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diff --git a/41871-8.txt b/41871-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 763d47e..0000000 --- a/41871-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8709 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Scribner's Magazine, Volume 26, July 1899, 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: Scribner's Magazine, Volume 26, July 1899 - -Author: Various - -Release Date: January 19, 2013 [EBook #41871] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE, JULY 1899 *** - - - - -Produced by Victorian/Edwardian Pictorial Magazines, -Jonathan Ingram, Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Note: - - Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have - been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. - - - - - [Illustration: DANIEL WEBSTER. - Engraved by Gustav Kruell; after a daguerreotype in the possession of - Josiah J. Hawes, Boston.] - - - - - SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE - - PUBLISHED MONTHLY - WITH ILLUSTRATIONS - - VOLUME XXVI JULY-DECEMBER - 1899 - - CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS NEW YORK - SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & Co. LIMITED LONDON - - - - - Copyright, 1899, - By Charles Scribner's Sons. - - Printed by - Trow Directory, Printing and Bookbinding Company, - New York, U. S. A. - - - - - CONTENTS - OF - SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE - - VOLUME XXVI JULY-DECEMBER, 1899. - - - PAGE - ACCENT, A QUESTION OF. Point of View, 380 - - AGUINALDO'S CAPITAL--WHY MALOLOS - WAS CHOSEN, LIEUT.-COL. J. D. MILEY, 320 - Illustrated with drawings by Jules Guérin and F. D. - Steele, from photographs. - - "AMERICAN LANGUAGE, THE." Point of View, 762 - - AMERICAN SOCIETY AND THE ARTIST, ALINE GORREN, 628 - - AMERICAN URBANITIES. Point of View, 121 - - ANNE. A Story, MRS. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, 116 - - ANTARCTIC, AMERICAN SEAMEN IN THE, ALBERT WHITE VORSE, 700 - Illustrations drawn from photographs taken by Frederick - A. Cook, M.D., during the recent voyage of the "Belgica." - - ANTARCTIC EXPLORATION, THE POSSIBILITIES OF, - FREDERICK A. COOK, M.D. (Of the "Belgica" Expedition), 705 - With drawings from the author's photographs. - - ARCHIBALD, JAMES F. J. _Havana Since the Occupation_, 86 - - ARCHITECTURE, THE USE AND ABUSE OF DECORATIVE CONVENTIONS - IN. Field of Art, FREDERIC CROWNINSHIELD, 381 - - ART IN THE SCHOOLS--FIRST CONSIDERATIONS. Field of Art, 509 - - ART IN THE SCHOOLS--THE NEW YORK PHOTOGRAPHS, 637 - - AUNT MINERVY ANN, THE CHRONICLES OF, JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. - IV. AN EVENING WITH THE KU-KLUX, - Illustrated by A. B. Frost, 34 - V. HOW JESS WENT A-FIDDLIN', 310 - VI. HOW SHE AND MAJOR PERDUE FRAILED OUT THE GOSSETT BOYS, 413 - VII. HOW SHE JOINED THE GEORGIA LEGISLATURE, 439 - - AUTHOR'S STORY, AN, MAARTEN MAARTENS, 685 - - BALZAC, THE PARIS OF HONORÉ DE, BENJAMIN ELLIS MARTIN - and CHARLOTTE M. MARTIN, 588 - Illustrated by J. Fulleylove, - - BAXTER, SYLVESTER. _The Great November Storm of 1898_, 515 - - BIRRELL, AUGUSTINE. _John Wesley--Some Aspects of the - Eighteenth Century in England_, 753 - - BROWNE, WILLIAM MAYNADIER. - _The Royal Intent_, 496 - _A Royal Ally_, 221 - - BROWNELL, W. C. _The Painting of George Butler_, 301 - - BUTLER, THE PAINTING OF GEORGE, W. C. BROWNELL, 301 - With reproductions of Mr. Butler's work. - - CAHAN, ABRAHAM. _Rabbi Eliezer's Christmas_, 661 - - CHANNING, GRACE ELLERY. _Francisco and Francisca_, 227 - - CHAT, E. G. _The Foreign Mail Service at New York_, 61 - - CHINON, ERNEST C. PEIXOTTO, 737 - Illustrated by Mr. Peixotto, - - COLTON, ARTHUR. _The Portate Ultimatum_, 713 - - COLVIN, SIDNEY. _See Stevenson Letters_. - - COOK, FREDERICK A., M.D. _The Possibilities of - Antarctic Exploration_, 705 - - COPLEY BOY, A, CHARLES WARREN, 326 - Illustrated by F. C. Yohn, - - CROWNINSHIELD, FREDERIC. _The Use and Abuse of - Decorative Conventions in Architecture_, 381 - - CUBA. See _Havana Since the Occupation_. - - DAVIS, RICHARD HARDING. _The Lion and the Unicorn_, 129 - - DEWEY RECEPTION IN NEW YORK, THE SCULPTURES OF THE, - Field of Art, - Illustrated from telephotographs by Dwight L. Elmendorf. 765 - - DREW, MRS. JOHN, AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF. - WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY HER SON, JOHN DREW--I.-II., 417, 553 - Illustrations from photographs and prints in the - collections of Peter Gilsey, Douglas Taylor, and - John Drew, and from a Painting by Sully, engraved - by H. Wolf; with Biographical Notes by Douglas Taylor. - - ELMENDORF, DWIGHT L. _Telephotography_, 457 - - ENGLISH VOICE ON THE AMERICAN STAGE. Point of View, 123 - - FIELD OF ART, THE. - Architecture, The Use and Abuse of Decorative Conventions - in, 381 - Art in the Schools--First Considerations, 509 - Art in the Schools--The New York Photographs, 637 - Dewey Reception in New York, The Sculptures of the, 765 - Modern House, One Way of Designing a, 125 - Painters Who Express Themselves in Words, Concerning, 254 - - FRANCISCO AND FRANCISCA, GRACE ELLERY CHANNING, 277 - Illustrated by Walter Appleton Clark. - - GIBSON, C. D. _The Seven Ages of American Women_, 669 - - GORREN, ALINE. _American Society and the Artist_, 628 - - GRANT, ROBERT. _Search-Light Letters_, 104, 364 - - HADLEY, ARTHUR T. _The Formation and the Control of - Trusts_, 604 - - HARRIS, JOEL CHANDLER. _The Chronicles of Aunt - Minervy Ann_, 34, 310, 413, 439 - - HAVANA SINCE THE OCCUPATION, JAMES F. J. ARCHIBALD, 86 - Illustrated with drawings by Jules Guérin, E. C. Peixotto, - T. Chominski, and F. D. Steele, and from photographs. - - HOAR, SENATOR GEORGE F. _Daniel Webster_, 74, 213 - - "HUNDRED THOUSAND COPIES, A." Point of View, 253 - - INANIMATE OBJECTS, ETIQUETTE TOWARD. Point of View, 636 - - IRLAND, FREDERIC. _Where the Water Runs Both Ways_, 259 - - JAPANESE FLOWER ARRANGEMENT, THEODORE WORES, 205 - Illustrations from paintings by Mr. Wores. - - KNOX, JUDSON. _The Man from the Machine_, 447 - - LA FARGE, JOHN. _Concerning Painters Who Express - Themselves in Words_, 254 - - LA FARGE, JOHN, RUSSELL STURGIS, 3 - Illustrations from unpublished drawings and from paintings - by Mr. La Farge. - - LION AND THE UNICORN, THE, RICHARD HARDING DAVIS, 129 - Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy. - - MAARTENS, MAARTEN. _An Author's Story_, 685 - - MAIL SERVICE AT NEW YORK, THE FOREIGN, E. G. CHAT, 61 - Illustrated by W. R. Leigh. - - MAN FROM THE MACHINE, THE, JUDSON KNOX, 447 - Illustrated by F. D. Steele. - - MAN ON HORSEBACK, THE, WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE, 538 - Illustrated by A. I. Keller. - - MARTIN, BENJAMIN ELLIS AND CHARLOTTE M. _The Paris of - Honoré de Balzac_, 588 - - MATTHEWS, BRANDER. _In the Small Hours_, 502 - - MAX--OR HIS PICTURE, OCTAVE THANET, 739 - Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy. - - MILEY, LIEUT.-COL. J. D. _Aguinaldo's Capital_, 320 - - MILITARISM AND WOMEN. Point of View, 507 - - MODERN HOUSE, ONE WAY OF DESIGNING A. Field of Art, 125 - - NAVY, ON A TEXT FROM THE. Point of View, 763 - - PAGE, THOMAS NELSON. _The Spectre in the Cart_, 179 - - PAINTERS WHO EXPRESS THEMSELVES IN WORDS, CONCERNING. - Field of Art, JOHN LA FARGE, 254 - - PEACEMAKER, THE, BLISS PERRY, 643 - Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - - PEIXOTTO, ERNEST C. _Chinon_, 737 - - PERRY, BLISS. {_The White Blackbird_, 96 - {_The Peacemaker_, 643 - - PHILIPPINES. See _Aguinaldo's Capital_. - - "PLAY'S THE THING, THE," ALBERT WHITE VORSE, 167 - Illustrations by W. Glackens, reproduced in color. - - PHOTOGRAPHY, PICTORIAL, ALFRED STIEGLITZ, 528 - Illustrated by the author's photographs. - - POINT OF VIEW, THE. - Accent, A Question of, 380 - American Language, The, 762 - American Urbanities, 121 - English Voice on the American Stage, The, 123 - "Hundred Thousand Copies, A," 253 - Inanimate Objects, Etiquette Toward, 636 - Militarism and Women, 507 - Navy, On a Text from the, 763 - Superstitious, A Convention of the, 634 - Vain Seeking, A, 506 - Women, The Public Manners of, 122 - World with No Country, A, 635 - - PORTATE ULTIMATUM, THE, ARTHUR COLTON, 713 - Illustrated in color by W. Glackens. - - PRAED, THE EDUCATION OF, ALBERT WHITE VORSE, 290 - Illustrated by Henry McCarter. - - QUILLER-COUCH, A. T. _The Ship of Stars_, 47, 234, 354, 402, 611 - - RABBI ELIEZER'S CHRISTMAS, ABRAHAM CAHAN, 661 - Illustrated by W. Glackens. - - REAL ONE, THE, JESSE LYNCH WILLIAMS, 620 - Illustrated by Henry Hutt. - - ROYAL ALLY, A, WILLIAM MAYNADIER BROWNE, 221 - Illustrated by A. I. Keller. - - ROYAL INTENT, THE, WILLIAM MAYNADIER BROWNE, 496 - - ROYLE, EDWIN MILTON. _The Vaudeville Theatre_, 485 - - SANDHILL STAG, THE TRAIL OF THE, ERNEST SETON-THOMPSON, 191 - Author of "Wild Illustrated by Animals I Have Known." - Mr. Thompson. - - SEARCH-LIGHT LETTERS, ROBERT GRANT. - III. Letter To a Young Man Wishing To Be an American, 104 - IV. Letter To a Political Optimist, 364 - - SENIOR READER, THE, ARTHUR COSSLETT SMITH, 725 - Illustrations by Albert Sterner. - - SEVEN AGES OF AMERICAN WOMEN, THE, C. D. GIBSON, 669 - A series of drawings. - - SHIP OF STARS, THE, A. T. QUILLER-COUCH (Q.), - Chapters XIV.-XXIX., 47, 234, 351 - (_Concluded_.), 402, 611 - - SMALL HOURS, IN THE, BRANDER MATTHEWS, 502 - - SMITH, ARTHUR COSSLETT. _The Senior Reader_, 725 - - SPECTRE IN THE CART, THE, THOMAS NELSON PAGE, 179 - Full-page illustration by F. C. Yohn. - - STEVENSON, ROBERT LOUIS, THE LETTERS OF. - Edited by SIDNEY COLVIN. - FROM BOURNEMOUTH, 1884-85, 20 - DRAWING by E. C. Peixotto. - BOURNEMOUTH (CONTINUED), 1885-86, 242 - SARANAC LAKE--WINTER, 1887-88, 338 - Illustrated with drawings from photographs by Jules - Guérin. - THE VOYAGE OF THE CASCO; HONOLULU (JULY, 1888-JUNE, 1889), 469 - LIFE IN SAMOA: NOVEMBER, 1890-DECEMBER, 1894, 570 - (Concluded.) - - STEVENSON, MRS. ROBERT LOUIS. _Anne_, 116 - - STIEGLITZ, ALFRED. _Pictorial Photography_, 528 - - STORM OF 1898, THE GREAT NOVEMBER, SYLVESTER BAXTER, 515 - Illustrations by H. W. Ditzler. - - STURGIS, RUSSELL. _John La Farge_, 3 - - SUPERSTITIOUS, A CONVENTION OF THE. Point of View, 634 - - TELEPHOTOGRAPHY, DWIGHT L. ELMENDORF, 457 - Illustrated by the author's photographs and - telephotographs. - - THANET, OCTAVE. _Max--Or His Picture_, 739 - - THOMPSON, ERNEST SETON. _The Trail of the Sandhill Stag_, 191 - - TRUSTS, THE FORMATION AND THE CONTROL OF, ARTHUR T. HADLEY, 604 - President of Yale University. - - VAILLANTCOEUR, HENRY VAN DYKE, 153 - Illustrated by Walter Appleton Clark. - - VAIN SEEKING, A. Point of View, 506 - - VAN DYKE, HENRY. _Valiantcoeur_, 153 - - VAUDEVILLE THEATRE, THE, EDWIN MILTON ROYLE, 485 - Illustrations by W. Glackens. - - VORSE, ALBERT WHITE. {"_The Play's the Thing_," 167 - {_The Education of Praed_, 290 - {_American Seamen in the - Antarctic_, 700 - - WARREN, CHARLES. _A Copley Boy_, 326 - - WATER-FRONT OF NEW YORK, THE, JESSE LYNCH WILLIAMS, 385 - Illustrated from drawings by Henry McCarter, Jules - Guérin, E. C. Peixotto, W. R. Leigh, C. L. Hinton, - G. A. Shipley, and G. W. Peters. - - WEBSTER, DANIEL. I., II. WITH UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPTS AND - SOME EXAMPLES OF HIS PREPARATION FOR PUBLIC SPEAKING, - GEORGE F. HOAR, 74, 213 - Senator from Massachusetts. - With a portrait and fac-similes. - - WESLEY, JOHN--SOME ASPECTS OF THE EIGHTEENTH - CENTURY IN ENGLAND, AUGUSTINE BIRRELL, 753 - - WHERE THE WATER RUNS BOTH WAYS, FREDERIC IRLAND, 259 - Illustrated with photographs by the author, and with - drawings by Jules Guérin, H. L. Brown, and Howard Giles - from photographs. - - WHITE BLACKBIRD, THE, BLISS PERRY, 96 - - WHITE, WILLIAM ALLEN. _The Man on Horseback_, 538 - - WILLIAMS, JESSE LYNCH. {_The Water-Front of New York_, 385 - {_The Real One_, 620 - - WOMEN, THE PUBLIC MANNERS OF. Point of View, 122 - - WORES, THEODORE. _Japanese Flower Arrangement_, 205 - - WORLD WITH NO COUNTRY, A. Point of View, 635 - - -POETRY - - ADVERTISING SIGN, AN, MARVIN R. VINCENT, 751 - - BALLAD, J. RUSSELL TAYLOR, 220 - - CELEBRANTS, THE, CAROLYN WELLS, 85 - Illustrated by Oliver Herford. - - CRICKET SONG, THE, R. H. STODDARD, 526 - Illustrations in color by Harvey Ellis. - - ENDURING, THE, JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY, 103 - - HERB O' GRACE, THE, ARTHUR COLTON, 401 - Illustrated by Orson Lowell. - - HEY NONNY NO. A Song, MARGUERITE MERINGTON, 416 - - HUSH! A Sonnet, JULIA C. R. DORR, 120 - - LONELINESS, J. H. ADAMS, 712 - - NARCISSUS, GUY WETMORE CARRYL, 525 - - NEMESIS, BENJAMIN PAUL BLOOD, 72 - - OLD HOME HAUNTS, THE, F. COLBURN CLARKE, 289 - Illustrated by Henry Hutt. - - POPPY-GARDEN, IN A, SARA KING WILEY, 325 - - ROMANCE 363 - - SILENT WAYFELLOW, THE, BLISS CARMAN, 446 - - SLUMBER SONG, A. _For the Fisherman's Child_, HENRY VAN DYKE, 298 - Illustrated by Maude Cowles. - - SONG WITH A DISCORD, A, ARTHUR COLTON, 603 - - SUICIDE, THE, EDWIN MARKHAM, 551 - - TEARS. A Sonnet, LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE, 569 - - THREE KINGS, THE. HARRISON S. MORRIS, 653 - A Christmas Ballad, - Illustrated in color by Walter Appleton Clark; - decorations by T. Guernsey Moore. - - URBAN HARBINGER, AN, E. S. MARTIN, 190 - With an illustration by W. Glackens. - - VEERY-THRUSH, THE, J. RUSSELL TAYLOR, 350 - - WIND AT THE DOOR, THE, BLISS CARMAN, 652 - - - - -SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE - -VOL. XXVI. JULY, 1899. NO. 1. - - - - -JOHN LA FARGE - -By Russell Sturgis - - - [Illustration: A Study.] - -The artist of four hundred years ago, or of any great time for -individual effort as opposed to the associated and unrecorded work of -more primitive times, was a many-sided man. He was probably a -traveller, if not a monk; he was almost certainly a man of adventure; -a man of thought, whether monk or layman. The artist did not travel -far; but he encountered more personal risk between Florence and Naples -than our contemporary does in voyaging to the Isles of Summer; he -encountered in Sicily, in Hungary, or in Spain a people as remote from -him as the Japanese are from us; and he had still Constantinople and -Cairo to visit, places more distant and as inaccessible to him as -Thibet or Kafiristan in the nineteenth century. The old artist was -something of a scholar, too, with a habit of study and meditation, if -not master of many books. And, moreover, the old artist was very much -in love with his work and loved to play with it as well as to work in -it; so that he touched many materials, handled many processes, and -used many methods of artistic utterance. Again it is worth noting that -no one had discovered, in 1499, that architecture was an art to be -practised without regard to the other manifestations of the artistic -spirit; nor yet that the sculptor and the painter were two workmen -whose art was to be practised apart from and independent of building -or other industrial occupation. - -All these things have been so much changed of late that it is -noticeable in Mr. La Farge's life that he should be, in many ways, -like a painter of old time, that is, traveller, reader, collector and -student; colorist and decorator; painter in large and in little. He -has been a working artist for forty years, and has done many things. -He has made many book illustrations which have been published and many -which have never been given to the world. The illustrations to -Browning's book, "Men and Women," as it was originally published in -1855, are among these; and there are reproduced