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diff --git a/35610-h/35610-h.htm b/35610-h/35610-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b4a5b24 --- /dev/null +++ b/35610-h/35610-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8943 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title>McClure's Magazine, Vol. I, No. 3, August 1893, a Project Gutenberg eBook</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + @media all { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; text-indent: 0; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + } + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + + .chsp {margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em;} + .chsub {font-size: .8em;} + .figtag {height: 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .smcaplc {text-transform: lowercase; font-variant: small-caps;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + div.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em;} + div.poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + div.poem p.indent10 {padding-left:7.0em;} + div.poem p.indent2 {padding-left:3.8em;} + div.poem p.indent20 {padding-left:11.0em;} + div.poem p.indent4 {padding-left:4.6em;} + div.poem p.indent6 {padding-left:5.4em;} + hr.mini {width: 20%; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both; margin: 1em auto;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + + .caption {text-align: center; font-size: small;} + .center, .center p {text-align: center;} + .figcenter {margin: 1em auto 1em auto; text-align: center; width: auto; clear: both;} + .figleft {padding: .5em .5em 0 0; float: left; width: auto; clear: left;} + .figright {padding: .5em 0 0 .5em; float: right; width: auto; clear: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: 0.25em; text-decoration: none; background-color: #DDD; font-size: .9em;} + .larger {font-size: large;} + .padtop {margin-top: 2em;} + .ralign {text-align: right;} + .sig1 {display: block;padding-right: 14em;} + .sig2 {display: block;padding-right: 5em;} + .sig3 {display: block;padding-right: 1em; padding-top:.25em;} + .smaller {font-size: small;} + .trnote {background-color: #EEE; color: inherit; margin: 2em 5% 1em 5%; font-size: small; padding: 0.5em 1em 0.5em 1em; border: dotted 1px gray;} + blockquote {display: block; margin: .75em 5%; font-size: 90%;} + div.poem {text-align: center; width: 22em; margin: auto;} + h1,h2,h3,h4 {text-align: center; clear:both;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em; clear: both;} +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<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’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'>“Human Documents.”</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’ 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’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’s “Treasures.”</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 “Leda.”</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’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’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'>“I Ain’t No Missionary!”</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_80'>269</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>“Excellent Claret,” 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'>“No Violence, Jim!”</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_83'>272</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>“What Is Your Annual Income as a Burglar?”</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.—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—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>“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.”</p> +<p>Field scowled savagely.</p> +<p>“O say, Garland, can’t we put that +thing off?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +bet,” said Garland, sharpening a pencil.</p> +<p>“Where you wan’to begin?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Well, I was born in St. Louis.”</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>“Is that so?” the interviewer showed +an unprofessional surprise. “Why, I +thought you were born in Massachusetts?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“So you’re forty-three? Where does +the New England life come in?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Garland looked up from his scratchpad +to ask, “This was at Amherst?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“You’re right there, Field, only I +didn’t know you felt it so deeply. I +supposed you hated farm life.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“Well, now, going back to that +visit,” said the interviewer with persistency +to his plan.</p> +<p>“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?”</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’S HOME AT BUENA PARK, CHICAGO.<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>“Well, I should say. A sermon at +nine years! Field, you started in +well.”</p> +<p>“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:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>“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.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“Is this the first and last of your +sermons?” queried Garland, with an +amused smile.</p> +<p>“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.’”</p> +<p>“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 +<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. ‘Will this popery +never cease?’ was all she said, and out +she flounced.”</p> +<p>“Yes, that was the old Puritan idea +of it. But did live——”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.</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>“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.</p> +<p>“You’ll see that I signed my name, +those days, ‘E. P. Field.’ The ‘P.’ +stands for Phillips.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Are you a college man?” asked +Garland. “I’ve noticed your deplorable +tendency toward the classics.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“What happened then?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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’ve +got a streak of Southern feeling in me.” +He said abruptly, “I’m an aristocrat. +I’m looking for a Męcenas. 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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>Garland looked up from his pad.</p> +<p>“You must have had. Did you +‘blow in the whole business’?”</p> +<p>“Pretty near. I <i>swatted</i> 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.”</p> +<p>“Came home when the money gave +out, I reckon?”</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>“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:</p> +<p>“‘All right. I’ll give you a chance, +but we don’t pay much.’ Of course, I +told him pay didn’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>“‘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.</p> +<p>“Well, when did you really +get into the work?” his friend +asked, for he seemed about to +go off into another by-path.</p> +<p>“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 +<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’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.”</p> +<p>“Have you ever drawn upon them +for material?” asked Garland with a +novelist’s perception of their possibilities.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Nothing else, but you earned it, no +doubt.”</p> +<p>“Earned it? Why, Great Scott! I +did the whole business except turning +the handle of the press.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“When did you do your first work in +verse?” 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. “<i>There!</i> +I’m glad you said <i>verse</i>. 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.”</p> +<p>“Give me a touch of it?” asked his +friend.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<h3>CHRISTMAS TREASURES.</h3> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>I count my treasures o’er with care,—</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—my all to me—</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>“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,—</p> +<p>What treasure for my boy?” 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,—</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>“I went next to the Kansas City +‘Times’ as managing editor. I wrote +there that ‘Little Peach,’ which still +chases me round the country.”</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’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>“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.”</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>“That brings you up to Chicago, +doesn’t it?”</p> +<p>“In 1883 Melville Stone asked me +to join him on the ‘News,’ and I did. +Since then my life has been uneventful.”</p> +<p>“I might not think so. Did you +establish the column ‘Sharps and Flats’ +at once?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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’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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“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 <i>element</i> where +I can tumble around and yell without +falling in a fit for lack of breath.”</p> +<p>The interviewer was scratching away +like mad—this was his chance.</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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!”</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>“I don’t know what’s coming upon +us.”</p> +<p>“Aha!” Garland exulted, “even +you are bitten with the same.”</p> +<p>He flung his hand out in quick deprecation.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span></div> +<p>“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.</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’S “TREASURES:” THE GLADSTONE AXE, C. A. DANA’S SHEARS, THE HORACES.<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>“Yes, that’s so, but that’s in the far +past,” Field admitted. Garland took +the thought up.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Field dodged the point.</p> +<p>“Yes, I like to do those boy-life +verses. I like to live over the joys +and tragedies—because we had our +tragedies.”</p> +<p>“Didn’t we! Weeding the onion-bed +on circus day, for example.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Your life in New England and the +South, and also in the West, has been +of great help to you, I think.”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span></div> +<p>“There’s no doubt of your being a +Westerner.”</p> +<p>“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!”</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>“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.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>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?”</p> +<p>“It can be done. It will come in the +course of events.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“Do you write rapidly?”</p> +<p>“I write my verse easily, but my +prose I sweat over. Don’t you?”</p> +<p>“I toil in revision even when I have +what the other fellows call an inspiration.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Well, what are your plans for the future—your +readers want to know that?”</p> +<p>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 <i>must</i> have +lived. The life we all live when boys.”</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—his voice a murmur, +hers a whisper.</p> +<p>“There they go. Youth! Youth!” +said Field.</p> +<blockquote> +<p><span class='smcap'>Note.</span>—A series of portraits of Mr. Field at different ages will be printed among the +“Human Documents” 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’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’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’s the Doomkeel. You may know her</p> +<p class='indent2'>By her clean run aft; and, then,</p> +<p>Don’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’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’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’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’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’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 “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.</p> +<p>“Mr. Wharton,” he cried, with a voice +like a rusty hinge.</p> +<p>A thin, knock-kneed officer shambled +across the poop to him.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>“I’ve opened the sealed orders, Mr. +Wharton.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</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’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>“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.”</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. “Colossus,” Antigua.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>The lieutenant twinkled and smiled.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“A brig on the port bow,” came a +voice from the forecastle.</p> +<p>“A brig on the port bow,” 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>“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.”</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’s +bowsprit pointed straight for her little +victim.</p> +<p>“Is it the ‘Slapping Sal,’ sir?”</p> +<p>“I have no doubt of it, Mr. Wharton.”</p> +<p>“They don’t seem to like the look +of us, sir. They’ve cut their cable and +are clapping on sail.”</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>“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.”