Hugh should see no landmark,
+by which his footsteps might
+ever be guided home. Do the incidents
+of the journey give us any clue
+to discover the region where Hugh
+Bront� lived? They spent four whole
+nights on the road, and traversed a
+distance from one hundred to one hundred
+and twenty miles.</p>
+<p>My own efforts to find the early
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span>
+home of Hugh Bront� resulted in discovering
+no trace or tradition of a
+Bront� family south of the Boyne. I
+have written hundreds of letters to
+various parts of Ireland with an equal
+lack of success, and it is probable that
+the exact locality will never be discovered.
+What is of more importance,
+is the fact that the ancient home of
+the Bront�s, where Hugh&#8217;s grandfather,
+the great-great-grandfather of
+the novelists, lived, was on the north
+side of the river Boyne between Oldbridge
+and Navan, not far from the
+spot where William of Orange won
+his famous battle. Some thirty-five
+years ago, the place where the Bront�
+house once stood, was pointed out
+to me. The potato-blight and other
+calamities have been steadily removing
+landmarks in Ireland, and it is not
+surprising that local tradition has now
+faded from the district. Few families
+there, of the rank of the Bront�s, could
+trace their pedigrees to the seventh
+generation; but that the ancestors of
+the Bront�s lived on the banks of the
+Boyne seven generations back is beyond
+all doubt.</p>
+<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3>
+<p class='center'>A MISERABLE HOME.</p>
+<p>Upon arrival at their destination,
+Welsh seized his nephew and ward by
+the shoulders, and, looking fiercely in
+his face, informed him that his father
+was a mean and black-hearted scoundrel.
+Welsh declared that he had
+agreed to make Hugh his heir, with
+&#8220;the education of a gentleman,&#8221; in
+consideration of the sum of fifty pounds,
+but, as the &#8220;spalpeen&#8221; had only paid
+five pounds, Hugh would have to work
+for his bread and go without education;
+all emphasized by very strong
+words.</p>
+<p>There was present at this family interview
+a tall, gaunt, half-naked savage
+called Gallagher, who expressed audible
+approval of Welsh&#8217;s remarks, and,
+at their close, called on the Blessed
+Virgin and all the saints to <i>blast</i> Hugh&#8217;s
+father and protect his uncle. This
+sanctimonious individual was the steward
+of Welsh&#8217;s house, and had formerly
+been his most valuable ally. Hugh&#8217;s
+father had once denounced Gallagher
+as a spy at a public gathering, whence
+he had been ignominiously ejected, and,
+in return, he had supplied the false
+evidence which led to the imprisonment
+and conviction of the three
+brothers. Gallagher had been of service
+to Welsh in many ways. He had
+aided Meg in the schemes which led to
+Mary Bront� becoming Welsh&#8217;s wife,
+and he had been a partner with Meg in
+the foundling business. Their ways of
+dealing with superfluous children had
+been effective. These were supposed
+to be carried to the Dublin Foundling
+Hospital, but, inasmuch as no questions
+were asked, and no receipts given, the
+guilty parents were satisfied that their
+offspring should go &#8220;where the wicked
+cease from troubling.&#8221; Gallagher was
+the original from which Emily Bront�
+drew her portrait of Joseph, in &#8220;Wuthering
+Heights,&#8221; just as Heathcliff is
+modelled on Welsh. It was to the
+companionship of this human monster
+that Welsh committed his little nephew
+and ward. His name became of common
+use in County Down as a synonym
+for objectionable persons, and is so
+still.</p>
+<p>As soon as Welsh and Gallagher
+ceased speaking, Hugh looked around
+the mansion to which he had become
+presumptive heir. A happy pig with a
+large family lay on one side of the
+room, and a stack of peat was heaped
+up on the other side of the great open
+chimney. A broad, square bed stood
+in the end of the room, raised about a
+foot from the ground. The damp, uneven,
+earthen floor was unswept. On
+the backs of a few chairs, upholstered
+with straw ropes, a succession of hens
+perched, preliminary to flight to the
+cross-beams close up to the thatch. A
+lean, long-backed, rough-haired yellow
+dog stood by his side smelling him,
+without signs of welcome. Hugh
+listened to his uncle&#8217;s hard, rasping
+words, and in reply said:</p>
+<p>&#8220;Are you going home soon?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You are at home now,&#8221; declared
+his uncle. &#8220;This is the only home
+you shall ever know, and you are beholden
+to me for it. Your father was
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span>
+glad to be rid of you, and this is your
+gratitude to me! No airs here, my
+fine fellow. Get to bed out of my
+way, and I&#8217;ll find you something to do
+in the morning.&#8221;</p>
+<p>But in the morning the child was
+unable to leave the bed where he had
+lain across his uncle and aunt&#8217;s feet,
+his slumbers incessantly disturbed by
+the grunting, squealing pigs. Welsh
+arose early to let out the animals, and
+then dragged little Hugh from his bed
+to resume the responsibility of heirship.
+The child tottered to the floor.
+His uncle&#8217;s fierce imprecations could
+not exorcise fever and delirium, and
+for many weeks little Hugh lingered
+between life and death. He remained
+weak and unable to go out during the
+winter, but he made many friends, of
+which the chief was the rough yellow
+dog. The child in return loved the
+great shaggy creature with all the
+strength of his poor crushed heart.
+But better than the devotion of the
+fowls, the pig and the dog, his Aunt
+Mary conceived a great affection for
+him, and grew to love him during his
+illness as her own child. When Welsh
+was absent, she would give him an
+egg, or a little fresh butter from the
+&#8220;meskin&#8221; prepared for market, or even
+a cup of peppermint tea; and over this,
+she told him secretly the tragic story
+of the Bront� family. In after years
+it was a satisfaction to Hugh to
+know that his cowardly uncle was no
+Bront� after all, and not even an Irishman.</p>
+<p>The spring came early that year,
+and with it health and vigor. Hugh&#8217;s
+aunt had told him of the burning of
+the old Bront� house. The squalor
+and wretchedness of Welsh&#8217;s home,
+into which so many things crept at
+night, compared with the ruins of the
+house in which his father had been
+reared, made a lasting impression upon
+Hugh&#8217;s mind. But he was not left
+long to such reflections. As soon as
+he was able to go, he was sent to herd
+cattle, which were housed at night in
+the ruined rooms of the burnt edifice,
+with his dog, Keeper, for a faithful
+companion. Emily Bront�&#8217;s love for
+her dog, which was actually named
+Keeper, was a weak platonic affair
+compared with the tie that bound the
+desolate boy and friendless dog together.</p>
+<p>In no land has attachment to home
+so firm a grip of the heart as in Ireland.
+Year followed year in slow procession,
+but Hugh grew up in solitariness,
+and his heart never ceased to
+yearn for the lost friends of his old
+home. His corduroy suit soon grew
+too small for him, and when his boots
+became unwearable, he was obliged to
+go bare-footed. His highest enjoyment
+was to be away with his dog somewhere,
+remote from the espionage of
+Gallagher, and the violent blasphemy
+of Welsh. But his idle days among the
+bees in the clover soon gave place to
+sterner duties. He had to gather potatoes
+in sleet and rain, collect stones
+from winter fields to drain bog-land,
+perform the drudgery of an ill-cultivated
+farm from sunrise to sunset,
+and then thresh and winnow grain in
+the barn until near midnight. His
+uncle hated him fiercely and bitterly,
+and once told him that he could never
+beat him when he did not deserve it,
+because, like a goat, he was always
+either going to mischief, or coming
+from it.</p>
+<p>Hugh found Gallagher&#8217;s cunning
+malignity harder to endure than the
+harsh cruelty of his uncle. The boy&#8217;s
+clear instinct told him that Gallagher
+was a bad man, but sometimes his
+pent-up heart would overflow to the
+one human being near him in his working
+hours. When Gallagher had got
+all the secrets of the boy from him, he
+would denounce him to Welsh in such
+a way as to best stir up his cruelty; or
+he would mock at Hugh&#8217;s rags, and
+tell him that all of his evils had come
+upon him because of his father&#8217;s sins,
+assuring him that the Devil would
+carry him away from the barn some
+night, as he had often taken bad men&#8217;s
+sons before.</p>
+<p>The cruelties practised upon the boy
+were Gallagher&#8217;s base revenge for the
+whippings formerly administered to
+him by Hugh&#8217;s father. Every means
+that cunning could devise was employed
+to render the boy&#8217;s life miserable. He
+would purloin eggs, break the farming-tools,
+and maim the cattle in order to
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span>
+have him beaten by his uncle, a ceremony
+which he always managed to
+witness.</p>
+<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3>
+<p class='center'>ESCAPE FROM CAPTIVITY.</p>
+<p>Nothing in Ireland is supposed to
+test a man&#8217;s honesty so severely as a
+bog lying contiguous to his own land.
+&#8220;If a man escape with honor as a
+trustee, try him with a bit of bog,&#8221; is
+an Irish proverb. This temptation had
+come in Welsh&#8217;s way when a sub-agent.
+He had robbed the Bront�s of their
+farm, why should he hesitate to add a
+slice of bog to it? The owner was
+known as an objectionable tenant who
+had dared to vote contrary to his landlord,
+and there was not likely to be any
+trouble, for the bog was of little use to
+anybody, all of the turf having been
+removed, leaving only a swamp covered
+with star-grass, and tenanted by
+water-hen, coots and snipe.</p>
+<p>The agent agreed to let Welsh have
+his neighbor&#8217;s bog for a consideration.
+Welsh paid the sum demanded, but the
+tenant, being a cantankerous person,
+did not fall in pleasantly with this
+arrangement. Difficulties were raised.
+The plundering of the Bront�s had been
+watched by their neighbors with sullen
+indignation, but, when it became known
+that the sub-agent was about to grasp
+the property of another farmer, the
+smouldering fire burst into a conflagration.
+At this crisis, the agent was
+murdered, and Welsh&#8217;s house was burnt
+to the ground.</p>
+<p>The ownership of the bog now remained
+for a long time in a doubtful
+condition. Welsh lost his official position,
+and for years the new agent
+gave promises to both claimants, and
+accepted presents from both. The
+landlord would of course decide the
+matter upon his return to Ireland, but,
+in the meantime, both paid rent for the
+bog and then fought for the useless
+star-grass.</p>
+<p>Welsh maintained his claim until one
+day, after many hot words with the
+owner, blows ensued, and the trespasser
+was badly beaten. He called on
+Hugh, who was then a large boy of
+fifteen, for help; but he called in vain,
+for Hugh had overhead a full recital of
+his uncle&#8217;s crimes before the battle began.
+He heard him accused to his
+teeth of murdering old Bront� for his
+money, and of betraying his daughter
+in order to rob the family of the estate.
+The misery he had brought to many
+homes was comprehensively set forth;
+and Hugh believed his uncle to be absolutely
+in the wrong in his attempt
+to take possession of his neighbor&#8217;s
+property, and deserving of the beating
+he received. Besides, this neighbor
+had always treated Hugh kindly, and
+had frequently shared with him his collation
+of bread and milk in the fields in
+the afternoon.</p>
+<p>This battle led to important issues.
+Welsh was carried home bleeding by
+Gallagher and Hugh, and put to bed.
+On the following morning he sent for
+Hugh, and in a choking passion demanded
+why he had not helped him in
+the fight. Hugh replied that he considered
+his uncle in the wrong and any
+assistance unfair. Inasmuch as Welsh
+could not get out of bed to chastise
+him, the boy seized his long-deferred
+opportunity, and pleaded his case with
+a courage that surprised himself. He
+told his uncle that he was a false and
+cruel bully, who thoroughly merited a
+beating at the hands of the man he had
+tried to rob, and, carried away by his
+rising passion, he informed him that he
+knew he was not a true Bront�, but a
+gutter-monster, who had stolen the
+name, defiantly adding that he hoped
+before long to avenge his ancestors
+for the desecration of their name by
+thrashing him himself.</p>
+<p>Having delivered this speech Hugh
+realized that another crisis in his life
+had arrived. Even the chaff bed in the
+half-roofed barn would now cease for
+him. His uncle&#8217;s house was no longer
+childless. A son and heir had appeared
+upon the scene a twelve-month before,
+and Hugh knew that he had nothing
+except harsh treatment to expect in the
+future. He could not even hope, in
+the event of his uncle&#8217;s death, to inherit
+the old Bront� home and restore its
+fallen fortunes, for a legal heir was now
+in full possession. His uncle had declared
+his intention to punish him once
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span>
+for all, as soon as he got well, and a
+severe beating was his immediate prospect.</p>
+<p>In a few days Welsh was out of bed
+and able to move about, his head
+wrapped in bandages and his two eyes
+in mourning. Hugh saw that the time
+had now come for him to shift for himself.
+He first resolved to fight his uncle,
+but wisely concluded that, even if
+victorious, this would only make his
+position in the house more unendurable.
+Then he resolved on flight, but
+how could he fly? If followed and
+brought back, his state with his uncle
+would be worse than ever. Besides,
+he was almost naked, for the few rags
+that hung around him left his body visible
+at many points.</p>
+<p>Hugh was now in a state of rebellion,
+and in his desperation he went to his
+uncle&#8217;s enemy. He told this chastiser
+the full tale of his sorrows, and found
+him a sympathizing and resourceful
+ally.</p>
+<p>The day on which Hugh was to get
+his great beating arrived. Everybody
+except Gallagher awaited it in gloomy
+silence. Even Keeper seemed to know
+what was coming. Welsh had provided
+himself with a stout hazel rod which
+he playfully called &#8220;the tickler.&#8221; Aunt
+Mary&#8217;s eyes were, as usual, red with
+weeping. The chastisement was to
+be administered when the cattle were
+brought home at midday.</p>
+<p>Hugh and Gallagher spent that
+morning weeding in a field of oats in
+a remote corner of the farm. Hugh
+was silent, but Gallagher passed the
+whole morning in jeers, and taunts, and
+mockery.</p>
+<p>As the hour arrived for Hugh to go
+for the cows, Gallagher surpassed all
+previous brutality by telling Hugh
+that he had once been his mother&#8217;s
+lover. He was proceeding to develop
+this false and cruel tale when Hugh,
+stung to the quick, and blind with
+passion, sprang upon his mother&#8217;s defamer
+like a tiger. There was a short
+fierce struggle, and Hugh had his tormentor
+on the ground beating his face
+into a jelly, while Keeper was engaged
+in tearing the ruffian&#8217;s clothes to
+shreds.</p>
+<p>Hugh&#8217;s fury cooled when Gallagher no
+longer resisted. Throwing his &#8220;thistle-hook&#8221;
+on top of the prostrate form, he
+walked into the house. He bade his
+aunt, who was baking bread, good-by,
+kissed the baby, and then left to bring
+home the cattle to be milked. Keeper,
+who had laid aside his melancholy during
+the encounter with Gallagher, responded
+to his master&#8217;s whistle by
+barking and gambolling as if to keep
+up his spirits. As Hugh turned for a
+last look at the old Bront� home, he
+saw Gallagher approaching Welsh, who
+was waiting near the cow-shed, evidently
+enjoying the pleasures of the
+imagination.</p>
+<p>The cattle were grazing on the banks
+of the Boyne, near the spot where a
+wing of William&#8217;s army crossed on that
+era-making day in 1690. Hugh proceeded
+to the river and divested himself
+of his rags, preparatory to a plunge,
+as was his wont. He told Keeper to
+lie down upon his heap of tattered garments;
+then throwing himself down
+naked beside his faithful friend, he
+took him in his arms, kissed him again
+and again, and, starting up with a sob,
+plunged headlong into the river.</p>
+<p>Keeper could not see his master
+enter the river, nor mark the direction
+in which he had gone, owing to a little
+ridge. It was a swim for life. The
+current soon carried him opposite the
+farm of his uncle&#8217;s enemy, who awaited
+his approach in a clump of willows by
+the water&#8217;s edge. He had brought with
+him an improvised suit of clothes to
+further the boy&#8217;s escape. The pockets
+of the coat were stuffed with oat-bread,
+and there were a few pence in the
+pockets of the trousers. Hugh hurried
+on these garments, which were
+much too large for him, and thrust his
+feet, the first time for seven years, into
+a pair of boots. With a heart full of
+gratitude, and a final squeeze of the
+hand, unaccompanied by words from
+either, Hugh Bront� started on his
+race for life and freedom.</p>
+<p>With buoyant spirits Hugh sped on
+the road to Dunleer, where he did not
+pause, and continuing his flight struck
+straight for Castlebellingham. He did
+not know where the road led to, nor
+whither he was going, but he believed
+there was a city of refuge ahead, and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span>
+his pace was quickened by the fear of
+the avenger at his heels.</p>
+<p>As he approached Castlebellingham
+he heard a car coming behind him, so
+he hid behind a fence until it had
+passed. It was filled with policemen,
+but Welsh was not on the car. He
+reached Dundalk at an early hour, and
+after a short sleep in a hay-rick, continued
+his journey, not by the public
+road, but eastward through level fields
+where now runs the Dundalk and
+Greenore railway. He spent his last
+copper in a small public house for a
+little food, and then started for Carlingford,
+which the publican had told
+him was an important town behind the
+mountain. After a couple of hours of
+wandering by the shore, he turned
+inland, and came upon lime-kilns at a
+place called Mount Pleasant, or Faquahart.
+These kilns were known as
+Swift McNeil&#8217;s, and people came great
+distances to purchase lime for agricultural
+and building purposes.</p>
+<p>When Hugh arrived, there were
+thirty or forty carts from Down, Armagh,
+and Louth, waiting for their
+loads, and there were not enough
+hands to keep up the supply. Limestone
+had to be quarried, wheeled to
+the kilns, then broken, and thrown in
+at the top with layers of coal. After
+burning for a time the lime was drawn
+out from the eye of the kiln into shallow
+barrels, and emptied into carts, the
+price being so much per barrel.</p>
+<p>Here Hugh Bront� found his first
+job, and regular remuneration for his
+free labor. In a short time he had
+earned enough money to provide himself
+with a complete suit of clothes.
+His wages more than supplied his
+wants, and he had a great deal to
+spare for personal adornment. Being
+steady, and better dressed than the
+other workers, he was soon advanced
+to the responsible position of overseer.</p>
+<p>Hugh became a favorite with purchasers
+and employers. Among the
+regular customers were the Todds and
+McAllisters of Ballynaskeagh and Glascar,
+in County Down. Their servants
+were often accompanied by a youth
+named McGlory, who drove his own
+cart.</p>
+<p>McGlory and Bront�, who were about
+the same age, resembled each other in
+the fiery color of their hair. They became
+great friends, and it was arranged
+that Bront� should visit McGlory in
+County Down during the Christmas
+holidays. This visit was fraught with
+important consequences for Hugh, and
+marked an epoch in his eventful career.</p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<p><span class='smcap'>Editor&#8217;s Announcement.</span>&mdash;<i>In the September number of <span class='smcap'>McClure&#8217;s Magazine</span>
+will be told the romantic story of Hugh Bront�&#8217;s courtship, and his elopement
+with Alice McGlory upon the very day appointed by her family for her marriage
+with Joe Burns.</i></p>
+<div class="trnote">
+<p><b>Transcribers Note</b></p>
+<p>Table of Contents and Illustration List added.</p>
+</div>
+
+<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: 3.22k3 -->
+<!-- timestamp: 2011-03-18 18:33:52 -0500 -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of McClure's Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 3,
+August, 1893, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE, AUGUST, 1893 ***
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@@ -0,0 +1,5452 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of McClure's Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 3, August,
+1893, 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: McClure's Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 3, August, 1893
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: March 18, 2011 [EBook #35610]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE, AUGUST, 1893 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Katherine Ward, and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+McCLURE'S MAGAZINE
+
+VOL. I    AUGUST, 1893    No. 3
+
+
+_Copyright, 1893, by S. S. McClure, Limited. All rights reserved._
+
+Table of Contents
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+  A Dialogue Between Eugene Field and Hamlin Garland. Recorded
+      by Hamlin Garland.                                           195
+  The Shadow Boatswain. By Bliss Carman.                           205
+  The Slapping Sal. By Conan Doyle.                                206
+  "Human Documents."                                               213
+  Some Professional Adventures of Karl Hagenbeck. By Raymond
+      Blathwayt.                                                   219
+  The Story I Heard on the Cars. By Mrs. E. V. Wilson.             224
+  Mrs. Gladstone and Her Good Works. By Mary G. Burnett.           235
+  A Boys' Republic. By Alfred Balch.                               242
+  The Happy Life. By Sir Henry Wotton.                             254
+  Edwin Booth. On and Off the Stage. By Adam Badeau.               255
+  Burglars Three. By James Harvey Smith.                           268
+  Stranger Than Fiction. By Dr. William Wright.                    277
+
+
+
+
+Illustrations
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+  The Old Homestead at Fayetteville, Vermont.                      196
+  Eugene Field's Home at Buena Park, Chicago.                      197
+  The Hall.                                                        198
+  A Bit of Library.                                                199
+  The Dining-Room.                                                 199
+  The Drawing-Room.                                                201
+  Field's "Treasures."                                             203
+  Hairy Hudson.                                                    206
+  Captain Johnson and Mr. Wharton.                                 207
+  The Action.                                                      209
+  Aboard the "Leda."                                               210
+  Oliver Wendell Holmes.                                           214
+  J. J. Ingalls.                                                   216
+  Jules Verne.                                                     218
+  Karl Hagenbeck's Father and His First Show in Berlin.            220
+  The Scramble in Munich.                                          223
+  The Old and New Castle of Hawarden.                              236
+  Miss Glynne (Mrs. Gladstone), 1838.                              237
+  The Orphanage, Hawarden.                                         237
+  The Inmates of Woodsford Hall in the Forest.                     239
+  The Annual Lunch Party of the Notting Hill School Girls.         240
+  Mrs. Gladstone To-day.                                           241
+  The Chapel.                                                      243
+  The Camp on March.                                               249
+  A Halt for Supper.                                               250
+  The Barge.                                                       250
+  Captain Cairn's House.                                           253
+  The Death Mask of Edwin Booth.                                   267
+  "I Ain't No Missionary!"                                         269
+  "Excellent Claret," Said Harry.                                  271
+  "No Violence, Jim!"                                              272
+  "What Is Your Annual Income as a Burglar?"                       273
+
+
+
+
+REAL CONVERSATIONS.--II.
+
+A DIALOGUE BETWEEN EUGENE FIELD AND HAMLIN GARLAND.
+
+RECORDED BY HAMLIN GARLAND.
+
+
+One afternoon quite recently two men sat in an attic study in one of
+the most interesting homes in the city of Chicago. A home that was a
+museum of old books, rare books, Indian relics, dramatic souvenirs and
+bric-a-brac indescribable, but each piece with a history.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+It was a beautiful June day, and the study window looked out upon a
+lawn of large trees where children were rioting. It was a part of
+Chicago which the traveler never sees, green and restful and
+dignified, the lake not far off.
+
+The host was a tall, thin-haired man with a New England face of
+the Scotch type, rugged, smoothly shaven, and generally very
+solemn--suspiciously solemn in expression. His infrequent smile
+curled his wide, expressive mouth in fantastic grimaces which seemed
+not to affect the steady gravity of the blue-gray eyes. He was
+stripped to his shirt-sleeves and sat with feet on a small stand. He
+chewed reflectively upon a cigar during the opening of the talk.
+His voice was deep but rather dry in quality.
+
+The other man was a rather heavily built man with brown hair and beard
+cut rather close. He listened, mainly, going off into gusts of
+laughter occasionally as the other man gave a quaint turn to some very
+frank phrase. The tall host was Eugene Field, the interviewer a
+Western writer by the name of Garland.
+
+"Well now, brother Field," said Garland, interrupting his host as he
+was about to open another case of rare books. "You remember I'm to
+interview you to-day."
+
+Field scowled savagely.
+
+"O say, Garland, can't we put that thing off?"
+
+"No. Must be did," replied his friend decisively. "Now there are two
+ways to do this thing. We can be as literary and as deliciously select
+in our dialogue as Mr. Howells and Professor Boyesen were, or we can
+be wild and woolly. How would it do to be as wild and woolly as those
+Eastern fellers expect us to be?"
+
+"All right," said Field, taking his seat well upon the small of his
+back. "What does it all mean anyway? What you goin' to do?"
+
+"I'm goin' to take notes while we talk, and I'm goin' to put this
+thing down pretty close to the fact, now, you bet," said Garland,
+sharpening a pencil.
+
+"Where you wan'to begin?"
+
+"Oh, we'll have to begin with your ancestry, though it's a good deal
+like the introductory chapter to the old-fashioned novels. We'll start
+early, with your birth for instance."
+
+"Well, I was born in St. Louis."
+
+[Illustration: THE OLD HOMESTEAD AT FAYETTEVILLE, VERMONT.]
+
+"Is that so?" the interviewer showed an unprofessional surprise. "Why,
+I thought you were born in Massachusetts?"
+
+"No," said Field, reflectively. "No, I'm sorry of course, but I was
+born in St. Louis; but my parents were Vermont people." He mentioned
+this as an extenuating circumstance, evidently. "My father was a
+lawyer. He was a precocious boy,--graduated from Middlebury College
+when he was fifteen, and when he was nineteen was made States-Attorney
+by special act of the legislature; without that he would have had to
+wait till he was twenty-one. He married and came West, and I was born
+in 1850."
+
+"So you're forty-three? Where does the New England life come in?"
+
+"When I was seven years old my mother died, and father packed us boys
+right off to Massachusetts and put us under the care of a maiden
+cousin, a Miss French,--she was a fine woman too."
+
+Garland looked up from his scratchpad to ask, "This was at Amherst?"
+
+"Yes. I stayed there until I was nineteen, and they were the sweetest
+and finest days of my life. I like old Amherst." He paused a moment,
+and his long face slowly lightened up. "By the way, here's something
+you'll like. When I was nine years old father sent us up to
+Fayetteville, Vermont, to the old homestead where my grandmother
+lived. We stayed there seven months," he said with a grim curl of his
+lips, "and the old lady got all the grandson she wanted. She didn't
+want the visit repeated."
+
+He sat a moment in silence, and his face softened and his eyes grew
+tender. "I tell you, Garland, a man's got to have a layer of country
+experience somewhere in him. My love for nature dates from that visit,
+because I had never lived in the country before. Sooner or later a man
+rots if he lives too far away from the grass and the trees."
+
+"You're right there, Field, only I didn't know you felt it so deeply.
+I supposed you hated farm life."
+
+"I do, but farm life is not nature. I'd like to live in the country
+without the effects of work and dirt and flies."
+
+The word "flies" started him off on a side-track. "Say! You should see
+my boys. I go up to a farm near Fox Lake and stay a week every year,
+suffering all sorts of tortures, in order to give my boys a chance to
+see farm life. I sit there nights trying to read by a vile-smelling
+old kerosene lamp, the flies trooping in so that you can't keep the
+window down, you know, and those boys lying there all the time on a
+hot husk bed, faces spattered with mosquito bites and sweating like
+pigs--and happy as angels. The roar of the flies and mosquitoes is
+sweetest lullaby to a tired boy."
+
+"Well, now, going back to that visit," said the interviewer with
+persistency to his plan.
+
+"Oh, yes. Well, my grandmother was a regular old New England
+Congregationalist. Say, I've got a sermon I wrote when I was nine. The
+old lady used to give me ten cents for every sermon I'd write. Like to
+see it?"
+
+[Illustration: EUGENE FIELD'S HOME AT BUENA PARK, CHICAGO.]
+
+"Well, I should say. A sermon at nine years! Field, you started in
+well."
+
+"Didn't I?" he replied, while getting the book. "And you bet it's a
+corker." He produced the volume, which was a small bundle of
+note-paper bound beautifully. It was written in a boy's formal hand.
+He sat down to read it:
+
+  "I would remark secondly that conscience makes the way of
+  transgressors hard; for every act of pleasure, every act of Guilt
+  his conscience smites him. The last of his stay on earth will
+  appear horrible to the beholder. Some times, however, he will be
+  stayed in his guilt. A death in a family of some favorite object
+  or be attacked by Some disease himself is brought to the portals
+  of the grave. Then for a little time perhaps he is stayed in his
+  wickedness, but before long he returns to his worldly lust. Oh, it
+  is indeed bad for sinners to go down into perdition over all the
+  obstacles which God has placed in his path. But many I am afraid
+  do go down into perdition, for wide gate and broad is the way that
+  leadeth to destruction and many there be that go in thereat."
+
+He stopped occasionally to look at Garland gravely, as he read some
+particularly comical phrase: "'I secondly remark'--ain't that
+great?--'that the wise man remembers even how near he is to the
+portals of death.' 'Portals of death' is good. 'One should strive to
+walk the narrow way and not the one which leads to perdition.' I was
+heavy on quotations, you notice."
+
+"Is this the first and last of your sermons?" queried Garland, with an
+amused smile.
+
+"The first and last. Grandmother soon gave me up as bad material for a
+preacher. She paid me five dollars for learning the Ten Commandments.
+I used to be very slow at 'committing to memory.' I recall that while
+I was thus committing the book of Acts, my brother committed that book
+and the Gospel of Matthew, part of John, the thirteenth chapter of
+First Corinthians and the Westminster Catechism. I would not now
+exchange for any amount of money the acquaintance with the Bible that
+was drummed into me when I was a boy. At learning 'pieces to speak' I
+was, however, unusually quick, and my favorites were: 'Marco
+Bozzaris,' 'Psalm of Life,' Drake's 'American Flag,' Longfellow's
+'Launching of the Ship,' Webster's 'Action,' Shakspeare's 'Clarence's
+Dream' (Richard III.), and 'Wolsey to Cromwell,' 'Death of Virginia,'
+'Horatius at the Bridge,' 'Hymn of the Moravian Nuns,' 'Absalom,'
+'Lochiel's Warning,' 'Maclean's Revenge,' Bulwer's translation of
+Schiller's 'The Diver,' 'Landing of the Pilgrims,' Bryant's
+'Melancholy Days,' 'Burial of Sir John Moore,' and 'Hohenlinden.'"
+
+"I remember when I was thirteen, our cousin said she'd give us a
+Christmas tree. So we went down into Patrick's swamp--I suppose the
+names are all changed now--and dug up a little pine tree, about as
+tall as we were, and planted it in a tub. On the night of Christmas
+Day, just when we were dancing around the tree, making merry and
+having a high-old-jinks of a time, the way children will, grandma came
+in and looked at us. 'Will this popery never cease?' was all she said,
+and out she flounced."
+
+"Yes, that was the old Puritan idea of it. But did live----"
+
+"Now hold on," he interrupted. "I want to finish. We planted that tree
+near the corner of Sunset Avenue and Amity Street, and it's there now,
+a magnificent tree. Sometime when I'm East I'm going to go up there
+with my brother and put a tablet on it--'Pause, busy traveller, and
+give a thought to the happy days of two Western boys who lived in old
+New England, and make resolve to render the boyhood near you happier
+and brighter,' or something like that."
+
+"That's a pretty idea," Garland agreed. He felt something fine and
+tender in the man's voice which was generally hard and dry but
+wonderfully expressive.
+
+[Illustration: THE HALL.]
+
+"Now, this sermon I had bound just for the sake of old times. If I
+didn't have it right here, I wouldn't believe I ever wrote such stuff.