here the full-page -design for the beginning of _Protus_ and also two studies for _Fra -Lippo Lippi_: - - The little children round him in a row - Of admiration, half for his beard and half - For that white anger of his victim's son. - -This was early work. The illustration to _Misconceptions_ is as -mystical as that for _Protus_; and that which concludes _Bishop -Blougram's Apology_ is as realistic as these studies of children. - - [Illustration: Study for Browning's "Men and Women."] - -Then, still of his early days, are to be considered the faithful -little studies and close-to-nature drawings which served as a -foundation for a structure of knowledge which was to pile itself high -enough. _Sic itur ad astra_; and with a different result from the -tower-building recorded in Genesis. The reproduction given [on page 9] -is from a sketch-book of 1860; and the work has been a careful drawing -in black on white, done in the flat country about Bayou Têche. These -are drawings _in values_, or made for values; that is to say, the -relative force of darkness or of light is carefully preserved. A -certain green of the trees may be lighter than the blue, still water -below, but is very much darker than the same water where it reflects -the pale evening sky; the reflection in the water of those same trees -is a shade or two darker than the mass of trees themselves; and so on, -forever. Of the same epoch is this drawing of a beacon [page 10], a -flaming cresset, a signal light seen against a night sky. These are -warnings to steamboats on the Mississippi to avoid a shoal or to make -a landing. Other studies, those of pure line and those of masses, -those of his youth and those of his maturity, are scattered over these -pages. - -He has produced also a very great number of water-color drawings, -generally small, and very commonly having for their subjects pieces of -foreground detail, such as one or several blossoms in a pool of water, -or a water-lily or two afloat on the surface of a still pond. It might -almost be said that his water-colors were generally of such detail as -this, except that the work done during his journeys into tropical and -oriental lands has resulted differently. - -Again he has produced, during those years of work, a few large -pictures painted in oil-color or by a process which he learned in his -youth and in which melted wax has a part; though this is not the -encaustic process of antiquity or of modern revival. One or two of -these are portraits, several are landscapes, several are studies of -interesting details which he wished to preserve and which for some -reason or other had struck him as more easily rendered on a large -scale and in the more solid material; and some are, to all appearance, -concepts for mural decoration--advance studies for that which was to -be painted on a still larger scale, or in combination with other parts -of a large composition, and finally to be fixed upon the wall where it -was to remain permanently. Some, also, of the water-colors produced -in recent years are, though not large in superficies, very large in -treatment. A glowing color composition suggested by the mountain -country of Fiji, a monochrome study of a river landscape in Japan, may -be as grandiose in character and may contain as much matter, both in -represented detail and in artistic purpose, as an oil-painting of four -times the surface-measurement. Some illustrations given on another -page of this treatise may partly show the qualities here suggested. - - [Illustration: Study for Browning's "Men and Women."] - -He has produced, also, a few such mural paintings as those whose -intention is assumed in the last paragraph. Of these, much the largest -is that which covers the end wall of the Church of the Ascension in -New York. There are others in St. Thomas's Church and in the Church of -the Incarnation, both in New York City; the interior of Trinity Church -in Boston was painted by him with a series of figure subjects, though -the chromatic treatment of this interior does not include any large -single painting of great importance; and of late years, two lunettes -in the Villard-Reid house in New York and one in the Walker Art -Gallery at Bowdoin College have been added to this summary list. There -is reproduced here the last-named picture [page 17]; a picture of -fantastic subject in the "literary" or narrative sense. _Athens_ is -its given name; but it represents Pallas making a drawing of the -lovely and unadorned genius of the open country or wood, while the -robed and crowned impersonated City looks affectionately at both the -subject and the recording goddess. To be classed under the head of -mural paintings also is the remarkable composition of small pictures -involved in a large design with panels and arabesques, which decorates -the wooden vaults of that gallery in Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt's house, -which used to be called the Water-Color Room, and which now, since the -alteration of the house and the removal of this painted vault into the -new building, may be considered the gallery of entrance for stately -entertainments. To a limited extent, the work of other painters is -associated with his own in the last-named achievement, as also in -Trinity Church. In this, the work of the artist comes very near to -decoration pure and simple. The reader is not to understand that any -sharp distinction is made here between decoration and that painting -which is not so designated. It is to be hoped that he, the reader, -will see as he reads that to deny this distinction is part of the -life-purpose of John La Farge; a purpose which his critic is glad to -recognize and to second. It is merely with reference to its -placing--to its apparent intended service--to its fixed location and -its consequent exclusion from the category of "gallery pictures" or -"easel pictures" that the words decoration and decorative are here -applied to certain paintings. For throughout his career this artist -has leaned strongly toward the treatment of his expressional and -significant painting in a decorative way. - - [Illustration: Panel, from One of the Ceilings in Cornelius - Vanderbilt's House. Inlaid glass, ivory, bronze, marble and silver, - and mother-of-pearl.] - - [Illustration: Figure from the Vanderbilt Ceiling.] - -Decoration in the more usual sense has been also a large part of his -work. Thus, when in 1878 he contracted with Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt -for a carved ceiling, it appeared that his intentions in the matter -were those which could have been suggested only by a mind full of the -decorative idea. "A carved ceiling" might have been almost anything; -but this one was an elaborate composition of colored sculpture, or, if -you please, of polychromy in relief; certainly one of the most -remarkable undertakings of the time. What seem to be (for the true -constructional character of the ceiling is not here guaranteed) what -seem to be the beams, the constructional part of the ceiling, were of -light-colored walnut. The panels within were filled with figures of -armed warriors and of draped women of about half life-size, and these -panels were framed by rim within rim, moulding within moulding, of -elaborate sculptured pattern. All these sculptured patterns, all these -figures, were invested with color in a way which it is hard to -describe; for different chosen woods, alloys of metal of which some -are of Japanese origin, opaque and colored glass, ivory, -mother-of-pearl, and even coral are combined to give delicately tinted -color and subtle variety of surface to the work. That ceiling has been -broken up; but there has been great good judgment shown in its -rearrangement. The panels of the ceiling are now arranged so that they -are well lighted both by day and by night, and show admirably. -Although the original design has disappeared, the separate panels, -each with its enclosing mouldings and woodwork, at least four by six -feet in superficies, are well displayed. One of these panels is here -engraved [page 6]. Here also is given part of a decorative frieze in -which castings specially made of blue glass were used with ivory and -with carvings in solid _nacre_, in combination with the carved walnut. - - [Illustration: Dry Bed of the Dayagawa River. - _Drawn by John La Farge._] - - [Illustration: Study for Values.] - -Similar work has been done by Mr. La Farge in connection with his own -paintings, and sometimes where no paintings were used. This use, on a -large scale, of rich material, rich in color, in surface and in -lustre, as a medium for sculpture, is almost peculiar to this artist -among modern men. Others who have cared for color in sculpture have -played with it, rather, in small objects of the cabinet; and this -remains true in a general way in spite of a pleasant use of enamel in -some French work in bronze of a more important or, at least, more -pretentious character. - -At a time not far removed from the undertaking of the ceiling and the -mantelpiece above mentioned, a monument was put up in the Newport -Cemetery under the direction of Mr. La Farge [page 16]. He associated -with himself in this task the sculptor, since so widely known, but -then a young man, Augustus St. Gaudens, who had already worked with -him on the carved and colored ceiling. Every student of architectural -designs will be struck by the informal character of this design: the -steps which are clearly not meant to be ascended and which have an -obvious symbolic meaning; the horizontal cross sunk in the table of -the monument in such a way that few persons can be so placed as to see -it favorably; the inscription carved upon the butt or foot of that -cross; the apparently disproportionate slenderness of the upright -cross with its thin cylindrical shaft; the placing of other -inscriptions on the body of the massive base in which no specially -arranged panels or medallions have been prepared for them; and, most -of all, the treatment of the leaf sculpture which, though composed -carefully enough and far enough in itself from being a piece of crude -realism, is yet realistic in its disposition--suggesting the natural -fall of sprays and branches of leafage allowed to dry and harden in -the sun. No architect--as we now understand the term--no architect, -even one who had kept himself free from the neo-classic influence and -the teaching of the schools, could have designed such a piece as this. -It is the more interesting to see how the highly trained decorative -artist who has not been fettered by the taught maxims of the -architect's school or the architect's office has handled this -problem--a problem rarely met by decorators of modern experience. - -About 1876 these same demands upon him for decoration led him to the -careful observation of ancient stained glass, with a view to providing -the modern world with something which might be to it what the windows -of Reims Cathedral and Fairford Church were to the Middle Ages. It -appeared to the modern artist that there was still a course open to -him which had not been tried by the decorators of the Middle Ages, -early or late. It appeared that the modern materials and processes of -glassmaking might give to the artist in glass a "palette" such as the -mediæval man had never possessed. What is called opal glass, opaline, -and also opalescent glass may be said to have formed the basis of a -new system of window decoration, though the other essential, the -leaden framework, was to play its own part in the artistical result. -Uncolored opaline glass has a milky-white look when seen by reflected -light; but by transmitted light its color passes from a cloudy -bluish-gray to red, with a yellow spark. If, now, such glass be -charged with color of many shades, the chromatic effects producible by -the combination of such translucent materials, at once contrasting in -color and harmonized by the opaline quality, might prove successful -beyond what had been known. To this, then, La Farge set himself; to -obtain glass of richness, depth, and glow of color hitherto -unattempted, and in a multitude of tints; so that, whereas the -thirteenth-century artist had five or six colors in all, susceptible -of nothing more than a gradation from darker to lighter, as the glass -was thicker or thinner or more or less thickly flashed--now, colors -were to be supplied by the score, each color capable of these same -gradations in darker and lighter, and each color harmonized with all -the other colors by the common quality of softness and a certain misty -iridescence caused by the opaline stain. Even in a piece of glass so -brilliant in color that the opalescence is hardly perceptible, its -presence in that part of the general chromatic scheme will surely be -felt. - - [Illustration: On the Bayou Têche; Study for Values.] - -A window is, when considered as a work of fine art in color, a -translucent composition, there being no part of it which can appeal to -the eye by other than transmitted light. The artist has, then, the -need of something strong to lean upon, some background, some _fond_ -upon which to relieve his more brilliant pieces of translucency; for -it can be easily understood that color composition which is wholly -translucent will tend toward feebleness, toward paleness, toward a -certain evanescent and doubtful character of its colors, from which it -must be saved. This needed background was found in the use of the -leads; that is to say, of those strips of lead made generally in the -form of a capital I, in which the edges of the separate pieces of -glass are held. By taking these leads as the artistic sub-structure of -the composition, by placing them where needed, and by cutting the -glass accordingly, by combining the colors of the glass in such a way -as to allow the leads to be put where they were needed for this -purpose of background, results were obtained which no artist in glass -had ever yet attempted. La Farge's use of leads, in this way, remains -peculiarly his own in the subtlety and refinement of the linear -design. Occasionally, indeed, a certain amount of opaque painting, of -that solid non-translucent painting which the men of the Middle Ages -used continually, has been used to increase the area of his lead -sash-bars or to diminish the brilliancy of a background. All artists -recognize the need of the _repentir_, of the amendment made after the -work is partly done, or even, to all eyes but their own, completed; -and painting in opaque color has been used by La Farge when it has -appeared that the lead-sash was not quite sufficient for the -background needed. In like manner, painting in translucent colored -enamels has been used by him where it has appeared to him that no -glass available would produce the tone desired. As such instances are -occasional and rare, these devices are not a part of the essence of La -Farge's work in glass, and they are mentioned here merely because -their existence must be understood as accidental. The treatment of -heads and hands and other necessarily nude parts of the body, in order -that these surfaces may harmonize with the generally unpainted drapery -and background, would require pages of discussion if entered upon at -all. - - [Illustration: Study of a Mullein-stalk.] - -The purpose of this article is not, however, to dwell in detail upon -the historical development of his art, but to criticise it in its main -features, and to institute an inquiry into those traits of La Farge's -personality which