</p> +<p>“It was a mutiny, sir.”</p> +<p>“Ah, indeed!”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“That’s Hairy Hudson on the afterrail, +sir.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Another cable length will do it, sir.”</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>“The water’s shoaling rapidly, sir,” +reported the second lieutenant.</p> +<p>“There’s six fathoms, by the chart.”</p> +<p>“Four, by the lead, sir.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“Is it the ‘Jolly Roger,’ sir?” he +asked.</p> +<p>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?”</p> +<p>“We should do it with the launch +and the jolly-boat.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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—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>“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.”</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 “Gloire” 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 “Leda” as Captain Johnson had +the “Slapping Sal.”</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 “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.</p> +<p>“Not much sea room, Mr. Wharton,” +remarked the captain.</p> +<p>“I have fought actions in less, sir.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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!”</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 “Leda” +had to come back into the wind +to keep out of shoal water. The manœuvre +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.</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 “LEDA.”<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>“This is rare, Bobby,” said he, as +the lieutenant joined him. Then, suddenly +restraining himself, “What have +we lost, Mr. Wharton?”</p> +<p>“Our main-topsail yard and our gaff, +sir.”</p> +<p>“Where’s the flag?”</p> +<p>“Gone overboard, sir.”</p> +<p>“They’ll think we’ve struck. Lash +a boat’s ensign on the starboard arm +of the mizzen cross jack-yard.”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</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’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.</p> +<p>“Stand by to repel boarders!” yelled +the captain.</p> +<p>“Cutlasses, lads, cutlasses!” roared +Wharton.</p> +<p>“Hold your volley till they touch!” +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 “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.</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>“Clear away the wreck!” roared the +captain. “What the devil are they +firing at?”</p> +<p>“Get the guns clear!” panted the +lieutenant. “We’ll do them yet, boys!”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“They’re running! They’re running! +They’re running!”</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 “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.</p> +<p>But the “Leda” 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’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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“Are they all gone?”</p> +<p>“Every man. They must have sunk +with the wreck.”</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>“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!”</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>“HUMAN DOCUMENTS.”</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>“For of the soule the bodie forme doth take,</i></p> +<p><i>For soule is forme and doth the bodie make.”</i></p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p class='indent4'>—From “An Hymne in Honour of Beautie.”—<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'>ΦΒΚ</span> +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.</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 “Champion.” 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. “Les +Pailles Rompues” was produced at the Gymnase +Theatre in 1850, when Jules was but twenty-two +years old, and “Onze Jours de Siége” +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.</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—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>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I should have imagined more than +once,” I said, as we turned from the +ugly mass of twisted snakes.</p> +<p>“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, +<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’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.”</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’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>“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.”</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—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’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: “Once +I had to pack sixteen of these fellows +up for the Düsseldorf Zoölogical 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’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>“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.”</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>“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 +<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>“The most risky thing, however, that +ever occurred to me happened in +Munich during the Centennial Fźte 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.”</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>“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.”</p> +<p>“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 +<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>“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.)</p> +<p>“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!</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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?’</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>“‘Well,’ says I, ‘ef I don’t, somebody +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +else does; but I’d like to know what +this deestric’s goin’ to do fur a teacher.’</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>“‘Oh,’ she says, blushin’ more ’an +ever, ‘I am goin’ to teach my school +out.’</p> +<p>“‘An’ then what?’ says I.</p> +<p>“‘Then I’ll tell you,’ she says, and +run off laughin’.</p> +<p>“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.’</p> +<p>“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.’</p> +<p>“‘Oh,’ says I, ‘’tain’t that—they’re +both well ’nough; but how’s our little +girl goin’ to git along with Mis’ Curtis?’”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +away soon’s they could. That Jim must +’a’ been a fool!”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“More fool Jim!” snarled Mrs. +Johnson.</p> +<p>“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.