+I tell you, a boy's a queer combination," he ended, referring to the
+book again.
+
+"You'll see that I signed my name, those days, 'E. P. Field.' The 'P.'
+stands for Phillips.
+
+"As I grew old enough to realize it, I was much chagrined to find I
+had no middle name like the rest of the boys, so I took the name of
+Phillips. I was a great admirer of Wendell Phillips, am yet, though
+I'm not a reformer. You'll see here,"--he pointed at the top of the
+pages,--"I wrote the word 'sensual.' Evidently I was struck with the
+word, and was seeking a chance to ring it in somewhere, but failed."
+They both laughed over the matter while Field put the book back.
+
+"Are you a college man?" asked Garland. "I've noticed your deplorable
+tendency toward the classics."
+
+"I fitted for college when I was sixteen. My health was bad, or I
+should have entered right off. I had pretty nearly everything that was
+going in the way of diseases," this was said with a comical twist
+voice, "so I didn't get to Williams till I was eighteen. My health
+improved right along, but I'm sorry to say that of the college did
+not." He smiled again, a smile that meant a very great deal.
+
+"What happened then?"
+
+"Well, my father died, and I returned West. I went to live with my
+guardian, Professor Burgess, of Knox College. This college is situated
+at Galesburg, Illinois. This is the college that has lately conferred
+A. M. upon me. The Professor's guardianship was merely nominal,
+however. I did about as I pleased.
+
+"I next went to the State University at Columbia, Missouri. It was an
+old slave-holding town, but I liked it. I've got a streak of Southern
+feeling in me." He said abruptly, "I'm an aristocrat. I'm looking for
+a Maecenas. I have mighty little in common with most of the wealthy,
+but I like the idea of wealth in the abstract." He failed to make the
+distinction quite clear, but he went on as if realizing that this
+might be a thin spot of ice.
+
+"At twenty-one, I came into sixty thousand dollars, and I went to
+Europe, taking a friend, a young fellow of about my own age, with me.
+I had a lovely time!" he added, and again the smile conveyed vast
+meaning.
+
+Garland looked up from his pad.
+
+"You must have had. Did you 'blow in the whole business'?"
+
+"Pretty near. I _swatted_ the money around. Just think of it!" he
+exclaimed, warming with the recollection. "A boy of twenty-one,
+without father or mother, and sixty thousand dollars. Oh, it was a
+lovely combination! I saw more things and did more things than are
+dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio," he paraphrased, looking at his
+friend with a strange expression of amusement, and pleasure, and
+regret. "I had money. I paid it out for experience--it was plenty.
+Experience was laying around loose."
+
+"Came home when the money gave out, I reckon?"
+
+[Illustration: A BIT OF LIBRARY.]
+
+"Yes. Came back to St. Louis, and went to work on the 'Journal,' I had
+previously tried to 'enter journalism' as I called it then. About the
+time I was twenty-one, I went to Stilson Hutchins, and told him who I
+was, and he said:
+
+"'All right. I'll give you a chance, but we don't pay much.' Of
+course, I told him pay didn't matter.
+
+[Illustration: THE DINING-ROOM.]
+
+"'Well!' he said, 'go down to the Olympia, and write up the play there
+to-night,' I went down, and I brought most of my critical acumen to
+bear upon an actor by the name of Charley Pope, who was playing
+Mercutio for Mrs. D. P. Bowers. His wig didn't fit, and all my best
+writing centred about that wig. I sent the critique in, blame fine as
+I thought, with illuminated initial letters, and all that. Oh, it was
+lovely! and the next morning I was deeply pained and disgusted to find
+it mutilated,--all that about the wig, the choicest part, was cut out.
+I thought I'd quit journalism forever. I don't suppose Hutchins
+connects Eugene Field with the ---- fool that wrote that critique. I
+don't myself," he added with a quick half-smile, lifting again the
+corner of his solemn mouth. It was like a ripple on a still pool.
+
+"Well, when did you really get into the work?" his friend asked, for
+he seemed about to go off into another by-path.
+
+"Oh, after I came back from Europe I was busted, and had to go to
+work. I met Stanley Waterloo about that time, and his talk induced me
+to go to work for the 'Journal' as a reporter. I soon got to be city
+editor, but I didn't like it. I liked to have fun with people. I liked
+to have my fun as I went along. About this time I married the sister
+of the friend who went with me to Europe, and feeling my new
+responsibilities, I went up to St. Joseph as city editor." He mused
+for a moment in silence. "It was terrific hard work, but I wouldn't
+give a good deal for those two years."
+
+"Have you ever drawn upon them for material?" asked Garland with a
+novelist's perception of their possibilities.
+
+"No, but I may some time. Things have to get pretty misty before I can
+use 'em. I'm not like you fellows," he said, referring to the
+realists. "I got thirty dollars a week; wasn't that princely?"
+
+"Nothing else, but you earned it, no doubt."
+
+"Earned it? Why, Great Scott! I did the whole business except turning
+the handle of the press.
+
+"Well, in 1877 I was called back to the 'Journal' in St. Louis, as
+editorial writer of paragraphs. That was the beginning of my own line
+of work."
+
+"When did you do your first work in verse?" asked Garland.
+
+The tall man brought his feet down to the floor with a bang and thrust
+his hand out toward his friend. "_There!_ I'm glad you said _verse_.
+For heaven's sake don't ever say I call my stuff poetry. I never do. I
+don't pass judgment on it like that." After a little he resumed. "The
+first that I wrote was 'Christmas Treasures.' I wrote that one night
+to fill in a chink in the paper."
+
+"Give me a touch of it?" asked his friend.
+
+He chewed his cigar in the effort to remember. "I don't read it much.
+I put it with the collection for the sake of old times." He read a few
+lines of it, and read it extremely well, before returning to his
+history.
+
+
+CHRISTMAS TREASURES.
+
+  I count my treasures o'er with care,--
+    The little toy my darling knew,
+    A little sock of faded hue,
+  A little lock of golden hair.
+
+  Long years ago this holy time,
+    My little ones--my all to me--
+    Sat robed in white upon my knee,
+  And heard the merry Christmas chime.
+
+  "Tell me, my little golden-head,
+    If Santa Claus should come to-night,
+    What shall he bring my baby bright,--
+  What treasure for my boy?" I said.
+
+  Then he named this little toy,
+    While in his round and mournful eyes
+    There came a look of sweet surprise,
+  That spake his quiet, trustful joy.
+
+  And as he lisped his evening prayer,
+    He asked the boon with childish grace,
+    Then, toddling to the chimney-place,
+  He hung this little stocking there.
+
+  That night, while lengthening shadows crept,
+    I saw the white-winged angels come
+    With singing to our lowly home,
+  And kiss my darling as he slept.
+
+  They must have heard his little prayer,
+    For in the morn with rapturous face,
+    He toddled to the chimney-place,
+  And found this little treasure there.
+
+  They came again one Christmas-tide,--
+    That angel host, so fair and white!
+    And singing all that glorious night,
+  They lured my darling from my side.
+
+  A little sock, a little toy,
+    A little lock of golden hair,
+    The Christmas music on the air,
+  A watching for my baby boy!
+
+  But if again that angel train
+    And golden head come back to me,
+    To bear me to Eternity,
+  My watching will not be in vain!
+
+"I went next to the Kansas City 'Times' as managing editor. I wrote
+there that 'Little Peach,' which still chases me round the country."
+
+
+THE LITTLE PEACH.
+
+  A little peach in the orchard grew,
+  A little peach of emerald hue;
+  Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew,
+        It grew.
+
+  One day, passing that orchard through,
+  That little peach dawned on the view
+  Of Johnny Jones and his sister Sue,
+        Them two.
+
+  Up at that peach a club they threw,
+  Down from the stem on which it grew,
+  Fell that peach of emerald hue.
+        Mon Dieu!
+
+  John took a bite and Sue a chew,
+  And then the trouble began to brew,
+  Trouble the doctor couldn't subdue.
+        Too true!
+
+  Under the turf where the daisies grew,
+  They planted John and his sister Sue,
+  And their little souls to the angels flew,
+        Boo hoo!
+
+  What of that peach of the emerald hue,
+  Warmed by the sun, and wet by the dew?
+  Ah, well, its mission on earth is through.
+        Adieu!
+
+[Illustration: THE DRAWING-ROOM.]
+
+"I went to the 'Denver Tribune' next, and stayed there till 1883. The
+most conspicuous thing I did there, was the burlesque primer series.
+'See the po-lice-man. Has he a club? Yes he has a club,' etc. These
+were so widely copied and pirated that I put them into a little book
+which is very rare, thank heaven. I hope I have the only copy of it.
+The other thing which rose above the level of my ordinary work was a
+bit of verse, 'The Wanderer,' which I credited to Modjeska, and which
+has given her no little annoyance."
+
+
+THE WANDERER.
+
+  Upon a mountain height, far from the sea,
+    I found a shell,
+  And to my listening ear the lonely thing
+  Ever a song of ocean seemed to sing,
+    Ever a tale of ocean seemed to tell.
+
+  How came the shell upon that mountain height?
+    Ah, who can say
+  Whether there dropped by some too careless hand,
+  Or whether there cast when Ocean swept the Land,
+    Ere the Eternal had ordained the day?
+
+  Strange, was it not? Far from its native deep,
+    One song it sang,
+  Sang of the awful mysteries of the tide,
+  Sang of the misty sea, profound and wide,
+    Ever with echoes of the ocean rang.
+
+  And as the shell upon the mountain height
+    Sings of the sea,
+  So do I ever, leagues and leagues away,
+  So do I ever, wandering where I may,
+    Sing, O my home! sing, O my home! of thee.
+
+"That brings you up to Chicago, doesn't it?"
+
+"In 1883 Melville Stone asked me to join him on the 'News,' and I did.
+Since then my life has been uneventful."
+
+"I might not think so. Did you establish the column 'Sharps and Flats'
+at once?"
+
+"Yes. I told Stone I'd write a good deal of musical matter, and the
+name seemed appropriate. We tried to change it several times, but no
+go."
+
+"I first saw your work in the 'News.' I was attracted by your
+satirical studies of Chicago. I don't always like what you write, but
+I liked your war against sham."
+
+Field became serious at once, and leaned towards the other man in an
+attitude of great earnestness. The deepest note in the man's voice
+came out. "I hate a sham or a fraud; not so much a fraud, for a fraud
+means brains very often, but a sham makes me mad clear through," he
+said savagely. His fighting quality came out in the thrust of the
+chin. Here was the man whom the frauds and shams fear.
+
+"That is evident. But I don't think the people make the broadest
+application of your satires. They apply them to Chicago. There is
+quite a feeling. I suppose you know about this. They say you've hurt
+Chicago art."
+
+"I hope I have, so far as the bogus art and imitation culture of my
+city is concerned. As a matter of fact the same kind of thing exists
+in Boston and New York, only they're used to it there. I've jumped on
+that crowd of faddists, I'll admit, as hard as I could, but I don't
+think anyone can say I've ever willingly done a real man or woman an
+injury. If I have, I've always tried to square the thing up." Here was
+the man's fairness, kindliness of heart, coming to the surface in good
+simple way.
+
+The other man was visibly impressed with his friend's earnestness, but
+he pursued his course. "You've had offers to go East, according to the
+papers."
+
+"Yes, but I'm not going--why should I? I'm in my element here. They
+haven't any element there. They've got atmosphere there, and it's
+pretty thin sometimes, I call it." He uttered "atmosphere" with a
+drawling attenuated nasal to express his contempt. "I don't want
+literary atmosphere. I want to be in an _element_ where I can tumble
+around and yell without falling in a fit for lack of breath."
+
+The interviewer was scratching away like mad--this was his chance.
+
+Field's mind took a sudden turn now, and he said emphatically:
+"Garland, I'm a newspaper man. I don't claim to be anything else. I've
+never written a thing for the magazines, and I never was asked to,
+till about four years ago. I never have put a high estimate upon my
+verse. That it's popular is because my sympathies and the public's
+happen to run on parallel lines just now. That's all. Not much of it
+will live."
+
+"I don't know about that, brother Field," said Garland, pausing to
+rest. "I think you underestimate some of that work. Your reminiscent
+boy-life poems and your songs of children are thoroughly American, and
+fine and tender. They'll take care of themselves."
+
+"Yes, but my best work has been along lines of satire. I've
+consistently made war upon shams. I've stood always in my work for
+decency and manliness and honesty. I think that'll remain true, you'll
+find. I'm not much physically, but morally I'm not a coward."
+
+"No, I don't think anybody will rise up to charge you with time-serving.
+By the way, what a rare chance you have in the attitude of the
+Chicago people toward the Spanish princess!"
+
+The tall man straightened up. His whole nature roused at this point,
+and his face grew square. His Puritan grandfather looked from his
+indignant eyes and set jaw as he said:
+
+"I don't know what's coming upon us."
+
+"Aha!" Garland exulted, "even you are bitten with the same."
+
+He flung his hand out in quick deprecation.
+
+"Oh, I don't pretend to be a reformer. I leave that to others. I hate
+logarithms. I like speculative astronomy. I am naturally a lover of
+romance. My mind turns toward the far past or future. I like to
+illustrate the foolery of these society folks by stories which I
+invent. The present don't interest me--at least not taken as it is.
+Possibilities interest me."
+
+"That's a good way to put it," said the other man. "It's a question of
+the impossible, the possible, and the probable. I like the probable. I
+like the near-at-hand. I feel the most vital interest in the average
+fact."
+
+"I know you do, and I like it after you get through with it, but I
+don't care to deal with the raw material myself. I like the archaic."
+
+"Yet some of your finest things, I repeat, are your reminiscent verses
+of boy-life," pursued Garland, who called himself a veritist and
+enjoyed getting his friend as nearly on his ground as possible.
+
+[Illustration: FIELD'S "TREASURES:" THE GLADSTONE AXE, C. A. DANA'S
+SHEARS, THE HORACES.]
+
+"Yes, that's so, but that's in the far past," Field admitted. Garland
+took the thought up.
+
+"Time helps you then. Time is a romancer. He halves the fact, but we
+veritists find the _present_ fact haloed, with significance if not
+beauty."
+
+Field dodged the point.
+
+"Yes, I like to do those boy-life verses. I like to live over the joys
+and tragedies--because we had our tragedies."
+
+"Didn't we! Weeding the onion-bed on circus day, for example."
+
+"Yes, or gettin' a terrible strappin' for goin' swimming without
+permission. Oh, it all comes back to me, all sweet and fine somehow.
+I've forgotten all the unpleasant things. I remember only the best of
+it all. I like boy-life. I like children. I like young men. I like the
+buoyancy of youth and its freshness. It's a God's pity that every
+young child can't get a taste of country life at some time. It's a
+fund of inspiration to a man." Again the finer quality in the man came
+out in his face and voice.
+
+"Your life in New England and the South, and also in the West, has
+been of great help to you, I think."
+
+"Yes, and a big disadvantage. When I go East, Stedman calls me a
+typical Westerner, and when I come West they call me a Yankee--so
+there I am!"
+
+"There's no doubt of your being a Westerner."
+
+"I hope not. I believe in the West. I tell you, brother Garland, the
+West is the coming country. We ought to have a big magazine to develop
+the West. It's absurd to suppose we're going on always being tributary
+to the East!"
+
+Garland laid down his pad and lifted his big fist in the air like a
+maul. His enthusiasm rose like a flood.
+
+"Now you touch a great theme. You're right, Field. The next ten years
+will see literary horizons change mightily. The West is dead sure to
+be in the game from this time on. A man can't be out here a week
+without feeling the thrill of latent powers. The West is coming to its
+manhood. The West is the place for enthusiasm. Her history is
+making."
+
+Field took up the note. "I've got faith in it. I love New England for
+her heritage to you. I like her old stone walls and meadows, but when
+I get back West--well, I'm home, that's all. My love for the West has
+got blood in it."
+
+Garland laughed in sudden perception of their earnestness. "We're both
+talking like a couple of boomers. It might be characteristic, however,
+to apply the methods of the boomers of town lots to the development of
+art and literature. What say?"
+
+"It can be done. It will come in the course of events."
+
+"In our enthusiasm we have skated away from the subject. You are
+forty-three, then--you realize there's a lot of work before you, I
+hope."
+
+"Yes, yes, my serious work is just begun. I'm a man of slow
+development. I feel that. I know my faults and my weaknesses. I'm
+getting myself in hand. Now, Garland, I'm with you in your purposes,
+but I go a different way. You go into things direct. I'm naturally
+allusive. My work is almost always allusive, if you've noticed."
+
+"Do you write rapidly?"
+
+"I write my verse easily, but my prose I sweat over. Don't you?"
+
+"I toil in revision even when I have what the other fellows call an
+inspiration."
+
+"I tell you, Garland, genius is not in it. It's work and patience, and
+staying with a thing. Inspiration is all right and pretty and a
+suggestion, but it's when a man gets a pen in his hand and sweats
+blood, that inspiration begins to enter in."
+
+"Well, what are your plans for the future--your readers want to know
+that?"
+
+His face glowed as he replied, "I'm going to write a sentimental life
+of Horace. We know mighty little of him, but what I don't know I'll
+make up. I'll write such a life as he _must_ have lived. The life we
+all live when boys."
+
+The younger man put up his notes, and they walked down and out under
+the trees with the gibbous moon shining through the gently moving
+leaves. They passed a couple of young people walking slow--his voice a
+murmur, hers a whisper.
+
+"There they go. Youth! Youth!" said Field.
+
+  NOTE.--A series of portraits of Mr. Field at different ages will
+  be printed among the "Human Documents" in the September number.
+
+
+
+
+THE SHADOW BOATSWAIN.
+
+BY BLISS CARMAN.
+
+
+  Don't you know the sailing orders?
+    It is time to put to sea,
+  And the stranger in the harbor
+    Sends a boat ashore for me.
+
+  With the thunder of her canvas,
+    Coming on the wind again,
+  I can hear the Shadow Boatswain
+    Piping to his shadow men.
+
+  Is it firelight or morning
+    That red flicker on the floor?
+  Your good-bye was braver, Sweetheart,
+    When I sailed away before.
+
+  Think of this last lovely summer!
+    Love, what ails the wind to-night?
+  What's he saying in the chimney
+    Turns your berry cheek so white?
+
+  What a morning! How the sunlight
+    Sparkles on the outer bay,
+  Where the brig lies waiting for me
+    To trip anchor and away.
+
+  That's the Doomkeel. You may know her
+    By her clean run aft; and, then,
+  Don't you hear the Shadow Boatswain
+    Piping to his shadow men?
+
+  Off the freshening sea to windward,
+    Is it a white tern I hear
+  Shrilling in the gusty weather
+    Where the far sea-line is clear?
+
+  What a morning for departure!
+    How your blue eyes melt and shine!
+  Will you watch us from the headland
+    Till we sink below the line?
+
+  I can see the wind already
+    Steer the scruf marks of the tide,
+  As we slip the wake of being
+    Down the sloping world, and wide.
+
+  I can feel the vasty mountains
+    Heave and settle under me,
+  And the Doomkeel veer and tremor,
+    Crumbling on the hollow sea.
+
+  There's a call, as when a white gull
+    Cries and beats across the blue;
+  That must be the Shadow Boatswain
+    Piping to his shadow crew.
+
+  There's a boding sound, like winter,
+    When the pines begin to quail;
+  That must be the gray wind moaning
+    In the belly of the sail.
+
+  I can feel the icy fingers
+    Creeping in upon my bones;
+  There must be a berg to windward
+    Somewhere in these border zones.
+
+  Stir the fire.... I love the sunlight,
+    Always loved my shipmate sun.
+  How the sunflowers beckon to me
+    From the dooryard one by one!
+
+  How the royal lady-roses
+    Strew this summer world of ours.
+  There'll be none in Lonely Haven,
+    It is too far north for flowers.
+
+  There, Sweetheart! And I must leave you.
+    What should touch my wife with tears?
+  There's no danger with the Master,
+    He has sailed the sea for years.
+
+  With the sea-wolves on her quarter,
+    And the white bones in her teeth,
+  He will steer the shadow cruiser,
+    Dark before and doom beneath,
+
+  Down the last expanse till morning
+    Flares above the broken sea,
+  And the midnight storm is over,
+    And the isles are close alee.
+
+  So some twilight, when your roses
+    Are all blown, and it is June,
+  You will turn your blue eyes seaward,
+    Through the white dusk of the moon.
+
+  Wondering, as that far sea-cry
+    Comes upon the wind again,
+  And you hear the Shadow Boatswain
+    Piping to his shadow men.
+
+THE SLAPPING SAL.
+
+BY CONAN DOYLE.
+
+PICTURES BY A. BRENNAN.
+
+[Illustration: HAIRY HUDSON.]
+
+
+It was in the days when France's power was already broken upon the
+seas, and when more of her three-deckers lay rotting in the Medway
+than were to be found in Brest Harbor. But her frigates and corvettes
+still scoured the ocean, closely followed ever by those of her rival.
+At the uttermost ends of the earth these dainty vessels, with sweet
+names of girls or of flowers, mangled and shattered each other for the
+honor of the four yards of bunting that flapped from their gaffs.
+
+It had blown hard in the night, but the wind had dropped with the
+dawning, and now the rising sun tinted the fringe of the storm wrack
+as it dwindled into the west, and glinted on the endless crests of the
+long green waves. To north and south and west lay a sky-line which was
+unbroken, save by the spout of foam when two of the great Atlantic
+seas dashed each other into spray. To the east was a rocky island,
+jutting out into craggy points, with a few scattered clumps of
+palm-trees, and a pennant of mist streaming out from the bare conical
+hill which capped it. A heavy surf beat upon the shore, and at a safe
+distance from it the British 32-gun frigate "Leda," Captain A. P.
+Johnson, raised her black, glistening side upon the crest of a wave,
+or swooped down into an emerald valley, dipping away to the nor'ard
+under easy sail. On her snow-white quarter-deck stood a stiff, little,
+brown-faced man, who swept the horizon with his glass.
+
+"Mr. Wharton," he cried, with a voice like a rusty hinge.
+
+A thin, knock-kneed officer shambled across the poop to him.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"I've opened the sealed orders, Mr. Wharton."
+
+A glimmer of curiosity shone upon the meagre features of the first
+lieutenant. The "Leda" had sailed with her consort the "Dido" from
+Antigua the week before, and the admiral's orders had been contained
+in a sealed envelope.
+
+"We were to open them on reaching the deserted island of Sombriero,
+lying in north latitude eighteen, thirty-six, west longitude
+sixty-three, twenty-eight. Sombriero bore four miles to the northeast
+from our port bow when the gale cleared, Mr. Wharton."
+
+The lieutenant bowed stiffly. He and the captain had been bosom
+friends from childhood. They had gone to school together, joined the
+navy together, fought again and again together, and married into each
+other's families; but as long as their feet were on the poop the iron
+discipline of the service struck all that was human out of them, and
+left only the superior and the subordinate. Captain Johnson took a
+blue paper from his pocket, which crackled as he unfolded it.
+
+  "The 32-gun frigates, 'Leda' and 'Dido' (Captains A. P. Johnson
+  and James Munro), are to cruise from the point at which these
+  instructions are read to the mouth of the Caribbean Sea, in the
+  hope of encountering the French frigate 'La Gloire' (48), which
+  has recently harassed our merchant ships in that quarter. H. M.
+  frigates are also directed to hunt down the piratical craft known
+  sometimes as the 'Slapping Sal' and sometimes as the 'Hairy
+  Hudson,' which has plundered the British ships as per margin,
+  inflicting barbarities upon their crews. She is a small brig
+  carrying ten light guns, with one twenty-four pound carronade
+  forward. She was last seen upon the 23d ult., to the northeast of
+  the island of Sombriero."
+
+    (Signed)
+      JAMES MONTGOMERY,
+        Rear-Admiral.
+
+  H. M. S. "Colossus," Antigua.
+
+"We appear to have lost our consort," said Captain Johnson, folding up
+his instructions and again sweeping the horizon with his glass. "She
+drew away after we reefed down. It would be a pity if we met this
+heavy Frenchman without the 'Dido,' Mr. Wharton, eh?"
+
+The lieutenant twinkled and smiled.
+
+"She has eighteen-pounders on the main and twelves on the poop, sir,"
+said the captain. "She carries four hundred to our two hundred and
+thirty-one. Captain de Milon is the smartest man in the French
+service. O Bobby, boy, I'd give my hopes of my flag to rub my side up
+against her!" He turned on his heel, ashamed of his momentary lapse.
+"Mr. Wharton," said he, looking back sternly over his shoulder, "get
+those square sails shaken out, and bear away a point more to the
+west."
+
+"A brig on the port bow," came a voice from the forecastle.
+
+"A brig on the port bow," said the lieutenant.
+
+[Illustration: CAPTAIN JOHNSON AND MR. WHARTON.]
+
+The captain sprang up on the bulwarks, and held on by the mizzen
+shrouds, a strange little figure with flying skirts and puckered eyes.
+The lean lieutenant craned his neck and whispered to Smeaton, the
+second, while officers and men came popping up from below and
+clustered along the weather-rail, shading their eyes with their hands,
+for the tropical sun was already clear of the palm trees. The strange
+brig lay at anchor in the throat of a curving estuary, and it was
+already obvious that she could not get out without passing under the
+guns of the frigate. A long rocky point to the north of her held her
+in.
+
+"Keep her as she goes, Mr. Wharton," said the captain. "Hardly worth
+while clearing for action, Mr. Smeaton, but the men can stand by the
+guns in case she tries to pass us. Cast loose the bowchasers, and send
+the small arm men on to the forecastle."
+
+A British crew went to its quarters in those days with the quiet
+serenity of men on their daily routine. In a few minutes, without
+fuss or sound, the sailors were knotted round their guns, the marines
+were drawn up and leaning on their muskets, and the frigate's bowsprit
+pointed straight for her little victim.
+
+"Is it the 'Slapping Sal,' sir?"
+
+"I have no doubt of it, Mr. Wharton."
+
+"They don't seem to like the look of us, sir. They've cut their cable
+and are clapping on sail."
+
+It was evident that the brig meant struggling for her freedom. One
+little patch of canvas fluttered out above another, and her people
+could be seen working like mad men in the rigging. She made no attempt
+to pass her antagonist, but headed up the estuary. The captain rubbed
+his hands.
+
+"She's making for shoal water, Mr. Wharton, and we shall have to cut
+her out, sir. She's a footy little brig, but I should have thought a
+fore-and-after would have been more handy."
+
+"It was a mutiny, sir."
+
+"Ah, indeed!"
+
+"Yes, sir, I heard of it at Manilla--a bad business, sir. Captain and
+two mates murdered. This Hudson, or Hairy Hudson, as they call him,
+led the mutiny. He's a Londoner, sir, but a cruel villain as ever
+walked."
+
+"His next walk will be to Execution Dock, Mr. Wharton. She seems
+heavily manned. I wish I could take twenty topmen out of her, but they
+would be enough to corrupt the crew of the ark, Mr. Wharton."
+
+Both officers were looking through their glasses at the brig. Suddenly
+the lieutenant showed his teeth in a grin, while the captain flushed
+to a deeper red.
+
+"That's Hairy Hudson on the afterrail, sir."
+
+"The low, impertinent blackguard! He'll play some other antics before
+we are done with him. Could you reach him with the long eighteen, Mr.
+Smeaton?"
+
+"Another cable length will do it, sir."
+
+The brig yawed as they spoke, and as she came round, a spurt of smoke
+whiffed out from her quarter. It was a pure piece of bravado, for the
+gun could scarce carry half way. Then with a jaunty swing the little
+ship came into the wind again and shot round a fresh curve of the
+winding channel.
+
+"The water's shoaling rapidly, sir," reported the second lieutenant.
+
+"There's six fathoms, by the chart."
+
+"Four, by the lead, sir."
+
+"When we clear this point we shall see how we lie. Ha! I thought as
+much! Lay her to, Mr. Wharton. Now we have got her at our mercy."
+
+The frigate was quite out of sight of the sea now, at the head of this
+river-like estuary. As she came round the curve the two shores were
+seen to converge at a point about a mile distant. In the angle, as
+near shore as she could get, the brig was lying with her broadside
+towards her pursuer, and a wisp of black cloth streaming from her
+mizzen. The lean lieutenant, who had reappeared upon deck with a
+cutlass strapped to his side and two pistols rammed into his belt,
+peered curiously at the ensign.
+
+"Is it the 'Jolly Roger,' sir?" he asked.
+
+But the captain was furious. "He may hang where his breeches are
+hanging before I have done with him," said he. "What boats will you
+want, Mr. Wharton?"
+
+"We should do it with the launch and the jolly-boat."
+
+"Take four and make a clean job of it. Pipe away the crews at once,
+and I'll work her in and help you with the long eighteens."
+
+With a rattle of ropes and a creaking of blocks the four boats
+splashed into the water. Their crews clustered thickly into
+them--bare-footed sailors, stolid marines, laughing middies, and in
+the sheets of each the senior officers with their stern, schoolmaster
+faces. The captain, his elbows on the binnacle, still watched the
+distant brig. Her crew were tricing up the boarding netting, dragging
+round the starboard guns, knocking new portholes for them, and making
+every preparation for a desperate resistance. In the thick of it all a
+huge man, bearded to the eyes, with a red night-cap upon his head, was
+straining and stooping and hauling. The captain watched him with a
+sour smile, and then snapping up his glass he turned upon his heel.
+For an instant he stood staring.
+
+"Call back the boats!" he cried, in his thin, creaking voice. "Clear
+away for action there! Cast loose those main-deck guns. Brace back the
+yards, Mr. Smeaton, and stand by to go about when she has weigh
+enough."
+
+Round the curve of the estuary was coming a huge vessel. Her great
+yellow bowsprit and white-winged figure-head were jutting out from the
+cluster of palm-trees, while high above them towered three immense
+masts, with the tricolor flag floating superbly from the mizzen. Round
+she came, the deep-blue water creaming under her fore-foot, until her
+long, curving, black side, her line of shining copper beneath, and of
+snow-white hammocks above, and the thick clusters of men who peered
+over her bulwarks were all in full view.
+
+Her lower yards were slung, her ports triced up, and her guns run out
+all ready for action. Lying behind one of the promontories of the
+island the look-out men of the "Gloire" upon the shore had seen the
+_cul-de-sac_ into which the British frigate had headed, so that
+Captain de Milon had observed the "Leda" as Captain Johnson had the
+"Slapping Sal."
+
+[Illustration: THE ACTION.]
+
+But the splendid discipline of the British service was at its best in
+such a crisis. The boats flew back, their crews clustered aboard, they
+were swung up at the davits, and the fall-ropes made fast. Hammocks
+were brought up and stowed, bulkheads sent down, ports and magazines
+opened, the fires put out in the galley, and the drums beat to
+quarters. Swarms of men set the head-sails and brought the frigate
+round, while the gun-crews threw off their jackets and shirts,
+tightened their belts, and ran out their eighteen-pounders, peering
+through the open portholes at the stately Frenchman. The wind was
+very light. Hardly a ripple showed itself upon the clear blue water,
+but the sails blew gently out as the breeze came over the wooded
+banks. The Frenchman had gone about also, and both ships were now
+heading slowly for the sea under fore-and-aft canvas, the "Gloire" a
+hundred yards in advance. She luffed up to cross the "Leda's" bows,
+but the British ship came round also, and the two rippled slowly on in
+such a silence that the ringing of the ramrods, as the French marines
+drove home their charges, clanged quite loudly upon the ear.