have made his work especially interesting to all -persons who care for the retention of noble design in that which is -obviously novel, original, modern in art. - - [Illustration: Study of a Beacon.] - -In the first place, then, Mr. La Farge is very individual as a -designer. He hardly belongs to any school of designers. The reader -will suggest at once that, as there is no school of designers at the -present day, a man of force is compelled to be individual; and this -dictum will be readily accepted. Inasmuch as there has been no time -since La Farge reached the age of intelligence and of interest in -art--no time when he has not been a student of Japanese art; inasmuch -as he began, as long ago as 1860, to buy and study what few pieces of -Japanese art and handicraft he could find--it has been thought that he -is strongly influenced by Japanese design; but this it will be hard -to establish. His design is individual and personal, and it is that -whether we take design to mean his way of conceiving the human figure; -or his way of composing human figures in large groups with care for -the effect of line and mass; or whether we think, rather, of the -filling of the panel or the canvas, the parallelogram or the -half-circle, with masses of color and tendencies of line. - - [Illustration: Study for a Decoration for a Page of Browning's "Men - and Women," 1861.] - -Now, in this individuality of his art, there is a weaker as well as a -stronger side. It cannot be ignored by those who admire his larger and -statelier designs that they lack something of stateliness. The figures -in his small woodcuts are carried out of the strict and grave system -of academic drawing into an extreme of freedom of gesture and -movement, and that with the evident purpose of expressing in the -strongest possible way the intense meaning of the artist; but this -hardly allows of mention except as a virtue. Bishop Hatto in his -screaming agony, as the rats attack him on every side while he -crouches at the foot of the column on the capital of which the cat has -taken refuge (for each and all the details of which see Southey's -poem)--Bishop Hatto is almost liquified, has almost lost the solid -substance of his corporeal form, in his horror and hopelessness. Enoch -Arden, "the long-haired, long-bearded solitary," hardly shows the -strong man, the vigorous sailor under his rags and through his -squalor; the emphasis is laid on the fourteen years' solitary -confinement in this lonely island, and the "strong heroic soul" which -the poet drew has not interested the artist as part of this design. -These are small drawings for wood-engraving and for book illustration; -but the same character of design occurs again and again in the larger -and statelier pieces; and it may there be less easy to accept. The -impression made upon a student of mural painting, ancient and modern, -by such a painting as that in the Church of the Ascension is that it -is, in a sense, lacking in repose. The Adoring Angels around the -risen Saviour are individual in their gestures, in the pose of their -bodies, in the expression of their faces. They are personalities -rather than parts of a "Glory of Angels." The figure of Christ itself -has the same peculiarity and is marked by a singularly free and -unconventional pose of the body and gesture of the right arm, -suggestive rather of the teacher of men than of the Son taken up to -his Father. Moreover, this effect as of too much movement and -incident, as of too little stability and gravity, is heightened by the -flowing drapery, which is so marked a feature of the composition that -it remains uppermost in the minds of many students to the very end of -their study of the picture. Something of this may be seen in the -illustration given here of the noble window which was sent to the -Exhibition of 1889 [page 15]. The subject is the Sealing of the -Servants of God. These groups are of indubitable truth and power as -illustrations of the passage in the Apocalypse; but as parts of a -solemn color design another standard needs to be applied to them. - - [Illustration: Study for the Wolf-Charmer.] - - [Illustration: Another Study for the Wolf-Charmer.] - -So much for the less agreeable side of this familiar and personal way -of designing. In the favorable aspect there would, of course, be very -much to be said, for he is no illustrator, he is no story-teller, he -is no composer of pictured fable or pictured record who does not -understand how to give his figures that life and movement, that action -and expression, which will explain all that is explainable of their -purpose and their function. Nothing, for instance, can be more perfect -as a bit of mystical story-telling than the Wolf-Charmer, the picture -in which the gaunt and haggard magician, with his pipe at his lips, -comes out of the forest surrounded by his drove of gigantic wolves. -Two studies for the wolves are given here; and the spirit of the -design is interesting to trace in them. To give the savage creatures -something more than their due size, and, above all, something more -than their due ferocity, is a natural and obvious device; but to -express, as the artist has expressed, their familiarity with their -leader, their sympathy with him, their spirit entering into his as he -heads and controls them, is something admirable in descriptive art. So -in that grim picture in which some part of the spirit of feudal Japan -is contained; the picture which tells the tale of little Kio-Sai; the -rushing and turbulent stream between its high banks is gray and sombre -as if with the swollen waters of a flood; and upon it, whirled along -in its course, the severed head which frightened the child floats face -upward with something of its living expression still lingering about -the eyes and lips, but still as dead, as corpse-like as a severed head -could be. This powerful drawing, made within the last two years, is to -be cited as a characteristic specimen of expressional art. There is -nothing in the picture but whirling water and floating head; and yet -the stern, fierce, half-savage, feudal system of Japan, which -coexisted with an almost too subtle refinement of manners and of -thought, both literary and artistic, is expressed in this little -square of grave coloring. So, in the numerous South Sea Island studies -which have filled many a frame and delighted so many a student of -water-color drawings, it is hard to say whether the pictures of -movement and action, of fishing with cormorants, of riding and -marching, of bustle and life, or the pictures of tropical and oriental -men and women in repose, are more delightful--half naked girls -carrying canoes, seated dancers going through the sacred movements of -the _siva_, portraits of individuals, and studies of groups intended -to preserve for the artist the recollection, and for the instruction -of those at home the singular life, of these brown islanders, so -different from the negroids of the southern groups, so over-civilized -in ceremony and tradition, with all their lack of policing and of -steady social conditions. In all this work the artist's indifference -to the accepted conventional ways of expressing his meaning is -altogether fortunate for his art. He knows how to tell a story in -pictures which have very much, if not all, of his highest artistic -qualities, and this he would hardly be capable of were he more -fettered than he is by the rules of the academies as to how the action -of man should be put into form and color. - - [Illustration: The Floating Head.] - -In connection with this matter, the question comes up how far Mr. La -Farge is a thorough draughtsman. It hardly becomes one who is not -ready to go into the minute examination of his work, figure by figure, -to challenge its merit in the way of anatomical correctness and -academic severity of drawing; but it is to be said, at least, that the -strongest reason exists for the belief that many of the draped figures -would prove incorrect if an absolutely accurate drawing of the nude -body in the position assumed by the draped figure could be laid upon -the drapery. It is difficult here to express one's exact meaning, -because there is no such thing as an absolutely correct drawing of the -nude body in any position; but if we take a draped angel or a draped -St. Peter or a draped Buddhist priest from this gallery of pictured -men and women, we can imagine the consummate draughtsman, the Paul -Veronese of the present, if there were such a man, pointing out that a -figure seated or standing in that position could not get within the -drapery which the artist has pictured. We can even imagine the painter -aware of the fact--in advance of all criticism by others. It will be -observed that La Farge has seldom painted the nude. His early work -involved a great deal of drawing, both from the nude model and in the -way of designed and composed nude figures. Naked figures represented -on a small scale, as among his numerous Eastern subjects, exist, of -course, in his work in great numbers; but the nude in the larger -European sense of elaborately rendered, well modelled, thoroughly -understood naked figures, male and female, is rare in his work. Mural -painting in churches hardly allows of that; glass is, of course, -wholly foreign in its purpose and mission from such art as includes -the nude, and hardly allows even of the naked hands and head. Now, let -it be admitted for the moment not only that La Farge is not given to -drawing the nude, but even that he has not done consummate work in -that direction; let that be admitted, and let us then see how that -affects his pictures and drawings. It need not be asked whether it -affects the decorative value of his work--considered as a body of art -it cannot affect it badly; we need think, now, only of fine drawing -considered by itself. It is a part of the true traditional doctrine of -art that no man should paint from the model, nude or draped; that no -man should draw from the model, nude or draped, with the intention of -using the drawing upon his wall surface or canvas. It is a tradition -which ought to have been left intact as it came from older men, that -when the artist composes it is his duty to forget his anatomy and to -forget the preparatory drawings which he has made by hundreds, and to -draw directly upon his canvas or sheet of paper the figure which he -now conceives as a part of his design, the figure which he desires to -put into his composition as one of its elements. He is free then to do -what La Farge himself does freely, to compare this result with the -model, nude or draped, or first nude and then draped; but this -comparison has for its purpose, not the correction of the drawing or -the picture with reference to its anatomical correctness nearly so -much as it has in view the lifelike appearance of the figure. Given a -draped figure which does not seem to stand quite as firmly upon its -feet, or to be moving quite as freely, as the composer himself -desires, it is required by consultation of the model to rectify those -errors in the drawing which have led to this unfortunate result and to -give to that figure the lifelike character which it does not yet -possess. - - [Illustration: A Study.] - - [Illustration: Study for Bacchanal Drawing.] - - [Illustration: Study for the Watson Window, 1889. - This is the one carried out and sent to the Paris Exposition.] - -It is a characteristic of Mr. La Farge's art as a painter that he is -primarily a colorist. Now it is fairly safe to say that no man since -the great Venetians has been at once a consummate draughtsman of the -human figure and a consummate master of color; and that apparently the -mind of the workman cannot lead his artistic production in such paths -that both of these excellences may be attained at once. The workman, -if he is sincere, and if he is well advised, follows the course which -is easiest for him, and if he conceives of every figure and every -group of figures with their setting of landscape or architecture -primarily as a piece of splendid coloring, to be taken from nature as -an abstract piece of coloring, and so modified that it will tell as -an abstract piece of coloring on canvas or on wall--if that is the -artist's object he will not improve the work produced on these lines -by giving his time and strength to the proposed consideration of -accuracy of drawing. - - [Illustration: Monument in Newport Cemetery Erected Under the - Direction of John La Farge and Augustus St. Gaudens.] - -To ask whether La Farge's work would be artistically better if it were -consummate in drawing is to ask a question which no one can answer. It -is certain that no wise student will go to La Farge to learn figure -drawing in the technical sense. It is not that which his art offers -the student. There are, however, two large pictures, which can hardly -be challenged--the two lunettes in the Villard-Reid house; and it is -probable that if these pictures were within easy reach of the public, -and could be seen as the wall paintings in the Congressional Library -can be seen by all the world and every day, they would tend to raise -the general opinion of La Farge's capacity and range as a painter -beyond what even his admirers now hold. The pictures represent "The -Dance" and "Music." In each of them, smiling landscape forms the -background, a landscape not to be called sunny because the work of the -true colorist hardly allows of sunshine. Sunshine and full glowing -color are not generally found possible of simultaneous presentation, -and La Farge certainly makes no attempt to combine them. If, then, we -consider one of these two groups of six or eight maidens invested in -rather bright and high-lighted colors and set off by a landscape -somewhat deeper in tone than their own figures--if we consider each of -these pictures as a mural painting intended to be festal in character -and to glorify and heighten the beauty of the room which it adorns, -while at the same time it is in itself a piece of coloring of almost -the highest quality--we have then, perhaps, the fairest and most -complete idea of what one of these lunettes is as a work of art--what -it has been in the artist's well-realized purpose. The beauty of -composition in line and mass in either of the pictures, noticeable as -it is, is not important in comparison. The power of line-composition -is not very rare; except in its very highest manifestation, it is -almost like correct spelling; necessary, but deserving no special -remark. But when it is said of any picture that it is a piece of -coloring of the highest or almost the highest rank, there has been -said of it the utmost that can be said of a work of graphic art. It is -not claimed that color is essentially greater or nobler than form, but -that color is the graphic artist's especial domain, in which he alone -can rule; and further, that color is peculiarly artistical, ideal, -abstract, and in this way loftier. Is it possible for the mind of man -to conceive of anything more perfect, more remote from, and, in a -sense, superior to, whatever else there is in the world of humanity -than a color composition of the highest quality? There is only one -product of the human mind which can be compared with it; a musical -composition of the highest class; a symphony of Beethoven, alone, can -be compared to a great composition by Titian. That such a color-gift -and such a color-purpose are to be seen in all of Mr. La Farge's work -alike would be hardly too much to