</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>“One awful hot day I was there, an’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +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.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” snapped Mrs. Johnson, +“Mary Ann Curtis was a master at anything +she put her hand to.”</p> +<p>“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.’</p> +<p>“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.’</p> +<p>“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.’</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“As if you would have said anything, +you good soul!” said Mrs. Johnson.</p> +<p>“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:</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“‘Oh, she’s all right,’ says Jim.</p> +<p>“‘No, she ain’t,’ says I.</p> +<p>“Jim laughed, and his face reddened +up, and says I,</p> +<p>“‘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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“‘Why don’t you sing, Rhody?’ says +the ole man; ‘you used to sing like a +bird.’</p> +<p>“‘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.’</p> +<p>“After a while Jim an’ the ole man +they went out to the stable, and then +the pore little darlin’ says,</p> +<p>“‘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.’</p> +<p>“‘It’s a shame!’ says I; ‘why don’t +you tell Jim, and coax him to get another +place?’</p> +<p>“‘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.</p> +<p>“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’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,</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>“‘Nancy, Rhody’s got +a boy!’</p> +<p>“Laws! I was jist as +s’prised as ef I’d never +thought of sich a thing, +an’ says I, ‘Who tole +you?’</p> +<p>“‘Ole man Curtis,’ +says he, ‘an’ he’s that sot +up he wants you to come +right over.’</p> +<p>“‘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:</p> +<p>“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!</p> +<p>“‘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?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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’.</p> +<p>“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.’</p> +<p>“‘I suppose you’ve got a girl?’ +says I.</p> +<p>“‘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.</p> +<p>“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:</p> +<p>“‘Aunt Nancy, is my baby like Sary’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +baby?’ and she looked so pitiful I felt +as if I could cry.</p> +<p>“‘Well,’ I says, ‘Sary’s is bigger. +Why do you ask that?’</p> +<p>“Her lips quivered, an’ she says:</p> +<p>“‘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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</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>“‘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.</p> +<p>“‘Mis’ Curtis,’ says I, ‘my Sary’s a +different woman from Rhody.’</p> +<p>“‘I guess she is,’ says Mis’ Curtis, +mad as fire.</p> +<p>“‘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.’</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +stairs, an’ she didn’t mean to do it any +longer.</p> +<p>“Just then the kitchen door was +opened, and old Mr. Curtis came in.</p> +<p>“‘Why, howdy, Aunt Nancy?’ says +he as cheerful, though I knowed he +must have seen somethin’ was up.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I guess not, Mis’ Johnson,” said the +other; “she had sich a temper.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“‘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.’</p> +<p>“‘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.</p> +<p>“I says, ‘Well, it ain’t your fault; I +reckon you can’t make yourself eat.’</p> +<p>“She laughed a little. ‘You are such +a comfort, auntie!’ she says; ‘but that +wonderful tonic’ll set me up again.’</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“‘Mother Curtis?’ she whispered.</p> +<p>“‘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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span></div> +<p>“‘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.’</p> +<p>“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.</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>“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.</p> +<p>“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?’</p> +<p>“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,</p> +<p>“‘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.’</p> +<p>“‘Mis’ Curtis,’ says I, ‘Rhody’ll +not trouble you long; and it’s my belief,’ +says I, +‘you’ve hurried +her into her +grave.’</p> +<p>“‘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.’</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span></div> +<p>“‘It’s down stairs, Rhody,’ says I.</p> +<p>“She looked at me so queer.</p> +<p>“‘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.</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>“It was night when Rhody roused +up agin’, an’ she looked so much better +out of her eyes that I felt sort a cheered.</p> +<p>“‘Jim,’ she says, whispering, ‘is that +Aunt Nancy?’</p> +<p>“‘Yes, dear,’ he says.</p> +<p>“‘An’ has she got the baby?’ she +went on.</p> +<p>“Well, Jim didn’t say nothin’, pore +feller, an’ she says,</p> +<p>“‘Aunt Nancy, when Jim an’ me’s +keepin’ house you’ll come an’ see +us?’</p> +<p>“‘Yes, dear,’ I says. ‘Now go to +sleep, like a good girl.’</p> +<p>“‘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.’</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“How did Mary Ann take it?” said +Mrs. Johnson, wiping her eyes.</p> +<p>“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’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.’”</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 +“Aunt Nancy,” “What did poor Jim +do?”</p> +<p>The old lady’s face flushed. “Was +you a-listenin’?” says she.</p> +<p>“I couldn’t help it,” I said. “Poor +Rhoda! But what about Jim, Aunt +Nancy?”</p> +<p>“This way, Madam,” said the conductor +briskly. “Let me have your +valise.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.</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’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’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.</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’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’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: “How was it, then, Mrs. +Catheral, you never learned either to +read or write?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span></div> +<p>“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.</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>débutante</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—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’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.