+
+"Not much sea room, Mr. Wharton," remarked the captain.
+
+"I have fought actions in less, sir."
+
+"We must keep our distance, and trust to our gunnery. She is very
+heavily manned, and if she got alongside we might find ourselves in
+trouble."
+
+"I see the shakoes of soldiers aboard of her--two companies of light
+infantry from Martinique. Now we have her! Hard a port, and let her
+have it as we cross her stern!"
+
+The keen eye of the little commander had seen the surface ripple which
+told of a passing breeze. He had used it to dart across behind the big
+Frenchman and to rake her with every gun as he passed. But, once past
+her, the "Leda" had to come back into the wind to keep out of shoal
+water. The manoeuvre brought her on the starboard side of the
+Frenchman, and the trim little frigate seemed to heel right over under
+the crashing broadside which burst from the gaping ports. A moment
+later her topmen were swarming aloft to set her topsails and royals,
+and she strove to cross the "Gloire's" bows and rake her again. The
+French captain, however, brought his frigate's head round, and the two
+rode side by side within easy pistol shot, pouring broadsides into
+each other in one of those murderous duels which, could they all be
+recorded, would mottle our charts with blood.
+
+[Illustration: ABOARD THE "LEDA."]
+
+In that heavy tropical air, with so faint a breeze, the smoke formed a
+thick bank round the two vessels, from which the topmasts only
+protruded. Neither could see anything of its enemy save the throbs of
+fire in the darkness, and the guns were sponged and trained and fired
+into a dense wall of vapor. On the poop and the forecastle the
+marines, in two little red lines, were pouring in their volleys, but
+neither they nor the seamen-gunners could see what effect their fire
+was having. Nor, indeed, could they tell how far they were suffering
+themselves, for standing at a gun one could but hazily see that upon
+the right and left. But above the roar of the cannon came the sharper
+sound of the piping shot, the crashing of riven planks, and the
+occasional heavy thud as spar or block came hurtling onto the deck.
+The lieutenants paced up and down behind the line of guns, while
+Captain Johnson fanned the smoke away with his cocked hat, and peered
+eagerly out.
+
+"This is rare, Bobby," said he, as the lieutenant joined him. Then,
+suddenly restraining himself, "What have we lost, Mr. Wharton?"
+
+"Our main-topsail yard and our gaff, sir."
+
+"Where's the flag?"
+
+"Gone overboard, sir."
+
+"They'll think we've struck. Lash a boat's ensign on the starboard arm
+of the mizzen cross jack-yard."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+A round shot dashed the binnacle to pieces between them. A second
+knocked two marines into a bloody, palpitating mass. For a moment the
+smoke rose, and the English captain saw that his adversary's heavier
+metal was producing a horrible effect. The "Leda" was a shattered
+wreck. Her deck was strewed with corpses. Several of her portholes
+were knocked into one, and one of her eighteen-pounder guns had been
+thrown right back onto her breech, and pointed straight up to the sky.
+The thin line of marines still loaded and fired, but half the guns
+were silent, and their crews were piled thickly around them.
+
+"Stand by to repel boarders!" yelled the captain.
+
+"Cutlasses, lads, cutlasses!" roared Wharton.
+
+"Hold your volley till they touch!" cried the captain of marines.
+
+The huge loom of the Frenchman was seen bursting through the smoke.
+Thick clusters of boarders hung upon her sides and shrouds. A final
+broadside leapt from her ports, and the mainmast of the "Leda,"
+snapping short off a few feet above the deck, spun into the air and
+crashed down upon the port guns, killing ten men and putting the
+whole battery out of action. An instant later the two ships scraped
+together, and the starboard bower anchor of the "Gloire" caught the
+mizzen chains of the "Leda" upon the port side. With a yell the black
+swarm of boarders steadied themselves for a spring.
+
+But their feet were never to reach that blood-stained deck. From
+somewhere there came a well-aimed whiff of grape, and another, and
+another. The English marines and seamen, waiting with cutlass and
+musket behind the silent guns, saw with amazement the dark masses
+thinning and shredding away. At the same time the port broadside of
+the Frenchman burst into a roar.
+
+"Clear away the wreck!" roared the captain. "What the devil are they
+firing at?"
+
+"Get the guns clear!" panted the lieutenant. "We'll do them yet,
+boys!"
+
+The wreckage was torn and hacked and splintered until first one gun
+and then another roared into action again. The Frenchman's anchor had
+been cut away, and the "Leda" had worked herself free from that fatal
+hug. But now suddenly there was a scurry up the shrouds of the
+"Gloire," and a hundred Englishmen were shouting themselves hoarse.
+
+"They're running! They're running! They're running!"
+
+And it was true. The Frenchman had ceased to fire, and was intent only
+upon clapping on every sail that she could carry.
+
+But that shouting hundred could not claim it all as their own. As the
+smoke cleared, it was not difficult to see the reason. The ships had
+gained the mouth of the estuary during the fight, and there, about
+four miles out to sea, was the "Leda's" consort bearing down under
+full sail to the sound of the guns. Captain de Milon had done his part
+for one day, and presently the "Gloire" was drawing off swiftly to the
+north, while the "Dido" was bowling along at her skirts, rattling away
+with her bowchasers, until a headland hid them both from view.
+
+But the "Leda" lay sorely stricken, with her mainmast gone, her
+bulwarks shattered, her mizzen topmast and gaff shot away, her sails
+like a beggar's rags, and a hundred of her crew dead and wounded.
+Close beside her a mass of wreckage floated upon the waves. It was the
+stern post of a mangled vessel, and across it, in white letters on a
+black ground, was printed "The Slapping Sal."
+
+"By the Lord, it was the brig that saved us!" cried Mr. Wharton.
+"Hudson brought her into action with the Frenchman, and was blown out
+of the water by a broadside."
+
+The little captain turned on his heel and paced up and down the deck.
+Already his crew were plugging the shot-holes, knotting and splicing
+and mending. When he came back the lieutenant saw a softening of the
+stern lines about his mouth and eyes.
+
+"Are they all gone?"
+
+"Every man. They must have sunk with the wreck."
+
+The two officers looked down at the sinister name and at the stump of
+wreckage which floated in the discolored water. Something black washed
+to and fro beside a splintered gaff and a tangle of halyards. It was
+the outrageous ensign, and near it a scarlet cap was floating.
+
+"He was a villain, but he was a Briton," said the captain at last. "He
+lived like a dog, but, by God, he died like a man!"
+
+
+
+
+"HUMAN DOCUMENTS."
+
+  "For of the soule the bodie forme doth take,
+  For soule is forme and doth the bodie make."
+
+      --From "An Hymne in Honour of Beautie."--SPENSER.
+
+
+BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES.
+
+OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES was born eighty-four years ago on the 29th of
+August, 1809. He was educated at the Phillips Andover Academy, and
+graduated at Harvard in 1829, and was one of the founders of the _Phi
+Beta Kappa_ Society of that university. His first general reception as
+a poet was gained by his successful lyrical effort to save the old
+frigate, "The Constitution," from being broken up. He graduated in
+medicine in 1836 (after studying law in the Cambridge Law School), and
+in the same year published his first volume of verse. In 1839 he was
+made Professor of Anatomy and Physiology at Dartmouth, and in 1847 he
+filled the same position at Harvard. He has published several volumes
+of poems, and the famous books known, respectively, as "The Autocrat,"
+"The Poet," and the "Professor at the Breakfast Table." He has written
+many medical works, and of his novels, "Elsie Venner" and "The
+Guardian Angel" are best known.
+
+JOHN JAMES INGALLS was born in Middleton, Massachusetts, on December
+29th, 1833. He graduated at Williams College in 1855. He then studied
+law, and was admitted to the bar in 1857. Going to Atchison, Kansas,
+in the following year, he there practised his profession, and from
+that time to the present has been closely connected with the
+development of his adopted State and that of the country. In 1862 he
+was elected a Senator in the State of Kansas, and in 1863 and 1864 was
+defeated for the Lieut.-Governorship. For some years he was editor of
+the Atchison "Champion." In 1873 he was chosen United States Senator,
+and served without interruption until 1889.
+
+JULES VERNE was born at Nantes in France on February 8, 1828, and was
+educated there. After leaving school he studied law in Paris, but,
+while still very young, he became known as a popular writer of dramas,
+comedies and burlesques for the Parisian theatres. "Les Pailles
+Rompues" was produced at the Gymnase Theatre in 1850, when Jules was
+but twenty-two years old, and "Onze Jours de Siege" shortly
+afterwards. He first became known as a writer of highly imaginative
+stories with a strong current of science in them in 1863, when his
+"Five Weeks in a Balloon" made a great success. Since then he has
+produced more than sixty novels of the same class, the most noted of
+which are "The Voyage to the Moon," "20,000 Leagues under the Sea,"
+and "Michael Strogoff." Many of his works have been successfully
+dramatized, and he has been translated into almost every modern
+language, including Arabic and Japanese.
+
+
+OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
+
+[Illustration: ALL FROM DAGUERREOTYPES--THE TWO LAST ONES, BETWEEN 1845
+AND 1855. THE FIRST IS THE EARLIEST PICTURE OF DOCTOR HOLMES, AND HE IS
+UNABLE TO PLACE A DATE UPON IT.]
+
+[Illustration: MARCH, 1869. AGE 60.]
+
+[Illustration: AUGUST, 1874. AGE 65.]
+
+[Illustration: ABOUT 1882. AGE 73.]
+
+[Illustration: NOVEMBER, 1891. AGE 82.]
+
+
+J. J. INGALLS.
+
+[Illustration: 1847. AGE 14.]
+
+[Illustration: 1853. AGE 20.]
+
+[Illustration: 1865. AGE 32.]
+
+[Illustration: 1873. AGE 40.]
+
+[Illustration: 1877. AGE 44.]
+
+[Illustration: TO-DAY. AGE 60.]
+
+
+JULES VERNE.
+
+[Illustration: 1848. AGE 20.]
+
+[Illustration: 1858. AGE 30.]
+
+[Illustration: 1868. AGE 40.]
+
+[Illustration: 1886. AGE 58.]
+
+
+
+
+SOME PROFESSIONAL ADVENTURES OF KARL HAGENBECK.
+
+BY RAYMOND BLATHWAYT.
+
+
+As Karl Hagenbeck stood with me, in his Hamburg Wild Beast Emporium,
+before the great cage of the boa constrictors and pythons, he
+naturally fell to relating some of the curious adventures that have
+befallen him with snakes and other brutes.
+
+There was a great ugly looking boa constrictor coiled up in a corner
+by itself, a most repulsive looking animal.
+
+"He's a beauty, isn't he?" said Mr. Hagenbeck, looking fondly on him.
+"He swallowed four whole sheep in one day, and only nine days after
+that he got another, and seemed to enjoy it as much as if he had been
+fasting for months. Come and look at this cage, where you can see a
+revengeful member of the species. He once had a companion, but now
+he's alone through his own fault. He and his companion were peculiarly
+fond of rabbits, and we threw one into their cage one day. They both
+darted for it, and, while the poor little shivering animal crept into
+a corner in a fright, the snakes quarrelled as to whose 'bonne bouche'
+the rabbit was to be. The smaller one won, and this great wretch
+retired to a corner and watched his foe devour the rabbit, and then
+lie down in that state of repleteness which it is the highest ambition
+of these great snakes to attain. The big fellow then, seeing his
+rival's helpless condition, roused himself, and a moment afterwards he
+vigorously attacked the creature that lay gorged in the corner. We all
+rushed to see what would happen, and I declare to you, that in a very
+short time the big snake had swallowed the small snake, rabbit and
+all."
+
+"Would you like to see them in action?" said Mr. Hagenbeck to me, and,
+as he spoke, he opened a cage door and boldly stepped in amongst a
+number of big sleepy reptiles. He coolly began lifting them up by
+their enormous coils, just as one would lift up great coils of rope,
+and there was soon a mighty stirring amongst the previously inert
+masses. They writhed to and fro, their scales glittering in the pale
+light of the winter sun, and with a great hissing, an irritated
+rearing back of their heads and a constant projection of their long
+forked tongues, they began to move about the cage--a hideous, mixed-up
+mass of repulsive life, that made one involuntarily step back from
+their bars.
+
+"You don't like the look of them," said Mr. Hagenbeck, with a smile,
+as he stepped out and rejoined me. "They are queer fellows, certainly,
+and gave me a big fright once."
+
+"I should have imagined more than once," I said, as we turned from the
+ugly mass of twisted snakes.
+
+"Well, perhaps," said Mr. Hagenbeck, "but this particular once was
+something to remember. In one cage I had eight full-grown pythons,
+which I wanted to put into one huge box to send them off to a
+menagerie. I handled the first six all right enough, catching them,
+as is usual, by the back of the neck and dropping them into the box.
+Then I went for number seven, but as soon as I entered the cage she,
+the lady of the flock, flew at me with open mouth. Seeing her coming I
+took off my hat and thrust it at her. She bit her teeth into it. I
+then seized her with the right hand at the back of her neck, and I
+dragged her down into the lower partition of the cage. Just when I was
+going to fetch her out she reared her head to attack me again. I then
+made a cautious movement forward, and at the same moment she darted
+her head at me. I met the second attack with my hat in the same way
+that I had the first. With a quick dart I grabbed her by the back of
+the neck, only to find, to my horror, that I couldn't let her go if I
+wanted to, as she had coiled herself firmly round my legs. One of my
+assistants, standing near, heard me yell, and he came rushing up to me
+with all the speed he could, for I fancy my shout told everybody
+within hearing that I had to do with a matter of life and death. I
+managed, however, to retain my nerve, and gave the order to the helper
+to try and uncoil the serpent, which with great difficulty and my
+assistance he at last managed to do."
+
+Mr. Hagenbeck laughed a little as he recalled the experience, but I
+confess I didn't feel like laughing much. The horror of having those
+massive coils pressing tightly on your legs and bruising your muscles
+with irresistible strength seemed very real to me.
+
+"I wasn't done even then," Mr. Hagenbeck resumed, "for just as I
+thought that I could get the big snake safely in the cage, another
+python, and really an enormous fellow, attacked me. I had just time to
+shout to my man to throw a blanket over it, and this he luckily
+managed to do. At the same moment I moved backwards out of the cage
+and got free of it altogether, and then I had a little rest. My men
+tried to dissuade me from going back, each of them saying he would do
+it. I felt very exhausted, but my temper was fairly up, and I
+determined I wouldn't be beaten. So, after a few moments, I stepped
+again into the cage, caught them both round the backs of their necks,
+dragged them as quickly as I could to the edge of the cage, and then,
+all helping, we flung them into the box waiting for them. Had not my
+assistant been near me, nothing could have saved me from being
+squeezed to death."
+
+The wild-beast tamer then motioned me away from the serpent cages, and
+we went to those of their cousins, the crocodiles and alligators. We
+passed by an aviary of very great size, where parrots and other
+beautifully plumed birds chattered, laughed, quarrelled, and made love
+in a long, ear-piercing enjoyment of their captivity; and further on
+we came to a large tank, in which were slowly paddling round some
+spiteful-looking alligators--huge-jawed, soulless-eyed, each one a
+waiting, watching destroyer of life.
+
+[Illustration: KARL HAGENBECK'S FATHER AND HIS FIRST SHOW IN BERLIN.]
+
+We looked at them for a little while, and then Mr. Hagenbeck said:
+"Once I had to pack sixteen of these fellows up for the Duesseldorf
+Zoological Gardens. I grappled hold of the first one and was pulling
+him ashore, when he gave me a frightful blow with his tail and
+knocked me into the tank, where, for a brief moment, I was alone with
+fifteen alligators. Those who were standing by told me that as soon as
+I splashed in a number of them made a rush, but I was out again like
+an India-rubber ball. The swirl of the water and the open jaws of the
+disappointed beasts told me that I had not been one second too smart.
+This was a very narrow escape, as, if one of the crocodiles had
+happened to get hold of me, all the rest would have attacked me,
+snapping and biting at me at one and the same moment, until there
+would have been little, if anything, left of me at all. They are the
+most determined fighters even amongst themselves. Six of them, each
+about fourteen feet long, had a fight amongst themselves once, and so
+desperately did they set to, that within fourteen days they were all
+dead. Three of them had their jaws broken, and in some cases their
+legs were torn right out of their bodies. This occurred at night, and
+one of the keepers, happening to hear the frightful noise which was
+made by the clashing of their jaws, rushed off to tell me what was
+happening. We lit our lanterns and hurried to the scene of action,
+but, beyond trying to separate them with long poles, it was little we
+could do. When we managed to part them for a time they only renewed
+the fight with greater fierceness than ever, and so terribly were they
+wounded, that, as I said, they were all dead in a fortnight. Nowadays,
+when I get a new consignment of alligators I always muzzle them for
+four days with a rope. They then calm down, and I cut the rope off;
+otherwise, if I did not do that they would begin fighting as soon as
+they came out of the box, for the first sight of day-light after the
+long journey always seems to excite them. A fight amongst the snakes,
+also, is a terrible thing. I had once five big pythons in one cage.
+One of the keepers flung a dead rabbit amongst them, and two of them,
+being very hungry, attacked it at once. At the same moment the other
+four flew for the prey, and in one moment all the six were in one big
+writhing lump. The keepers fetched me, and I at once attempted to
+uncoil them. I succeeded, but hardly had I done so when the fight
+began again between the first two. The larger one threw his tail round
+the small one's neck and squeezed it with such force against the wall
+that it lost all power. Then the bigger snake got hold of the rabbit
+and swallowed it, after which it gradually loosened its hold of the
+smaller snake. The little one then sought revenge, and flew at the big
+python, which was rendered almost helpless by its huge meal, bit it in
+the back, coiled round and round it, and squeezed it till it could
+hardly breathe, although it screamed as I had never heard any living
+creature scream before. The funny thing was that when I went to see
+them next morning they were all right and perfectly good friends.
+
+"Talking of fights, I was once turned out of bed at one o'clock in the
+morning by one of my keepers, who came in with the news that the big
+kangaroo had jumped a six-foot fence into the next stable, in which
+there was a large hippopotamus. When I came down there was the
+queerest kind of a duel going on. The kangaroo stood up to his belly
+in water, whilst the hippopotamus, with wide-open jaws, snapped at him
+right and left. However, the kangaroo managed to 'get in' a good right
+and left with his front legs, and scratched the hippopotamus in the
+face tremendously. When the amphibian came to close quarters, the
+kangaroo jumped up, gave him a tremendous blow with his hind legs, and
+then managed to get on to dry land. I caught the kangaroo with a big
+net, and after all the fighting there wasn't so very much harm done."
+
+Just as Mr. Hagenbeck finished talking, the Polar bear at our rear
+began growling. Mr. Hagenbeck went up to soothe and pet him. Then he
+said:
+
+"I expect I am pretty well the only man in the world who can say that
+he ever cut the toe nails of a Polar bear. It was this very beast, and
+I will tell you how it all happened. The poor beast's nails had grown
+into its foot, causing it a great deal of pain. We tried to get the
+feet into a sling and pull them through the bars, but this proved to
+be too awkward an arrangement. So I got him into a narrow cage which
+had an iron barred front, and this I turned upside down so that the
+bear had to stand on the bars of the cage, which we lifted up about
+four feet above the ground. I went underneath with a sharp pair of
+pincers, and, as he stood there with his toes pressed through the
+bars, I managed to pull the nails out. Then I stood him in water to
+wash and cool his wounds, and in a few days he was all right. On yet
+another occasion a royal Bengal tiger was suffering very much from
+toothache, so two of my men held him by the collar and, whilst one of
+my attendants opened his mouth, my brother-in-law and I took some
+pincers and pulled out the teeth which had been giving him so much
+pain, and which, indeed, had grown so badly that they had hindered him
+from biting his food properly.
+
+"The most risky thing, however, that ever occurred to me happened in
+Munich during the Centennial Fete in 1888. I was passing in the long
+procession with eight elephants, and the streets were very much
+crammed. It chanced that we had to pass a great big iron dragon,
+which, by some mechanical contrivance, began to spit fire as soon as
+we got near it. Four of the elephants at once took fright and ran
+away, which was only natural, and the other four followed suit. The
+people rushed after them with sticks and loud cries, which of course
+only made matters worse. I managed to get between two of them, and
+caught hold of them, but it was of no use, as they ran with me for at
+least a mile. I was badly hurled from side to side and, indeed, at one
+moment I was very nearly crushed to death by them against the walls of
+a house. At last two other elephants came up, and I managed to
+persuade the lot of them to stand still; just as I had done so the
+stupid crowd again came rushing up, and away the elephants went again.
+I was too tired to do anything more. All four of them rushed into a
+house; the bottom gave way and the excited creatures fell into the
+cellar. A new house has now been built there which is called to this
+day 'The four wild elephants.' A lot of people were hurt, some indeed
+were killed, but, as the Police President had seen all that had
+happened, I was held free of blame. That was, however, the worst
+trouble with my captive friends I ever have had, and how I escaped
+being crushed to death then I cannot understand to this day."
+
+[Illustration: THE SCRAMBLE IN MUNICH.]
+
+
+
+
+THE STORY I HEARD ON THE CARS.
+
+BY MRS. E. V. WILSON.
+
+
+It was very tiresome riding on the cars all day, with the same
+monotonous stretch of prairie to be seen from the window; so I am sure
+it was pardonable in me to listen to the conversation of my
+fellow-passengers.
+
+Just in front of me (their bundles on a seat before them) sat two
+elderly women, old friends, it seemed, who had chanced to meet in
+their journeying; and it was a sentence or two of their talk that
+caught my attention, and presently I became so interested that I no
+longer felt my weariness.
+
+"And so," said one, "you say they are livin' all alone in that big
+house of their'n! I knowed the girls was all married an' gone, but I
+heerd Jim had tuk a wife home to live with the old folks, and I said
+to Simon, says I, 'Well, it'll take more'n a mortal woman to live with
+Mary Ann Curtis onless she's mightily changed sence I use ter know
+her,' says I."
+
+"Well," said the other voice, and a sweet, patient-sounding voice it
+was--so sweet, indeed, that I glanced over to look at its owner. She
+was a little, quaint old woman, with soft brown eyes and a pathetic,
+lovable face. I fell in love with her at once. Her companion was a
+younger woman, with shrewd, black, observing eyes and sharp nose and
+chin. From appearances and manner, I judged both were wives of
+well-to-do farmers.
+
+"Well," said the sweet voice, "Jim did marry a mortal woman, but Mary
+Ann soon made a angel out of her. I knowed Jim Curtis's wife as well
+as if she'd ben my own child; and no wonder, seein' as she boarded
+with me and Jonathan nigh on to a year. You see, she was left an
+orphan, and her uncle that raised her, not bein' well off, give her
+what schoolin' he could, an' then when she was about sixteen year old
+he got her first the summer school in our deestric, and then, as she
+suited the folks, the d'rectors they let her have it fur the winter. I
+was sort o' feared for her to tackle the winter school, seein' as some
+of the big boys, and girls, too, for that matter, 's pritty
+obstreperous; but Rhody she laughed and tossed her head an' said,
+'I'll get along, Aunt Nancy!' (You know everybody in the neighborhood
+calls me Aunt Nancy, and Rhody she picked it up as natral as could
+be.)
+
+"Well, she did manage somehow, an' never had a bit of trouble. An' I
+use ter watch o' evenin's for her to come, allus smilin', and with
+somethin' funny to tell about the scholars. I declare to you, Mis'
+Johnson, if she'd ben our own, Jonathan an' me couldn't a sot more by
+her. Why, whenever it was rainy or snowy the ole man would saddle a
+horse an' go for her, an' she'd look that cute, settin' behin' on ole
+Molly an' holdin' on to the ole man!
+
+"One cold evenin' (it was a Friday evenin', too--I'll never
+forgit it), jist as Jonathan got the saddle on the mare, we heard
+sleigh-bells, for I was out at the fence talkin' to the ole man, an'
+who should come sailin' up the road, large as life, but Jim
+Curtis in his new sleigh, with our Rhody, smilin' and rosy,
+beside him. 'There, ole man,' says I, 'your cake's dough.' And I
+declare fur it, ef he warn't that cut up he could scarce be civil
+to the youngsters.
+
+"Of course you know how it was after that--no needcessity fur the ole
+man botherin' any more; not 'at it was bother, for he allus liked
+goin' fur Rhody; but laws! Jim was allus on hand, no matter how the
+weather was, an' he tuk her to her uncle's two or three times, an' to
+meetin' Sundays, an' I up an' tole her one day that I b'lieved I'd ask
+Jim to board with us, an' her face got mighty red, an' she stepped up
+an' put both arms roun' my neck, she was such a lovin' leetle critter,
+an' she says, 'You aint mad, Aunt Nancy, are you? You like Jim, don't
+you?'
+
+"'Well,' says I, 'ef I don't, somebody else does; but I'd like to
+know what this deestric's goin' to do fur a teacher.'
+
+"'Oh,' she says, blushin' more 'an ever, 'I am goin' to teach my
+school out.'
+
+"'An' then what?' says I.
+
+"'Then I'll tell you,' she says, and run off laughin'.
+
+"So I says to the ole man that night, after we'd gone to bed, says I,
+'Jonathan, Rhody is goin' to marry Jim Curtis, an' I dunno whether to
+be glad or sorry.'
+
+"An' he laughed till the bed shuk, an' says he, 'Why, whot on 'arth is
+ther' to be sorry 'bout?' says he; 'ther' aint a likelier feller'n the
+neighborhood than Jim, an' as for Rhody, pshaw! she's good enough an'
+purty 'nough for anybody.'
+
+"'Oh,' says I, ''tain't that--they're both well 'nough; but how's our
+little girl goin' to git along with Mis' Curtis?'"
+
+"Yes," interrupted Mrs. Johnson, appreciatively, "that was a question.
+What did you let 'em go there to live for? That's what I want to know,
+Nancy Riley."
+
+"Well," sighed Aunt Nancy, "I did try to prevent it. I talked to
+Rhody, but she thought she could surely git along with Jim's
+mother--said she loved her already, pore thing! Then I tuk Jim to
+task, an' he said the ole folks weren't willin' fur him to leave 'em;
+his father was gittin' old, an' ther' were lots 'o rooms in the house,
+an' his mother was glad he was goin' to marry an' bring his wife
+there, she was so lonesome now all her girls was gone, an' a heap more
+sich stuff."
+
+"Lonesome, indeed!" snapped Mrs. Johnson. "She was glad to git rid of
+her girls, so she was! Laws! don't I mind what times them poor girls
+had to git decent clothes? She jist grudged 'em everything, an' kep'
+'em workin' like--I was goin' to say darkys, but no darky ever worked
+like old Mis' Curtis made her girls. No wonder they up an' tuk the
+first feller 'at came along an' asked 'em. But I stopped you, Aunt
+Nancy--excuse me--for I knowed Mis' Curtis so well. The idea of her
+a-bein' lonesome! She wanted somebody to help with the work, she did.
+Her own girls got away soon's they could. That Jim must 'a' been a
+fool!"
+
+"Oh, no, he wasn't," went on the soft voice. "It's mighty little a
+young feller like him knows about housework, an' his mother's work
+never bothered him. So as soon as Rhody's school was out in the spring
+they was married. You see, her uncle thought for a pore girl she was
+doin' purty well, an' I 'low she was ef she had been jes' marryin' Jim
+Curtis, but she warn't--she was a tyin' of herself to his mother."
+
+"More fool Jim!" snarled Mrs. Johnson.
+
+"Now, Mis' Johnson," said Aunt Nancy, "Jim meant well, an' he
+worshipped the very ground Rhody walked on; but, you see, old Mis'
+Curtis she didn't believe in young folks makin' simpletons of
+theirselves, and when she see Jim slip his arm 'roun' Rhody, or her
+run her hand through his curly hair, she'd snap out something sort o'
+hateful; so Rhody she got afraid of her, an' there's where the trouble
+begun, in my 'pinion, fur if my pore child had let Jim see how she was
+imposed on, he certingly'd have made a change, but to keep peace she
+jist made believe she was happy 'nough. I use' ter go over sometimes,
+though I knowed Mis' Curtis set no store by my comin', but Rhody was
+allus that glad, and I tell you it riled me to see how she was
+treated. It was: 'Rhody, bring the milk out of the suller'; 'Rhody,
+fetch some wood'; 'Rhody, set the table,' till I wondered she didn't
+drop.
+
+"One awful hot day I was there, an' Rhody she was ironin' in the back
+porch, an' Mis' Curtis she was makin' pies; she was a master-hand at
+cookin'; you'll 'low that, Mis' Johnson."
+
+"Oh, yes," snapped Mrs. Johnson, "Mary Ann Curtis was a master at
+anything she put her hand to."
+
+"As I was sayin'," went on Aunt Nancy meekly, "Rhody was ironin'; and
+sich a pile of clothes!--white winder-curtains starched like boards,
+an' table-cloths, let alone shirts and other things--an' I was
+thinkin' how pale she was, an' peaked-lookin', when Mis' Curtis calls
+out, 'Rhody, the fire's goin' down. I wonder if you 'spect to iron
+with cold irons. Ef you do, you kin quit, for I don't have my ironin'
+done that way, if some folks does.'
+
+"Rhody never said a word, but jist went to the wood-pile for more
+wood, an' I says to Mis' Curtis, says I, 'Ef I was you, I'd hev some
+of the men-folks bring in the wood. Rhody don't look well.'
+
+"You oughter seen her look at me; her eyes fairly scared me. 'Our
+men-folks,' says she, ''s tired enough when they come in, 'thout
+havin' women's work to do. Ef they was shiftless as some I knows,
+that's all they'd be fit fur.'
+
+"I tell you, that sort o' riled me," went on the gentle voice; "but
+Rhody came in with a big armful of wood, so I didn't say anything."
+
+"As if you would have said anything, you good soul!" said Mrs.
+Johnson.
+
+"You don't know me," said Aunt Nancy. "Jonathan says I am right smart
+when I get riled--scares him;" and a mellow laugh rippled over her
+thin lips, which sounded so sweet that more than one passenger turned
+to see the laugher. Mrs. Johnson joined in the merriment, and I smiled
+too--the idea of that voice scolding was so absurd. And now it went on
+again:
+
+"I thought I'd say something to Jim about Rhody, for I felt oneasy
+about her; an' so when he was helpin' me on my horse in the evenin'
+(Rhody couldn't come to the fence, 'cause Mis' Curtis called her back
+when she started), I says to him, 'Jim,' says I, 'Rhody looks mighty
+bad; I'm feered she's doin' too much this hot weather.' You see, it
+was September, an' you know what tirin' weather we sometimes have in
+September.
+
+"'Oh, she's all right,' says Jim.
+
+"'No, she ain't,' says I.
+
+"Jim laughed, and his face reddened up, and says I,
+
+"'You better take good care of her, Jim; she's not a strong woman like
+your mother; she can't stand everything,' an' no more she couldn't,
+pore little thing.