say. The touch of the consummate -colorist is not as evident, but is as discoverable by one who knows -how to look, in a piece of nature-study from Fiji, six inches square, -as it is in a large composition of saints and angels. The disposition -and the power to give to tinted paper the glow, the radiance, the -wealth and charm of that strange and inexplicable thing, the mingling -of tints into a resulting color-scheme--these are in small work the -same essentially that they are in large. Nor is the background of the -Ascension picture in the eponymic church to be exalted above the bits -of hillside and surf in the drawings of oceanic life, otherwise than -as its greater size allows it greater splendor. - - [Illustration: "Athens." Mural Painting in the Walker Art Gallery at - Bowdoin College.] - -That this power over color is the life and soul of the decorator need -hardly be urged. Decoration which is applied to a flat surface and -which is not in relief, except, perhaps, to a slight extent and -occasionally, has for its main object, its main _desideratum_, -richness or refinement of coloring, or both. If one has a wall to -decorate, the first idea of the true decorator is to invest it with -splendor or with delicate strength of color. He seeks for fresco, or -the encaustic process, or mosaic, or, as in modern times, oil-painting -upon a strained canvas, indifferently and according to the spirit of -his time and the practice of his contemporaries; but his object is one -and the same--to invest his wall or ceiling with noble color. Little -may he care what the subject of the painting or mosaic may be. -According to the requirements of the epoch or community in which he -lives, it may be a procession of saints or a dance of bacchanals; the -primary object which he has in view is to procure a most enjoyable -and delightful piece of color--and other things are of secondary -importance. Glass, then, would seem to be especially prepared for La -Farge's work, and La Farge especially prepared for glass. Consider the -memorial window which fills a window-opening in a church at North -Easton, Mass., a town which owes much to the lady whose memory is thus -honored. Upon a background of broken and changing blue are relieved -the three figures larger than life-size which nearly fill the opening. -Two of these figures are clothed, one in drapery of the most vivid -green, the other in drapery of orange-brown; that is to say, these are -the general colors offered to the eye of the spectator by the infinite -number of minor tints, all passing into one another in subtle -gradation, which make up the general mass of drapery. It is to be -observed, then, that these figures are also seen to be clothed in -rags, and that the idea, the notion of wretchedness and tatters is -maintained in spite of the sumptuous clothing of glowing color which -invests it all. That is an instance as good as can be found of what -the colorist has to do in this world. He does not ask whether beggars -have ever been dressed in such garments as have been described, but he -has to express the two-fold image, Beggary and splendid color, and out -of these he makes up his work of art, as unlike as may be to anything -in nature, but none the worse for that. To return to mural painting; -there is one merit which all La Farge's brother-painters agree in -awarding to him, and that is the power of putting a painting upon the -wall so that it does not change the character of the wall as a part of -the building. His painting takes nothing away from the solidity of the -wall which it invests. The upright mass retains its rigidity and -weight, it still carries the roof, it still holds firmly to the -adjoining walls, it is a massive and trustworthy part of the -construction, and the painted picture has added to rather than taken -from its permanent and resting quality. How this is done is fully as -inexplicable as is the glow and splendor of color itself. No one can -say abstractly and without having the picture immediately before him -how any such result is attained, nor is it easy to explain the -picture, even to the looker-on, in any such terms as will fully -express this quality. It is one of the most valuable qualities which -mural painting can possess--mural painting which fluctuates between -the flatness which is also feebleness and a kind of realism which -carries with it the effect of out-of-doors--of a hole in the wall. The -same thing obtains in his minor work, and here the background, the -temple, or rock, forty feet away, is as perfectly detached from the -foreground figures as would be a distant and airy mountain miles away, -while still the picture remains flat cardboard or flat canvass -invested with light and shade and color. - -We are brought naturally to the consideration of Mr. La Farge's -landscape. He is not generally considered as a landscape painter; and -yet he has produced a great deal of landscape in the secondary or -accessory part of his work. He has also painted landscape of first -intention, so to speak, landscape which is nothing but landscape, and -that, at different times in his life; always succeeding, and yet -always turning away from landscape to what seems to be his chosen work -of figure subject used decoratively. Landscape-painting is -unquestionably the art of our epoch, the one branch of the art of -painting which this century has excelled in; and, therefore, La Farge -was inevitably drawn toward landscape painting, he being a man of his -time, if also a man of strong individual peculiarities. It would be -hard for a student of art in the abstract, a theorizer, a critic and a -lover of the arts of the past, to avoid painting landscape when -everybody around him is painting landscape; and accordingly La Farge -has turned his attention to that, but the odd thing is that he has not -stayed there, that he has not continued to be a landscape painter -primarily. It would seem to the hasty observer of landscape painting -that this department of art alone would have afforded material for all -of his artistic dreams and for all his artistic purposes, for what is -more truly decorative than landscape such as is shown in the wonderful -Paradise Valley? That picture is made up of light and color. The -surface of thick, lush, summer grass, the surface of rock dimly seen, -the surface of ocean, the hazy sky, all together go to form a mass of -glowing and yet delicate color the like of which it is very hard to -find in simple landscape anywhere in ancient or modern art. Until -recent years there were only half a dozen such pictures of wide -landscape, numerous as were his studies in that style; for otherwise -his finished landscapes were chiefly those composed of foreground -rock, of iris seen against a wild-rose covered bank, of three or four -water-lily blossoms and a dozen little buds floating on still water; -or else they were landscape backgrounds to figure subjects in which -the landscape was evidently made, of deliberate purpose, a thing of -less intention and of inferior interest. During the last ten years, -however, La Farge has produced an immense number of singularly -effective drawings in monochrome and in color, made either on the spot -in Samoa, in Fiji, in Japan, or elsewhere in the far East, or made -after his return home, from studies carefully noted during his stay -abroad. Of these landscape drawings, some are of extended and really -vast stretches of country. Mountains are introduced which are several -miles away, and show in relief against a pale sky, every detail of the -mountain being rendered as the eye could have seen it from the point -of view occupied by the painter, and the whole wrought into a -wonderfully glowing panorama of green passing into blue against the -green mystery of the firmament. There are also among these drawings -pictures which are Turnerian in their love of and sympathy with mist -and vapor and their enjoyment of pure and delightful color produced by -sunlight upon such vapor. Among these are four drawings of the Valley -of Tokio seen from a hill above the city, the vision of the artist -reaching across the valley and including its whole extent and the -mountains which form the boundary. In other words, each of these -landscapes includes a range of one hundred square miles of country at -least, and its investing and overflowing drapery of cloud and of -low-lying vapor; and yet these were four small drawings, mere studies -on leaves of a sketch-book. It is the greatest misfortune to Americans -that they have been scattered among four different owners. If it were -possible for the Boston Museum, under its wise direction, to gather -these four drawings into its ownership and to exhibit them side by -side well lighted and isolated from other conflicting art, a real -service would be done to the whole community of art students; for -there is in them an abundance of the true landscape feeling, of the -true landscape sympathy, of that love of the magnificence, and the -refinement of nature which no transcript can give, but which the -thought of the artist when stimulated powerfully by the contemplation -of the glory of nature will transfer to his material medium. - -Much of this character exists in the sepia drawing of the "Dry Bed of -the Dayagawa River," [page 7] which hardly needs analysis in words, -since it is capable of fairly complete reproduction. - - [Illustration: A Study.] - - - - - [Illustration: Skerryvore.] - -THE LETTERS OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON - -Edited by Sidney Colvin - - -FROM BOURNEMOUTH: 1884-1885 - -In order of date the letters now to be quoted follow next on those -from the French Riviera which were printed in the April number. When -in the late spring of 1884 Stevenson was prostrated by the worst of -all his many attacks of hemorrhage from the lung, he was still -residing in that chalet at Hyères which he had hoped to make his -permanent abode. Partly the renewed failure of his health, and partly -a bad outbreak of cholera in the old Provençal town, which occurred in -the ensuing summer, compelled him to abandon this hope. As soon as he -recovered strength enough to be able to travel by even the easiest -stages, he moved to Royat in Auvergne, and thence in the course of -July to England. After consultation with several doctors, all of whom -held out good hopes of ultimate recovery in spite of the gravity of -his present symptoms, he moved to Bournemouth. Here he found in the -heaths and pine-woods some distant semblance of the landscape of his -native Scotland, and in sandy curves of the Channel coast a passable -substitute for the bays and promontories of his beloved Mediterranean. -At all events he liked the place well enough to be willing to try it -for a home: and such it became for all but three years, from -September, 1884, to August, 1887. These, although in the matter of -health the worst and most trying years of his life, were in the matter -of work some of the most active and successful. For the first two or -three months the Stevensons occupied a lodging on the West Cliff -called Wensleydale; for the next three or four, from December, 1884, -to March, 1885, they were tenants of a house named Bonallie Towers, -pleasantly situated amid the pine-woods of Branksome Park; and -lastly, about Easter, 1885, they entered into occupation of a house of -their own, given by the elder Stevenson to his son, and re-named by -the latter Skerryvore, in reminiscence of one of the great lighthouse -works carried out by the family firm off the Scottish coast. During -all the time of Stevenson's residence at Bournemouth he was compelled -to lead the life, irksome to him above all men, but borne with -invincible sweetness and patience, of a chronic invalid and almost -constant prisoner to the house. He was hardly ever free for more than -a few weeks at a time from fits of hemorrhage, fever, and prostration, -accompanied by the nervous exhaustion and general distress consequent -equally upon the attacks themselves and upon the remedies which the -physicians were constrained to employ against them. A great part of -his time was spent in bed, and there almost all his literary work was -produced. Often for days, and sometimes for weeks together, he was -forbidden to speak aloud, and compelled to carry on conversation with -his family and friends in whispers or with the help of pencil and -paper. The few excursions to a distance which he attempted--most -commonly to my house, at the British Museum, once to Matlock, once to -Exeter, and once in 1886 as far as Paris--these excursions almost -always ended in a break-down and a hurried retreat to home and bed. -Nevertheless, seizing on and making the most of every week, nay, every -day and hour of respite, he contrived to produce work surprising -alike, under the circumstances, by quantity and quality. During the -first two months of his life at Bournemouth the two plays _Admiral -Guinea_ and _Beau Austin_ were written in collaboration with Mr. -Henley. In 1885 he published three volumes, viz.: _More New Arabian -Nights_, the _Child's Garden of Verses_, and _Prince Otto_ (the two -latter, it is true, having been for the most part written a year or -two earlier, at Hyères). In 1886 appeared _The Strange Case of Dr. -Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ and _Kidnapped_, the two books which, together -with _Treasure Island_, did most to win for him the fame and honor -which he ever afterward enjoyed among readers on both sides of the -Atlantic. At the same time he was a fairly frequent contributor of -essays to magazines and of stories to Christmas annuals and other -periodical collections. The year 1887, the last of his life in the old -country, was chiefly, with the exception of the _Life of Fleeming -Jenkin_, a year of collections and re-prints; in it were published -_Underwoods, The Merry Men_, _Memories and Portraits_, and the _Black -Arrow_ in volume form. - -The correspondence of these three invalid years at Bournemouth is -naturally in a less buoyant key than that of the relatively -flourishing and happy year at Hyères which preceded them. But it is -none the less full of interest, and of that vivid play of mood and -character which never failed in him whether he was sick or well. The -specimens which I shall here give will be taken, with a few -exceptions, from his communications with his brother men of letters, -including some whose acquaintance or friendship he had now for the -first time formed, as Mr. Henry James, Mr. William Archer, and Mr. -Locker-Lampson, besides such intimate friends and associates of -earlier days as Mr. Henley, Mr. Gosse, Mr. Symonds and myself. - -But first come two or three to his parents and other correspondents: - - - BOURNEMOUTH, - Sunday, 28th September, 1884. - -MY DEAR PEOPLE,--I keep better, and am to-day downstairs for the first -time. I find the lockers entirely empty; not a cent to the front. Will -you pray send us some? It blows an equinoctial gale, and has blown for -nearly a week. Nimbus Britannicus; piping wind, lashing rain; the sea -is a fine colour, and wind-bound ships lie at anchor under the Old -Harry rocks, to make one glad to be ashore. - -The Henleys are gone, and two plays practically done. I hope they may -produce some of the ready.--I am, ever affectionate son, - - R. L. S. - - - WENSLEYDALE, BOURNEMOUTH, - October 3rd, 1884. - -DEAR MR. CHATTO.