</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’ 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’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’ 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.</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 +“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.</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 coöperate +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—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—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’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—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.</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’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.</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’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’ 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’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.</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—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>“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.</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 “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.</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’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.</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 “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 +<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—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.</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’ 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.</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 “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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +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.</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—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 +<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’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—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, +<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’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—two of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +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.</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 “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 +<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’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.</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—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’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 +“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.</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’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—</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’ 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.</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—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.</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’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.</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—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’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:</p> +<p>“Upon which of your sons do you +intend to confer your mantle?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Why,” I exclaimed, “you are not +as high as that now.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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: +“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.</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’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.</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’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—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.</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'>“I’ll call thee Hamlet,</p> +<p>King, <i>Father</i>, royal Dane,”</p> +</div></div> +<p>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.</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 “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.</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 +“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:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p class='indent10'>“What do they in the North</p> +<p>When they should serve their sovereign in the West?”</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—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—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.</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—“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.</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 “Richard III.” I thought, just then, +“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.” 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—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.</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 “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 Cęsar de Bazan; but +there the fascination was in his superb +appearance and irresistible grace quite +as much as in dramatic power. His +Don Cęsar, 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, “How dare +you, sir?” 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’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.</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 “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.</p> +<p>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.</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—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 Phaėton. +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 Cęsar’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.</p> +<p>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.</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 +“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 +<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—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’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.</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 “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.</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’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’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.</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’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.</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 “<i>Sic Semper +Tyrannis</i>” 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.