+
+"Well, the very nex' Sunday, here came Jim and Rhody to see us. An' I
+tell you the ole man an' me was that glad he would have Rhody sing for
+us, an' she sang some of the songs he liked, but not many; she said
+she hadn't sung any fur so long it tired her.
+
+"'Why don't you sing, Rhody?' says the ole man; 'you used to sing like
+a bird.'
+
+"'I guess I'm not like a bird any more, Uncle Jonathan,' she says. An'
+then she sighed, but catchin' Jim lookin' at her, she lightened up and
+says, 'I am an old married woman now.'
+
+"After a while Jim an' the ole man they went out to the stable, and
+then the pore little darlin' says,
+
+"'Oh, Aunt Nancy, I'd be the happiest woman in the world if Jim and me
+was livin' by ourselves! Mother Curtis is a good woman, but somehow I
+can't please her, an' I try so hard. Sometimes I'm so tired I can't
+sleep or eat, an' she thinks I'm puttin' on airs, she calls it, an'
+she's allus saying she pities a man with a do-nothin', whiny wife.'
+
+"'It's a shame!' says I; 'why don't you tell Jim, and coax him to get
+another place?'
+
+"'Oh, Aunt Nancy,' she says, wipin' her purty eyes, 'I can't bear to
+make trouble, and what would Pap Curtis do? He's awful good to us. He
+brings me candy and sometimes oranges from town, and gives 'em to me
+when she don't see him, and he often helps me, too; gets wood and
+water and milks the cows--but there's Jim with the buggy,' and off she
+went.
+
+"I made up my mind to have another talk with Jim Curtis, but laws! we
+never can tell. The ole man he took the bed with rheumatiks in
+October, and I never seen anybody much fur three months, and then our
+Sarah's baby was born, and I was over there awhile, an' my own
+worriments drove other people's clean out of my head, till one day
+'long the last of February Jonathan came in (he'd be'n to town for
+somethin' or other), an' says he,
+
+"'Nancy, Rhody's got a boy!'
+
+"Laws! I was jist as s'prised as ef I'd never thought of sich a thing,
+an' says I, 'Who tole you?'
+
+"'Ole man Curtis,' says he, 'an' he's that sot up he wants you to come
+right over.'
+
+"'An' so I will,' says I. 'The blessed darlin'; an' it's a boy, an'
+our Sarah's is a boy, too. Well, that beats me.' An' I 'low 'twas odd,
+Mis' Johnson;" and Mrs. Johnson "'lowed" it was, too, and the story
+went on:
+
+"In a day or two I managed to go over to the Curtis place, an' though
+Mary Ann Curtis didn't seem over-pleased to see me, I'll say that for
+her, she treated me well enough, and asked me right up stairs to see
+Rhody and the baby. My! but my girl was glad to see me!
+
+"'Aunt Nancy,' she says, 'is Sarah's baby bigger'n mine?' and she
+turned down the kiver and showed me the littlest mite of a boy, with
+such a wrinkled old face! I wonder what does make a pore weakly baby
+look so much like old folks, anyhow. Did you ever notice it, Mis'
+Johnson?"
+
+"Oh, yes, often," said Mrs. Johnson. "There was my Silas, looked just
+like his Grandfather Johnson when he was born. But was her baby
+weakly?"
+
+"I saw it was in a minute," said Aunt Nancy, "but I never let on. I
+looked at the baby an' praised it all I could--said it wasn't as big
+as Sary's, but size was nothin'.
+
+"Mis' Curtis she sniffed sort o' scornful, an' says she, 'The child
+might have been bigger ef its mother'd knowed how to take keer of
+herself;' an' then she says, 'Well, I ain't no time to be a-foolin'. I
+must go to work.'
+
+"'I suppose you've got a girl?' says I.
+
+"'No, I ain't,' says she; 'an' what's more, I don't want one. I never
+seen one yet that they didn't eat an' waste more than their work came
+to, let alone their wages;' an' off she went down-stairs.
+
+"Rhody said nothing for a minute, an' I didn't, either. We just looked
+at the baby, an' it begun to pucker its face and cry a little, 'bout
+as loud as a young kitten. I thought of Sary's squaller of a boy, but
+I didn't say anything, and when it was quiet Rhody says:
+
+"'Aunt Nancy, is my baby like Sary's baby?' and she looked so pitiful
+I felt as if I could cry.
+
+"'Well,' I says, 'Sary's is bigger. Why do you ask that?'
+
+"Her lips quivered, an' she says:
+
+"'Everybody 'at sees it says, "What an old-fashioned baby! Poor little
+thing! Re'ly it's so odd-looking." Is it odd, Aunt Nancy? An' is there
+fashions in babies? I thought babies were all alike;' an' she tried to
+smile while tears rolled down her white face.
+
+"I tried to cheer her up. She was a baby herself--only a little over
+eighteen, you know; an' I went down and made her some toast and tea,
+and then fed the baby and got it to sleep, an' left her feelin' pretty
+cheerful.
+
+"After that I went over as often as ever I could, and sometimes
+carried a little somethin' I cooked to Rhody, but I saw Mis' Curtis
+didn't thank me. Once she's good as said so--said her victuals was
+good 'nough for anybody. Says I, 'Sick folks like strange cookin'
+sometimes, Mis' Curtis, an' Rhody allus liked my ways.' Which was an
+unfortunate thing for me to say, fur Mis' Curtis she flew all to
+pieces, and said I put mischief in Rhody's head.
+
+"'Here,' she says, 'is her baby three weeks old, an' her barely
+settin' up. Your Sary was at work afore her baby was that old, an' I
+know it; an' if Mis' Rhody can't wait on herself now, she can go
+'thout waitin' on for all of me,' she says.
+
+"'Mis' Curtis,' says I, 'my Sary's a different woman from Rhody.'
+
+"'I guess she is,' says Mis' Curtis, mad as fire.
+
+"'An,' says I, 'Jim ought to get somebody to help wait on Rhody and
+take care of the baby,' says I, 'or else it's my 'pinion he won't have
+'em long; fur,' says I, 'Rhody's gettin' weaker instead of stronger,
+and she ain't got milk fur that pore baby.'
+
+"Then Mis' Curtis she jes' let loose, an' I ketched it. She said it
+was all my doin's that Jim married that pore no-'count, stuck-up
+school-mistress, an' brought her there to be waited on, an' she knowed
+it all along, and now I needn't come a-tryin' to make out as Rhody
+wasn't treated well, fur she had wore herself out trottin' up and
+down stairs, an' she didn't mean to do it any longer.
+
+"Just then the kitchen door was opened, and old Mr. Curtis came in.
+
+"'Why, howdy, Aunt Nancy?' says he as cheerful, though I knowed he
+must have seen somethin' was up."
+
+"Yes," interrupted Mrs. Johnson angrily, "that's the way people do,
+and call it keepin' peace. I despise sich ways. Why didn't he make her
+behave herself? Suppose there was a fuss; ef she'd found he was goin'
+to be boss, she'd soon give up."
+
+"I guess not, Mis' Johnson," said the other; "she had sich a temper."
+
+"As if I didn't know that! an' I know when folks give up to sich
+tempers they make 'em worse. Wouldn't it been better if ole man Curtis
+had jes' let her see from the first that he didn't care for her
+temper? Why, she jesso natrally drove her girls to marry; and think of
+poor Molly tied to that drunken, shiftless Ned Pelton, and Betsy
+married to a old widower with seven or eight children, and him nearly
+as old as her father! I tell you, Aunt Nancy, Curtis is to blame."
+
+"Well," said the old lady gently, "I went up-stairs and found Rhody
+looking better'n I expected, with that midget of a baby with its eyes
+wide open on her lap. She was glad to see me.
+
+"'O Aunt Nancy!' she cried before I got my bunnit off, 'Jim has rented
+the old Duncan place, and as soon as I am able we are going there to
+live. He is over there now, fixing up.'
+
+"'Aha!' thought I, 'that's what's up!' but I said I was glad, and that
+I had brought her some sponge cake and other things; an' I 'mused the
+baby while she et a little--a mighty little, I was sorry to see; but
+she went on to tell me Jim had been to the doctor about her, an' he
+said she needed tonics, and he sent her some, an' she was goin' to
+take the med'cin' an' would soon be well and strong, an' so happy!
+'But, Aunt Nancy,' she says, 'baby don't grow a bit. I'm afraid he is
+too old-fashioned. Mother Curtis says I don't stir 'round enough to
+get an appetite. Do you think that's it--that baby don't get enough to
+make him grow because I can't eat?' She looked so weak and pitiful.
+
+"I says, 'Well, it ain't your fault; I reckon you can't make yourself
+eat.'
+
+"She laughed a little. 'You are such a comfort, auntie!' she says;
+'but that wonderful tonic'll set me up again.'
+
+"An' so I left her an' went home, promising to be back in a day or two
+an' take her home with me for a little visit if she was strong enough.
+You'd jes' oughter to seen her face when I said that; it jes' lit up.
+
+"'Mother Curtis?' she whispered.
+
+"'Oh,' says I, 'she'll be glad to get rid of you for a while,' an' I
+went off plannin' how I'd see Jim and make him bring her over. But it
+did seem as if there was a spite to be worked out agin me, for that
+very evenin' it set in to rain, an' that stiffened the ole man up bad,
+an' for days he could not move hisself, an' I was kep' close at home
+for three weeks, hearin' from the neighbors every once in a while that
+Rhody was gainin' slowly, but the baby wasn't right somehow.
+
+"Well, Jonathan got able to hobble round again, an' a purty spell of
+weather sot in, but there was garden to make, an' soap to bile, an'
+another week slipped away, an' I says to Jonathan, says I, 'As sure as
+I live I am going to see Rhody to-morrer ef old Mis' Curtis'll let me
+in;' an' the words wasn't hardly out of my mouth when somebody knocked
+at the door. 'Come in,' says I, and who was it but old man Curtis,
+looking like a ghost. 'What's the matter?' says I. He r'al'y couldn't
+speak for a minit, an' then he got out somethin' 'bout Rhody an' the
+baby, and comin', but I sensed it all, an' in less'n a minit I was
+ready an' in the buggy with him.
+
+"From what I could make out as we druv as fast as we could, Jim had
+been away from home over to the Duncan place from airly in the mornin'
+till about five o'clock that afternoon. When he got home he run right
+up to Rhody's room, an' found her a-settin' there with the baby in her
+arms, asleep he thought, but when he spoke to Rhody she began to
+scream, so that he was scared an' tuk hold of the baby an' it was
+dead.
+
+"'Then he hollered,' said the old man, 'an' me an' Mary Ann an' Tom
+(that's the hired man) ran up there, fur we was jes' settin' down to
+supper, an' when we saw what it was Tom went for the doctor and I came
+for you.'
+
+"An' oh, Mis' Johnson, I never want to see such sights agin! The baby
+was dead, sure enough, poor little thing, an' out of its misery, but
+Rhody, she jes' went out o' one faint into another till the doctor
+came, an' then we worked over her a long time, an' when she quit
+faintin' she was ravin' in a high fever. Dangerous, the doctor said,
+an' turned everybody but Jim an' me out o' the room. Such an awful
+time! Rhody would scream, 'Oh, do come, Mother! Mother! Mother! Baby's
+dyin'!' till she couldn't scream any more, an' then she'd ask for the
+baby, an' lie still, waitin' like, an' then scream again.
+
+"It was midnight before the doctor got her quiet, and then she lay in
+a stupor like, with Jim settin' watchin' her. Then I thought of the
+pore baby an' went to see about it, but some of the other neighbors
+hed come in, an' I found they had it laid out nice in the parlor.
+
+"Mis' Curtis was settin' by the kitchen stove, fur it was a cool
+evenin', an' I says to her, 'Mary Ann,' says I, 'what ailed the child?
+It was tuk suddent, wasn't it?'
+
+"She looked at me. I knowed she was mad as well as feelin' bad, but
+she didn't want to show it then, an' she says,
+
+"'Yes, I reckon you might say it was, 'though I never spected the
+child to live from the first. What'd Jim marry that no-'count spindly
+girl fur? He might 'a 'knowed.'
+
+"'Mis' Curtis,' says I, 'Rhody'll not trouble you long; and it's my
+belief,' says I, 'you've hurried her into her grave.'
+
+"'It's no sich thing,' says she. 'I waited on her as good as if she
+was my own; but I had lots to do to-day, an' I tole her this mornin' I
+was done packin' victuals up stairs for a lazy trollop like her, an'
+she could come down to dinner if she wanted any. She's plenty able to,
+Nancy Riley, an' it's my 'pinion she didn't take half care of that
+baby. An' she set Jim agin me. He's fixin' to go off to live by
+hisself.'
+
+"I jes' turned round and left her, an' she bounced up an' says to one
+of the women, 'I spect you're all hungry, an' I'll get supper'; an' in
+spite of all they could do, to work she went."
+
+"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Johnson, "the madder she got the harder she'd
+work, an' a mighty good worker, too, she was; but how did that poor
+Rhody get along?"
+
+"Well, she lay quiet all that mornin', but about the middle of the
+afternoon she roused up and seemed to know me an' Jim, an' asked for
+the baby.
+
+"'It's down stairs, Rhody,' says I.
+
+"She looked at me so queer.
+
+"'Is it?' she said. 'Mother was mad, Jim, an' wouldn't come up stairs;
+an' baby was so sick, an' I tried to call her, an' I couldn't make her
+hear, an' then I tried to go down stairs an' I couldn't, an' baby got
+so stiff and cold, an' I couldn't get him warm.' An' then, O Mis'
+Johnson, she began to scream again. It was awful, but after a while
+she was still again for several hours, an' I tried to get Jim to lay
+down, but he wouldn't leave her; an' his mother come up for him to get
+him to go down an' eat somethin', but he jes' looked at her, an' she
+went an' left him.
+
+"It was night when Rhody roused up agin', an' she looked so much
+better out of her eyes that I felt sort a cheered.
+
+"'Jim,' she says, whispering, 'is that Aunt Nancy?'
+
+"'Yes, dear,' he says.
+
+"'An' has she got the baby?' she went on.
+
+"Well, Jim didn't say nothin', pore feller, an' she says,
+
+"'Aunt Nancy, when Jim an' me's keepin' house you'll come an' see
+us?'
+
+"'Yes, dear,' I says. 'Now go to sleep, like a good girl.'
+
+"'All right,' she says, 'you keep the baby, an', Jim, kiss me good
+night. I love you--Jim. We'll be--so happy--by--ourselves.'
+
+"The last words were a long time comin', an' Jim, after he kissed her,
+looked at me an' whispered, 'Send for the doctor.' I hurried out, but
+before the doctor came he was not needed. Rhody had said her last good
+night."
+
+"How did Mary Ann take it?" said Mrs. Johnson, wiping her eyes.
+
+"Laws, she tuk on like all possessed, cried and hollered till I
+thought she'd go inter fits; but somehow I felt sorrier for the ole
+man. He'd stan' an' look at the pore thing after she was laid out, an'
+the big tears'd run down his wrinkled face, an' he says to me, 'She's
+too good fur this world, Nancy, Rhody was.'"
+
+Just then the brakeman shouted the name of the town at which I was to
+stop, and I must gather up my traps. I leaned over and whispered to
+"Aunt Nancy," "What did poor Jim do?"
+
+The old lady's face flushed. "Was you a-listenin'?" says she.
+
+"I couldn't help it," I said. "Poor Rhoda! But what about Jim, Aunt
+Nancy?"
+
+"This way, Madam," said the conductor briskly. "Let me have your
+valise."
+
+"Jim?" she whispered excitedly, "he like to went wild, but he was
+mighty quiet, an' soon's the funeral was over he sold everything he
+had and went to Californy."
+
+"Did he forgive his mother?" I asked, but the conductor took my arm
+and marched me out, and to this day I am wondering about "Jim" and his
+mother and "ole man Curtis." If I knew where "Aunt Nancy" lived, I
+would write to her.
+
+
+
+
+MRS. GLADSTONE AND HER GOOD WORKS.
+
+BY MARY G. BURNETT.
+
+
+The mistress of Hawarden Castle is something more than the devoted
+wife of the great statesman who sways the destinies of Great Britain.
+She has a notable personality of her own, worthy in its energy and
+sagacity of him with whom her life is linked. While the husband's
+career has always been interwoven with the highest affairs of state,
+the wife has shown her genius for administration by the charitable
+enterprises in which she has taken so active a part. Most things come
+about naturally as the effect of growth; and it is interesting to go
+back to the childhood of Mrs. Gladstone to trace the influences which
+directed her mind to deeds of beneficence. Things have changed since
+Mrs. Gladstone was a little girl, living with her sister and brothers
+at Hawarden Castle, nearly eighty years ago.
+
+Mrs. Gladstone's father, Sir Stephen Glynne, died young, when his
+eldest daughter Catherine (Mrs. Gladstone) was scarcely five years
+old. Tradition remembers him as a very handsome, lively-minded man,
+and it is said that Catherine Glynne grew up very like her father. One
+of Mrs. Gladstone's first vivid impressions is of the fright she got
+by seeing the "mutes," then the fashion at important funerals,
+standing about the castle while her dead father lay in state. It gave
+her a life-long horror of elaborate and expensive funerals. Her father
+was succeeded in the baronetcy and estates by his eldest son, Stephen
+Richard, then but a little boy of eight. Lady Glynne, a daughter of
+Lord Brabrooke, was left with the sole charge of the property and the
+children. She was a beautiful woman of strong character. Fortunately
+about this time her brother, the Honorable George Neville, came to be
+rector of Hawarden parish. The castle and rectory were within a
+quarter hour's walk of each other, and it was a precious boon for Lady
+Glynne to have her brother's judicious help in the management of the
+large estates, and in the education of her two boys and her two
+girls.
+
+This was about the year 1813. At that date Hawarden, in common with a
+village in Cheshire, had the deserved reputation of being the most
+wicked place in all the country round. Mr. Neville, with Lady Glynne's
+consent, closed the worst of the public houses, and inaugurated a
+system of education for the parish, setting up schools in Hawarden
+village and in the districts round.
+
+
+MRS. GLADSTONE'S EARLY TRAINING.
+
+It was a serious problem at the outset to obtain either teachers or
+scholars. It was necessary to employ bribery to get the mothers to
+send their children to school, and the aid of Lady Glynne and her
+young girls was brought to bear, in the first place, to talk the
+mothers over; and, secondly, to prepare a store of frocks, coats,
+cloaks, and other useful garments. These were given away as Christmas
+prizes, to recompense the mothers for remitting the services of their
+little girls, and the pence which the boys could pick up at scaring
+crows and such like juvenile occupations.
+
+It was a matter of still greater difficulty to find teachers who knew
+anything of the art of instruction; this was long before the day of
+colleges for elementary teachers. An old woman at Hawarden boasted to
+me that she had received for many years a Christmas prize for regular
+attendance at school. Naturally the question was asked: "How was it,
+then, Mrs. Catheral, you never learned either to read or write?"
+
+"Oh, I never wanted to," said she. "I never tried. But I liked the
+pretty frock or warm cloak the Miss Glynnes always gave us for prizes
+at Christmas time, if we went to school regular." Then she added,
+"Bless you! you should have seen the prizes in those days! They were
+worth looking at; none of your books and rubbish, like what children
+get in these days." In such an atmosphere did the children of Lady
+Glynne grow up, systematically trained to assist their mother and
+uncle in everything they projected for the parish good. Then came the
+full tide of the Oxford movement, which swept like a wave of light and
+heat through the sluggish heart of English religious and social
+reform, though it landed some of its brightest lights afterwards in
+Romanism. The names of Pusey, Keble, Manning, and Newman were
+household words at Hawarden Castle. Catherine's brothers were then at
+Christ Church, Oxford; and, in the midst of it all, intimate with the
+leaders of the movement, amongst whom were young Gladstone and many
+other brilliant young men, destined to be friends through life of
+those two bright and beautiful young girls at Hawarden.
+
+[Illustration: THE OLD AND NEW CASTLE OF HAWARDEN.]
+
+Thus a happy childhood matured into womanhood, under revolutionary
+influences. The breezes of intellectual and spiritual awakening
+stirred the air. Theirs never was a life of mere social excitement
+which so often plunges the _debutante_ into a whirl of pleasure
+without feeding the better life. They entered, it is true, into all
+the pleasures of London seasons, their beauty and bright minds fitting
+them to enjoy these to the full. But behind and above it all was the
+intelligence which kept them in touch with the movement of their
+day--a movement which, when turned into practical channels, brought
+about, for example, the great work of Florence Nightingale, who
+re-created the hospital-nursing service. The same potency inspired the
+establishment of homes and refuges and many of the philanthropic
+schemes which have made the last forty years so notable. Certain it is
+that Catherine Glynne came under the influence of the Oxford movement,
+and was predisposed by it to take a leading part in the philanthropic
+work of the day.
+
+
+MARRIAGE AND PHILANTHROPY.
+
+[Illustration: MISS GLYNNE (MRS. GLADSTONE), 1838.]
+
+In 1839 she married William Ewart Gladstone, whose great genius
+already foreshadowed his future eminence. The same day her younger
+sister married Lord Lyttleton. Those who were eye-witnesses of that
+double wedding, and all the wonderful festivities in the village, are
+becoming few, indeed. In her married life Mrs. Gladstone found
+occupation to the full. She was always the true and careful mother who
+would not give over her duties to another, even to the best of nurses.
+She was devoted to her husband in his incessant political toils. She
+did not need to look around her for work. Still her assistance was
+from the first prompt to the furtherance of any schemes where a
+helping hand was needed.
+
+Mrs. Gladstone soon became a centre for philanthropic work of all
+kinds. She and Mr. Gladstone started Newport Market Refuge, which is
+now carried on at Westminster, with an industrial school attached.
+Begun in Soho in 1863, it was Mr. Gladstone's idea, for he saw many
+friendless wanderers as he went at night between the House of Commons
+and his home. Mrs. Gladstone threw herself into his scheme, and the
+work was started with an efficient committee. From the beginning Mr.
+Gladstone has been president and his wife a regular visitor. The
+object of the refuge is to give shelter to persons out of work and in
+temporary distress, to enable them to tide over their difficulties,
+and to find fresh employment. It does not take in the practised
+casual, or loafer, but weary, sore-footed travellers, who have walked
+far in search of work and found none. Such are always admitted as far
+as room permits, and have the assurance of a week's lodging free, with
+the prospect of an extension of time if the committee see a reasonable
+chance of their getting work.
+
+[Illustration: THE ORPHANAGE, HAWARDEN.]
+
+In the course of a single year about thirteen thousand nights'
+lodgings and thirty thousand rations have been granted, and three
+hundred and nine men and women have obtained employment, or else have
+been sent home to their friends.
+
+It need scarcely be said to those who have kept pace with recent
+events that the most vital feature of General Booth's great work in
+London follows closely the model set by the Gladstone institution.
+
+It was soon found advisable to add a Boys' Industrial School to the
+work of the Refuge. Many lads in distress were constantly being
+discovered, who would certainly drift into a life of idleness and
+dishonesty if not taken in hand. So the managers of the Refuge
+determined to try this novel combination--refuge and school--which,
+hazardous as it was at its commencement, has proved an entire
+success.
+
+In 1866 a sharp epidemic of cholera reached England, and the East End
+of London was severely attacked. Mrs. Gladstone came in contact with
+it, in her regular visits to the London hospital. Whole families were
+brought in together, some to die, others to recover. Parents dying
+left their children behind them, friendless and helpless. Mrs.
+Gladstone carried away many of the poor little wretches virtually in
+her arms. They were naked, for their only clothing had to be burned,
+but she found cloaks and blankets to wrap them in, and took them with
+her to her own house or to lodgings which she had provided.
+
+She induced her friends to furnish fresh garments without delay, and
+she rented an empty house at Clapton, wherein to lodge her orphans.
+She set about raising money to provide for their needs and those of
+other cholera patients. She wrote a letter to the "Times," asking
+subscriptions for this object, and speedily five thousand pounds
+rolled in. With this she was able to keep her little cholera orphans
+in comfort. One who saw the sight, when she accompanied Mrs. Gladstone
+to Clapton, says she can never forget it. As soon as the door was
+opened she was surrounded by the little ones, who clung to her and
+almost overwhelmed her in their eagerness to obtain a caress from the
+one they loved so dearly.
+
+
+VARIED ENTERPRISES OF AN ACTIVE LIFE.
+
+Her Free Convalescent Home had its genesis in the necessities of
+the sick poor, brought to light by this cholera epidemic. It was
+forced upon her notice that many, who had passed safely through the
+dangers of acute disease, relapsed into serious, and sometimes fatal,
+illness for lack of that timely change of air, wholesome food and
+comfortable lodging which they were unable to find at home. There were
+convalescent establishments in operation, but it was found that
+they were already full, or else admission was hampered by such
+conditions of privileged tickets, weekly payments, and distance,
+that, before these could be complied with, the evils sought to be
+averted had actually occurred.
+
+Mrs. Gladstone determined to establish a Convalescent Home, where
+admission could be quickly arranged, free of cost. She called to her
+aid a committee of ladies and gentlemen, qualified by business
+experience, professional knowledge, or familiarity with the needs of
+the poor, to cooperate with her. Such confidence did she inspire, that
+a beginning was quickly made in a house at Snaresbrook, the remainder
+of the lease being made over to Mrs. Gladstone and her committee. When
+the lease came to an end, the convalescents were transferred for a
+short time to the houses which Mrs. Gladstone had at Clapton, but in
+1868 a freehold property, known as Woodsford Hall, most healthily
+situated in Essex, was bought by the committee. Here this good work
+has been carried on ever since. It is a charming house close to the
+forest, surrounded by lawns and trees and flowers. In fine weather the
+house is nearly empty all day long. The invalids from the squalid city
+lanes spend their time in the forest, gathering wild flowers, and
+drinking in the perfumed air which pours rich draughts of health and
+strength into their wasted bodies.
+
+When in London, Mrs. Gladstone has for nearly a quarter of a century
+gone down to the London Hospital every Monday morning, to examine into
+the circumstances of those who apply to go down to Woodsford. The
+clergy and ministers of all denominations in the parishes around the
+London Hospital have a right to send their sick poor with a note of
+recommendation, but those who are recovering in the London Hospital
+have the special claim. The business is carefully supervised by Mrs.
+Gladstone and her assistants, even to the day of going, and the train.
+Attention is always directed to the express object of the home--as a
+resort solely for those who have been ill, are slowly recovering, and
+require, for complete restoration to health, change of air, good food,
+rest, and kindly treatment.
+
+Every year more than a thousand men, women, and children enjoy the
+benefit of this retreat. One report gives the numbers at six hundred
+and thirty-nine men, three hundred and sixty-nine women, seventy
+boys, and forty girls. The large excess of men and boys over women and
+girls has revealed the fact that working men are much more liable than
+are women, not only to accidents, but to disease. This holds good
+among the children, as more sickness rages among the boys than among
+the girls. In this great undertaking Mrs. Gladstone has been ably
+assisted by many friends, among whom may be specially mentioned her
+niece, Lady Frederick Cavendish, whose terribly imposed sorrow has
+always found relief in works of love and charity. It is impossible,
+too, to say good-by to the Free Convalescent Home at Woodsford without
+mentioning Miss Simmons, the superintendent for many years--an ideal
+mother for such a home. To see her play games with the patients is
+something one remembers, for the humor with which it is done and the
+mirth it creates. Mrs. Gladstone herself delights the patients on her
+visits by playing dance music to them. Her country dances and Sir
+Roger de Coverely are special favorites.
+
+[Illustration: THE INMATES OF WOODSFORD HALL IN THE FOREST.]
+
+Another prominent feature of her charities is the orphanage at
+Hawarden, which arose out of the American war of 1862, and the
+subsequent cotton famine in Lancashire.
+
+Mrs. Gladstone's brother, Sir Stephen Glynne, was alive, and Mr. and
+Mrs. Gladstone lived at Hawarden Castle with him. When the distress
+was most severe, Mr. Gladstone collected a number of men who were idle
+in Lancashire, and found them employment in cutting foot-paths
+through the park and woods of Hawarden--as he could not give them work
+which would displace any of the permanent laborers on the estates. At
+the same time Mrs. Gladstone sent for some of their young daughters,
+and her brother, Sir Stephen, gave her the use of a nice old house
+which stood in the courtyard, formerly the dower house belonging to
+the Ravenscrofts, who in time past had owned Hawarden Castle, then
+called "Broad Lane Hall." (The heiress of the Ravenscrofts had married
+Mrs. Gladstone's great-grandfather, Sir John Glynne.) This dower house
+Mrs. Gladstone converted into a training home for the girls, under the
+charge of a very charming nurse of her own children, who had lately
+married. The experiment proved a great success. The girls had all
+worked in the mills, but they learned quickly something of domestic
+work. Then Mrs. Gladstone found them places amongst her own friends in
+the neighborhood, whereupon she was able to send for more girls to be
+similarly assisted. Some of them were lovely young women, and most of
+them married extremely well while in service.
+
+[Illustration: THE ANNUAL LUNCH PARTY OF THE NOTTING HILL SCHOOL GIRLS.]
+
+In the autumn of 1867 Mrs. Gladstone brought down about a dozen of her
+orphans from Clapton and lodged them in another small house, which her
+brother had lent to her. These she put under the care of a widow with
+a little boy of her own. There they dwelt happily, going every day up
+to the village to attend the infant school. When the Lancashire
+distress was quite over, and all need of the old dower house at an end
+for the mill girls, Mrs. Gladstone transferred her Clapton orphans
+there, and added to their number other children whose fathers and
+mothers had died in the London Hospital. When the orphanage was
+properly established in the larger house, it accommodated comfortably
+about thirty children. Experience taught Mrs. Gladstone that poor
+parents found it more difficult to provide for and manage their boys
+than their girls. So the Hawarden orphanage has come to be filled by
+boys. They attend the parish schools till they are old enough to be
+apprenticed to trades. There is now a whole army of well-doing young
+men who have been brought up in the Hawarden Castle orphanage. It is
+still in full tide of the work it has carried on for over twenty-five
+years.
+
+About 1880 a home for training young women for service was opened at
+Notting Hill, London, under the management of a committee of ladies.
+The object of the home was to take girls under its protection who had
+bad homes, and were therefore likely to be totally neglected and to
+drift into a life of uselessness and vice. Mrs. Gladstone was asked to
+become the president, and consented. It is organized on a small scale,
+a fact much in favor of its purpose. Not more than fifteen girls are
+there at one time, and a few lady boarders are taken in, as this works
+well for training the girls in the various branches of domestic
+service. The proud characteristic of the school is its determination
+never to despair of any pupil, however discouraging she may be in her
+first trial of service. The reward seems great when a girl, who has
+failed in several places, at last finds a mistress who understands her
+and draws out the best in her, when she receives praise as a good
+servant instead of the fault-finding hitherto her portion. There are
+now numbers of respectable, well-doing servants who have been trained
+here, and the institution has proved a boon to employers as well as
+the employed.
+
+
+A CROWN OF HONOR.
+
+[Illustration: MRS. GLADSTONE TO-DAY.]