--I have an offer of £25 for Otto from America. I do -not know if you mean to have the American rights; from the nature of -the contract, I think not; but if you understood that you were to sell -the sheets, I will either hand over the bargain to you, or finish it -myself and hand you over the money if you are pleased with the -amount. You see, I leave this quite in your hands. To parody an old -Scotch story of servant and master: if you don't know that you have a -good author, I know that I have a good publisher. Your fair, open, and -handsome dealings are a good point in my life, and do more for my -crazy health than has yet been done by any doctor.--Very truly yours, - - ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. - -[Mr. Stevenson, the elder, had read the play of _Admiral Guinea_, -written in September by his son and Mr. Henley in collaboration, and -had objected, with his usual energy of expression, to the stage -confrontation of profane blackguarding, in the person of Pew, with -evangelical piety in that of the reformed slaving captain who gives -his name to the piece.] - - - BONALLIE TOWERS, - BRANKSOME PARK, - BOURNEMOUTH, - (The three B's), - (November 5th, 1884). - -MY DEAR FATHER,--Allow me to say, in a strictly Pickwickian sense, -that you are a silly fellow. I am pained indeed, but how should I be -offended? I think you exaggerate; I cannot forget that you had the -same impression of the _Deacon;_ and yet, when you saw it played, were -less revolted than you looked for; and I will still hope that the -_Admiral_ also is not so bad as you suppose. There is one point, -however, where I differ from you very frankly. Religion is in the -world; I do not think you are the man to deny the importance of its -rôle; and I have long decided not to leave it on one side in art. The -opposition of the _Admiral_ and Mr. Pew is not, to my eyes, either -horrible or irreverent; but it may be, and it probably is, very ill -done: what then? This is a failure; better luck next time; more power -to the elbow, more discretion, more wisdom in the design, and the old -defeat becomes the scene of the new victory. Concern yourself about no -failure; they do not cost lives, as in engineering; they are the -_pierres perdues_ of successes. Fame is (truly) a vapour; do not think -of it; if the writer means well and tries hard, no failure will injure -him, whether with God or man. - -I wish I could hear a brighter account of yourself; but I am inclined to -acquit the _Admiral_ after having a share in the responsibility. My very -heavy cold is, I hope, drawing off; and the change to this charming -house in the forest will, I hope, complete my re-establishment.--With -love to all, believe me, your ever affectionate, - - ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. - -[About the same time, Mr. T. Stevenson was in some hesitation as to -letting himself be proposed for the office of President of the Royal -Society of Edinburgh.] - - - BONALLIE TOWERS, BOURNEMOUTH, - November, 1884. - -MY DEAR FATHER,--I have no hesitation in recommending you to let your -name go up; please yourself about an address; though, I think, if we -could meet, we could arrange something suitable; but what you propose -would be well enough in a way; but so modest as to suggest a whine. -From that point of view it would be better to change a little; but -this, whether we meet or not, we must discuss. Tait, Crystal, the -Royal Society, and I, all think you amply deserve this honour and far -more; it is not the True Blue to call this serious compliment a -"trial"; you should be glad of this recognition. As for resigning, -that is easy enough if found necessary; but to refuse would be husky, -unsatisfactory, and a trifle rotten. _Sic subs._ - - R. L. S. - -My cold is still very heavy; but I carry it well. Fanny is very much -out of sorts, principally through perpetual misery with me. I fear I -have been a little in the dumps, which, _as you know, sir_, is a very -great sin. I must try to be more cheerful; but my cough is so -severe--my uvula, larynx, and pharynx being all to pot--that I have -sometimes most exhausting nights and very peevish wakenings. However, -this shall be remedied, and last night I was distinctly better than -the night before. There is, my dear Mr. Stevenson (so I moralise -blandly as we sit together on the devil's garden-wall), no more -abominable sin than this gloom, this plaguey peevishness; why (say I) -what matters it if we be a little uncomfortable--that is no reason -for mangling our unhappy wives. And then I turn and _girn_ on the -unfortunate Cassandra.--Your fellow culprit, R. L. S. - - -With reference to the two following letters, it should be explained -that Stevenson and his old Edinburgh friend and comrade, Mr. Baxter -(who was also his man of business), were accustomed in their -correspondence, as the whim took them, to merge their own identities -in those of two fictitious personages, Johnson-Thomson and -Thomson-Johnson, ex-elders of the Kirk and types of a certain cast of -Edinburgh character. Their language is of the broadest Scots; and for -some readers it may be desirable to mention that "hoast" means cough -and "sculduddery" loose talk. - - - BONALLIE TOWERS, BRANKSOME PARK, - BOURNEMOUTH, - November 11th. - -MY DEAR CHARLES,--I am in my new house, thus proudly styled, as you -perceive: but the deevil a tower ava' can be perceived (except out of -window); this is not as it should be; one might have hoped, at least, -a turret. We are all vilely unwell. I put in the dark watches -imitating a donkey with some success, but little pleasure; and in the -afternoon I indulge in a smart fever, accompanied by aches and -shivers. There is thus little monotony to be deplored; and what might -still weigh upon me my wife lightens by various inexplicable attacks, -now in the pleasant morn, now at the noon of night. I, at least, am a -_regular_ invalid; I would scorn to bray in the afternoon; I would -indignantly refuse the proposal to fever in the night. What is bred in -the bone will come out, sir, in the flesh; and the same spirit that -prompted me to date my letter regulates the hour and character of my -attacks.--I am, sir, yours, - - THOMSON. - - - Postmark, BOURNEMOUTH, - 13th November, 1884. - -MY DEAR THOMSON,--It's a maist remarkable fac', but nae shüner had I -written yon braggin', blawin' letter aboot ma business habits, when -bang! that very day, my hoast begude in the aifternune. It is really -remaurkable; it's providenshle, I believe. The ink wasnae fair dry, -the wards werenae well ooten ma mouth, when bang, I got the lee. The -mair ye think o't, Thomson, the less ye'll like the looks o't. -Proavidence (I'm no sayin') is all verra weel _in its place_; but if -proavidence has nae mainners, wha's to learn't? Proavidence is a fine -thing, but hoo would you like proavidence to keep your till for ye? -The richt place for proavidence is in the Kirk; it has naething to do -wi' private correspondence between twa gentlemen, nor freendly cracks, -nor a wee bit word of sculduddery ahint the door, nor, in shoart, wi' -ony _hole-and-corner wark_, what I would call. I'm pairfec'ly willin' -to meet in wi' Proavidence, I'll be prood to meet in wi' him, when my -time's come and I _cannae doe nae_ better; but if he's to come -skinking aboot my stairfit, damned, I might as weel be deid for a' the -comfort I'll can get in life. Cannae he no be made to understand that -it's beneath him? Gosh, if I was in his business, I wouldnae steer my -heid for a plain, auld ex-elder that, tak him the way he taks himsel', -'s just aboot as honest as he can weel afford, an' but for a wheen -auld scandals, near forgotten noo, is a pairfectly respectable and -thoroughly decent man. Or if I fashed wi' him ava', it wad be kind o' -handsome like; a punnote under his stair door, or a bottle o' auld, -blended malt to his bit marnin', as a teshtymonial like you ye ken sae -weel aboot, but mair successfu'. - -Dear Thomson, have I ony money. If I have, _send it_ for the loard's -sake. - - JOHNSON. - - -[The following to Mr. Henry James, who from about this time began to -be a frequent and ever welcome visitor at the Bournemouth home, refers -to the essay of R. L. S. called a "Humble Remonstrance," which had -just appeared in Longman's Magazine. Mr. James had written holding out -the prospect of a continuance of the friendly controversy which had -thus been opened up between them on the aims and qualities of -fiction.] - - - BONALLIE TOWERS, BRANKSOME PARK, - BOURNEMOUTH, - December 8th, 1884. - -MY DEAR HENRY JAMES,--This is a very brave hearing from more points -than one. The first point is that there is a hope of a sequel. For -this I laboured. Seriously, from the dearth of information and -thoughtful interest in the art of literature, those who try to -practice it with any deliberate purpose run the risk of finding no fit -audience. People suppose it is "the stuff" that interests them; they -think, for instance, that the prodigious fine thoughts and sentiments -in Shakespeare impress by their own weight, not understanding that the -unpolished diamond is but a stone. They think that striking -situations, or good dialogue, are got by studying life; they will not -rise to understand that they are prepared by deliberate artifice and -set off by painful suppressions. Now, I want the whole thing well -ventilated, for my own education and the public's; and I beg you to -look as quick as you can, to follow me up with every circumstance of -defeat where we differ, and (to prevent the flouting of the laity) to -emphasise the points where we agree. I trust your paper will show me -the way to a rejoinder; and that rejoinder I shall hope to make with -so much art as to woo or drive you from your threatened silence. I -would not ask better than to pass my life in beating out this quarter -of corn with such a seconder as yourself. - -Point the second, I am rejoiced indeed to hear you speak so kindly of -my work: rejoiced and surprised. I seem to myself a very rude, -left-handed countryman; not fit to be read, far less complimented, by -a man so accomplished, so adroit, so craftsmanlike as you. You will -happily never have cause to understand the despair with which a writer -like myself considers (say) the park scene in Lady Barberina. Every -touch surprises me by its intangible precision; and the effect when -done, as light as syllabub, as distinct as a picture, fills me with -envy. Each man among us prefers his own aim, and I prefer mine; but -when we come to speak of performance, I recognise myself, compared -with you, to be a lout and slouch of the first water. - -Where we differ, both as to the design of stories and the delineation -of character, I begin to lament. Of course, I am not so dull as to ask -you to desert your walk; but could you not, in one novel, to oblige a -sincere admirer, and to enrich his shelves with a beloved volume, -could you not, and might you not, cast your characters in a mould a -little more abstract and academic (dear Mrs. Pennyman had already, -among your other work, a taste of what I mean), and pitch the -incidents, I do not say, in any stronger, but in a slightly more -emphatic key--as it were an episode from one of the old (so-called) -novels of adventure? I fear you will not; and I suppose I must -sighingly admit you to be right. And yet, when I see, as it were, a -book of Tom Jones handled with your exquisite precision and shot -through with those side-lights of reflection in which you excel, I -relinquish the dear vision with regret. Think upon it. - -As you know, I belong to that besotted class of man, the invalid; this -puts me to a stand in the way of visits. But it is possible that some -day you may feel that a day near the sea and among pinewoods would be -a pleasant change from town. If so, please let us know; and my wife -and I will be delighted to put you up and give you what we can to eat -and drink (I have a fair bottle of claret).--On the back of which, -believe me, yours sincerely, - - ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. - -P.S.--I reopen this to say that I have re-read my paper, and cannot -think I have at all succeeded in being either veracious or polite. I -knew, of course, that I took your paper merely as a pin to hang my own -remarks upon; but, alas! what a thing is any paper! What fine remarks -can you not hang on mine! How I have sinned against proportion and, -with every effort to the contrary, against the merest rudiments of -courtesy to you! You are, indeed, a very acute reader to have divined -the real attitude of my mind, and I can only conclude, not without -closed eyes and shrinking shoulders, in the well-worn words - - Lay on, Macduff! - - -[During a crippling fit of ill-health, Stevenson had received a -commission for a sensational story for the Christmas number of the -_Pall Mall Gazette_. The commission ended in his sending the managers -of the paper a recast of a gruesome tale which he had written and -condemned in the Highlands three years before, _The Body-Snatcher_. -He rightly thought this beneath his own standard of merit, and would -not take the full fee which had been offered for it. Two of the -following letters to Mr. Henley refer to this matter: Bloody Jack, or -Jacques, let it be understood, was his regular nickname for his -arch-enemy, hemorrhage from the lungs.] - - - [Dec. 1884.] - -DEAR MAN,--1st Disagreeable. Do try and lay your hands on these three -poems; they were surely not lost in transmission? It seems hard I -should have to make them a _third_ time. - -2d Disagreeable. I have done a kind of a damned machine for the P. M. -G., and have near died of it--(weakness, insomnia, Bloody -Jacquerie)--and am now so dissatisfied that I have told them not to -pay me till I see a proof. I think, or I fear I will think, it is not -worth the money offered; in which case, of course, I will not take -it.--Yours ever, - - The pale wreck, } - The spectral phantom, } R. L. S. - The abhorred miscarriage, } - - - [Dec. 1884.] - -DEAR LAD,--I have made up my mind about the P. M. G., and send you a -copy, which please keep or return. As for not giving a reduction, what -are we? Are we artists or city men? Why do we sneer at stockbrokers? O -nary; I will not take the £40. I took that as a fair price for my best -work; I was not able to produce my best; and I will be damned if I -steal with my eyes open. _Sufficit._ This is my lookout. As for the -paper being rich, certainly it is; but I am honourable. It is no more -above me in money than the poor slaveys and cads from whom I look for -honesty are below me. Am I Pepys, that because I can find the -countenance of "some of our ablest merchants," that because ---- and ----- pour forth languid twaddle and get paid for it, I, too, should -"cheerfully continue to steal"? I am not Pepys. I do not live much to -God and honour; but I will not wilfully turn my back on both. I am, -like all the rest of us, falling ever lower from the bright ideas I -began with, falling into greed, into idleness, into middle-aged and -slippered fireside cowardice; but is it you, my bold blade, that I -hear crying this sordid and rank twaddle in my ear? Preaching the -dankest Grundyism and upholding the rank customs of our trade--you, -who are so cruel hard upon the customs of the publishers? O man, look -at the Beam in our own Eyes; and whatever else you do, do not plead -Satan's cause, or plead it for all; either embrace the bad, or respect -the good when you see a poor devil trying for it. If this is the -honesty of authors--to take what you can get and console yourself -because publishers are rich--take my name from the rolls of that -association. 