</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—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 +<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’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’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.</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—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’ +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’.</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'>“Last scene of all,</p> +<p>That ends this strange eventful history,”</p> +</div></div> +<p>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.</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’ 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.</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—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>“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.”</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>“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.”</p> +<p>“I’d settle him,” muttered Baxter, +surlily.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Yah! Don’t give me no more of +that!” said Baxter, contemptuously. +“I ain’t no missionary.”</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 +“M’Appari.”</p> +<p>“Not a bad haul,” observed Graham, +turning over the plunder as it +lay on the table. “<i>Two</i> watches?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span></div> +<p>“They’re them little tickers what +the girls carry,” said Baxter, scornfully. +“We won’t get two dollars apiece for +’em.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“There was no money,” remarked +Harry, adjusting his necktie before the +mirror, and giving his small blonde +mustache a curl.</p> +<p>“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—”</p> +<p>“Let up, will ye!” exclaimed Baxter, +roughly. “I ain’t killin’ nobody, +am I?”</p> +<p>“Certainly not; but I only say——”</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'> +“I AIN’T NO MISSIONARY!”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>“Say nothin’! where’s the feed +box?”</p> +<p>Mr. Graham groaned, and looked at +his young accomplice in comical alarm.</p> +<p>“I knew how it would be! Jim, +these luncheons will be the ruin of us +all some night.”</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“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, <i>do</i> be careful of the dishes, and +<i>don’t</i> grunt and puff while you’re eating. +It’s vulgar.”</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>“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?”</p> +<p>“I should say so,” exclaimed Graham, +with a look of disgust.</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>“Excellent claret, Wilson,” said the +young burglar, holding his glass up to +the light.</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“The whiskey’s all right,” interrupted +Baxter, curtly. “All whiskey’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +good; some’s better’n others, but it’s +all good. Blow claret!”</p> +<p>“No style about Jim,” said Harry, +with a smile that was half a sneer.</p> +<p>“No, you bet there ain’t,” said Baxter, +stolidly. “You oughter call me +‘Old Business,’ ’cause that’s what I am. +Pass them pickles.”</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>“No violence, Jim,” he said, sternly.</p> +<p>“I warn’t goin’ to shoot,” growled +Jim. “I was only goin’ to give him a +crack on the head.”</p> +<p>“I won’t have it,” returned Graham, +authoritatively. “Sit down.”</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>“Mr. Braithwait, +I presume?”</p> +<p>“That is my +name,” was the +composed reply. +“Burglars, I presume?”</p> +<p>“The presumption +is correct. Will +you take a seat?”</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>“I am sorry,” +said he, “you have +made your appearance, +as we can’t +very well apologize +for our intrusion.”</p> +<p>“No, I suppose +not,” said Mr. Braithwait, smiling. +“Yet I am rather pleased that I did +come, since I always enjoy an unusual +experience.”</p> +<p>“Glad you enjoy it,” muttered Baxter; +but no one listened to him.</p> +<p>“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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +I heard voices in this room, and I entered.”</p> +<p>“At the risk of your life,” observed +Graham, with a significant glance at +Baxter, who had resumed eating.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>He looked at Montgomery, who nodded +nonchalantly and lighted a cigarette.</p> +<p>Mr. Braithwait coughed.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Graham laughed with genuine enjoyment, +yet without vulgarity.</p> +<p>“I like you,” he said, frankly, “and +I am sorry that, in the line of business——” +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'> +“EXCELLENT CLARET,” SAID HARRY.<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“That is understood. As a business +man I accept the situation. My loss +is your gain.”</p> +<p>At this the youngest burglar broke +silence for the first time.</p> +<p>“You are a philosopher,” he said, in +a tone of admiration.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“So is ours,” +said the youngest +burglar. “As +Horace says in his +‘Epistles’: ‘Cędimur, +et totidem +plagis consumimus +hostem.’”</p> +<p>“Permit me,” +returned Mr. +Braithwait, “to +reply with Catullus: +‘Nil mihi +tam valde placeat, +Rhamnusia virgo, +quod temere invitis +suscipiatur +heris.’”</p> +<p>Montgomery flushed slightly, and +Baxter growled an incoherent protest +against the use of foreign languages.</p> +<p>“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 +<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.”</p> +<p>“Not for worlds,” murmured Mr. +Montgomery.</p> +<p>“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?”</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'> +“NO VIOLENCE, JIM!”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>“We’ve been there before,” said +Baxter, coarsely.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Indeed?” queried Graham, with +perceptible stiffness. “Why?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“On an average, I should say three +thousand a year.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span></div> +<p>“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!——”</p> +<p>“But,” spoke up Montgomery, quickly, +“there is fame, if not fortune.”</p> +<p>“Pardon me. In what way?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“I hope,” said Mr. Braithwait, gently, +“I won’t offend you when I say I +never heard of those gentlemen.”</p> +<p>“Is it possible!”</p> +<p>“Honestly, I never did.”</p> +<p>“You have surely heard of Red +Leary?”</p> +<p>“I can’t recall his name.”</p> +<p>“George Post? Louis Ludlum? Pete +McCartney? Miles Ogle?”</p> +<p>“Don’t know them.