+
+Mrs. Gladstone gives the girls who are in service an annual treat
+every summer down at the Convalescent Home at Woodsford. About a year
+ago a party of them enjoyed luncheon and tea on the lawn there, under
+the shadow of a rare kind of sycamore which their hostess had brought
+in a flower-pot, as a little seedling, from an old tree which spreads
+its ample branches close to her orphanage at Hawarden. Mrs. Gladstone
+told the girls that, when she planted it, she never thought to live so
+long as to see it large enough to shelter a party of forty in the
+shadow of its foliage. Such works of beneficence as have just been
+sketched are only a few of those forming a crown of honor and glory
+for the head of the great Premier's wife. She was in that early band
+who began penitentiary work at Clewer before it took shape under Mrs.
+Monsel's management. That must have been soon after her marriage. To
+that early time, too, belong the beginnings of the House of Charity
+for distressed persons in London, which is carried on at Soho, and
+rejoices in its forty-sixth annual report. This is to help persons a
+little higher than the working-class, who have fallen into temporary
+distress from sickness or other vicissitudes.
+
+As for the deeds of private kindness, it can truly be said that Mrs.
+Gladstone has sown them on all sides, and it is characteristic of that
+noble woman's nature that she is loyal to the last to those who need
+her help, even if it be for a lifetime.
+
+
+
+
+A BOYS' REPUBLIC.
+
+THE STORY OF CAMP CHOCORUA.
+
+BY ALFRED BALCH.
+
+There is an island in Big Asquam Lake, New Hampshire, lying almost
+under the shadow of Mount Chocorua, and on it there are many
+buildings, rough but weather-tight; paths which have been carefully
+built to grade; a boat-yard, with ways leading to the water; a long
+wharf projecting out toward a swimming raft which is floating
+where there is depth for diving; a sea wall of heavy stone, against
+which the ice is powerless. Down by the water's edge, and squatting
+on a wooden stage within easy reach, a group of boys are washing
+dishes. From time to time one of them, who while working as hard as
+any, keeps his eye on the others, gives a short order which is
+instantly obeyed. Other boys are sitting on the porch, polishing
+lantern and lamps, while yet others are sweeping up the litter which
+disfigures the open space. There are buildings to the right and
+left, there are canvas canoes and boats floating near the wharf, and a
+great flat boat--somewhat rudely made--is moored in front of the sea
+wall. With each group of boys is a young man, busily employed in
+the same work, but it is noticeable that he gives no orders.
+
+From the island itself the view is exquisitely beautiful. To the north
+the White Mountains rest like a mighty barrier, walling in the valley
+at their feet. The lake itself lies smiling under the sunlight of the
+perfect day, or darkening under the shadow of the drifting cloud. The
+breeze is barely enough to fill the sails of the white canoe outside
+there, while the scarlet cap of the boy sailing it makes a patch of
+color. There are other islands with long vistas of water between them,
+relieving the vivid green of the trees which cover them with foliage,
+and coming toward the wharf is a boat filled with girls; in the
+stillness their gay laughter sounds pleasantly. Everywhere is the
+beauty of the mountains and the lake, and the voices of the boys at
+work fill the very air with life.
+
+Big Asquam Lake was more picturesque during the summers from 1881 to
+1889, because Camp Chocorua was there, than it has been since. The
+camp was founded by Mr. Ernest Berkeley Balch as a summer camp for
+boys, in which they could have plenty of outdoor sport, a reasonable
+amount of work, and abundant opportunity to enjoy themselves in their
+own way. Starting with five boys and a small frame shanty in 1881, it
+grew into one of the oddest institutions that may be imagined. It was
+different in many ways from anything else of the kind, and its great
+success was due to the fact that it was modelled on real life as men
+see it. The motive underlying all of its pleasant features and most
+quaint customs was twofold: first, responsibility, personally and for
+others; and, second, work--not only the work which each one must do
+for himself, but also that extra work which brings with it a tangible
+reward. The boys were encouraged in everything that would tend to
+develop them physically, to make them strong and healthy, but they
+also found themselves members of a little world that had a high
+standard of honor, a world in which the laws governing the conflicting
+interests of men were recognized and obeyed. How this was done, how
+Camp Chocorua was governed and run, and why the boys who were there
+still look on it so affectionately is not an uninteresting story.
+
+"The Camp," as it is always called by those who were there, took in
+all of the space on the island. In 1889, the last year, the buildings
+included the office; the big dormitory--in the upper story of which
+was the library, with a large room below, having at one end the great
+fireplace, where the camp-fire blazed and burned; the dining-house--an
+open shed; the cook-house, with the ice-house at its back; the
+store-house and faculty quarters--the upper story of this was the
+hospital; and the carpenter's shop, down by the boat-yard. There were
+many paths built carefully to grade, and one of these led to the grove
+of silver birches, in the midst of which was the chapel. I think this
+was one of the prettiest places I ever saw. The walls were the living
+trees, the seats were rustic benches, and the reading-desk was a rock,
+oddly fashioned, of the stone of the Granite State, into the form of a
+lectern. Every Sunday afternoon when it was fair weather the service
+was held here.
+
+It is not, however, in the buildings, on the island, nor in the trees
+that one can find the interest of Camp Chocorua. It was in the life
+led by the boys, in their customs and laws, in their courts and
+contracts, that this resides.
+
+[Illustration: THE CHAPEL.]
+
+One of the fundamental rules of the place was that every boy or man
+there should do his own work and his share of the common work of the
+camp. Many of the boys who came had never in their lives done anything
+for themselves, and the first thing demanded of them, that they should
+make up their own beds and take care of their own clothes, came very
+hard. The boy was careless, he lost his waterproof, he could not put
+on his shoes, or could not remember to put away his clothes. There was
+no punishment for his fault; he was simply ranked as an "Incapable."
+An Incapable was a boy who did no work of any kind, who belonged to no
+crew, who had no part in the busy life of the camp except that of a
+spectator. More than this, an Incapable was forbidden to refuse
+assistance from any member of a crew, and as it speedily became the
+fashion to help an Incapable, he had no lack of such assistance. Any
+one who can remember the scorn a boy feels for another who, he thinks,
+is less manly than himself will understand the sort of blistering sore
+applied to an Incapable. It was not without a pathetic side, the way
+in which these little chaps would work to learn how to dress
+themselves and lace their own shoes, and the anxiety they showed to
+keep their clothes and bed in order; and as an Incapable had the right
+to an examination, by a member of the faculty, at any time, as to his
+capability, few there were who were not assigned to a crew within two
+weeks.
+
+The supreme power in Camp Chocorua resided in the founder, although he
+could not, except in extreme cases, traverse one of the customs of the
+camp, for these were, in fact, unwritten laws. Associated with him
+were the members of the faculty, generally four in number, and it was
+their duty to oversee and watch the boys. One of the faculty was
+always with a crew, and he had the right to give general orders and to
+inspect the work done, as a whole. He had no power, however, over the
+individual members of that crew, for this resided wholly in the
+stroke, or, in his absence, in the sub-stroke. To compare one thing
+with another, the member of the faculty was the general commanding the
+brigade, and the stroke was the colonel in command of a regiment. The
+general could give his orders and comment on how they were carried
+out, but it was the colonel who decided on details. The member of the
+faculty with a crew worked as they worked, taking such part of the
+labor as he saw fit, or doing that which the stroke asked him to. The
+boys in the camp were divided into four crews, and at the beginning of
+the camp year the strokes were appointed by the faculty. As soon as a
+stroke was named, he had the power of appointing his sub-stroke, or
+second in command of the crew, on the principle that as he was
+responsible for all the sub-stroke did, it was but fair he should have
+his choice.
+
+The crews did all the routine work of the camp, three being on duty
+every day and one off. These three were the kitchen crew, which
+supplied the cook's boy to prepare vegetables and run errands, and
+which cleaned all the pots, pans, and kitchen utensils; the police
+crew, which cleaned the lamps, swept the rooms, and removed all litter
+from the grounds; and the dish crew, which washed all the larger
+dishes used on the table, as well as the plate, cup, knife, fork, and
+spoon of any guest for the first three days of his stay on the island.
+After that the guest did his own work. The dish crew supplied the
+inspector of dishes--generally the sub-stroke--and visitors, I
+remember, got useful lessons on what constituted cleanliness as they
+stood meekly before him. It was safe to say that any article passing
+inspection was in a condition to be used again. Each crew in turn
+became kitchen, police, and dish, during three days, and on the
+fourth, the off crew. This was expected to do any work outside of the
+regular duties of the day, such as manning a boat for visitors,
+handling express matter or supplies, or, in short, anything not done
+by the others. The milk boat was manned by the kitchen crew, and the
+mail boat by the police. Practically speaking, each crew worked about
+five hours a day.
+
+It was a cardinal principle in Camp Chocorua that the boys should
+govern the boys. The strokes were to all intents and purposes supreme
+over their crews, and under no circumstances did a member of the
+faculty give an order to a member of a crew. The order was given to
+the stroke or sub-stroke in command, and he carried it out as he saw
+fit. The stroke was expected not only to rule his crew and see they
+did the work, he must also set them an example by doing as much or
+more than any one of them. In point of fact, the stroke and sub-stroke
+were generally the two most efficient boys in a crew. But in such a
+system as this, that a member of a crew might be disobedient, or a
+stroke might be tyrannical, was not lost sight of. The stroke had no
+power to punish, but he could, were his orders disobeyed, direct a boy
+to report to the faculty. On the other hand, although the presence of
+a member of the faculty prevented any open bullying, it was within the
+power of a stroke to "work" a boy, and that boy had an appeal to the
+faculty. As in Camp Chocorua in proportion to the power was the
+responsibility, the appeal was a much more serious thing than the
+report. When the latter was made by order of a stroke, the boy might
+be reprimanded, given a good talking, or be shifted into another crew.
+In extreme cases he might be declared an Incapable--than which nothing
+was more detested. If it were found that a boy could not get along
+with any stroke he might be sent home, because this meant he refused
+to submit to the discipline of the camp.
+
+The position of stroke was the most sought for in Camp Chocorua. It
+was understood the stroke had to get the work done perfectly, rule his
+crew justly and without friction, and personally be a model of a camp
+boy. If he failed in either of these, the inference was obvious--he
+was unfit for the position; the faculty had made a mistake in putting
+him into it. If a complaint of tyranny was proved, there was but one
+thing to do--the stroke was reduced in rank. He lost all the
+privileges of his position, and in the eyes of all, men and boys
+alike, he was disgraced; he was officially declared to be unfit to
+govern others. It is difficult to find among the possible experiences
+of men anything equal in severity, and the boys in the camp dreaded
+such punishment as they dreaded nothing else. It was bad enough when a
+sub-stroke was reduced, but to a stroke it was terrible. The system,
+however, was in itself almost enough to prevent this punishment. A
+stroke was expected to keep his crew happy and contented, and there
+were keen eyes watching him all the while, and kindly men ready to
+give a hint.
+
+Under its curious double government by faculty and boys, Camp Chocorua
+prospered and grew. The personal and routine work was done, the boys
+played baseball or tennis, they swam and dived, and went sailing,
+rowing and paddling. No ambition was greater in the mind of a camp boy
+than that of owning a canoe, and as many of them were not rich enough
+to buy, the boat-yard was established in the cove. Here was the
+carpenter shop, with a full set of tools and a bench, and outside its
+open door were the ways on which the canoes were built. At one time
+the yard was full of the pretty little boats in all stages, from the
+keel with its newly joined ribs to the completed canoe on whose canvas
+cover the paint was slowly drying. Exceedingly good canoe builders
+some of the boys turned out to be, and their models were not only fast
+but safe. Here, too, was the floor on which they cut their sails, or
+sat and talked as they stitched in the leach lines or fastened the
+reef points in place. Many of the canoes were the work of their
+owners' hands in every part--hull, paddle, sails, and rigging. When
+the fleet came in, paddling in open order, I never saw anything
+prettier in my life than the white hulls gliding so easily over the
+placid water, the boys singing and keeping stroke, while beyond lay
+the green islands, casting the long shadows from their trees under the
+setting sun. It was in this yard that the great flatboat was built in
+which the whole camp moved about the lake, ten oars on a side, and
+every boy tugging for all he knew. An unwieldy craft, in which one
+earned his passage. It was in this yard, too, that the best canoe
+designers earned much money from their less skilful comrades.
+
+The financial system of Camp Chocorua was as odd, when one thinks
+of it as applied to boys from eight to fourteen years, as were
+many other things about the place. Each boy had an allowance of
+twenty-five cents a week paid by the camp, and no boy, no matter what
+the wealth of his parents, was allowed to bring money given him to
+the camp. His outfit might include fishing-tackle, but a canoe was
+barred. If, as was generally the case, he wanted more money than his
+allowance, he could get it by working during his own time. While
+the boys did the routine work of the camp as a part of their duty,
+they had nothing to do with permanent improvements, yet there were
+many of these made during the nine years. These were paid for by the
+camp, and it was a cardinal principle that when work of this kind was
+to be done, the boys should earn the money if they chose. Out of this
+rose the system of contracts. The work to be done was announced
+beforehand, and then sold to the lowest bidder, who was required
+to sign a contract. This was printed in legal form, with the camp
+as party of the first part, and the contractor as party of the
+second, the price to be paid and the time being duly entered. The
+book of contracts is one of the most curious things to study. One
+of the pages reads "building one yard on the chapel path to grade,"
+price five cents, and time one week. "Removing a stump in front of
+the office and filling the hole," is another, price twenty-five cents.
+Some of the contracts were taken by firms and others by companies.
+"The Goodwill Contract Company" takes a contract to do the washing
+of the camp, and the president's signature is affixed. If a contract
+was performed, the price was credited to the contractor in the
+bank. It might be that, owing to circumstances, the time was
+extended, or the contract might be forfeited for non-performance.
+In the latter case it was sold again to the lowest bidder, and the
+difference--if any--between the original contract price and the sum
+charged to finish the work was charged to the contractor. It was
+very rarely that an old camp boy either underestimated the amount
+of work necessary or the time required, and the forfeitures were for
+the most part among the new boys. They learned quickly, however.
+Under this contract system the paths were made, the wharf built, and,
+in fact, the majority of the permanent improvements carried out.
+The contracts were not always with the camp. The boys made them with
+each other, as in the building of canoes, and as the boys had no
+power to put up a forfeited contract at auction, the courts became
+necessary. The camp, the men or the boys were all alike subordinate
+to the courts; either could sue or be sued, and each was bound by
+the result.
+
+In the court of first instance one of the faculty presided as judge,
+and there might or might not be a jury. The parties to the cause could
+argue their own cases, or they could appear by counsel chosen from the
+boys or the faculty. In case plaintiff or defendant chose, he could
+appeal from the decision, providing he deposited a check for the full
+amount of damages and costs. The Appellate Court consisted of a
+majority of the members of the faculty--not less than three--and in
+this there was no jury. It must be acknowledged that in appeal cases
+the judges took cognizance of the facts as well as the law. But the
+law of the camp was so well known to every boy there, and it was so
+simple, that no boy could fail to see the justice of the decision. It
+must be remembered when these courts are considered that to the boys
+they were very real. It cost five cents to bring a suit, and fifteen
+for an appeal, and the sums sued for were lost or won in reality. The
+costs went to the officers of the court, excluding the judges, who
+served for honor. If counsel were employed they had to be paid, unless
+they volunteered, and it came to be naturally understood that a
+plaintiff or defendant in the wrong could not get volunteer counsel.
+The verdict--when there was a jury--was that of the boys themselves;
+they condemned or approved of what other boys had done. As the boys
+were trusted to rule each other, so they were the guardians of each
+other's rights, while the power of appeal made it impossible that any
+wave of temporary unpopularity should bring injustice to any boy. Camp
+Chocorua was builded on this idea of the boys managing themselves, but
+there was ever present the superior authority to prevent wrong being
+done, and the very existence of this authority made it rarely called
+on.
+
+[Illustration: THE CAMP ON MARCH.]
+
+The keenness in business of these boys is well illustrated by the
+story of the Soda-Water Trust. Whenever the boys went to the store in
+Holderness they generally bought soda-water. This went on until some
+one suggested the apparatus could be bought and the soda-water made in
+the camp. Two firms--one of three boys and the other of two--each firm
+having a bank account large enough to purchase the apparatus and
+supplies, were formed at once. But the privileges or monopolies in the
+camp were always sold for the benefit of the Charity Fund, and it was
+promptly announced the soda-water franchise would be put up at
+auction. The two firms were rich, but they were not willing to enter a
+contest of this kind. The members got together and talked matters over
+at length, finally resolving to form a trust. When the time came the
+trust bid one cent for the franchise, and there being no other bid it
+was sold at this price. When their apparatus came the trust did a
+rushing business.
+
+[Illustration: A HALT FOR SUPPER.]
+
+[Illustration: THE BARGE.]
+
+In the Camp Chocorua bank, each man and boy had an account. Payments
+of all kinds were made by check. The allowance was added to the
+account each week, and as the boys made money the credits grew larger.
+At the end of the camp season the depositor could either draw out his
+balance or have it carried over to the next summer. During the winter
+he was allowed to earn money by work, provided he received no more for
+it than would have been paid to anyone else, and this money could be
+added to the bank account. One boy brought nine dollars and
+seventy-five cents as the result of shovelling snow, but the canoe his
+father gave him could only be kept when he showed himself able to pay
+for it. This he could only do by borrowing from the bank the necessary
+balance; but his credit was good, and the summer was not half over
+before he had paid back the loan. I have often laughed when I have
+thought of the feeling with which that father must have looked on his
+son's check, and realized what it meant. If the boys in Camp Chocorua
+learned anything, they learned not to be ashamed of labor in any form.
+The dignity of work was silently taught them, even as they were taught
+to expect the tangible rewards.
+
+It was towards the middle of the second term of the camp that the
+sports took place. For days before, the boys were at work cleaning the
+camp up, and the cooks--two of the boys--were busy getting the lunch
+ready. To the sports all the friends and relations of the boys were
+invited, and there were usually many grown people present. There was a
+game at baseball, some sets at tennis; there were sailing, rowing, and
+paddling matches, swimming and diving contests, foot races, and the
+like. The prizes were simple enough, bits of ribbons with the name of
+the camp, the contest, and the date painted on, yet they were valued
+very highly. Splendid work the boys did in these sports, and
+conclusive was the evidence of their thorough training during the
+summer. Those who attended the sports once were always glad to come
+again, for long as the days were, they were filled with fun and
+frolic. In the evening the boys and their visitors gathered around the
+great fireplace in the dormitory building, and there, in the light of
+the camp fire, joined in the camp songs. The last song of all was "The
+Battle Hymn of the Republic," the verses being sung as a solo, and the
+chorus by everyone present; and it was with the grand old melody still
+ringing in their ears that the guests took the boats which carried
+them home.
+
+There was one prize awarded at the sports which might come to any
+boy. This was the "C. C." pin in silver. Those who won it were the
+boys who had in their own way shown themselves to have got the
+greatest good out of the camp, and who had done the most good to
+others. The pins were not common; two or three, perhaps, were given
+in a summer, and sometimes none at all. It is most difficult to define
+the conditions under which the pin was given; it came as the result
+of a unanimous feeling in the faculty that it had been won, rather
+than as the result of rules obeyed. A conscious effort to win it was
+enough to prevent success. The boy had to show the manliness,
+justice, truth, conscientiousness in him, not for reward, but
+because he had them in him; and then the reward, or rather the
+recognition, came. Intrinsically these little pins are worth
+nothing; but those who have them value them as they value few
+things, and they are right.
+
+The cruise which marked the end of the summer's camp life was one of
+the most picturesque things imaginable. An ox-cart with four oxen
+carried the blankets, dishes, and stores; Porgus, the great,
+slobbering bloodhound, was fastened to the rear axle, the Infant--the
+youngest boy in camp--mounted the donkey, and with faculty and boys on
+foot, the camp set out. The routes taken during the nine cruises
+included all the best known roads in the White Mountains. Generally,
+those boys who wished to made up a separate party, and climbed some
+one of the great peaks, while the rest confined themselves to lower
+levels. At night they all slept in some barn. The routine work of the
+cooks and crews went on as usual, and the whole thing was pick-nicking
+on a grand scale. Sometimes the ox-cart would stall, or the oxen be
+unable to haul it up a hill, and then the rope was fastened on, and
+the whole camp toiled on and pulled. It was an experience to pass them
+at this time, to listen to the orders of the strokes, to hear the
+chaff flying back and forward, and to watch the crowd, all clad in
+gray knickerbockers and jackets, gray stockings and flannel shirts,
+and wearing the scarlet knit Scotch caps which completed the camp
+uniform.
+
+There is a story about Porgus, the big bloodhound, which is worth
+telling. When they first got him everyone supposed he was exceedingly
+fierce, and, lest he should bite, he was tied up on another island,
+and his food taken to him twice a day. Suddenly, one day, Porgus was
+seen swimming towards Chocorua, and, the alarm being given, everyone
+except the man who knew him took refuge in the house. The dog was
+taken back and tied up, but as he could gain nothing by howling he
+broke away once more. The fact of the matter was, that Porgus was
+lonely, and that so far from being fierce, he was one of the most
+good-natured beasts in the world. This having been found out, he was
+added to the list of camp pets. These at various times included a
+flying squirrel that had a habit of jumping on your shoulder as you
+passed his tree; a black sheep called Billy, who learned to butt
+anyone in the neighborhood; the donkey, and the kyuse--the latter a
+mustang pony. All of these in their time were important members of the
+camp. Old Captain Cairns, too, a man who lived alone in a most curious
+house on one of the islands, was one of the greatest friends of the
+boys, and always came to the sports. The captain was a curiosity in
+his way, and he never got tired of telling yarns about the places he
+had been to or the people he had seen.
+
+[Illustration: CAPTAIN CAIRN'S HOUSE.]
+
+The story of Camp Chocorua, of the healthy, open-air life, of the high
+standards so rigidly lived up to, of the fun they had, of the work
+they did, and of the lessons in manliness they so unconsciously
+learned, is really written in the memories of the boys who, during
+those nine summers, spent their time on that little island. This
+article is but a brief account of the methods through which so much
+was done. The place now belongs to the founder, and a custodian is
+kept there to look after it. The buildings are open to the old camp
+boys, and many of them spend their vacation time there. For the most
+part, they are men in the world now, but none the less do they look
+back at the camp with pleasant memories, feeling and realizing, as
+they never did then, all that the camp life meant to them. Everything
+is ready for them; they have but to hang up the great Chinese gong on
+which the hours were struck, and the camp is open. They can sail, row,
+and swim, and at night, sitting before the "camp fire," they can bring
+back the days when they were boys; they can tell their stories of the
+contracts and the trials, the sports and the cruises; they can laugh
+over half-forgotten jokes, or speak in lower tones of the boys who are
+now dead. For although Camp Chocorua has ceased to be, Camp Chocorua
+lives in the memories of the camp boys.
+
+
+
+
+THE HAPPY LIFE.
+
+BY SIR HENRY WOTTON.
+
+(1568-1639.)
+
+
+  How happy is he, born and taught,
+    That serveth not another's will,
+  Whose armor is his honest thought,
+    And simple truth his utmost skill.
+
+  Whose passions not his masters are;
+    Whose soul is still prepared for death,
+  Untied unto the worldly care
+    Of public fame or private breath!
+
+  Who envies none that chance doth raise,
+    Or vice; who never understood
+  How deepest wounds are given by praise,
+    Nor rules of state, but rules of good.
+
+  Who hath his life from humors freed,
+    Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
+  Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
+    Nor ruin make accusers great.
+
+  Who God doth late and early pray
+    More of his grace than gifts to lend,
+  And entertains the harmless day
+    With a well-chosen book or friend.
+
+  This man is freed from servile bands
+    Of hope to rise, or fear to fall--
+  Lord of himself, though not of lands;
+    And having nothing yet hath all.
+
+
+
+
+EDWIN BOOTH.
+
+ON AND OFF THE STAGE.
+
+Personal Recollections.
+
+BY ADAM BADEAU.
+
+
+The Friday before Booth was taken ill, I spent two or three hours with
+him in his rooms at the Players' Club, and while there it occurred to
+me that a picture, not of the actor merely, but of the man whom I had
+known for more than thirty years, in the glow of youth and the prime
+of manhood, down to the weary invalid, stricken before his time, in
+the characters that were not assumed--of husband, father, brother,
+son, and friend--would have an interest far beyond any critical
+analysis of his performances or historical account of his engagements.
+He did not object to my painting him as I had known him in the most
+intimate relations of his life--an actor is always used to being
+described and criticised--and he gave me incidents and information,
+all that I sought. Thus in what I have to say there will be nothing
+second-hand, nothing that he has not himself told me at one time or
+another, or that I have not observed in the friendship of a lifetime.
+
+I first met him when he was twenty-three, and I only twenty-five years
+old, and from that time till his marriage and my own entrance into the
+army we were as intimate as it is possible for two young men to be. I
+have the right, therefore, to tell what I shall unfold, for he gave it
+to me, and I have a further right in the certainty that nothing I can
+tell will depreciate his fame. If I portray all that I know, no one
+who reads will fail to think more highly and tenderly of the nature
+that was cloaked under Richard and Iago, suggested perhaps by points
+in Othello and Lear, but only really indicated in Hamlet, the
+melancholy, moody, dreamy, filial, tender Dane.
+
+He was born in 1833, in the night of the historical meteoric
+display--the "star-shower," he always called it. His father was a
+famous actor in the parts which the son so often played. I never saw
+the elder, but others assured me he possessed a tragic genius perhaps
+at times even more tremendous than that of the Booth I knew. He was an
+Englishman, and the rival of Edmund Kean. The family tradition is that
+he was driven from London by a cabal of Kean's admirers, and came to
+America in 1821, almost immediately after his marriage.
+
+Junius Brutus Booth must have been an extraordinary person off the
+stage; erratic almost to insanity, gloomy, given to fits of
+passion, but full of warm affections; a man with a temper almost
+uncontrollable, yet more often morose than violent, who refused to
+play, even when announced, unless he was in the vein, and walked
+the streets for hours after acting, and sometimes before. His wife
+for years accompanied him to the theatre, acting as dresser, and
+Edwin was taken with them. He thus received his first impressions of
+the stage when he was three or four years old. The wife remained in
+the dressing-room during the play, and when the child grew sleepy
+he was put to bed in a chest of drawers that held his father's
+wardrobe. If he wakened he had the theatrical wigs and paint-pots
+for his toys. A few years later he took his mother's place and
+dressed his father for the stage.
+
+[Illustration: _From photo by F. Gutekunst._
+
+_Copyright by F. Gutekunst, Philadelphia._]
+
+There were several children, and three of the sons became actors. I
+asked him whether he was the favorite, but he said no: his father
+always preferred John Wilkes. Yet Edwin had the greatest influence
+with the tragedian when the gloomy fits came on, and followed him
+many a night through the streets to see that he got no harm. He
+could prevail on him to act when no other could, and often told me
+of his attempts to direct their wanderings so that they might reach
+the stage-door in time. He himself was melancholy and moody, and
+lived very much in the imagination. It must have been a strange
+spectacle--this erratic genius and his anxious child, both slightly
+formed, with the same wonderful piercing eyes, stumbling about the
+streets at dark, the boy trying to persuade the father, sometimes
+succeeding, sometimes failing altogether.
+
+The story of Edwin's first appearance on any stage has often been
+told. It was as Tressel to his father's Richard III. He was not yet
+sixteen and received no encouragement nor sign of approval from his
+strangely constituted parent, but a little later the two were walking
+in Broadway, when they met a Mr. Conway, an English actor well known
+to play-goers of the last generation. Booth stopped to talk, and
+Conway, who was pompous in speech, inquired rather elaborately:
+
+"Upon which of your sons do you intend to confer your mantle?"
+
+The great player did not reply in words, but laid his hand on Edwin's
+head with a sort of solemnity, perhaps suggested by Conway's tone. The
+lad attached little significance to the action at the moment, but
+afterward felt certain that his father meant all that the gesture
+implied. I asked him how old he was when this occurred. "Only a
+stripling," he said, "about as high as the top of that candle," and he
+pointed to the mantelpiece.
+
+"Why," I exclaimed, "you are not as high as that now."
+
+"Ah! but I wore a hat," he replied; "and my father had to reach up to
+put his hand on me. I was taller than he."
+
+He first played Richard III. at the old Chatham Street Theatre in New
+York, as a substitute for his father, who either could not be found or
+refused to act. When the manager learned this fact he said to Edwin:
+"Then you must play Richard." The lad, just seventeen, was naturally
+unwilling, but he knew the text from having heard his father so often
+in the part, and their figures were not unlike. The assistants dressed
+him in his father's clothes, and he made up his face as like as
+possible to the great actor in Richard III. The audience was surprised
+when he appeared, but allowed him to go on, and he must have played
+with a certain degree of power, for he was called out at the end of
+the first act, and went through the entire exacting tragedy. When the
+play was over he hastened home and found his father, who offered
+neither comment nor inquiry. In this way the strange pair went on,
+leading a life as curious as any of the mimic ones they portrayed on
+the stage; for Edwin now played at times, even in prominent parts, but
+made no especial mark, being dwarfed, of course, by his father's
+superlative ability.
+
+In 1852 they went to California, but the wayward elder remained only a
+few months, then suddenly returned to the Atlantic States, leaving
+Edwin behind with his brother Junius, also an actor of some
+prominence. The brothers played together occasionally, but the times
+were rough and their success was small. Edwin was soon reduced to the
+hard straits of a strolling player's life: borrowing a few dollars now
+and then, walking hungry through mountain snows, living sometimes in a
+ranch, sometimes on the pittance of a stock-actor's salary, but
+sometimes making a hit, drawing crowded houses and filling his purse
+for a while.
+
+In November, 1852, he got word of the death of his father, a terrible
+blow to him, whose relations with the great actor were so peculiar.
+Throughout his life he retained the liveliest memories of his father's
+character and presence. He liked to talk of him, and spent hours with
+me describing the peculiarities that left so profound an impression on
+him. But though he saw their strangeness, the reverent tone in which
+he told of them was always marked.
+
+Doubtless he inherited the dramatic genius and some of the temperament
+of his parent. He was not so wildly passionate on the stage, and his
+temper was never so uncontrollable, but his brooding melancholy, the
+sensitiveness of his nature, the depth of his affections, the quaint
+humor so strange in a tragic actor, his vivid imagination--many,
+indeed, of his especial gifts and faults--were unquestionably
+transmitted with his blood by him who was at once the author of his
+physical being and the begetter of his genius. The likeness extended
+to feature and gesture. I have a picture of the father given me by the
+son, which might easily be taken for one of Edwin in Richard III.; and
+older play-goers always declared that in the great tragic scenes the
+son recalled, in tone and look and power, the peculiar magnetic
+quality that made the elder so remarkable. I have thought sometimes
+that the awful bursts of passion of his younger days were more
+effective even than the elaborate manner of his later art. He told me
+more than once that his life-long friend and comrade, Joseph
+Jefferson, often warned him against refining away his power, and
+thought the classic finish hardly compensated for the natural
+intensity which it replaced.