'Tis a caucus of weaker thieves, jealous of the -stronger.--Ever yours, - - THE ROARING R. L. S. - -You will see from the enclosed that I have stuck to what I think my -dues pretty tightly in spite of this flourish; these are my words for -a poor ten-pound note! - - [Illustration: Stevenson's Skye Terrier "Bogue." - From a photograph made at Hyères.] - - - [Christmas, 1884.] - -MY DEAR LAD,--Here was I in bed; Bloody Jack; not writing, not -hearing, and finding myself gently and agreeably ill used; and behold -I learn you are bad yourself. Get your wife to send us a word how you -are. I am better decidedly. Bogue got his Christmas card, and behaved -well for three days after. It may interest the cynical to learn that I -started this hæmorrhage by too sedulous attentions to my dear Bogue. -The stick was broken; and that night Bogue, who was attracted by the -extraordinary aching of his bones, and is always inclined to a serious -view of his own ailments, announced with his customary pomp that he -was dying. In this case, however, it was not the dog that died. (He -had tried to bite his mother's ankles.) I have written, with the aid -of bloudie Jack, a long and peculiarly solemn paper on the technical -elements of style. It is path-breaking and epoch-making; but I do not -think the public will be readily convoked to its perusal. Did I tell -you that S. C. had risen to the paper on James? At last! O but I was -pleased; he's (like Johnnie) been lang, lang o' comin', but here he -is. He will not object to my future manoeuvres in the same field, as -he has to my former. All the family are here; my father better than I -have seen him these two years; my mother the same as ever. I do trust -you are better, and I am yours ever, R. L. S. - - - [Winter, 1884-5.] - -DEAR HENLEY,--We are all to pieces in health, and heavily handicapped -with Arabs. [Stories for the _New Arabian Nights_.] I have a dreadful -cough, whose attacks leave me _ætat 90_. Fanny is quite gone up with -my bad health. I never let up on the Arabs, all the same, and rarely -get less than eight pages out of hand, though hardly able to come -downstairs for twittering knees. - -I shall put in ----'s letter. He says so little of his circumstances -that I am in an impossibility to give him advice more specific than a -copybook. Give him my love, however, and tell him it is the mark of -the parochial gentleman who has never travelled to find all wrong in a -foreign land. Let him hold on, and he will find one country as good as -another; and in the meanwhile let him resist the fatal British -tendency to communicate his dissatisfaction with a country to its -inhabitants. 'Tis a good idea, but it somehow fails to please. In a -fortnight, if I can keep my spirit in the box at all, I should be -nearly through this Arabian desert; so can tackle something -fresh.--Yours ever, R. L. S. - - - [BOURNEMOUTH, - Winter, 1884-5.] - -DEAR BOY,--I trust this finds you well; it leaves me so-so. The -weather is so cold that I must stick to bed, which is rotten and -tedious, but can't be helped. - -I find in the blotting book the enclosed, which I wrote to you the eve -of my blood. Is it not strange? That night, when I naturally thought I -was coopered, the thought of it was much in my mind; I thought it had -gone; and I thought what a strange prophecy I had made in jest, and -how it was indeed like to be the end of many letters. But I have -written a good few since, and the spell is broken. I am just as -pleased, for I earnestly desire to live. This pleasant middle age into -whose port we are steering is quite to my fancy. I would cast anchor -here, and go ashore for twenty years, and see the manners of the -place. Youth was a great time, but somewhat fussy. Now in middle age -(bar lucre) all seems mighty placid. It likes me; I spy a little -bright café in one corner of the port, in front of which I now propose -we should sit down. There is just enough of the bustle of the harbour -and no more; and the ships are close in, regarding us with -stern-windows--the ships that bring deals from Norway and parrots from -the Indies. Let us sit down here for twenty years, with a packet of -tobacco and a drink, and talk of art and women. By the by, the whole -city will sink, and the ships too, and the table, and we also; but we -shall have sat for twenty years and had a fine talk; and by that time, -who knows? exhausted the subject. - -I send you a book which (or I am mistook) will please you; it pleased -me. But I do desire a book of adventure--a romance--and no man will -get or write me one. Dumas I have read and re-read too often; Scott, -too, and I am short. I want to hear swords clash. I want a book to -begin in a good way; a book, I guess, like _Treasure Island_, alas! -which I have never read, and cannot though I live to ninety. I would -God that some one else had written it! By all that I can learn, it is -the very book for my complaint. I like the way I hear it opens; and -they tell me John Silver is good fun. And to me it is, and must ever -be, a dream unrealised, a book unwritten: O my sighings after romance, -or even Skeltery, and O! the weary age which will produce me neither! - - -CHAPTER I - -The night was damp and cloudy, the ways foul. The single horseman, -cloaked and booted, who pursued his way across Willesden Common, had -not met a traveller, when the sound of wheels-- - - -CHAPTER I - -"Yes, sir," said the old pilot, "she must have dropped into the bay a -little afore dawn. A queer craft she looks." - -"She shows no colours," returned the young gentleman musingly. - -"They're a-lowerin' of a quarter-boat, Mr. Mark," resumed the old -salt. "We shall soon know more of her." - -"Ay," replied the young gentleman called Mark, "and here, Mr. -Seadrift, comes your sweet daughter Nancy tripping down the cliff." - -"God bless her kind heart, sir," ejaculated old Seadrift. - - -CHAPTER I - -The notary, Jean Rossignol, had been summoned to the top of a great -house in the Isle St. Louis to make a will; and now, his duties -finished, wrapped in a warm roquelaure and with a lantern swinging -from one hand, he issued from the mansion on his homeward way. Little -did he think what strange adventures were to befall him!-- - -That is how stories should begin. And I am offered HUSKS instead. - - What should be: What is: - - The Filibuster's Cache. Aunt Anne's Tea Cosy. - Jerry Abershaw. Mrs. Brierly's Niece. - Blood Money: A Tale. Society: A Novel. - - R. L. S. - - -[The following letters to myself refer to a project, eagerly embraced -at first, but afterward abandoned for want of time and strength, for a -short life of Wellington to be contributed to a series edited by Mr. -Andrew Lang for Messrs. Longman. In the third letter to me, and in -that to Mr. J. A. Symonds which follows it, are expressed something of -the feelings of distress and bitterness with which, in common with, -but even more deeply than most Englishmen of sense and spirit, -Stevenson at this time felt the national disgrace of Gordon's fate in -the Soudan.] - - - BONALLIE TOWER, BRANKSOME PARK, - BOURNEMOUTH, - Jan. 4th, 1885. - -DEAR S. C.,--I am on my feet again, and getting on my boots to do the -_Iron Duke_. Conceive my glee: I have refused the £100, and am to get -some sort of royalty, not yet decided, instead. 'Tis for Longman's -_English Worthies_, edited by A. Lang. Aw haw! - -Now look here, could you get me a loan of the Despatches, or is that a -dream? I should have to mark passages I fear, and certainly note pages -on the fly. If you think it a dream, will Bain get me a second-hand -copy, or who would? The sooner, and cheaper, I can get it the better. -If there is anything in your weird library that bears on either the -man or the period, put it in a mortar and fire it here instanter: I -shall catch. I shall want, of course, an infinity of books: among -which, any lives there may be; a life of the Marquis Marmont (the -Maréchal), _Marmont's Memoirs_; _Greville's Memoirs_; _Peel's -Memoirs_; _Napier_; that blind man's history of England you once lent -me; Hamley's _Waterloo_; can you get me any of these? Thiers, idle -Thiers also. Can you help a man getting into his boots for such a huge -campaign? How are you? A good new year to you. I mean to have a good -one, but on whose funds I cannot fancy: not mine, leastways; as I am a -mere derelict and drift beam-on to bankruptcy. - -For God's sake remember the man who set out for to conquer Arthur -Wellesley, with a broken bellows and an empty pocket.--Yours ever. - - R. L. SHORTHOUSE. - - - BOURNEMOUTH, - Jan. or Feb. 1885. - -DEAR S. C.,--I have addressed a letter to the G. O. M. _à propos_ of -Villainton; and I became aware, you will be interested to hear, of an -overwhelming respect for the old gentleman. I can _blaguer_ his -failures; but when you actually address him, and bring the two -statures and records to confrontation, dismay is the result. By mere -continuance of years, he must impose; the man who helped to rule -England, before I was conceived, strikes me with a new sense of -greatness and antiquity, when I must actually beard him with the cold -forms of correspondence. I shied at the necessity of calling him plain -"Sir"! had he been "My lord," I had been happier; no, I am no -equalitarian. Honour to whom honour is due; and if to none, why, then, -honour to the old! - -These, O Slade Professor, are my unvarnished sentiments: I was a -little surprised to find them so extreme, and, therefore, I -communicate the fact. - -Belabour thy brains, as to whom it would be well to question. I have a -small space; I wish to make a popular book, nowhere obscure, nowhere, -if it can be helped, unhuman. It seems to me the most hopeful plan to -tell the tale, so far as may be, by anecdote. He did not die till so -recently, there must be hundreds who remember him, and thousands who -have still ungarnered stories. Dear man, to the breach! Up, soldier of -the iron dook, up, Slades, and at 'em! (which, conclusively, he did -not say: the at 'em-ic theory is to be dismissed). You know piles of -fellows who must reek with matter; help! help! - - R. L. S. - - - [BOURNEMOUTH, - Feb. 1885.] - -MY DEAR COLVIN,--You are indeed a backward correspondent, and much may -be said against you. But in this weather, and O dear! in this -political scene of degradation, much must be forgiven. I fear England -is dead of Burgessry, and only walks about galvanised. I do not love -to think of my countrymen these days; nor to remember myself. Why was -I silent? I feel I have no right to blame any one: but I won't write -to the G. O. M. I do really not see my way to any form of signature, -unless "your fellow criminal in the eyes of God," which might disquiet -the proprieties. - -About your book, I have always said go on. [This refers to some kind -of a scheme, I forget what, for the republication of stray -magazine-work of mine under the title Pictures, Places, and People.] -The drawing of character is a different thing from publishing the -details of a private career. No one objects to the first, or should -object, if his name be not put upon it; at the other, I draw the line. -In a preface, if you choose, you might distinguish: it is besides, a -thing for which you are eminently well equipped, and which you would -do with taste and incision. I long to see the book. People like -themselves (to explain a little more); no one likes his life, which is -a misgotten issue, and a tale of failure. To see these failures either -touched upon, or _coasted_, to get the idea of a spying eye and -blabbing tongue about the house is to lose all privacy in life. To see -that thing, which we do love, our character set forth, is ever -gratifying. See how my _Talk and Talkers_ went; everyone liked his own -portrait, and shrieked about other people's; so it will be with yours: -if you are the least true to the essential, the sitter will be -pleased: very likely not his friends, and that from _various motives_. - - R. L. S. - -When will your holiday be? I sent your letter to my wife, and forget. -Keep us in mind, and I hope we shall be able to receive you. - - - BOURNEMOUTH, - Feb. 1885. - -MY DEAR SYMONDS,--Yes, we have both been very neglectful. I had horrid -luck: catching (from kind friends) two thundering influenzas in August -and November; I recovered from the last with difficulty: also had -great annoyance from hæmorrhagic leaking; but have come through this -blustering winter with some general success; in the house, up and -down. My wife, however, has been painfully upset by my health. Last -year, of course, was cruelly trying to her nerves; Nice and Hyères are -bad experiences; and though she is not ill, the doctors tell me that -prolonged anxiety may do her a real mischief. She is now at Hyères -collecting our goods; and she has been ill there, which has upset my -liver and driven me to the friendly calomel on which I now mainly -live: it is the only thing that stops the bleeding, which seems -directly connected with the circulation of the liver. - -I feel a little old and fagged, and chary of speech, and not very sure -of spirit in my work; but considering what a year I have passed, and -how I have twice sat on Charon's pier-head, I am surprising. The -doctors all seem agreed in saying that my complaint is quite unknown, -and will allow of no prognosis. - -My father has presented us with a very pretty home in this place, into -which we hope to move by May. My _Child's Verses_ come out next week. -_Otto_ begins to appear in April. _More New Arabian Nights_ as soon as -possible. Moreover, I am neck deep in Wellington; also a story on the -stocks: _The Great North Road_. O, I am busy! Lloyd is at college in -Edinburgh. That is, I think, all that can be said by the way of news. - -Have you read _Huckleberry Finn_? It contains many excellent things; -above all, the whole story of a healthy boy's dealings with his -conscience, incredibly well done. - -My own conscience is badly seared: a want of piety; yet I pray for it, -tacitly, every day; believing it, after courage, the only gift worth -having; and its want, in a man of any claims to honour, quite -unpardonable. The tone of your letter seemed to me very sound. In -these dark days of public dishonour, I do not know that one can do -better than carry our private trials piously. What a picture is this -of a nation! No man that I can see, on any side or party, seems to -have the least sense of our ineffable shame: the desertion of the -garrisons. I tell my little parable that Germany took England, and -then there was an Indian Mutiny, and Bismarck said: "Quite right: let -Delhi and Calcutta and Bombay fall; and let the women and children be -treated Sepoy fashion," and people say: "O, but that is very -different!" And then I wish I were dead. Millais (I hear) was painting -Gladstone when the news came of Gordon's death; Millais was much -affected, and Gladstone said: "Why? _It is the man's own temerity!_" -But why should I blame Gladstone, when I too am a Bourgeois? when I -have held my peace? Why did I hold my peace? Because I am a sceptic: -_i.e._ a Bourgeois. We believe in nothing, Symonds; you don't, and I -don't; and there are two reasons, out of a handful of millions, why -England stands before the world dripping with blood and daubed with -dishonour. I will first try to take the beam out of my own eye; -trusting that even private effort somehow betters and braces the -general atmosphere. See, for example, if England has shown (I put it -hypothetically) one spark of manly sensibility, they have been shamed -into it by the spectacle of Gordon. Police-Officer Cole is the only -man that I see to admire. I dedicate my _New Arabs_ to him and Cox, in -default of other great public characters.