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” sarcastically, “you don’t +read the papers?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Yet there <i>are</i> famous names in our +profession,” persisted the young burglar, +somewhat sullenly.</p> +<p>“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.”</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'> +“WHAT IS YOUR ANNUAL INCOME AS A BURGLAR?”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>“I don’t know about that,” protested +Baxter, doggedly. “Who’d give +<i>me</i> a job?”</p> +<p>“Did you ever try?”</p> +<p>“No; nor I ain’t goin’ to!”</p> +<p>“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.”</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’s +relief.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Is not the sympathy to which you +allude confined to murderers, especially +those who kill their wives?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“We come four,” growled Baxter.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“There warn’t no choice,” said Baxter, +savagely. “We <i>had</i> to walk.”</p> +<p>“There it is,” said Mr. Braithwait, +triumphantly, “you <i>had</i> 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.”</p> +<p>“The point,” admitted Mr. Graham, +reluctantly, “is well taken.”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>“You use strong language, sir,” exclaimed +the youngest burglar, rising +and pacing the floor in an agitated +way.</p> +<p>“I do,” admitted the master of the +house, “because my business sense is +outraged by your stupidity.”</p> +<p>“Stupidity!” echoed Graham, +sharply.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Granted,” said Mr. Braithwait.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Ay! could we?” supplemented +Montgomery, with flashing eyes.</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“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.”</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>“And yet,” retorted +Graham, +with a slight sneer, +“<i>you</i> have been +robbed.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Hello!” said Baxter, breathing +hard. “Have you been up to somethin’?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“I did,” answered Graham, +confidently.</p> +<p>“Do you know that I +am a railroad man?”</p> +<p>“Certainly.”</p> +<p>“Did you notice a wire +running through the woods at the rear +of my house?”</p> +<p>“No!” cried Graham, violently.</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“And while you +kept us engaged +in conversation—” +cried Graham, advancing +threateningly.</p> +<p>“The police were +coming on a special +train to my assistance,” +said Mr. +Braithwait, taking a +second cigar.</p> +<p>“Damn you!” +exclaimed Baxter, +threateningly.</p> +<p>“Stop!” cried +Graham, interposing. +“We have no +time for that. Let us run!”</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>“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?”</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>“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.”</p> +<p>“Thanks,” said Mr. Braithwait. +“Did I not tell you that you were +stupid?”</p> +<p>Mr. Graham bowed.</p> +<p>“You have taught us a lesson,” he +said gravely. “I think it is time to +abandon the business.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll be——” Baxter gasped, +and could say no more.</p> +<p>“We are disgraced!” exclaimed the +youngest burglar, bitterly.</p> +<p>Mr. Braithwait waved his hand.</p> +<p>“I am sleepy,” he said, with a yawn. +“Gentlemen, good-night; I will see you +again—in court.”</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 “THE BRONTĖS IN IRELAND.”</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 +Brontė 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’s “Life of Charlotte +Brontė” is an exquisite tribute from a +gifted hand, but Mrs. Gaskell’s dreary +moorlands are as inadequate to account +for the Brontė genius, as the general +picture of suppressed sadness is unwarranted +by the Brontė letters, or by +the living testimony of Miss Ellen +Nussey, Charlotte’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 +“disillusioning” of Charlotte at Brussels +is a pure assumption, and repudiated +with indignation by Miss Nussey.</p> +<p>Mr. Augustine Birrell’s brilliant “Life +of Charlotte Brontė” 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.”</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, “The +Brontė 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.”</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 Brontės +in Ireland. I propose in the following +pages to supply the Irish straws of +Brontė 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 Brontės 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 Brontė (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 Brontė’s early life, or narrate +other Brontė adventures, which he +assured me were just as worthy to be +recounted as the wrath of Achilles or +the wanderings of Pius Ęneas. It +thus happened that I wrote screeds of +the Brontė novels myself before a line +of them had been penned at Haworth. +I do not think that Branwell Brontė +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +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.</p> +<p>Through my teacher’s relatives, who +lived quite near to the Brontės, 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 Brontės, 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 Brontės, as well as their near +neighbor. He recognized the Brontė +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 Brontė’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.</p> +<p>There are also several other persons, +some of them still living, who knew +the Brontės, 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 Brontė’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. Brontė, 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. Brontė 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. Brontė’s +hands. To be sure, there was a vestry tax +at that time for the removal of illegitimate +children, but Mrs. Brontė 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.</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 Brontė, it was +called “Welsh.” The Brontės, who +were all golden-haired, exceedingly disliked +the swarthy infant, but “pity +melts the heart to love,” and Mrs. +Brontė 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 Brontės, 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. Brontė was present to protect him. +With Mr. Brontė 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, +<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 Brontė 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 Brontė 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. Brontė 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 +Brontė became a rich and prosperous +dealer. Welsh was now indispensable +to him, and followed him like a +shadow; but the more Brontė became +attached to Welsh, the more the children +hated the interloper. As time +went on, Brontė’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 Brontė +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.