+
+His feeling for his father certainly added to the power of his
+performance of Hamlet. His greatest scenes in this tragedy were those
+with the ghost, and when Booth addressed the shade, and exclaimed:
+
+            "I'll call thee Hamlet,
+  King, _Father_, royal Dane,"
+
+there was a pathos in the word "father" which those who ever heard him
+utter it must recall. He dropped on one knee as he spoke it, and bowed
+his head, not in terror, but in awe and love, and tender memory of the
+past; he had a feeling that he was actually in the presence of that
+weird shade whom he had known on earth, and he was not afraid.
+
+The fatherless son remained in California, playing with varied
+success, sometimes as leading-man with Miss Heron, Laura Keene, or
+Mrs. Forrest Sinclair, sometimes as a star, sometimes in the stock
+company of those days, taking any part to which he was assigned. The
+experience was doubtless valuable to him, and he acknowledged that he
+owed to it much of his ease on the stage, his familiarity with the
+business, his self-possession under all circumstances, and his
+readiness in emergencies.
+
+During his stay on the Pacific Coast he once visited the Sandwich
+Islands, and with an impromptu company gave a few performances. He had
+great trouble in announcing his plays, for the boys who were employed
+to post the bills ate up all the paste; but the houses were full, and
+the audience included the king. The court, however, was in mourning,
+and His Majesty could not be seen in front, so a chair was draped with
+theatrical robes behind the scenes, and there the real king applauded
+the mimic one in "Richard III." The throne was needed for the
+coronation scene, and Kamehameha kindly abdicated for that occasion.
+In 1851 young Booth, as he was now called, returned to the Eastern
+States and played in Baltimore, Richmond, Boston--everywhere with
+great success. He was at once recognized as the dramatic descendant of
+his father, and the future head of the American stage.
+
+In May, 1857, he entered upon his first engagement in New York, and on
+one of the earlier nights I strolled into the theatre while he was
+playing Richard III. I had seen his name in the bills, but he was
+heralded as the "Hope of the Living Drama," and I had no great
+expectations from such an announcement. But I was struck at once with
+his dramatic fire, his grace, his expressive eye and mobile mouth, his
+natural elocution, and the decided genius he displayed. I remember
+even now, after the lapse of thirty-six years, the prodigious effect
+in the fourth act, when Richard exclaims:
+
+            "What do they in the North
+  When they should serve their sovereign in the West?"
+
+His whole face and form were ablaze with expression--literally
+transfigured; and his voice embodied a majestic terrible rage that
+electrified the listeners. Men rose in all parts of the house and
+shouted with delight. I had seen Rachel and Forrest and Cushman and
+Grisi then, and I have seen Bernhardt and Irving and Salvini and
+Ristori since, but I never saw or heard on the stage anything more
+tremendous than the picture he presented and the passion he portrayed
+in his youth in Richard III.
+
+I went the next night and the next, and found the fascination
+increase. I saw him in Petruchio, Brutus, Hamlet, Richelieu, Lear,
+Iago, Claude Melnotte, Sir Giles Overreach, Romeo, and Pescara. He was
+uneven and fitful in everything, but in every part he played he did
+something that no other actor could rival. His youth, too, had a
+charm; the very crudeness of his acting gave a certain interest--it
+left room for anticipation. I was very much attracted by the stage at
+that time, so I called on young Booth and told him what I thought of
+his acting. He had plenty of admirers, but my enthusiasm seemed to
+touch him, and we struck up a friendship at once. At the end of a week
+he consented to spend Sunday with me; and from that time dated a
+peculiar intimacy. I had a good deal of leisure and could pass my days
+as well as nights in his company, and I knew no greater pleasure than
+he gave me, either on or off the stage. He was not then a finished
+scholar, nor by any means the great artist that he afterward became,
+and I was anxious that he should be both. I used to hunt up books and
+pictures about the stage, the finest criticisms, the works that
+illustrated his scenes, the biographies of great actors, and we
+studied them together. We visited the Astor Library and the Society
+Library to verify costumes, and every picture or picture-gallery in
+New York, public or private, that was accessible. He discussed his
+parts with me, and with the conceit of youth I often ventured to
+differ with him on points in his art where he should have been an
+authority. Often we quarrelled all day about an interpretation or a
+rendering, and I went to the theatre at night to be convinced that he
+was right and I was wrong. Sometimes he gave me a private box, and I
+took notes of the performance, and of the criticisms or changes that
+occurred to me. Next day we went over them together, and at night he
+would play Richard or Iago according to my suggestions--perhaps as
+much to gratify me as because he thought my judgment correct.
+
+Oftener I went to his dressing-room. It was very fascinating to watch
+the face of the character he was to play grow and vary beneath his
+hand. The character itself seemed to grow at the same time. When we
+entered at the stage door he was my friend--"Ned," I always called
+him; but as the paint and the cotton eyebrows, the wig and the tights,
+were put on, the stage personage appeared; and when Hamlet or Romeo
+was ready his manner assumed all the grace and dignity of the Prince
+or the Montagu. After he had played a scene or two the transformation
+was complete, and lasted till the stage clothes were taken off.
+
+How completely he personated the characters that he assumed I can
+testify from comparison with what may be called his originals, the
+actual Hotspurs and Hamlets, the soldiers and princes, of the real
+world. One night in Louisiana before a battle I was with General T. W.
+Sherman while he was giving orders to his officers and aides-de-camp.
+It was nearly midnight, and there was to be an attack at dawn. First
+came in one messenger, then another, next the leader of the advance,
+last the captain of the reserves. The night was warm and the tent was
+thrown open; a candle burned on a table within, while the general
+paced up and down in the darkness outside. There was a hush and a
+bustle combined, a subdued intensity and a dramatic haste, as the
+commander gave his different orders and received his successive
+subordinates, that brought to my mind at the moment the tent scene in
+"Richard III." I thought, just then, "How like all this is to what I
+have seen on the stage." Yet Booth had never witnessed actual war.
+
+In the same way in Europe: I often thought of him when princes and
+sovereigns were holding levees or processions, receiving homage or
+conferring honors; no Guelph or Bourbon of them all went through his
+part with greater dignity or grace than the young American who had
+never been at court; and sometimes the magic of genius arrayed him in
+a majesty which all the reality of their grandeur could not inspire.
+
+There was one character, however, that he could not play--the lover.
+He was the poorest of Romeos, and he knew it. He looked the part, of
+course, in his youth; the women always wanted to see him play it, and
+the actresses all wanted to be Juliet; but there was a lack of
+tenderness in his eye, and of ardor in his tone; even the gestures
+were tame. He was not anxious or persuasive enough; he was too
+confident, or too indifferent. The only point in the play where he
+rose to his usual level was in the fight with Tybalt; but then there
+was killing to be done, and this was passion of a different sort--this
+was tragedy. Then he became inspired, and looked for a moment like one
+of the demi-gods in Homer's battles. But in the scenes with the friar
+and with Juliet, even in the balcony scene, he was comparatively
+spiritless. Whether he was not actually a good lover, or whether he
+felt a certain delicacy about love-making in public, the fact remains
+that he was always more effective in parts that represent harsh or
+violent emotions than in tender ones with women.
+
+So, too, though he had a keen sense of humor, and was full of jokes
+and funny stories off the stage, and told them with a genuine comic
+power, he could not act a comic part. I once saw him in "Little
+Toddlekins," in white trousers and a high hat, and I never wanted to
+see him in farce again. Even in high comedy he was not so interesting
+as in tragedy. Benedick himself was not to his taste, and his nearest
+approach to success in comedy was as Don Caesar de Bazan; but there the
+fascination was in his superb appearance and irresistible grace quite
+as much as in dramatic power. His Don Caesar, however, was a wonderful
+picture, an embodied romance. He delighted in the caustic speeches of
+Shylock or Hamlet, or the irony of Iago, but these can hardly be
+called comedy. His Petruchio was a game of romps; but it was Donatello
+romping with Miriam, or Bacchus with Ariadne.
+
+Yet, I repeat, he was bubbling over with a grim sort of humor in real
+life, like that which Shakespeare sprinkles over his tragedies. Behind
+the scenes he would mock and gibe at himself, had odd remarks to make
+about his face or his costume, and was alive with waggeries and
+witticisms. I once pulled aside his robes in Richelieu as he sat
+smoking between the acts, and he shrank back and screamed, "How dare
+you, sir?" in a shrill tone, exactly like a woman. The next moment he
+was the stately cardinal again.
+
+I was very anxious that Booth should receive a social recognition.
+Thirty years ago actors had not overleaped the barriers which had
+existed for centuries, to anything like the extent we know at present,
+and I wanted him to meet people of distinction, to hold the position
+which Garrick once occupied in England; but he hardly shared my
+ambition for him. If people wanted him they had to seek him, and even
+then were not sure of getting him. Social attentions sometimes
+gratified, but quite as often bored him. But his genius was so
+positive and so attractive, that the most prominent people all over
+the country courted his society. I had the pleasure of putting up his
+name at the Century Club, where he was more than cordially welcomed.
+The wits, the scholars, artists, authors, all were glad to know the
+man who had given them so refined a pleasure. Bancroft, Bryant,
+Curtis, and their families, Sumner, Mrs. Ward Howe, men and women of
+the first social position, as well as cultivation, were his personal
+friends, even at that early day. But he seemed indifferent to his
+fame.
+
+He had no trace of personal vanity. He said to me once he only cared
+for his good looks as the tools of his trade. Hundreds of women flung
+themselves at him in those days; they sent him notes in verse and
+prose, flowers, presents of jewels, shawls, feathers, to wear on the
+stage; they asked for appointments; they invited him to their houses,
+they offered to go to his; but he cared nothing for any of them.
+Sometimes they amused, but more often disgusted him. More than once he
+saved some foolish child from what might have been disgrace, and sent
+her home to her family. And he never injured a pure woman in his life.
+Off the stage he had no care for his looks; even in his youth his
+dress was more than plain; he was positively indifferent to his
+appearance.
+
+He always continued to have fits of sadness and silence; a feeling
+that evil was hanging over him, that he could not come to good. These
+moods would pass, but would return. Still, when he inclined to talk he
+was profoundly interesting. He had a wonderful fund of stories, and
+recollected the most minute and the most salient circumstances,
+showing the actor's power of observation. He studied character
+incessantly; not deliberately, but because he could not help seeing
+peculiar traits of character or peculiar circumstances. He acted all
+his stories, comic or tragic, without meaning to do it, and often just
+as well off as on the stage. I used to get him to make the faces he
+did on the stage, to look like Richelieu in the "curse of Rome," or
+Richard in "What do they in the North?" But it was only when he was in
+a very good humor that he would do this. Once or twice he painted his
+face to assume his father's appearance.
+
+But he hated to act off the stage, and even at rehearsal seldom raised
+his voice above the conversational tone, or struck an attitude. I
+often went to rehearsal with him and wondered at the calmness of his
+tones when he struck down Iago, or smothered Desdemona. One morning in
+Buffalo I missed him when we started, and followed him to the theatre;
+I entered at the stage door and went to the wings, looking for him. It
+was a minute or two before I recognized him, with a high hat and a
+cane, reciting passages from "Macbeth." But that night he was more
+tremendous than ever. His first entrance in the play he made by
+leaping from the rocks, as he exclaimed, "So foul and fair a day I
+have not seen"; and it was the very Highland thane that came upon the
+scene--full of his future dignity and oppressed by the feeling of Fate
+that fills this tragedy as it does the plays of Euripides. That
+feeling, indeed, almost illustrates the depression that settled over
+his nature at intervals, and seemed a premonition of some awful
+future. It was appalling to witness, and must have been still more
+appalling to endure. Doubtless he inherited it from his father. It was
+like a veil that shrouded him from other mortals, and he walked behind
+it, apart. He strove to describe his emotions at such times to me, for
+he wanted me to know all he felt; but the effort was like those sad
+ones of his later days, when he attempted to utter words and gave only
+inarticulate sounds. I cannot portray him unless I make this sadness
+apparent; it was so strange and weird.
+
+And yet this introspective, distant man, so old when he was young,
+so cold though gifted with every personal charm--was a warmly
+affectionate son, devoted to his mother, and generous to his family;
+he lived with his mother and sister for years, and provided for them
+after his marriage; he lent money not only to his brothers, but to
+hosts of friends, actors and others, for his profession brought him
+in large sums, and he gave away much in charity, especially to
+actors. His friendships, though steadfast, were not usually ardent
+or demonstrative. He who was gifted with such wonderful power to
+express the emotions of others was often unable or unwilling to give
+utterance to his own. When he was called out after the play, the
+man who had just enthralled an audience as Richard or Othello, or
+hurled the imprecations of Richelieu or Lear, stood modest and
+shrinking, only able to stammer a few words of thanks in his own
+person, on the very boards where he was most at home.
+
+He was not a good hater; when he was injured he felt it keenly, and I
+am not sure that he ever forgave a wrong, but the memory of it was
+not always keen, and I doubt if he ever revenged himself--he relented
+when it came to inflicting pain. In his business relations he more
+than once fell into foul hands, and he had himself little business
+faculty; but he was slow in making reprisals, even if opportunity
+offered. For he had a noble, gentle nature; I never knew him do a mean
+or vulgar thing. He was no backbiter; he refrained, even with me, from
+hostile criticism of other actors. I sometimes drew out opinions that
+were not favorable, but he never offered them, and always seemed to
+utter them unwillingly, as if he would not refuse to tell me what he
+thought, and yet was loath to speak severely of a brother artist.
+
+No one ever charged him with desertion of a friend or backwardness in
+time of need; and I have known of sacrifices that he made for others,
+greater than most men are capable of. He submitted to much from some
+members of his family, because he deemed it his duty, or from
+affectionate pity, and endured even cruel wrongs rather than resent
+them publicly. He was most averse to bringing his private affairs
+before the world, and disliked to extend the publicity of the stage to
+his every-day life. His friendships in his youth were almost confined
+to members of his own profession. Joseph Jefferson, and John Sleeper
+Clarke, who married his sister, were always very close to him, and in
+later years, Barrett. In time, however, he had many associates among
+artists and cultivated men, who naturally sought his company, and some
+of these he regarded as personal friends.[1]
+
+  [1] His three executors, Messrs. Benedict, Bispham, and McGonigle,
+      were, I suppose, as intimate with him as any one in later years;
+      he certainly showed them the most absolute confidence in his
+      will, and for years had consulted them on the management of his
+      affairs. Mr. McGonigle married the sister of his first wife.
+
+I once visited with him the place where he was born. It was a
+farmhouse twenty-five or thirty miles from Baltimore. We drove out in
+a one-horse vehicle, and he was Phaeton. The house was partly
+furnished but unoccupied, and an old negro in an outbuilding gave us
+the keys. His father's library remained, and a part of his stage
+wardrobe, and we spent hours ransacking them both, studying old
+play-bills, even English ones of his father, examining rare copies of
+Shakespeare, and trying on trappings of Shylock or Lear. I made him
+put on a wig and act the parts for a single auditor. He was very
+complaisant that day, or night rather, for we sat up till late into
+the morning, and then made beds out of Caesar's mantle and Macbeth's
+robes. He picked out three volumes of Shakespeare which he had used in
+playing, full of his own stage directions written in, and variations
+of the text, and gave them to me as a memento of the visit, inscribing
+some lines from one of the sonnets. It was Verplanck's illustrated
+edition, and some of the plates were marked: "Form this picture." I
+remember afterward noticing that he made the picture on the stage.
+
+Many a night in those days we sat together till morning, for he had
+the actor's habit of turning night into day. Playing till nearly
+midnight, and supping still later, the excitement of the stage kept
+him awake afterward, and he never wanted to go to bed. He was never
+more animated in thought and look and gesture than after acting. Of
+course, he rose late, and during an engagement his only leisure hours
+were one or two in the afternoon; for in those early days he went
+regularly to rehearsal. That was before the era of long runs, and he
+played a range of parts in each engagement, changing them nearly every
+night. He sometimes slept after his early dinner, so as to be
+refreshed and ready for evening.
+
+Then there were the painters and sculptors and photographers, always
+one or two in every town, who wanted to take him, either in a popular
+part, or "in his habit as he lived." He never dined out while he was
+playing, except on Sundays, and a walk or a drive was almost his only
+exercise or amusement; there was not time for more; he had to reserve
+himself for the night. For he had to work when other men played; his
+work was their amusement. It was a life utterly unlike that of other
+men, and it is not strange that his character was unlike theirs. He
+was exposed to the temptations of youth, and he had his peculiar
+faults, but no gross vices, and he did no harm or wrong to man or
+woman--ever, that I knew. Of how many can this be said?
+
+In 1860 he married Miss Mary Devlin, a young actress, who retired from
+the stage as soon as she became engaged to him. She was a sweet gentle
+woman, of great natural refinement, and every way fit to be his wife.
+A year before he had told me he meant to marry, and I encouraged this
+intention. I thought he would be happier, that he needed the constant
+companionship and solace of a wife's society, though I knew that
+marriage must, to a certain extent, disturb the intimacy which I
+valued and enjoyed so highly. No man could be so intimate with two
+people at once as he had been with me. They were married at the
+clergyman's house on the afternoon of July 7. He and I went together
+to the simple ceremony; there were no other witnesses except his
+wife's sister and her husband and John Wilkes Booth. After it was
+over, Wilkes threw his arms about Edwin's neck and kissed him.
+
+In a week Booth wrote to me and wanted me to join them at Niagara.
+They had a cottage on the Canada side, and there I spent two weeks of
+his honeymoon with my friend. He was most anxious to show me that his
+marriage had made no difference in his feeling toward me, and his wife
+was quite as anxious that I should perceive none. In the autumn Booth
+played in New York, and I was with him almost as much as ever. We sat
+up late into the night as of old, and Mrs. Booth was often so good as
+to leave us together. I had the pleasure of accompanying them to
+distinguished houses, for Mrs. Booth was much invited, as well as he,
+and bore herself with quiet grace and modest dignity, as "to the
+manner born." We continued our studies, too. Mrs. Booth was as anxious
+as I for the artistic success of her husband; she and I went to the
+play together and discussed his performances. Their union was complete
+and their happiness unalloyed.
+
+But the currents of our lives ran different ways. In 1861 I entered
+the army and Booth went to England. His success in London at this
+time was not marked; he could not obtain the theatre he wanted, and
+English feeling just then was hostile to Americans. He played only a
+short engagement, and it was not until the second or third week that
+he made any impression. Then his Richelieu created a sensation, but it
+was late in the season, and he only acted a few nights afterward. In
+December his only child, Edwina, was born at Fulham, England.
+
+He returned to America early in 1862, and in September I was passing
+through New York and went to see them. I found the same dear friend I
+had known of old, with a sweet tender woman by his side, and a child
+of nine months playing on the floor. Mrs. Booth made me remark that
+the little one, creeping in its play, fell instinctively into the
+attitude of Richard III. in the terrible fight with Richmond; and the
+likeness was laughable. I left the same day for New Orleans, happy for
+this glimpse at their domestic happiness.
+
+They took a house in Boston, and the next year, in February, 1863,
+Booth was playing in New York, having left his wife at home because of
+her delicate health. During a performance at the Winter Garden a
+despatch was handed him, summoning him to her side. He left at the
+close of the play, but before he could reach her the dearest thing on
+earth to him was gone forever. The shock almost unbalanced his mind.
+His wife had been all that a perfect wife could be to a man of his
+peculiar temperament and needs. She sustained him, encouraged him,
+soothed him when the sad moods came on, and exorcised the evil spirit
+absolutely. She inspired his work, and comforted him in weariness,
+trouble, or physical pain. He wrote me, at once, the saddest letter I
+ever received. He was crushed, and saw no hope, no reason for living.
+The black cloud that she had lifted was lowered again; not even his
+child at first could interest or distract him. But he turned to me in
+his bereavement, for I had known her, and I did what I could to
+comfort him; at least, I could grieve with him.
+
+The young wife was buried at Mount Auburn, near Boston, at a spot
+which they had selected together. He built a tomb in which both
+were to lie; it was lined with brick, and when her remains were
+transferred, before the coffin was lowered Booth jumped into the grave
+as Hamlet did into Ophelia's. He joined her there last June, after
+thirty years.
+
+In May, 1863, I was seriously wounded, and it was his turn to solace
+me. I lay in hospital for many weeks, and he wrote me constantly. In
+July I was taken to New York, and arrived just before the riots of
+that year. I was carried to Booth's house. He and his brother Wilkes
+bore me to Edwin's bed, which he gave up for me, and there I was left
+alone with my distracted friend. I may not disclose all that he said
+in his grief, but, with his unusual nature, it can be imagined. He was
+inclined to think the spirit near him of her who had been so much to
+him in life, and I said nothing to disturb the impression. I remained
+at his house until it was possible to remove me to the country; both
+he and his brother dressed my wounds, and tended me with the greatest
+care.
+
+I saw much of him during the months of my convalescence, and early in
+1865, when I was again taken to New York after an attack of camp
+fever; Wilkes Booth was once more at his brother's house. He was
+excessively handsome, even physically finer than Edwin, but less
+intellectual in his manliness. I never saw him on the stage, but under
+Edwin's roof I thought him very captivating, though not so thoroughly
+distinguished as his greater brother.
+
+Two months later came the terrible event which plunged the nation, and
+especially the Booth family, into such awful sorrow. Edwin was playing
+in Boston, but at once gave up his engagement and returned to his home
+in New York. Numbers of the most eminent people hastened to assure him
+of their sympathy and their belief in his loyalty. He had indeed been
+stanch for the Union, and the only vote he ever cast was for Lincoln
+in 1864. But he was overwhelmed by this fresh misfortune, this new
+cloud that had settled on his house. His brother Junius and his
+brother-in-law were thrown into prison in Washington, and he felt
+himself an object of suspicion. I had returned to the field, and was
+in Richmond when the news reached me. I wrote to him at once, but my
+letter was withheld. All letters to him for awhile were kept back, and
+I suppose especially any from Richmond. I could not leave my post
+immediately, and it was a month or more before I reached New York,
+where I went, of course, direct to him. The first shock was over, but
+the old gloom was greater than ever.
+
+He told me he had seen nothing in his brother to excite suspicion, and
+I have always believed that the awful act was the result of a
+disturbed brain. It was so theatrical in plan and performance; the
+conspiracy, the dagger, the selection of a theatre, the brandishing of
+the weapon, the cry "_Sic Semper Tyrannis_" to the audience--all was
+exactly what a madman brought up in a theatre might have been expected
+to conceive; a man, too, of this peculiar family, the son of Junius
+Brutus Booth, used all his life to acting tragedies. He had not only
+nursed me tenderly, a soldier wounded for the cause he should have
+hated, but in all the exciting period of the riot he said no word that
+indicated sympathy with the South. He went out daily to inquire the
+news, and was indignant at the outrages he reported; he even assisted
+to shield my negro servant who remained hidden in the cellar for
+nearly a week. Two months before the end of the war he wished me well
+when I set out to rejoin Grant.
+
+After a few months Booth returned to the stage, and was welcomed back
+with an enthusiasm which showed that not only his genius but his
+nobility of character, his elevation of thought, his refinement of
+manner had all been appreciated. In 1869 he remarried--this time a
+Miss McVicker, an actress of Chicago, whom I never saw. She left the
+stage upon her marriage. In the same year he opened Booth's Theatre.
+His pecuniary success had been very brilliant, and he had long been
+ambitious to build and control a theatre where the most elevating
+influences of the drama should be exemplified. It was a beautiful
+tribute to his art. Everything was done that taste and study and care
+and elaborate expenditure could accomplish, to produce the greatest
+plays in the most admirable manner; but Booth had no business talent,
+and some of those with whom he was brought into contact had a large
+share of this talent, and used it to injure or betray his interests.
+He lost largely, and finally was obliged to declare himself a
+bankrupt. He gave up all he had in the world, his personal and private
+property, his theatre, his library and theatrical wardrobe, and many
+treasures of his profession, and became once more a travelling star.
+His performances, however, proved more attractive than ever; he was
+soon able to repay all his creditors, and afterward remained a man of
+fortune.
+
+Meanwhile the vicissitudes of life had drifted us far apart. I was in
+Europe officially for many years, but in 1880 had a leave of absence.
+During the month of June a public breakfast was offered Booth at
+Delmonico's by many of the most eminent men in New York, and I then
+met him for the first time since 1867. After the breakfast I went to
+his rooms, and he put his arms around me and begged that we should be
+to each other all we had ever been. Each promised, and each kept his
+word.
+
+But he started for England a few days afterward, and it was not till
+the next year that I returned there. Then I saw much of him. He played
+this time with great success, at Irving's theatre. The great English
+actor gave him every facility; relinquished his house to him for a
+while, and treated him with a distinguished courtesy worthy of his own
+position as head of the British stage. Irving had been in the stock
+company that supported Booth during his first English engagement, but
+now they were equals, and played on alternate nights, and sometimes
+together, in Othello and Iago. Booth's houses were crowded with the
+most cultivated and important people in England; and his acting,
+despite a certain national jealousy, was by many pronounced superior
+to that of the Englishman. Invitations came to him from aristocratic
+quarters, in which his daughter was included; but his wife was in
+miserable health and unable to go at all into the world, or even to
+receive any one but her own family. This marred the gratification at
+his success, and in 1881, after lingering in great suffering, both for
+herself and those about her, the second wife of Edwin Booth also died.
+I had returned from Europe and passed the night after her funeral in
+his rooms at New York. His mother and sister also passed away, and his
+daughter married, so that he was left, in a great degree, alone.
+
+His profession, however, remained to him. It was about this time that
+he began those remarkable dramatic tours with Barrett which were more
+successful from a pecuniary point of view than any other of his
+enterprises. It is even said, by those competent to pronounce, that
+the financial results surpassed any known in the history of the stage.
+Everywhere he was recognized as the head of the American theatre. His
+acting was ripened and chastened by study and long experience, by the
+development of his own powers, and the opportunities he had enjoyed of
+comparison with his greatest foreign rivals. He was accepted as the
+equal in America of what Garrick had been in his palmiest days--the
+peer and companion of whatever was best in American society.
+
+It is four or five years since he conceived the idea of founding the
+Players' Club, and, having become a man of more than ordinary means,
+he was able to gratify this ambition. He bought and rebuilt a fine
+house in a desirable position in New York, and filled it with choice
+books and pictures and relics of the stage, and then invited men of
+distinction and culture to meet actors of character and ability on an
+equal footing. The club has been eminently successful, and for several
+years Booth, its founder and president, made it his home. He had a
+suite of rooms, modestly but tastefully furnished, and among his
+friends and books and pictures passed the last days of his life. When
+he wrote the extracts from the Shakespearian sonnets in the volume he
+gave me thirty years ago, I think he felt some consciousness of the
+ban that the world then put upon his profession, but he could not have
+retained the feeling, for there was no ban applied to him. Exclusive
+English aristocrats invited him and his daughter, and visited them in
+return; and Edwin Booth voted to admit Grover Cleveland to the Century
+Club, and invited General Sherman to become a member of the Players'.
+
+I was very much struck, on my return from Europe in 1881, with the
+dignity and composure which years of recognition had given to his
+bearing. The glowing beauty of his youth, of course, was gone, his
+features bore traces of his own sorrows and experiences, and besides
+were worn and hardened by those terrible passions of the stage which
+were for the time so real to him. I have indeed no doubt that it was
+the intense strain on brain and nerve which his acting demanded, and
+not any private grief or anxiety, that broke him down before his
+time.
+
+Years, however, had enhanced his innate nobility. He was always
+reverent to religion, and had warm friends among the clergy of various
+denominations. A Catholic priest and the Protestant Bishop of New York
+were among the first to call after his paralysis was known. I never
+heard him speak disrespectfully of sacred themes or of good women. His
+character in later years took on a softer phase; his irritability was
+rarer, indeed it almost disappeared, while the range of his
+friendships was wider.
+
+When he received a foreign actor who came to call on him, as they all
+did, or welcomed some distinguished visitor to his club, he did it
+with a calm dignity and gracious courtesy that was very natural and
+yet imposing, while his more intimate bearing when we were alone was
+inexpressibly confiding and affectionate, though more subdued than in
+the earlier days.
+
+In his acting also there was something of the same inevitable change
+that time brings to all things and all men; but to me he always
+remained the most powerful and consummate tragedian I have ever seen.
+Some of the old force may have faded, but it flashed out at intervals
+in every performance with all its ancient brilliancy.
+
+The last time that I saw him on the stage,
+
+                      "Last scene of all,
+  That ends this strange eventful history,"
+
+was also the last night that Barrett ever played. The piece was
+"Richelieu," and it seemed to me that Booth excelled himself in the
+finish of the earlier scenes and in the tempest of passion at the
+climax. During this engagement I went behind the scenes as I had used
+to go a quarter of a century before, and found all the old fascination
+still, subdued and softened by his more chastened dignity. But he
+played only a few times after his friend Barrett was stricken, and
+then his own ailings increased.
+
+After this I never met him out of his own rooms but once. I called
+just as he was about to try to walk, and he asked me to go with him.
+He had to be assisted to the door, and when he reached the street I
+offered him my arm. He took it and leaned heavily. He stumbled as he
+walked, and it took us half an hour to move around the block of
+buildings in which the club-house stands. Then he was tired, and
+wanted to go in, and I knew that my friend would not recover.
+
+In his rooms at the Players' Club I saw my last of him. For a year or
+two he seldom left them except to visit his daughter in town or
+country, or perhaps to accompany her to a play. But he spent many
+hours in her society and that of her husband and children--his
+greatest solace. I fortunately was near him during this period, and we
+often passed a morning talking of our early manhood or his later
+career.
+
+But there was something inexpressibly painful in the spectacle of him,
+whose physical faculties had been so inextricably bound up with the
+intellectual, whose bodily gifts had been the incarnation of passion
+and romance and poetry, his corporal charm the fit embodiment of a
+noble soul--to see him decay, his powers crumble and waste away; to
+see him decrepit, weary, worn, who had been alive with expression,
+captivating in bearing, majestic, terrible, tender, by turns. Only his
+eyes retained their marvellous beauty, like a lamp burning in a
+deserted temple, or the soul looking out through the windows of that
+body it was soon to leave.
+
+[Illustration: THE DEATH MASK OF EDWIN BOOTH.]
+
+Farewell! beloved spirit! Thou hast given tens, nay hundreds of
+thousands pleasure by thy genius, expressed for them the subtlest and
+most delicate thoughts and sublimest conceptions of the greatest of
+poets, elevated their imaginations, refined their fancy, charmed their
+taste, subdued their moods, and soothed their weary hours; and never
+once, in all thy art, suggested an impure or vicious thought, never
+stimulated an evil desire, nor insinuated a wanton or vulgar feeling.
+Thou hast done much to elevate the profession thou hast adorned; hast
+assisted the needy, hast stretched out a hand to aid the worthy in
+arriving at thy own position, and introduced thy brethren to the
+company which sought and welcomed thee. Thou hast been a loving son, a
+reverent, filial admirer of him whose mantle fell upon thee, a
+faithful, devoted husband, a brother worthy of the name, a tender,
+bountiful father, a loyal, stanch, confiding friend. The world has
+been happier and better for thy passage across its stage.
+
+
+
+
+BURGLARS THREE.