--Yours ever most -affectionately, - - ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. - - - BOURNEMOUTH, - March 16th, 1885. - -MY DEAR HAMERTON,--Various things have been reminding me of my -misconduct: First, Swan's application for your address; second, a -sight of the sheets of your _Landscape_ book; and last, your note to -Swan, which he was so kind as to forward. I trust you will never -suppose me to be guilty of anything more serious than an idleness, -partially excusable. My ill-health makes my rate of life heavier than -I can well meet, and yet stops me from earning more. My conscience, -sometimes perhaps too easily stifled, but still (for my time of life -and the public manners of the age) fairly well alive, forces me to -perpetual and almost endless transcriptions. On the back of all this, -any correspondence hangs like a thunder-cloud; and just when I think I -am getting through my troubles, crack, down goes my health, I have a -long costly sickness, and begin the world again. It is fortunate for -me I have a father, or I should long ago have died; but the -opportunity of the aid makes the necessity none the more welcome. My -father has presented me with a beautiful house here--or so I believe, -for I have not yet seen it, being a cage bird but for nocturnal -sorties in the garden. I hope we shall soon move into it, and I tell -myself that some day perhaps we may have the pleasure of seeing you as -our guest. I trust at least that you will take me as I am, a -thoroughly bad correspondent, and a man, a hater, indeed, of rudeness -in others, but too often rude in all unconsciousness himself; and that -you will never cease to believe the sincere sympathy and admiration -that I feel for you and for your work. - -About the _Landscape_ [Mr. Hamerton's book so called], which I had a -glimpse of while a friend of mine was preparing a review, I was -greatly interested, and could write and wrangle for a year on every -page; one passage particularly delighted me, the part about -Ulysses--jolly. Then, you know, that is just what I fear I have come -to think landscape ought to be in literature; so there we should be at -odds. Or perhaps not so much as I suppose, as Montaigne says it is a -pot with two handles, and I own I am wedded to the technical handle, -which (I likewise own and freely) you do well to keep for a mistress. -I should much like to talk with you about some other points; it is -only in talk that one gets to understand. Your delightful Wordsworth -trap I have tried on two hardened Wordsworthians, not that I am one -myself. By covering up the context, and asking them to guess what the -passage was, both (and both are very clever people, one a writer, one -a painter) pronounced it a guide-book. "Do you think it an unusually -good guide-book?" I asked, and both said, "No, not at all!" Their -grimace was a picture when I showed the original. - -I trust your health and that of Mrs. Hamerton keep better; your last -account was a poor one. I was unable to make out the visit I had -hoped, as (I do not know if you heard of it) I had a very violent and -dangerous hæmorrhage last spring. I am almost glad to have seen death -so close with all my wits about me, and not in the customary lassitude -and disenchantment of disease. Even thus clearly beheld I find him not -so terrible as we suppose. But, indeed, with the passing of years, the -decay of strength, the loss of all my old active and pleasant habits, -there grows more and more upon me that belief in the kindness of this -scheme of things, and the goodness of our veiled God, which is an -excellent and pacifying compensation. I trust, if your health -continues to trouble you, you may find some of the same belief. But -perhaps my fine discovery is a piece of art, and belongs to a -character cowardly, intolerant of certain feelings, and apt to -self-deception. I don't think so, however; and when I feel what a weak -and fallible vessel I was thrust into this hurly-burly, and with what -marvellous kindness the wind has been tempered to my frailties, I -think I should be a strange kind of ass to feel anything but -gratitude. - -I do not know why I should inflict this talk upon you; but when I -summon the rebellious pen, he must go his own way; I am no Michael -Scott, to rule the fiend of correspondence. Most days he will none of -me; and when he comes, it is to rape me where he will,--Yours very -sincerely, - - ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. - - -[With Mr. Will H. Low as intermediary, Stevenson had now been entering -into relations with Messrs. Scribner's Sons for the publication of his -works in America. The following letter refers to this matter and to -Mr. Low's proposed dedication to R. L. S. of one of the poems of Keats -which he had been illustrating.] - - - BONALLIE TOWER, BOURNEMOUTH, - March 13th, 1885. - -MY DEAR LOW,--Your success has been immense. I wish your letter had -come two days ago: _Otto_, alas! has been disposed of a good while -ago; but it was only day before yesterday that I settled the new -volume of Arabs. However, for the future, you and the sons of the -deified Scribner are the men for me. Really they have behaved most -handsomely. I cannot lay my hand on the papers, or I would tell you -exactly how it compares with my English bargain: but it compares well. -Ah! if we had that copyright, I do believe it would go far to make me -solvent, ill health and all. - -I wrote you a letter to the Rembrandt, in which I stated my views -about the dedication in a very brief form. It will give me sincere -pleasure; and will make the second dedication I have received: the -other being from John Addington Symonds. It is a compliment I value -much; I don't know any that I should prefer. - -I am glad to hear you have windows to do; that is a fine business, I -think; but alas! the glass is so bad nowadays; realism invading even -that, as well as the huge inferiority of our technical resource -corrupting every tint. Still, anything that keeps a man to decoration -is in this age, good for the artist's spirit. - -By the way, have you seen James and me on the novel? James, I think in -the August or September--R. L. S. in the December _Longman_. I own I -think the _école bête_, of which I am the champion, has the whiphand -of the argument; but as James is to make a rejoinder, I must not -boast. Anyway the controversy is amusing to see. I was terribly tied -down to space, which has made the end congested and dull. I shall see -if I can afford to send you the April _Contemporary_--but I daresay -you see it anyway--as it will contain a paper of mine on style, a sort -of continuation of old arguments on art in which you have wagged a -most effective tongue. It is a sort of start upon my Treatise on the -Art of Literature: a small, arid book that shall some day appear. - -With every good wish from me and mine (should I not say "she and -hers"?) to you and yours, believe me yours ever, - - ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. - -Do you see much of Marius Townsend? Are you next door to the Doctor's -Daughter? or does "North" refer to another "Washington Square" than -Henry James's? - - -[The following to Mr. Gosse refers to the publication of that -gentleman's life of Gray, in Mr. Morley's series of English Men of -Letters, and of the writer's own, now classic, volume, _A Child's -Garden of Verses_.] - - - BONALLIE TOWER, BOURNEMOUTH, - March 12, 1885. - -MY DEAR GOSSE,--I was indeed much exercised how I could be worked into -Gray; and lo! when I saw it, the passage seemed to have been written -with a single eye to elucidate the ... worst?... well, not a very good -poem of Gray's. Your little life is excellent, clean, neat, efficient. -I have read many of your notes, too, with pleasure. Your connection -with Gray was a happy circumstance; it was a suitable conjunction. - -I did not answer your letter from the States, for what was I to say? I -liked getting it and reading it; I was rather flattered that you wrote -it to me; and then I'll tell you what I did--I put it in the fire. -Why? Well, just because it was very natural and expansive; and thinks -I to myself, if I die one of these fine nights, this is just the -letter that Gosse would not wish to go into the hands of third -parties. Was I well inspired? And I did not answer it because you were -in your high places, sailing with supreme dominion, and seeing life in -a particular glory; and I was peddling in a corner, confined to the -house, overwhelmed with necessary work, which I was not always doing -well, and, in the very mild form in which the disease approaches me, -touched with a sort of bustling cynicism. Why throw cold water? How -ape your agreeable frame of mind? In short, I held my tongue. - -I have now published on 101 small pages _The Complete Proof of Mr. R. -L. Stevenson's Incapacity to Write Verse_, in a series of graduated -examples with table of contents. I think I shall issue a companion -volume of exercises: "Analyse this poem. Collect and comminate the -ugly words. Distinguish and condemn the _chevilles_. State Mr. -Stevenson's faults of taste in regard to the measure. What reasons can -you gather from this example for your belief that Mr. S. is unable to -write any other measure?" - -They look ghastly in the cold light of print; but there is something -nice in the little ragged regimen; for all; the blackguards seem to me -to smile; to have a kind of childish treble note that sounds in my -ears freshly; not song, if you will, but a child's voice. - -I was glad you enjoyed your visit to the States. Most Englishmen go -there with a confirmed design of patronage, as they go to France for -that matter; and patronage will not pay. Besides, in this year -of--grace, said I?--of disgrace, who should creep so low as an -Englishman? "It is not to be thought of that the flood"--ah, -"Wordsworth," you would change your note were you alive to-day! - -I am now a beastly householder, but have not yet entered on my domain. -When I do, the social revolution will probably cast me back upon my -dung heap. There is a person called Hyndman whose eye is on me; his -step is beHynd me as I go. I shall call my house Skerryvore when I get -it: SKERRYVORE: _c'est bon pour la poéshie_. I will conclude with my -favourite sentiment: "The world is too much with me." - - ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, - The Hermit of Skerryvore. - - Author of "John Vane Tempest: a Romance," "Herbert and Henrietta: or - the Nemesis of Sentiment," "The Life and Adventures of Colonel Bludyer - Fortescue," "Happy Homes and Hairy Faces," "A Pound of Feathers and a - Pound of Lead," part author of "Minn's Complete Capricious - Correspondent: a Manual of Natty, Natural, and Knowing Letters," and - editor of the "Poetical Remains of Samuel Burt Crabbe, known as the - melodious Bottle-Holder." - - Uniform with the above: - - "The Life and Remains of the Reverend Jacob Degray Squah," author of - "Heave-yo for the New Jerusalem." "A Box of Candles; or the Patent - Spiritual Safety Match," and "A Day with the Heavenly Harriers." - - -[The two following letters refer to the sudden death of Professor -Fleeming Jenkin, with whom, and with his wife, Stevenson from his -early student days maintained unbroken kindness and friendship.] - - - SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH - [Midsummer, 1885]. - -MY DEAR MRS. JENKIN,--You know how much and for how long I have loved, -respected, and admired him; I am only able to feel a little with you. -But I know how he would have wished us to feel. I never knew a better -man, nor one to me more lovable; we shall all feel the loss more -greatly as time goes on. It scarce seems life to me; what must it be -to you? Yet one of the last things that he said to me was, that from -all these sad bereavements of yours he had learned only more than ever -to feel the goodness and what we, in our feebleness, call the support -of God; he had been ripening so much--to other eyes than ours, we must -suppose he was ripe, and try to feel it. I feel it is better not to -say much more. It will be to me a great pride to write a notice of -him: the last I can now do. What more in any way I can do for you, -please to think and let me know. For his sake and for your own, I -would not be a useless friend: I know, you know me a most warm one; -please command me or my wife, in any way. Do not trouble to write to -me; Austin, I have no doubt, will do so, if you are, as I fear you -will be, unfit. - -My heart is sore for you. At least you know what you have been to him; -how he cherished and admired you, how he was never so pleased as when -he spoke of you; with what a boy's love, up to the last, he loved you. -This surely is a consolation. Yours is the cruel part: to survive; you -must try and not grudge to him his better fortune, to go first. It is -the sad part of such relations that one must remain and suffer; I -cannot see my poor Jenkin without you. Nor you indeed without him; but -you may try to rejoice that he is spared that extremity. Perhaps I (as -I was so much his confidant) know even better that you can do, what -your loss would have been to him; he never spoke of you but what his -face changed; it was--you were--his religion. - -I write by this post to Austin and to the Academy.--Yours most -sincerely, - - ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. - - - SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH. - -MY DEAR MRS. JENKIN,--I should have written sooner, but we are in a -bustle and I have been very tired, though still well. Your very kind -note was most welcome to me. I shall be very much pleased to have you -call me Louis, as he has now done for so many years. Sixteen, you say? -is it so long? It seems too short now; but of that we cannot judge and -must not complain. - -I wish that either I or my wife could do anything for you; when we -can, you will, I am sure, command us. - -I trust that my notice gave you as little pain as was possible. I -found I had so much to say, that I preferred to keep it for another -place and make but a note in the Academy. To try to draw my friend at -greater length, and say what he was to me and his intimates, what a -good influence in life and what an example, is a desire that grows -upon me. It was strange, as I wrote the note, how his old tests and -criticisms haunted me; and it reminded me afresh with every few words -how much I owe to him. - -I had a note from Henley, very brief and very sad. We none of us yet -feel the loss; but we know what he would have said and wished. - -Do you know that Dew-Smith has two photographs of him, neither very -bad; and one giving a lively, though not flattering air of him in -conversation? If you have not got them, would you like me to write to -Dew and ask him to give you proofs? - -I was so pleased that he and my wife had at last made friends; that is -a great pleasure. We found and have preserved one fragment (the head) -of the drawing he made and tore up when he was last here. He had -promised to come and stay with us this summer. May we not hope, at -least, some time soon to have one from you?