</p> +<p>The young Brontės, 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—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.</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 Brontė’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.</p> +<p>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, +<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 “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.</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, “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 Brontė. 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 Brontės 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.</p> +<p>Finding himself foiled, Welsh changed +his tactics, and turned his attention to +the other object of his quest, Mary +Brontė.</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’ 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</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 Brontė, 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 BRONTĖ.</p> +<p>Hugh Brontė first makes his appearance +as if he had just stepped out +of a Brontė 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 Brontės 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.</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 Brontė 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 +“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.</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, “My sweet +flower;” 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 Brontė, with a heart full of childish +anticipations, began his rough journey +out into the big world.</p> +<p>That Brontė 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 Brontė 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 +Brontė 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?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>Hurt and angry, little Brontė sprang +from the seat into the bottom of the +cart and, facing the cruel uncle, +shouted:</p> +<p>“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!”</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 +Brontė 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!”</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’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 +“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 Brontė, “before I +fingered another penny that I could +call my own!”</p> +<p>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.</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’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’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.</p> +<p>Such is the story of Hugh Brontė’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 +Brontė’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 +Brontė’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 Brontė.</p> +<p>Welsh Brontė 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 +Brontė 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 Brontė resulted in discovering +no trace or tradition of a +Brontė 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 Brontės, 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 Brontė +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 Brontės, could +trace their pedigrees to the seventh +generation; but that the ancestors of +the Brontės 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 +“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.</p> +<p>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 <i>blast</i> 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 Brontė 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 Brontė +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.</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’s hard, rasping +words, and in reply said:</p> +<p>“Are you going home soon?”</p> +<p>“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 +<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’ll find you something to do +in the morning.”</p> +<p>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 Brontė family. In after years +it was a satisfaction to Hugh to +know that his cowardly uncle was no +Brontė after all, and not even an Irishman.</p> +<p>The spring came early that year, +and with it health and vigor. Hugh’s +aunt had told him of the burning of +the old Brontė 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 Brontė’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’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.</p> +<p>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 +<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’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 Brontės 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’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 Brontės 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.</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’s crimes before the battle began. +He heard him accused to his +teeth of murdering old Brontė 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.</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 Brontė, 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’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 Brontė 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’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 “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.</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’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.</p> +<p>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 Brontė 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’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’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 Brontė 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’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 Brontė 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 Brontė, 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 Brontė 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’s Announcement.</span>—<i>In the September number of <span class='smcap'>McClure’s Magazine</span> +will be told the romantic story of Hugh Brontė’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 *** + +***** This file should be named 35610-h.htm or 35610-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/6/1/35610/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Katherine Ward, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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