+
+BY JAMES HARVEY SMITH
+
+
+As a usual thing, when they cracked a crib, one of the three remained
+outside to warn with a whistle, or some other previously concerted
+signal, his companions inside. But on this occasion, when Jim Baxter
+opened the simple catch that fastened the woodshed door, and thence
+gained access to the interior of the house, Wilson Graham and Harry
+Montgomery followed softly after him. This breach of burglarious
+custom was probably due to the fact that the Braithwait mansion was in
+the suburbs, some distance from the road, and several hundred yards
+from the nearest house.
+
+Once inside, Mr. Graham lighted the gas, and it was then the work of a
+very few minutes to open the sideboard and subtract therefrom the
+family silver and place it in a bag brought for that purpose. While
+this operation was taking place, Montgomery made a tour of the upper
+rooms.
+
+"I don't exactly like to trust Harry up-stairs," remarked Baxter, in a
+surly tone, after he had securely tied the mouth of the bag. "He is
+too soft. Like as not he'll go and git sentimental over a picture or
+somethin', or maybe git a-thinkin' of his mother, and leave half the
+ornyments."
+
+Graham, who had just opened a pearl inlaid _secretaire_, and was
+possessing himself of numerous valuable trinkets, laughed softly, as
+he replied:
+
+"I don't think so, Jim. Only yesterday I gave the boy a good talking
+to, and he promised to attend strictly to business in future. You must
+remember he is young, and, unless we give him a chance, how is he to
+learn? Of course, if there was a young girl in the house--but there
+isn't," he added quickly, observing the wrathful frown on his
+companion's face. "I made certain that the only people who sleep in
+the house are Mr. Braithwait and the housekeeper, who is rather old
+and nearly deaf; the rest of the family are in Florida for their
+health. If Braithwait makes a disturbance I reckon Harry can settle
+him without any sentimental nonsense."
+
+"I'd settle him," muttered Baxter, surlily.
+
+"You're a savage, Jim," said Graham, reproachfully. "How often have I
+told you that there is no virtue in violence. Haven't I convinced you
+that the easy way is the safe way?"
+
+"Yah! Don't give me no more of that!" said Baxter, contemptuously. "I
+ain't no missionary."
+
+At this juncture, when the argument threatened to develop into a
+quarrel, peace was restored by the reappearance of the young burglar,
+carrying a considerable quantity of jewelry, loose and in boxes, while
+he softly whistled "M'Appari."
+
+"Not a bad haul," observed Graham, turning over the plunder as it lay
+on the table. "_Two_ watches?"
+
+"They're them little tickers what the girls carry," said Baxter,
+scornfully. "We won't get two dollars apiece for 'em."
+
+"Won't we, though!" said Graham, smiling. "They are gold, and there is
+an inscription on each; that means a fancy reward, or I don't know
+human feminine nature. Two brooches, a necklace--h'm--h'm--very good,
+indeed."
+
+"There was no money," remarked Harry, adjusting his necktie before the
+mirror, and giving his small blonde mustache a curl.
+
+"I expected as much," commented Graham, storing away the trinkets in
+his pockets. "Braithwait has a hundred with him, I dare say, but it
+isn't worth the risk. If we kill a man in the city it's soon
+forgotten, but in the suburbs it creates a regular panic. The
+neighbors hire detectives and follow a man all over creation, and you
+can't buy them off or compromise the matter--money is no object.
+That's why I keep telling Jim--"
+
+"Let up, will ye!" exclaimed Baxter, roughly. "I ain't killin' nobody,
+am I?"
+
+"Certainly not; but I only say----"
+
+[Illustration: "I AIN'T NO MISSIONARY!"]
+
+"Say nothin'! where's the feed box?"
+
+Mr. Graham groaned, and looked at his young accomplice in comical
+alarm.
+
+"I knew how it would be! Jim, these luncheons will be the ruin of us
+all some night."
+
+"Can't help it," retorted Baxter, doggedly. "It's a good four-mile
+walk from the city and as much back, and we hadn't anything but a
+snack for supper. A man's got to eat, and when I'm hungry----"
+
+"Well, well," said the other, with a gesture of impatience, "if it
+must be, it must. Harry, see to the wine, and we will find the
+substantials. Now, Jim, _do_ be careful of the dishes, and _don't_
+grunt and puff while you're eating. It's vulgar."
+
+Jim Baxter grunted and puffed at this, but made no other reply as he
+busied himself spreading the contents of the refrigerator on the
+dining-room table, while Harry from the sideboard produced a decanter
+of whiskey and three bottles of claret. There was a nice piece of cold
+ham, some tongue, cheese and pickles, bread and butter, anchovies and
+sardines, a bottle of olives, and the remains of an oyster pie.
+
+"Quite a lay-out," remarked Baxter, with a ravenous chuckle. "D'ye
+remember the house at Barleytown where there wasn't nothin' but graham
+crackers and winegar in the box?"
+
+"I should say so," exclaimed Graham, with a look of disgust.
+
+"Some people are too mean to live," returned Baxter, savagely. "Come,
+shove over that decanter, and let's pitch in. Fingers, gents, 'cause
+there ain't nothin' but silver knives and forks in this house, unless
+I take 'em out of the bag, which I ain't doin'. Here's luck!"
+
+"Excellent claret, Wilson," said the young burglar, holding his glass
+up to the light.
+
+"Genuine Medoc," returned Graham, with the air of a connoisseur.
+"That's the worst of this business; not one gentleman out of ten is a
+judge of wine. Now, the whiskey----"
+
+"The whiskey's all right," interrupted Baxter, curtly. "All whiskey's
+good; some's better'n others, but it's all good. Blow claret!"
+
+"No style about Jim," said Harry, with a smile that was half a sneer.
+
+"No, you bet there ain't," said Baxter, stolidly. "You oughter call me
+'Old Business,' 'cause that's what I am. Pass them pickles."
+
+It was a most interesting sight. At the head of the table sat Graham,
+a smooth-faced, well-fed man of forty, who might have passed for a
+prosperous banker, or a man living on an annuity; to his right
+reclined, rather than sat, young Montgomery, a spruce and slender
+fellow, with soft blue eyes, tremulous lips, and light hair neatly
+brushed; while opposite Graham sat Baxter, a coarse, shaggy, grimy man
+of uncertain age, with small, shifty eyes, a heavy beard, and a
+general air of brutal strength. Had it not been for the fact that each
+man wore his hat, and that the bag of stolen goods lay on one corner
+of the table, it might have been taken for a small stag party, Graham
+personating the host to perfection.
+
+The resemblance was lost, however, a moment later. The door leading to
+the back stairway, directly behind Jim Baxter, opened and revealed a
+spare man with long blonde whiskers, wearing gold eye-glasses, and a
+flowered dressing-gown.
+
+Graham was the first to see the intruder, and his exclamation of
+astonishment caused Baxter to turn his head. In an instant that worthy
+was on his feet, with a pistol in his hand. Graham was quicker,
+however, and before his companion could raise the weapon he seized his
+arm and pushed him aside.
+
+"No violence, Jim," he said, sternly.
+
+"I warn't goin' to shoot," growled Jim. "I was only goin' to give him
+a crack on the head."
+
+"I won't have it," returned Graham, authoritatively. "Sit down."
+
+Baxter put up his pistol and sat down. Graham then turned to the spare
+gentleman, who had not moved from the doorway during this episode.
+
+"Mr. Braithwait, I presume?"
+
+"That is my name," was the composed reply. "Burglars, I presume?"
+
+"The presumption is correct. Will you take a seat?"
+
+Mr. Braithwait sat down opposite young Montgomery, to whom he bowed
+gravely. There was then a moment of silence, broken by Graham, who had
+resumed his place at the head of the table.
+
+"I am sorry," said he, "you have made your appearance, as we can't
+very well apologize for our intrusion."
+
+"No, I suppose not," said Mr. Braithwait, smiling. "Yet I am rather
+pleased that I did come, since I always enjoy an unusual experience."
+
+"Glad you enjoy it," muttered Baxter; but no one listened to him.
+
+"I was aroused by the reflection of the gaslight in the upper hall,"
+explained Mr. Braithwait, "and I supposed that the housekeeper had
+left it burning--she has done so more than once. I came down to
+extinguish it. I heard voices in this room, and I entered."
+
+"At the risk of your life," observed Graham, with a significant glance
+at Baxter, who had resumed eating.
+
+"I did not think of that," said Mr. Braithwait, simply. "My life has
+been threatened so often--you know I am a railroad man--that I give
+little thought to the risk of an undertaking. Professionals, I
+suppose?"
+
+He looked at Montgomery, who nodded nonchalantly and lighted a
+cigarette.
+
+Mr. Braithwait coughed.
+
+"I wish you wouldn't," he said, deprecatingly. "Apart from the looks,
+I can't bear cigarette-smoke. There's a box of very fine Conchas on
+the sideboard. Thank you"--to Graham--"if you will join me?--thank you
+again."
+
+Graham laughed with genuine enjoyment, yet without vulgarity.
+
+"I like you," he said, frankly, "and I am sorry that, in the line of
+business----" He waved his cigar at the bag.
+
+[Illustration: "EXCELLENT CLARET," SAID HARRY.]
+
+"Of course, yes, of course, I know that can't be helped," said Mr.
+Braithwait, smoking away easily, "and that's another reason why I'm
+glad I came. I suppose you have in that bag some trinkets belonging to
+my wife and daughters that have a special value as mementos. I hear
+that you gentlemen are frequently forced to sell your plunder at a
+simply ruinous sacrifice, and it occurred to me that if we could come
+to some arrangement--you understand?"
+
+"Perfectly," answered Graham. "It can be done, and I will open
+negotiations at an early date. Provided, of course," he added,
+severely, "that you play fair."
+
+"That is understood. As a business man I accept the situation. My loss
+is your gain."
+
+At this the youngest burglar broke silence for the first time.
+
+"You are a philosopher," he said, in a tone of admiration.
+
+"What sensible man is not?" responded Mr. Braithwait, cheerfully. "I
+suppose it is capable of proof that the accumulated wisdom of the
+ancients amounts simply to the homely proverb: 'What can't be cured
+must be endured.' My business is a sort of war, and I have my defeats
+as well as my victories. I must bear them both with equanimity."
+
+"So is ours," said the youngest burglar. "As Horace says in his
+'Epistles': 'Caedimur, et totidem plagis consumimus hostem.'"
+
+"Permit me," returned Mr. Braithwait, "to reply with Catullus: 'Nil
+mihi tam valde placeat, Rhamnusia virgo, quod temere invitis
+suscipiatur heris.'"
+
+Montgomery flushed slightly, and Baxter growled an incoherent protest
+against the use of foreign languages.
+
+"Of course, I do not claim that I enjoy being robbed," continued Mr.
+Braithwait, "but I realize that it is not as bad as it might be. Last
+week you would have caught me with two thousand in cash in the house,
+and last month you would have horribly scared my wife and daughters."
+
+"Not for worlds," murmured Mr. Montgomery.
+
+"Well, you might have done so--women have such a detestation of
+robbers, except when they are in jail. The pleasure of your visit--I
+hinted that I could extract pleasure from adversity--lies in the fact
+that it brings me in contact with a profession I have previously known
+only by hearsay. I suppose I may take it for granted you gentlemen are
+experts?"
+
+[Illustration: "NO VIOLENCE, JIM!"]
+
+"We've been there before," said Baxter, coarsely.
+
+"If an experience of fourteen years is any guaranty, then I am an
+expert," said Graham, with a certain air of pride in his tones. "Our
+friend there," nodding at Baxter, "has, I believe, been in the
+profession since childhood; while Mr."--indicating Montgomery with his
+cigar--"you'll excuse my not mentioning names?--is a beginner. A
+skilled workman, I admit, but this is only his second year."
+
+"I don't wonder that he"--and Mr. Braithwait glanced slightly at
+Baxter,--"remains in the business, but that you should follow the
+vocation for fourteen years surprises me greatly."
+
+"Indeed?" queried Graham, with perceptible stiffness. "Why?"
+
+"Because you appear to be a sensible man, and I should not think the
+business would pay. What is your annual income as a burglar?"
+
+"On an average, I should say three thousand a year."
+
+"And you are an expert! I receive six thousand a year, and I am only
+Assistant General Freight Agent, and have been but twelve years in the
+business. Then I may infer that these two gentlemen make much less
+than three thousand?"
+
+"I've seen the week when I didn't make hod-carrier's wages," growled
+Baxter, who had now finished eating, and was preparing to smoke a
+black wooden pipe.
+
+"You're not so sensible as I thought," rejoined Mr. Braithwait,
+frankly. "I can easily imagine a man exposing himself to dreadful
+dangers and cruel privations when there is a great prize in view. An
+explorer like Stanley, a pioneer like Pike or Fremont, a conqueror
+like Cortez, or a revolutionist like Washington, could well brave
+hardship and peril when success meant wealth as well as the
+plaudits of their fellow men. The early settlers of this and every
+other country, the gold hunters of '49, the pirates who ravaged the
+seas, all were actuated by the hope of a fortune at one swoop; but
+to risk prison, to say nothing of life itself, for a day laborer's
+wages!----"
+
+"But," spoke up Montgomery, quickly, "there is fame, if not fortune."
+
+"Pardon me. In what way?"
+
+"In the usual way. Who has not heard of Hickey, the man who cracked
+twenty banks before they tripped him up; Peters, the New England
+cracksman; Bronthers, the Chicago expert?"
+
+"I hope," said Mr. Braithwait, gently, "I won't offend you when I say
+I never heard of those gentlemen."
+
+"Is it possible!"
+
+"Honestly, I never did."
+
+"You have surely heard of Red Leary?"
+
+"I can't recall his name."
+
+"George Post? Louis Ludlum? Pete McCartney? Miles Ogle?"
+
+"Don't know them."
+
+"Perhaps," sarcastically, "you don't read the papers?"
+
+"Yes, I do, and I have a good memory. I can say without boasting that
+I have on my tongue's end all the professional, literary and artistic
+names in America, and many in Europe. In my library I have many
+biographies, but none of which a burglar is the theme, nor do I recall
+the name of a celebrated criminal, unless," pleasantly, "he has been
+hanged."
+
+"Yet there _are_ famous names in our profession," persisted the young
+burglar, somewhat sullenly.
+
+"Oh, yes," admitted Mr. Braithwait, taking a small drink of claret.
+"Literature has preserved Claude Duval, Jack Sheppard, Dick
+Turpin--all hung--Fra Diavolo, who was shot, and even our own James
+and Younger boys; and I have heard vaguely of one Billy the Kid
+somewhere out West. In a general sense, literature and the drama are
+saturated with bandits, brigands and outlaws, sometimes comical,
+sometimes heroic, but you will excuse me if I maintain that you stand
+on a different footing. Those fellows always had a poetical backing;
+somebody or something had driven them to their illegal calling, but
+you can scarcely make a similar claim."
+
+[Illustration: "WHAT IS YOUR ANNUAL INCOME AS A BURGLAR?"]
+
+"I don't know about that," protested Baxter, doggedly. "Who'd give
+_me_ a job?"
+
+"Did you ever try?"
+
+"No; nor I ain't goin' to!"
+
+"As I supposed. Honest work is plentiful, therefore you are absolutely
+without excuse. No one has usurped your name and fortune, stolen your
+ancestral home or intended bride; neither have you been outlawed for
+your political or religious beliefs, or unjustly accused of crime."
+
+The big burglar looked extremely blank at this pointed address, and
+took a grumbling drink of whiskey. Mr. Graham promptly came to his
+companion's relief.
+
+"You have made out a _prima facie_ case, as the lawyers say, but the
+fact remains that there _is_ a fascination in the life we lead, and
+some romance. There is mystery about it, for one thing, and danger
+for another. Then we certainly have the sympathy of a certain class of
+society, when we are prisoners."
+
+"Is not the sympathy to which you allude confined to murderers,
+especially those who kill their wives?"
+
+"As a rule, yes," admitted Graham; "but the people, who have sympathy
+for murderers, generally have such a superabundance that they can
+spare some for us. I have known burglars to receive six bouquets in a
+single day, and from real ladies, too."
+
+"I am afraid," said Mr. Braithwait, with a smile, "that the sympathy
+extended with such small discretion has little market value. But let
+us pass that by and glance at the disagreeable side of your
+profession. For instance, this night you have walked from the city,
+the nearest point of which is three miles."
+
+"We come four," growled Baxter.
+
+"Well, four; and four back is eight. It could not have been a pleasant
+walk, as the night is cloudy and the roads are heavy from recent
+rains."
+
+"There warn't no choice," said Baxter, savagely. "We _had_ to walk."
+
+"There it is," said Mr. Braithwait, triumphantly, "you _had_ to walk.
+Now, I don't have to walk; I ride in the train or my carriage at any
+hour of the day or night. No honest man has to walk, if he has
+money--and, of course, you have."
+
+"The point," admitted Mr. Graham, reluctantly, "is well taken."
+
+"I feel certain of it. Nor is this the only instance in which your
+pleasure is marred by fear. The very fame for which you strive is a
+constant bar to your enjoyment. If you take lodging at a hotel you are
+ejected; you may be refused admittance to any respectable theatre; in
+any place of entertainment, except the very lowest, you cannot make a
+new acquaintance for fear he may be a detective plotting your capture;
+you are compelled to eat, drink, and sleep among vile associates and
+vulgar surroundings; and all for a pitiful three thousand a year! By
+heaven! it is worth thirty!"
+
+"You use strong language, sir," exclaimed the youngest burglar,
+rising and pacing the floor in an agitated way.
+
+"I do," admitted the master of the house, "because my business sense
+is outraged by your stupidity."
+
+"Stupidity!" echoed Graham, sharply.
+
+"That is the word," returned Mr. Braithwait, sternly. "Your profession
+requires acuteness, courage, skill, caution, and endurance. Gentlemen,
+these are admirable traits, and with them you might be anything but
+burglars. The banking institutions, railways, private and civic
+corporations, are eager for such men; they pay them large wages and
+grant them great privileges. The governments, State and National, want
+such men, and are looking for them, while they are skulking through
+city alleys or walking miry roads at midnight. Gentlemen, with all
+your qualifications, you lack the one essential to success--common
+sense."
+
+"Permit me," said Graham, leaning over the table and speaking with
+much force, "to call your attention to the fact that we are bright
+enough to keep society eternally on the defensive."
+
+"Granted," said Mr. Braithwait.
+
+"Small in numbers though we are, we necessitate the employment of a
+police force in every village, town, and city in the Union, to say
+nothing of special constables and private watchmen. We force every
+bank and corporation to sink thousands in costly safes, locks, and
+other safeguards, and no householder is ever free from apprehension on
+our account. We are one against many, so to speak, but we make the
+many tremble! Could we exercise this power without brains?"
+
+"Ay! could we?" supplemented Montgomery, with flashing eyes.
+
+"Granted again," said Mr. Braithwait, cheerfully, "but quite foreign
+to the point at issue. Society is terrorized through its inertness,
+and when society enters on an active warfare you gentlemen cannot make
+a show of resistance. And even under our present policy of passive
+resistance there is but one thing that will save a criminal from the
+eventual clutch of the law, and that is--death."
+
+The youngest burglar turned white and Baxter cursed softly.
+
+"You cannot, with all your brightness, commit a crime without leaving
+a trace," went on Mr. Braithwait, impassively, "and every modern
+appliance is a stumbling-block in your path. The modern bank safe,
+equipped with time-locks, is impregnable; the electric light has made
+our streets as safe by night as day; and the telegraph has lengthened
+the arm of justice until it encircles the globe."
+
+"And yet," retorted Graham, with a slight sneer, "_you_ have been
+robbed."
+
+"And yet I have been robbed," repeated Mr. Braithwait, calmly.
+"Without interfering sadly with my comfort and ease, I cannot make my
+house a bank or surround myself with an army of watchmen. And I don't
+like dogs. So I have been robbed. Yet"--Mr. Braithwait looked Mr.
+Graham quietly in the eye--"yet I am not entirely defenceless."
+
+"Hello!" said Baxter, breathing hard. "Have you been up to somethin'?"
+
+"You shall judge whether I have rightly accused you of lack of common
+sense. Before attacking this house, did you make yourself acquainted
+with the surroundings?"
+
+"I did," answered Graham, confidently.
+
+"Do you know that I am a railroad man?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"Did you notice a wire running through the woods at the rear of my
+house?"
+
+"No!" cried Graham, violently.
+
+"A strange oversight on your part. Very stupid. It is a telephone
+wire, and leads from my chamber above to my office in the city. Now
+for the application of my remarks. From the moment of your entrance I
+was aware of your movements, and instantly explained the situation to
+the night operator. He, of course, notified the police----"
+
+"And while you kept us engaged in conversation--" cried Graham,
+advancing threateningly.
+
+"The police were coming on a special train to my assistance," said Mr.
+Braithwait, taking a second cigar.
+
+"Damn you!" exclaimed Baxter, threateningly.
+
+"Stop!" cried Graham, interposing. "We have no time for that. Let us
+run!"
+
+"Don't!" said the host, warningly. "The house is surrounded, and you
+will certainly be shot. Accept the situation, as I did. You gentlemen
+have been my guests this evening, and I have been highly entertained.
+May I hope that the pleasure has been mutual?"
+
+Before anyone could answer, the door leading to the woodshed was
+thrown open, and four policemen appeared on the threshold. Montgomery
+sank helplessly into a chair. Baxter made a dash for the door,
+while Graham remained impassive, but all were alike handcuffed
+expeditiously.
+
+"Sir," said Graham, taking a cigar from the box, "our misfortune is
+directly due to the uncontrollable appetite of our companion, but none
+the less I congratulate you upon your ingenuity."
+
+"Thanks," said Mr. Braithwait. "Did I not tell you that you were
+stupid?"
+
+Mr. Graham bowed.
+
+"You have taught us a lesson," he said gravely. "I think it is time to
+abandon the business."
+
+"Well, I'll be----" Baxter gasped, and could say no more.
+
+"We are disgraced!" exclaimed the youngest burglar, bitterly.
+
+Mr. Braithwait waved his hand.
+
+"I am sleepy," he said, with a yawn. "Gentlemen, good-night; I will
+see you again--in court."
+
+
+
+
+STRANGER THAN FICTION.
+
+UNPUBLISHED CHAPTERS FROM "THE BRONTES IN IRELAND."
+
+BY DR. WILLIAM WRIGHT.
+
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+The sources of information regarding the Bronte family in England have
+been studiously investigated, and everything known about them there
+has been described with great wealth of literary skill and ingenuity;
+but the eager guesses and surmises as to what lay beyond the English
+boundaries have been mostly erroneous.
+
+Mrs. Gaskell's "Life of Charlotte Bronte" is an exquisite tribute from
+a gifted hand, but Mrs. Gaskell's dreary moorlands are as inadequate
+to account for the Bronte genius, as the general picture of suppressed
+sadness is unwarranted by the Bronte letters, or by the living
+testimony of Miss Ellen Nussey, Charlotte's life-long friend and
+confidante.
+
+Mr. Wemyss Reid has given us a picture of this singular family in
+brighter, truer colors; but his theory as to the "disillusioning" of
+Charlotte at Brussels is a pure assumption, and repudiated with
+indignation by Miss Nussey.
+
+Mr. Augustine Birrell's brilliant "Life of Charlotte Bronte" contains
+some additional facts gleaned in England, and deserves to be read, if
+only for the generous indignation called forth by the "Quarterly
+Reviewer," who sought to assassinate the reputation of the author of
+"Jane Eyre."
+
+A feeling of dissatisfaction was felt in some degree by each of these
+writers in turn, but by none more clearly expressed than by Mr. J. A.
+Erskine Stuart in his most useful book, "The Bronte Country." He
+writes: "For our own part, we desire a fuller biography of the family
+than has yet been written, and we trust, and are confident, that such
+will yet appear, and that there are many surprises yet in store for
+students of this Celtic circle."
+
+I now proceed, but not without misgivings, to justify the confidence
+thus expressed, and to fulfill the prediction implied, so far as
+regards the Brontes in Ireland. I propose in the following pages to
+supply the Irish straws of Bronte history which I have been
+accumulating for nearly half a century. I have waited in hopes that
+some more skillful hand might undertake the task, but as no one else,
+since the death of Captain Mayne Reid, has the requisite information,
+the story of the Irish Brontes must be told by me, or remain untold.
+
+My first classical teacher was the Reverend William McAllister, of
+Ryans, near Newry, a man of brilliant imagination, who under favorable
+conditions might have taken rank with John Bunyan or William Blake. He
+had known Patrick Bronte (Charlotte's father), and had often heard old
+Hugh, the grandfather, narrate to a spell-bound audience, the
+incidents which formed the ground-work of "Wuthering Heights." He used
+to take me for long walks in the fields, and tell me the story of Hugh
+Bronte's early life, or narrate other Bronte adventures, which he
+assured me were just as worthy to be recounted as the wrath of
+Achilles or the wanderings of Pius AEneas. It thus happened that I
+wrote screeds of the Bronte novels myself before a line of them had
+been penned at Haworth. I do not think that Branwell Bronte really
+meant to deceive when he spoke of having written "Wuthering Heights,"
+for the story in outline must have been common property at Haworth,
+and the children of the vicarage were all scribblers.
+
+Through my teacher's relatives, who lived quite near to the Brontes, I
+was able to verify facts and incidents, and the pains thus taken has
+fixed them indelibly upon my mind. At a later period, I had still
+better opportunities for forming a sound judgment concerning the Irish
+Brontes, for the pleasantest part of my undergraduate holidays was
+spent at the manse of the Reverend David McKee of Ballynaskeagh. Mr.
+McKee was a great educationalist, and prepared many students for
+college who afterwards became famous.
+
+This great and noble man, who stood six feet six inches high, was
+the friend of the Brontes, as well as their near neighbor. He
+recognized the Bronte genius, where others only saw what was wild
+and unconventional. Mr. McKee's home was the center of mental
+activity in that neighborhood, and the early copies of the novels
+that came to the "Uncle Bronte's" were cut, read, and criticised by
+Mr. McKee, and his criticisms forwarded to the Haworth nieces. Great
+was the joy of those uncles and aunts when Mr. McKee's approval
+was enthusiastically given.
+
+There are also several other persons, some of them still living, who
+knew the Brontes, and have kindly communicated to me the information
+they possessed, so that I have had illumination from various points on
+this many-sided family.
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+THE DARK FOUNDLING.
+
+Hugh Bronte's grandfather, the great-great-grandfather of the English
+novelist, formerly lived upon a farm on the banks of the Boyne, above
+Drogheda. He was a cattle-dealer, and often crossed to Liverpool to
+dispose of his stock. Once, when he was returning therefrom, a strange
+child was found in a bundle in the hold of the vessel. It was very
+young, very black, very dirty, and almost destitute of clothing. No
+one knew whence it had come, nor cared what became of it. There was no
+doctor in the ship, and no woman save Mrs. Bronte, who had accompanied
+her husband. The child was thrown on deck. Some one said, "Toss it
+overboard," but nobody would touch it, and its cries were distressing.
+From sheer pity Mrs. Bronte was obliged to succor the abandoned
+infant.
+
+On reaching Drogheda, it was taken ashore for food and clothing, with
+the intention of returning it to Liverpool; but the captain refused to
+allow it to be brought aboard of his ship again. As no one in Drogheda
+had an interest in the child, it was left in Mrs. Bronte's hands. To
+be sure, there was a vestry tax at that time for the removal of
+illegitimate children, but Mrs. Bronte found it much easier to take
+the child home than to Dublin, where it might possibly be refused
+admission amongst the authorized foundlings--there being no hospital
+nearer than that point.
+
+When the infant was carried up out of the hold of the vessel, it was
+declared to be a Welsh child on account of its color. It might,
+doubtless, have laid claim to a more Oriental descent, but, when it
+became a Bronte, it was called "Welsh." The Brontes, who were all
+golden-haired, exceedingly disliked the swarthy infant, but "pity
+melts the heart to love," and Mrs. Bronte brought it up amongst her
+own children. Little Welsh was a weak, delicate, and fretful thing,
+and being generally despised and pushed aside by the vigorous young
+Brontes, he grew up morose, envious, and cunning. He used secretly to
+play many spiteful tricks upon the children, so that they were
+continually chastising him. On his part, he maintained a moody, sullen
+silence, except when Mr. Bronte was present to protect him. With Mr.
+Bronte he became a favorite, because he always ran to meet him on his
+return home, as if glad to see him, and anxious to render him any
+possible assistance. He followed his master about, while at home, with
+dog-like fidelity, telling him everything he knew to the other
+children's disadvantage, and thus succeeded in securing a permanent
+place between them and their father.
+
+Old Bronte took Welsh with him to fairs and markets, instead of his
+own sons, as soon as he was able to go, and found him of the greatest
+service. His very insignificance added to his usefulness. He would
+mingle with the people from whom Bronte wished to purchase cattle, and
+find out from their conversation the lowest price they would be
+willing to take, and then report to his master. Bronte would then
+offer the dealers a little less than he knew they wanted, and secure
+the cattle without the usual weary process of bargaining. The same
+course was repeated in Liverpool, and in the end Bronte became a rich
+and prosperous dealer. Welsh was now indispensable to him, and
+followed him like a shadow; but the more Bronte became attached to
+Welsh, the more the children hated the interloper. As time went on,
+Bronte's affairs passed more and more into his assistant's hands,
+until at last he had the entire management. They were returning from
+Liverpool once, after selling the largest drove of cattle that had
+ever crossed the channel, when suddenly Bronte died in mid-ocean.
+Welsh, who was with him at the time of his death, professed ignorance
+of his master's money; and, as all books and accounts had disappeared,
+no one could tell what had become of the cash received for the
+cattle.
+
+The young Brontes, who were now almost men and women, had been brought
+up in comparative luxury. They were well educated, but they understood
+neither farming nor dealing, and the land had been so neglected that
+it could not support a family, even if the requisite capital for its
+cultivation had not been lost. In this emergency Welsh requested an
+interview with the whole family. He declared that he had a proposal to
+make which would restore their fallen fortunes. He had been forbidden
+the house, but, as it was supposed that he was going to give back the
+money which he must have stolen, his request was reluctantly granted.
+
+Welsh appeared at the interview dressed up in broadcloth, black and
+shiny as his well-greased hair, and in fine linen, white and
+glistening as his prominent teeth. The effect was ludicrous to those
+who had always known the man. His sinister expression was intensified
+by a smile of satisfaction which gave emphasis to the cast in both
+eyes, and to his jackal-like mouth.
+
+He began at once, in the grand cattle-dealer style, to express
+sympathy with the family, and to declare that upon one condition only
+would he continue the dealing and supply their wants. This condition
+was that Mary, the youngest sister, should become his wife--a proposal
+which was rejected with indignant scorn. Many hot and bitter words
+were exchanged, but as Welsh was leaving the house, he turned and
+said, "Mary shall yet be my wife, and I will scatter the rest of you
+like chaff from this house, which shall be mine also." With these
+words he passed out into the darkness.
+
+The interview had two immediate results. It revealed the threatened
+dangers, and roused the brothers to an earnest effort to save their
+home. Welsh had robbed them, but he must not be permitted to ruin and
+disgrace them. They had many friends, and in a short time the three
+brothers were employed in remunerative occupations, two of them in
+England and one in Ireland. They were thus able to send home enough to
+pay the rent of the farm, and to maintain the family in comfort.
+
+The landlord of Bronte's farm was an "absentee," the estate being
+administered by an agent. He was the great man of the district, local
+magistrate, grand juror, and "Pasha" in general. A parliament of
+landlords had given him despotic powers in the collection of rent, and
+in all matters of property, limb, and life. The agent of those days
+was served by attorneys, bailiffs and sub-agents. Welsh was appointed
+to a vacancy as sub-agent, in return for a large bribe paid to the
+agent.
+
+The sub-agent's business was to act as buffer between the tenant and
+the "Squire," as the agent was called. He was generally a man without
+heart, conscience, or bowels. Selected from the basest of the people,
+he had nominal wages, never paid and never demanded; but he managed to
+squeeze a large amount out of the tenants, first by alarming them, and
+then by promising to stand their friend with the rapacious agent. He
+cringed and grovelled before the "Squire," but at the same time was
+the chief medium of information concerning the condition of the
+tenants, and their ability to pay their rents. One of his duties was
+to mix in their festivities, when whiskey had opened their hearts and
+loosened their tongues, and discover their ability to pay an increased
+rent.
+
+Welsh was the very man for this post. He had lived by cunning and
+treachery, and in his new occupation had great scope for serving both
+himself and his master. He seldom saw his tenants without letting
+drop the fatal word, "eviction." But, while serving the "Squire,"
+and recouping himself from the tenants for the bribe he had paid
+him, he never forgot for a moment his double purpose of securing his
+late master's farm, and with it, the person of Mary Bronte. He
+straightway drew the agent's attention to the derelict condition of
+the farm, and to the likelihood of the rent falling into arrears,
+and declared himself willing to undertake the burden of his late
+master's desolate homestead. The agent promised Welsh that the farm
+should be transferred to him, on payment of a certain sum, in case
+the Brontes were not able to pay the rent; but the rent did not
+fall into arrears. The agent's demands were punctually met, and
+besides this, considerable sums of money were spent in improving the
+house and the land. In consequence of this the rent was raised, but
+the increased rent was paid the day it fell due, and again raised.
+
+Finding himself foiled, Welsh changed his tactics, and turned his
+attention to the other object of his quest, Mary Bronte.
+
+In the neighborhood there lived a female sub-agent called Meg, as base
+and unprincipled as himself. Her services were utilized in many ways;
+in conveying bottles of whiskey to farmers' wives who were getting
+into drinking habits, and in aiding farmers' sons and daughters to
+dispose of eggs and apples and meal purloined from their parents in
+return for trinkets which they wished to possess. She had also great
+skill in furthering the wicked designs of rich but immoral men. She
+was the "spey-woman" who told fortunes to servant-girls, and lured
+them to their destruction. Like the male sub-agents, such women were
+supposed to have the black art, and to have sold themselves to the
+devil.
+
+Meg came often to tell the servants' fortunes, and had many
+opportunities of assuring Mary of Welsh's love and goodness. She told
+how he had restrained the agent for several years from evicting them,
+by the payment of large sums. All of this seemed incredible to the
+simple-minded girl, but the harpy was able to show receipts for the
+money thus expended.
+
+After a time, Mary listened to the vile woman's tale. Welsh could
+not be so bad as they believed him to be. Flowers taken from
+tenants' gardens found their way to Mary's room, and trinkets wrung
+from the anguish-stricken, in fear of eviction, were laid on her
+dressing-table. At length, she consented to meet Welsh in a lonely
+part of the farm, in company with the harpy, that she might express to
+him her gratitude for protecting the dear old home.
+
+That meeting sealed Mary's fate, and she was forced to consent to
+marry Welsh. The marriage was secretly performed by one of the
+"buckle-beggars" of the time, and then publicly proclaimed. Welsh was
+now the husband of one of the ladies on the farm, and, for a
+substantial bribe, the agent accepted him as tenant.
+
+The brothers on hearing the news hurried back to the old home, but
+arrived too late. The agent received them with great courtesy. They
+reminded him that their ancestors had reclaimed the place from mere
+bog and wilderness; that their father had expended large sums in
+building the houses and draining the land; that they themselves had
+paid exorbitant rents without demur; and that now their old home with
+all of these improvements had been confiscated, without cause or
+notice, by the man who had robbed and degraded the family.
+
+The agent seemed greatly pained, but of course he was only an agent,
+and obliged to do whatever the landlord desired. Failing to get
+redress from the agent, the brothers unfortunately took the law into
+their own hands, and were arrested for trespass and assault. They were
+tried before the agent, and sent to prison and hard labor.
+
+Thus the man Welsh, who afterward assumed the name Bronte, carried out
+his purpose. His threat of vengeance was also fulfilled. Mother,
+sisters, were scattered abroad, and so effectively that I have not
+been able, after much searching, to find a single trace of any of them
+save Hugh and his descendants.
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+THE KIDNAPPING OF HUGH BRONTE.
+
+Hugh Bronte first makes his appearance as if he had just stepped out
+of a Bronte novel. His father, a man in prosperous circumstances, had
+a large family, and resided somewhere in the south of Ireland, in a
+comfortable home, the exact locality being unknown.
+
+Some time about the middle of the last century, this entire family was
+thrown into excitement by the arrival of an uncle and aunt of whom
+they had never heard. The children did not like them at first, but, as
+they remained guests for a considerable time, these impressions wore
+off.
+
+These newly discovered relatives were the foundling Welsh and his
+wife, Mary. Their visit occurred many years subsequent to the events
+recorded in the last chapter. In the meantime, the house, from which
+the Brontes had been driven by fraud, had been burnt to the ground,
+thus destroying all of Welsh's ill-gotten riches, and leaving him a
+poor and ruined man. But Welsh was always able to subordinate his
+pride to his interests, and, through his wife, he opened up a
+correspondence with one of her brothers, prosperously settled in
+Ireland. Welsh expressed deep penitence for all of his wrong-doing,
+and declared his earnest desire, if forgiven, to make amends.
+
+He and Mary were then childless, and getting on in years. They
+professed to be troubled at the prospect of the farm passing into the
+hands of strangers for lack of an heir. They offered, therefore, to
+adopt one of their numerous nephews and to bring him up as their own
+son. Conditions of adoption were agreed upon, including education, but
+a solemn oath was taken by the father never to communicate with his
+son in any way. Welsh and Mary also bound themselves never to let the
+child know where his father lived.
+
+The family oath in Ireland is regarded with superstitious awe, and
+binds like destiny. The man who breaks it is perjured and abandoned
+beyond all hope of salvation, here or hereafter.
+
+Hugh Bronte was about five or six years old when Welsh and Mary made
+the visit to his parents, and he soon became a great favorite with the
+newcomers.
+
+Many years later, the old man, when "beeking" a cornkiln in County
+Down, used to tell the simple incidents of that night. He had waited
+with impatience the local dressmaker, who had brought him home late at
+night a special suit of clothes to travel in. When they were fitted
+on, he was raised into a chair to give the dressmaker "beverage," as
+the first kiss in new clothes is called in Ireland. It is a mark of
+especial favor, and supposed to confer good luck. Hugh's sisters
+thronged around him for "second beverage," but the kiss and squeeze of
+the dressmaker remained a life-long memory. He always believed that
+she had a presentiment of his fate, for her voice choked and her eyes
+filled with tears, as she turned away from him.
+
+His mother never seemed happy about his going away, but her opposition
+was always borne down. For the few days previous, she had been
+accustomed to take him on her lap, and, with eyes full of tears, heap
+endearing epithets upon him, such as, "My sweet flower;" but he did
+not appreciate her sympathy, and always broke away from her. His
+father lifted him in his arms, carried him out into the darkness, and
+placed him gently between his uncle and aunt, on a seat with a raised
+back, which was laid across a cart from side to side. Sitting aloft,
+on this prototype of the Irish gig, little Hugh Bronte, with a heart
+full of childish anticipations, began his rough journey out into the
+big world.
+
+That Bronte covenant was indeed faithfully kept, for even when Mary,
+his aunt, visited Hugh in County Down about the beginning of this
+century, she could neither be coaxed nor compelled to give him, either
+directly or indirectly, the slightest clue by which he might discover
+the home of his childhood. It thus happened that Hugh Bronte was never
+able to retrace his steps to his father's house, after the darkness
+had closed around him, perched aloft on the cross-seat of a country
+cart, between his uncle and aunt. It was a cold night, and the child
+crept close under his aunt's wing for warmth. Soon he began to prattle
+in his childish way as he had done with his new friends for days, when
+suddenly a harsh torrent of corrosive words burst from Welsh,
+commanding him not to let another sound pass his lips. For a moment
+the child was stunned and bewildered, for the angry order fell like a
+blow. The young Bronte blood could not, however, rest passively in
+such a crisis. Disentangling himself from his aunt's shawl, Hugh drew
+towards his uncle and said, "Did you speak those unkind words to me?"
+
+"I'll teach you to disobey me, you magnificent whelp!" rasped out
+Welsh, bringing his great hand down with a sharp smack on the little
+fellow's face.
+
+Hurt and angry, little Bronte sprang from the seat into the bottom of
+the cart and, facing the cruel uncle, shouted:
+
+"I won't go with you one step further! I will go back and tell my
+father what a bad old monster you are!" and then clutching at the
+reins, screamed: "Turn the horse around and take me home!"
+
+A heavy hand grasped him, and choked the voice out of him. He was
+shaken and knocked against the bottom and sides of the cart, until he
+was able neither to escape nor to speak. Several hours later, he awoke
+and found himself lying in damp straw, sick, and sore, and hungry.
+Every jolt of the springless cart pained him.
+
+It was a moonlight night with occasional showers. He turned upon his
+side, and watched the two figures perched upon the seat above him,
+riding along in silence and caring nothing for him. A few hours before
+he had loved them passionately, and now he hated them to loathing. He
+felt the utter desolation of loneliness and home-sickness.
+
+That was the first night in his remembrance when he had ever neglected
+to say his prayers. He rose to his knees, put up his little folded
+hands, and said the only prayer he knew. A sobbing sound escaped him
+and startled his uncle. He turned suddenly, and with his whip struck
+the kneeling child and prostrated him. The blow was followed by a
+hurricane of oaths and threats.
+
+The child was badly hurt, but he did not cry nor let his uncle know
+that he was suffering.
+
+Seventy years afterwards Hugh Bronte used to say, "I grew fast that
+night. I was Christian child, ardent lover, vindictive hater,
+enthusiast, misanthrope, atheist, and philosopher, in one cruel
+hour!"
+
+The sun was shining hot in his face when he awoke. The cart had been
+drawn up close to a little thatched cottage, in which there was a
+grocer's shop and a public house. He tried to get out of the cart, but
+was unable to do so. A blacksmith, whose smithy stood on the other
+side of the road, seeing his fruitless efforts, came and lifted him
+down. Just as he was beginning to recite the story of his wrongs his
+aunt, who had approached him from behind, caught his arms and led him
+gently into the cottage, where he had some potatoes and buttermilk. He
+slept by the kitchen fire until late in the afternoon without having
+been permitted to speak to a soul. He was still dreaming of home, when
+he was roughly awakened to mount the cart again. Heavy imprecations
+fell upon his aunt for detaining him to wash the blood-stains from
+his face. A penny "bap" was given him, and he was allowed to buy
+apples with the money which had been put by his brothers and sisters
+into the pockets of his new clothes as "hansel." "It was ten years,"
+said old Bronte, "before I fingered another penny that I could call my
+own!"
+
+As the shades of evening gathered, the journey was continued in a
+drizzling rain. A "bottle" of fresh straw had been added to the hard
+bed on which little Hugh was to spend the night. He arranged the straw
+under the cross-seat on which his uncle and aunt sat, so as to be
+sheltered from the rain, and, placing his heap of apples and the "bap"
+beside him, he settled down in comparative comfort for the night.
+
+The night was long, the rain incessant. The horse stumbled and
+splashed along, and the harsh uncle varied the monotony by whipping
+the horse into a trot, and swearing at it when it did trot. By ten
+o'clock the next morning a large village was reached, where was an inn
+of considerable importance. The child was carried, stiff and cold, and
+put to bed in a little room in this inn, no one but his aunt being
+allowed to come near him. She placed some bread and milk beside him,
+took away his clothes, and locked the door of his room.
+
+In the afternoon she returned bringing a suit of bottle-green corduroy
+with shining brass buttons, much too large for him. The trousers were
+so stiff that he could hardly sit down in them, and he hated the smell
+of corduroy. His own warm woolen garments had been exchanged for these
+others, and for a horse cover, which became his coverlet by night.
+Beneath it he slept more comfortably than before.
+
+At an early hour the following morning, while Hugh was still asleep,
+they reached another large town, and, as usual, the cart was drawn up
+at an inn, where the travellers passed the day. While Welsh was out in
+the town, and the aunt dozing by the fire, Hugh tried to tell the
+innkeeper the story of his wrongs, but neither could understand the
+other, owing to the man's brogue. The child's earnestness drew a
+little crowd around him, however, and he was just beginning to make
+himself understood, when his uncle returned suddenly and whisked him
+off to the cart to spend the long afternoon, until they resumed their
+journey at nightfall. Angry words passed between the innkeeper and his
+uncle, but no deliverance came. After another miserable night they
+arrived at Drogheda on the forenoon of the following day. Here they
+made a short pause, but he was not permitted to descend from the cart,
+nor communicate with any stranger. The party arrived at Welsh's home,
+on the banks of the Boyne, late in the afternoon.
+
+Such is the story of Hugh Bronte's journey to Welsh's house, as first
+told me by the Reverend William McAllister, and subsequently confirmed
+by four independent narrators. I have given a mere outline of the
+boy's experience on that dreadful journey, without attempting to
+reproduce Hugh Bronte's style. As told by the man in after years, it
+never failed to hold his listeners spell-bound. The stunted trees on
+the wind-swept mountains, the ghostly shadows on the moon-bleached
+plains, the desolate bogs on every side, the interminable stretches of
+road leading over narrow bridges and through shallow fords, the
+heavens on fire with stars, and the autumn stricken into gold by the
+setting sun, all lent color and reality to Hugh Bronte's eloquence.
+Mr. McAllister had heard most of the orators of his time, O'Connell
+and Chalmers and Cook, but no man ever roused and thrilled him by his
+dramatic power as did Hugh Bronte.
+
+Welsh Bronte traveled at night partly for economy, but more especially
+that little Hugh should see no landmark, by which his footsteps might
+ever be guided home. Do the incidents of the journey give us any clue
+to discover the region where Hugh Bronte lived? They spent four whole
+nights on the road, and traversed a distance from one hundred to one
+hundred and twenty miles.
+
+My own efforts to find the early home of Hugh Bronte resulted in
+discovering no trace or tradition of a Bronte family south of the
+Boyne. I have written hundreds of letters to various parts of Ireland
+with an equal lack of success, and it is probable that the exact
+locality will never be discovered. What is of more importance, is the
+fact that the ancient home of the Brontes, where Hugh's grandfather,
+the great-great-grandfather of the novelists, lived, was on the north
+side of the river Boyne between Oldbridge and Navan, not far from the
+spot where William of Orange won his famous battle. Some thirty-five
+years ago, the place where the Bronte house once stood, was pointed
+out to me. The potato-blight and other calamities have been steadily
+removing landmarks in Ireland, and it is not surprising that local
+tradition has now faded from the district. Few families there, of the
+rank of the Brontes, could trace their pedigrees to the seventh
+generation; but that the ancestors of the Brontes lived on the banks
+of the Boyne seven generations back is beyond all doubt.
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+A MISERABLE HOME.
+
+Upon arrival at their destination, Welsh seized his nephew and ward by
+the shoulders, and, looking fiercely in his face, informed him that
+his father was a mean and black-hearted scoundrel. Welsh declared that
+he had agreed to make Hugh his heir, with "the education of a
+gentleman," in consideration of the sum of fifty pounds, but, as the
+"spalpeen" had only paid five pounds, Hugh would have to work for his
+bread and go without education; all emphasized by very strong words.
+
+There was present at this family interview a tall, gaunt, half-naked
+savage called Gallagher, who expressed audible approval of Welsh's
+remarks, and, at their close, called on the Blessed Virgin and all the
+saints to _blast_ Hugh's father and protect his uncle. This
+sanctimonious individual was the steward of Welsh's house, and had
+formerly been his most valuable ally. Hugh's father had once denounced
+Gallagher as a spy at a public gathering, whence he had been
+ignominiously ejected, and, in return, he had supplied the false
+evidence which led to the imprisonment and conviction of the three
+brothers. Gallagher had been of service to Welsh in many ways. He had
+aided Meg in the schemes which led to Mary Bronte becoming Welsh's
+wife, and he had been a partner with Meg in the foundling business.
+Their ways of dealing with superfluous children had been effective.
+These were supposed to be carried to the Dublin Foundling Hospital,
+but, inasmuch as no questions were asked, and no receipts given, the
+guilty parents were satisfied that their offspring should go "where
+the wicked cease from troubling." Gallagher was the original from
+which Emily Bronte drew her portrait of Joseph, in "Wuthering
+Heights," just as Heathcliff is modelled on Welsh. It was to the
+companionship of this human monster that Welsh committed his little
+nephew and ward. His name became of common use in County Down as a
+synonym for objectionable persons, and is so still.
+
+As soon as Welsh and Gallagher ceased speaking, Hugh looked around the
+mansion to which he had become presumptive heir. A happy pig with a
+large family lay on one side of the room, and a stack of peat was
+heaped up on the other side of the great open chimney. A broad, square
+bed stood in the end of the room, raised about a foot from the ground.
+The damp, uneven, earthen floor was unswept. On the backs of a few
+chairs, upholstered with straw ropes, a succession of hens perched,
+preliminary to flight to the cross-beams close up to the thatch. A
+lean, long-backed, rough-haired yellow dog stood by his side smelling
+him, without signs of welcome. Hugh listened to his uncle's hard,
+rasping words, and in reply said:
+
+"Are you going home soon?"
+
+"You are at home now," declared his uncle. "This is the only home you
+shall ever know, and you are beholden to me for it. Your father was
+glad to be rid of you, and this is your gratitude to me! No airs here,
+my fine fellow. Get to bed out of my way, and I'll find you something
+to do in the morning."
+
+But in the morning the child was unable to leave the bed where he had
+lain across his uncle and aunt's feet, his slumbers incessantly
+disturbed by the grunting, squealing pigs. Welsh arose early to let
+out the animals, and then dragged little Hugh from his bed to resume
+the responsibility of heirship. The child tottered to the floor. His
+uncle's fierce imprecations could not exorcise fever and delirium, and
+for many weeks little Hugh lingered between life and death. He
+remained weak and unable to go out during the winter, but he made many
+friends, of which the chief was the rough yellow dog. The child in
+return loved the great shaggy creature with all the strength of his
+poor crushed heart. But better than the devotion of the fowls, the pig
+and the dog, his Aunt Mary conceived a great affection for him, and
+grew to love him during his illness as her own child. When Welsh was
+absent, she would give him an egg, or a little fresh butter from the
+"meskin" prepared for market, or even a cup of peppermint tea; and
+over this, she told him secretly the tragic story of the Bronte
+family. In after years it was a satisfaction to Hugh to know that his
+cowardly uncle was no Bronte after all, and not even an Irishman.
+
+The spring came early that year, and with it health and vigor. Hugh's
+aunt had told him of the burning of the old Bronte house. The squalor
+and wretchedness of Welsh's home, into which so many things crept at
+night, compared with the ruins of the house in which his father had
+been reared, made a lasting impression upon Hugh's mind. But he was
+not left long to such reflections. As soon as he was able to go, he
+was sent to herd cattle, which were housed at night in the ruined
+rooms of the burnt edifice, with his dog, Keeper, for a faithful
+companion. Emily Bronte's love for her dog, which was actually named
+Keeper, was a weak platonic affair compared with the tie that bound
+the desolate boy and friendless dog together.
+
+In no land has attachment to home so firm a grip of the heart as in
+Ireland. Year followed year in slow procession, but Hugh grew up in
+solitariness, and his heart never ceased to yearn for the lost friends
+of his old home. His corduroy suit soon grew too small for him, and
+when his boots became unwearable, he was obliged to go bare-footed.
+His highest enjoyment was to be away with his dog somewhere, remote
+from the espionage of Gallagher, and the violent blasphemy of Welsh.
+But his idle days among the bees in the clover soon gave place to
+sterner duties. He had to gather potatoes in sleet and rain, collect
+stones from winter fields to drain bog-land, perform the drudgery of
+an ill-cultivated farm from sunrise to sunset, and then thresh and
+winnow grain in the barn until near midnight. His uncle hated him
+fiercely and bitterly, and once told him that he could never beat him
+when he did not deserve it, because, like a goat, he was always either
+going to mischief, or coming from it.
+
+Hugh found Gallagher's cunning malignity harder to endure than the
+harsh cruelty of his uncle. The boy's clear instinct told him that
+Gallagher was a bad man, but sometimes his pent-up heart would
+overflow to the one human being near him in his working hours. When
+Gallagher had got all the secrets of the boy from him, he would
+denounce him to Welsh in such a way as to best stir up his cruelty; or
+he would mock at Hugh's rags, and tell him that all of his evils had
+come upon him because of his father's sins, assuring him that the
+Devil would carry him away from the barn some night, as he had often
+taken bad men's sons before.
+
+The cruelties practised upon the boy were Gallagher's base revenge for
+the whippings formerly administered to him by Hugh's father. Every
+means that cunning could devise was employed to render the boy's life
+miserable. He would purloin eggs, break the farming-tools, and maim
+the cattle in order to have him beaten by his uncle, a ceremony which
+he always managed to witness.
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+ESCAPE FROM CAPTIVITY.
+
+Nothing in Ireland is supposed to test a man's honesty so severely as
+a bog lying contiguous to his own land. "If a man escape with honor as
+a trustee, try him with a bit of bog," is an Irish proverb. This
+temptation had come in Welsh's way when a sub-agent. He had robbed the
+Brontes of their farm, why should he hesitate to add a slice of bog to
+it? The owner was known as an objectionable tenant who had dared to
+vote contrary to his landlord, and there was not likely to be any
+trouble, for the bog was of little use to anybody, all of the turf
+having been removed, leaving only a swamp covered with star-grass, and
+tenanted by water-hen, coots and snipe.
+
+The agent agreed to let Welsh have his neighbor's bog for a
+consideration. Welsh paid the sum demanded, but the tenant, being a
+cantankerous person, did not fall in pleasantly with this arrangement.
+Difficulties were raised. The plundering of the Brontes had been
+watched by their neighbors with sullen indignation, but, when it
+became known that the sub-agent was about to grasp the property of
+another farmer, the smouldering fire burst into a conflagration. At
+this crisis, the agent was murdered, and Welsh's house was burnt to
+the ground.
+
+The ownership of the bog now remained for a long time in a doubtful
+condition. Welsh lost his official position, and for years the new
+agent gave promises to both claimants, and accepted presents from
+both. The landlord would of course decide the matter upon his return
+to Ireland, but, in the meantime, both paid rent for the bog and then
+fought for the useless star-grass.
+
+Welsh maintained his claim until one day, after many hot words with
+the owner, blows ensued, and the trespasser was badly beaten. He
+called on Hugh, who was then a large boy of fifteen, for help; but he
+called in vain, for Hugh had overhead a full recital of his uncle's
+crimes before the battle began. He heard him accused to his teeth of
+murdering old Bronte for his money, and of betraying his daughter in
+order to rob the family of the estate. The misery he had brought to
+many homes was comprehensively set forth; and Hugh believed his uncle
+to be absolutely in the wrong in his attempt to take possession of his
+neighbor's property, and deserving of the beating he received.
+Besides, this neighbor had always treated Hugh kindly, and had
+frequently shared with him his collation of bread and milk in the
+fields in the afternoon.
+
+This battle led to important issues. Welsh was carried home bleeding
+by Gallagher and Hugh, and put to bed. On the following morning he
+sent for Hugh, and in a choking passion demanded why he had not helped
+him in the fight. Hugh replied that he considered his uncle in the
+wrong and any assistance unfair. Inasmuch as Welsh could not get out
+of bed to chastise him, the boy seized his long-deferred opportunity,
+and pleaded his case with a courage that surprised himself. He told
+his uncle that he was a false and cruel bully, who thoroughly merited
+a beating at the hands of the man he had tried to rob, and, carried
+away by his rising passion, he informed him that he knew he was not a
+true Bronte, but a gutter-monster, who had stolen the name, defiantly
+adding that he hoped before long to avenge his ancestors for the
+desecration of their name by thrashing him himself.
+
+Having delivered this speech Hugh realized that another crisis in his
+life had arrived. Even the chaff bed in the half-roofed barn would now
+cease for him. His uncle's house was no longer childless. A son and
+heir had appeared upon the scene a twelve-month before, and Hugh knew
+that he had nothing except harsh treatment to expect in the future. He
+could not even hope, in the event of his uncle's death, to inherit the
+old Bronte home and restore its fallen fortunes, for a legal heir was
+now in full possession. His uncle had declared his intention to punish
+him once for all, as soon as he got well, and a severe beating was
+his immediate prospect.
+
+In a few days Welsh was out of bed and able to move about, his head
+wrapped in bandages and his two eyes in mourning. Hugh saw that the
+time had now come for him to shift for himself. He first resolved to
+fight his uncle, but wisely concluded that, even if victorious, this
+would only make his position in the house more unendurable. Then he
+resolved on flight, but how could he fly? If followed and brought
+back, his state with his uncle would be worse than ever. Besides, he
+was almost naked, for the few rags that hung around him left his body
+visible at many points.
+
+Hugh was now in a state of rebellion, and in his desperation he went
+to his uncle's enemy. He told this chastiser the full tale of his
+sorrows, and found him a sympathizing and resourceful ally.
+
+The day on which Hugh was to get his great beating arrived. Everybody
+except Gallagher awaited it in gloomy silence. Even Keeper seemed to
+know what was coming. Welsh had provided himself with a stout hazel
+rod which he playfully called "the tickler." Aunt Mary's eyes were, as
+usual, red with weeping. The chastisement was to be administered when
+the cattle were brought home at midday.
+
+Hugh and Gallagher spent that morning weeding in a field of oats in a
+remote corner of the farm. Hugh was silent, but Gallagher passed the
+whole morning in jeers, and taunts, and mockery.
+
+As the hour arrived for Hugh to go for the cows, Gallagher surpassed
+all previous brutality by telling Hugh that he had once been his
+mother's lover. He was proceeding to develop this false and cruel tale
+when Hugh, stung to the quick, and blind with passion, sprang upon his
+mother's defamer like a tiger. There was a short fierce struggle, and
+Hugh had his tormentor on the ground beating his face into a jelly,
+while Keeper was engaged in tearing the ruffian's clothes to shreds.
+
+Hugh's fury cooled when Gallagher no longer resisted. Throwing his
+"thistle-hook" on top of the prostrate form, he walked into the house.
+He bade his aunt, who was baking bread, good-by, kissed the baby, and
+then left to bring home the cattle to be milked. Keeper, who had laid
+aside his melancholy during the encounter with Gallagher, responded to
+his master's whistle by barking and gambolling as if to keep up his
+spirits. As Hugh turned for a last look at the old Bronte home, he saw
+Gallagher approaching Welsh, who was waiting near the cow-shed,
+evidently enjoying the pleasures of the imagination.
+
+The cattle were grazing on the banks of the Boyne, near the spot where
+a wing of William's army crossed on that era-making day in 1690. Hugh
+proceeded to the river and divested himself of his rags, preparatory
+to a plunge, as was his wont. He told Keeper to lie down upon his heap
+of tattered garments; then throwing himself down naked beside his
+faithful friend, he took him in his arms, kissed him again and again,
+and, starting up with a sob, plunged headlong into the river.
+
+Keeper could not see his master enter the river, nor mark the
+direction in which he had gone, owing to a little ridge. It was a swim
+for life. The current soon carried him opposite the farm of his
+uncle's enemy, who awaited his approach in a clump of willows by the
+water's edge. He had brought with him an improvised suit of clothes to
+further the boy's escape. The pockets of the coat were stuffed with
+oat-bread, and there were a few pence in the pockets of the trousers.
+Hugh hurried on these garments, which were much too large for him, and
+thrust his feet, the first time for seven years, into a pair of boots.
+With a heart full of gratitude, and a final squeeze of the hand,
+unaccompanied by words from either, Hugh Bronte started on his race
+for life and freedom.
+
+With buoyant spirits Hugh sped on the road to Dunleer, where he
+did not pause, and continuing his flight struck straight for
+Castlebellingham. He did not know where the road led to, nor whither
+he was going, but he believed there was a city of refuge ahead, and
+his pace was quickened by the fear of the avenger at his heels.
+
+As he approached Castlebellingham he heard a car coming behind him, so
+he hid behind a fence until it had passed. It was filled with
+policemen, but Welsh was not on the car. He reached Dundalk at an
+early hour, and after a short sleep in a hay-rick, continued his
+journey, not by the public road, but eastward through level fields
+where now runs the Dundalk and Greenore railway. He spent his last
+copper in a small public house for a little food, and then started for
+Carlingford, which the publican had told him was an important town
+behind the mountain. After a couple of hours of wandering by the
+shore, he turned inland, and came upon lime-kilns at a place called
+Mount Pleasant, or Faquahart. These kilns were known as Swift
+McNeil's, and people came great distances to purchase lime for
+agricultural and building purposes.
+
+When Hugh arrived, there were thirty or forty carts from Down, Armagh,
+and Louth, waiting for their loads, and there were not enough hands to
+keep up the supply. Limestone had to be quarried, wheeled to the
+kilns, then broken, and thrown in at the top with layers of coal.
+After burning for a time the lime was drawn out from the eye of the
+kiln into shallow barrels, and emptied into carts, the price being so
+much per barrel.
+
+Here Hugh Bronte found his first job, and regular remuneration for his
+free labor. In a short time he had earned enough money to provide
+himself with a complete suit of clothes. His wages more than supplied
+his wants, and he had a great deal to spare for personal adornment.
+Being steady, and better dressed than the other workers, he was soon
+advanced to the responsible position of overseer.
+
+Hugh became a favorite with purchasers and employers. Among the
+regular customers were the Todds and McAllisters of Ballynaskeagh and
+Glascar, in County Down. Their servants were often accompanied by a
+youth named McGlory, who drove his own cart.
+
+McGlory and Bronte, who were about the same age, resembled each other
+in the fiery color of their hair. They became great friends, and it
+was arranged that Bronte should visit McGlory in County Down during
+the Christmas holidays. This visit was fraught with important
+consequences for Hugh, and marked an epoch in his eventful career.
+
+
+
+
+EDITOR'S ANNOUNCEMENT.--In the September number of McClure's Magazine
+will be told the romantic story of Hugh Bronte's courtship, and his
+elopement with Alice McGlory upon the very day appointed by her family
+for her marriage with Joe Burns.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Transcribers Note
+
+Table of Contents and Illustration List added.
+
+Passages in italics indicated by _underscores_.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of McClure's Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 3,
+August, 1893, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE, AUGUST, 1893 ***
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