--Believe me, my dear Mrs. -Jenkin, with the most real sympathy, your sincere friend, - - ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. - -Dear me, what happiness I owe to both of you! - - - SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH, - October 22nd, 1885. - -MY DEAR LOW,--I trust you are not annoyed with me beyond forgiveness: -for indeed my silence has been devilish prolonged. I can only tell you -that I have been nearly six months (more than six) in a strange -condition of collapse when it was impossible to do any work and -difficult (more difficult than you would suppose) to write the merest -note. I am now better, but not yet my own man in the way of brains, -and in health only so-so. I turn more towards the liver and dyspepsia -business, which is damned unpleasant and paralysing; I suppose I shall -learn (I begin to think I am learning) to fight this vast, vague -feather-bed of an obsession that now overlies and smothers me; but in -the beginnings of these conflicts, the inexperienced wrestler is -always worsted; and I own I have been quite extinct. I wish you to -know, though it can be no excuse, that you are not the only one of my -friends by many whom I have thus neglected; and even now, having come -so very late into the possession of myself, with a substantial capital -of debts, and my work still moving with a desperate slowness--as a -child might fill a sandbag with its little handfuls--and my future -deeply pledged, there is almost a touch of virtue in my borrowing -these hours to write to you. Why I said 'hours' I know not; it would -look blue for both of us if I made good the word. - -I was writing your address the other day, ordering a copy of my next, -_Prince Otto_, to go your way. I hope you have not seen it in parts; -it was not meant to be so read; and only my poverty (dishonourably) -consented to the serial evolution. - -I will send you with this a copy of the English edition of the -_Child's Garden_. I have heard there is some vile rule of the -post-office in the States against inscriptions; so I send herewith a -piece of doggerel which Mr. Bunner may, if he thinks fit, copy off the -fly leaf. - -Sargent was down again and painted a portrait of me walking about in -my own dining-room, in my own velveteen jacket and twisting as I go my -own moustache; at one corner a glimpse of my wife, in an Indian dress -and seated in a chair that was once my grandfather's, but since some -months goes by the name of Henry James's, for it was there the -novelist loved to sit--adds a touch of poesy and comicality. It is, I -think, excellent; but is too eccentric to be exhibited. I am at one -extreme corner; my wife, in this wild dress and looking like a ghost, -is at the extreme other end; between us an open door exhibits my -palatial entrance hall and a part of my respected staircase. All this -is touched in lovely, with that witty touch of Sargent's; but of -course it looks dam queer as a whole. - -Pray let me hear from you and give me good news of yourself and your -wife, to whom please remember me.--Yours most sincerely, my dear Low, - - ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. - -(To be continued.) - - - - - [Illustration: "Well, he can't lead _me_."--Page 35.] - -THE CHRONICLES OF AUNT MINERVY ANN - -By Joel Chandler Harris - -ILLUSTRATED BY A. B. FROST - - -AN EVENING WITH THE KU-KLUX - -While in Halcyondale attending the county fair I had a good many talks -with Aunt Minervy Ann, who was the cook, housekeeper, and general -superintendent of Major Tumlin Perdue's household. Some of these -conversations have been reported on account of the whiff and flavor of -old times which caused them to live in my mind, while others perhaps -as important have been forgotten. - -In the published reports of these conversations the name of Hamp, Aunt -Minervy's husband, often occurs. When a slave, Hamp had belonged to an -estate which was in the hands of the Court of Ordinary (or, as it was -then called, the Inferior Court), to be administered in the interest -of minor heirs. This was not a fortunate thing for the negroes, of -which there were above one hundred and fifty. Men, women, and children -were hired out, some far and some near. They came back home at -Christmas-time, enjoyed a week's frolic, and were then hired out -again, perhaps to new employers. But whether to new or old, it is -certain that hired hands in those days did not receive the -consideration that men gave to their own negroes. - -This experience told heavily on Hamp's mind. It made him reserved, -suspicious, and antagonistic. He had few pleasant memories to fall -back on, and these were of the days of his early youth, when he used -to trot around holding to his old master's coat-tails--the kind old -master who had finally been sent to the insane asylum. Hamp never got -over the idea (he had heard some of the older negroes talking about -it) that his old master had been judged to be crazy simply because he -was unusually kind to his negroes, especially the little ones. Hamp's -after-experience seemed to prove this, for he received small share of -kindness, as well as scrimped rations, from those who hired him. - -It was a very good thing for Hamp that he married Aunt Minervy Ann, -otherwise he would have become a wanderer and a vagabond when freedom -came. Even as it was, he didn't miss it a hair's breadth. He "broke -loose," as he described it, and went off, but finally came back and -tried to persuade Aunt Minervy Ann to leave Major Perdue. How he -failed in this has already been reported. He settled down, but he -acquired no very friendly feelings toward the white race. - -He joined the secret political societies strangely called "Union -Leagues," and aided in disseminating the belief that the whites were -only awaiting a favorable opportunity to re-enslave his race. He was -only repeating what the carpet-baggers had told him. Perhaps he -believed the statement, perhaps not. At any rate, he repeated it -fervently and frequently, and soon came to be the recognized leader of -the negroes in the county of which Halcyondale was the capital. That -is to say, the leader of all except one. At church one Sunday night -some of the brethren congratulated Aunt Minervy Ann on the fact that -Hamp was now the leader of the colored people in that region. - -"What colored people?" snapped Aunt Minervy Ann. - -"We-all," responded a deacon, emphatically. - -"Well, he can't lead _me_, I'll tell you dat right now!" exclaimed -Aunt Minervy Ann. - - [Illustration: He wore a blue army overcoat and a stove-pipe - hat.--Page 36.] - -Anyhow, when the time came to elect members of the Legislature (the -constitutional convention had already been held), Hamp was chosen to -be the candidate of the negro Republicans. A white man wanted to run, -but the negroes said they preferred their own color, and they had -their way. They had their way at the polls, too, for, as nearly all -the whites who would have voted had served in the Confederate army, -they were at that time disfranchised. - -So Hamp was elected overwhelmingly, "worl' widout een'," as he put it, -and the effect it had on him was a perfect illustration of one aspect -of human nature. Before and during the election (which lasted three -days) Hamp had been going around puffed up with importance. He wore a -blue army overcoat and a stove-pipe hat, and went about smoking a big -cigar. When the election was over, and he was declared the choice of -the county, he collapsed. His dignity all disappeared. His air of -self-importance and confidence deserted him. His responsibilities -seemed to weigh him down. - -He had once "rolled" in the little printing-office where the machinery -consisted of a No. 2 Washington hand-press, a wooden imposing-stone, -three stands for the cases, a rickety table for "wetting down" the -paper, a tub in which to wash the forms, and a sheet-iron -"imposing-stone." This chanced to be my head-quarters, and the day -after the election I was somewhat surprised to see Hamp saunter in. So -was Major Tumlin Perdue, who was reading the exchanges. - -"He's come to demand a retraction," remarked the Major, "and you'll -have to set him right. He's no longer plain Hamp; he's the Hon. -Hamp--what's your other name?" turning to the negro. - -"Hamp Tumlin my fergiven name, suh. I thought 'Nervy tol' you dat." - -"Why, who named you after me?" inquired the Major, somewhat angrily. - -"Me an' 'Nervy fix it up, suh. She say it's about de purtiest name in -town." - -The Major melted a little, but his bristles rose again, as it were. - -"Look here, Hamp!" he exclaimed in a tone that nobody ever forgot or -misinterpreted; "don't you go and stick Perdue onto it. I won't stand -that!" - -"No, suh!" responded Hamp. "I started ter do it, but 'Nervy Ann say -she ain't gwine ter have de Perdue name bandied about up dar whar de -Legislatur's at." - -Again the Major thawed, and though he looked long at Hamp it was with -friendly eyes. He seemed to be studying the negro--"sizing him up," as -the saying is. For a newly elected member of the Legislature, Hamp -seemed to take a great deal of interest in the old duties he once -performed about the office. He went first to the box in which the -"roller" was kept, and felt of its surface carefully. - -"You'll hatter have a bran new roller 'fo' de mont's out," he said, -"an' I won't be here to he'p you make it." - -Then he went to the roller-frame, turned the handle, and looked at the -wooden cylinders. "Dey don't look atter it like I use ter, suh; an' -dish yer frame monst'us shackly." - -From there he passed to the forms where the advertisements remained -standing. He passed his thumb over the type and looked at it -critically. "Dey er mighty skeer'd dey'll git all de ink off," was his -comment. Do what he would, Hamp couldn't hide his embarrassment. - -Meanwhile, Major Perdue scratched off a few lines in pencil. "I wish -you'd get this in Tuesday's paper," he said. Then he read: "The Hon. -Hampton Tumlin, recently elected a member of the Legislature, paid us -a pop-call last Saturday. We are always pleased to meet our -distinguished fellow-townsman and representative. We trust Hon. -Hampton Tumlin will call again when the Ku-Klux are in." - -"Why, certainly," said I, humoring the joke. - -"Sholy you-all ain't gwine put dat in de paper, is you?" inquired -Hamp, in amazement. - -"Of course," replied the Major; "why not?" - -"Kaze, ef you does, I'm a ruint nigger. Ef 'Nervy Ann hear talk 'bout -my name an' entitlements bein' in de paper, she'll quit me sho. Uh-uh! -I'm gwine 'way fum here!" With that Hamp bowed and disappeared. The -Major chuckled over his little joke, but soon returned to his -newspaper. For a quarter of an hour there was absolute quiet in the -room, and, as it seemed, in the entire building, which was a brick -structure of two stories, the stairway being in the centre. The -hallway was, perhaps, seventy-five feet long, and on each side, at -regular intervals, there were four rooms, making eight in all, and, -with one exception, variously occupied as lawyers' offices or sleeping -apartments, the exception being the printing-office in which Major -Perdue and I were sitting. This was at the extreme rear of the -hallway. - - [Illustration: "Sholy you-all ain't gwine put dat in de paper, is - you?"--Page 36.] - -I had frequently been struck by the acoustic properties of this -hallway. A conversation carried on in ordinary tones in the -printing-office could hardly be heard in the adjoining room. -Transferred to the front rooms, however, or even to the sidewalk -facing the entrance to the stairway, the lightest tone was magnified -in volume. A German professor of music who for a time occupied the -apartment opposite the printing-office was so harassed by the -thunderous sounds of laughter and conversation rolling back upon him -that he tried to remedy the matter by nailing two thicknesses of -bagging along the floor from the stairway to the rear window. This -was, indeed, something of a help, but when the German left, being of -an economical turn of mind, he took his bagging away with him, and -once more the hall-way was torn and rent, as you may say, with the -lightest whisper. - -Thus it happened that, while the Major and I were sitting enjoying an -extraordinary season of calm, suddenly there came a thundering sound -from the stairway. A troop of horse could hardly have made a greater -uproar, and yet I knew that less than half a dozen people were -ascending the steps. Some one stumbled and caught himself, and the -multiplied and magnified reverberations were as loud as if the roof -had caved in, carrying the better part of the structure with it. Some -one laughed at the misstep, and the sound came to our ears with the -deafening effect of an explosion. The party filed with a dull roar -into one of the front rooms, the office of a harum-scarum young lawyer -who had more empty bottles behind his door than he had ever had briefs -on his desk. - -"Well, the great Gemini!" exclaimed Major Perdue, "how do you manage -to stand that sort of thing?" - -I shrugged my shoulders and laughed, and was about to begin anew a -very old tirade against caves and halls of thunder, when the Major -raised a warning hand. Some one was saying---- - -"He hangs out right on ol' Major Perdue's lot. He's got a wife there." - -"By jing!" exclaimed another voice; "is that so? Well, I don't wanter -git mixed up wi' the Major. He may be wobbly on his legs, but I don't -wanter be the one to run up ag'in 'im." - -The Major pursed up his lips and looked at the ceiling, his attitude -being one of rapt attention. - -"Shucks!" cried another; "by the time the ol' cock gits his bellyful -of dram, thunder wouldn't roust 'im." - -A shrewd, foxy, almost sinister expression came over the Major's rosy -face as he glanced at me. His left hand went to his goatee, an -invariable signal of deep feeling, such as anger, grief, or serious -trouble. Another voice broke in here, a voice that we both knew to be -that of Larry Pulliam, a big Kentuckian who had refugeed to -Halcyondale during the war. - -"Blast it all!" exclaimed Larry Pulliam, "I hope the Major will come -out. Me an' him hain't never butted heads yit, an' it's gittin' high -time. Ef he comes out, you fellers jest go ahead with your -rat-killin'. _I_'ll 'ten' to him." - -"Why, you'd make two of him, Pulliam," said the young lawyer. - -"Oh, I'll not hurt 'im; that is, not _much_--jest enough to let 'im -know I'm livin' in the same village," replied Mr. Pulliam. The voice -of the town bull could not have had a more terrifying sound. - -Glancing at the Major, I saw that he had entirely recovered his -equanimity. More than that, a smile of sweet satisfaction and -contentment settled on his rosy face, and stayed there. - -"I wouldn't take a hundred dollars for that last remark," whispered -the Major. "That chap's been a-raisin' his hackle at me ever since -he's been here, and every time I try to get him to make a flutter he's -off and gone. Of course it wouldn't do for me to push a row on him -just dry so. But now----" The Major laughed softly, rubbed his hands -together, and seemed to be as happy as a child with a new toy. - -"My son," said he after awhile, "ain't there some way of finding out -who the other fellows are? Ain't you got some word you want Seab -Griffin"--this was the young lawyer--"to spell for you?" - -Spelling was the Major's weakness. He was a well-educated man, and -could write vigorous English, but only a few days before he had asked -me how many, _f_'s there are in _graphic_. - -"Let's see," he went on, rubbing the top of his head. "Do you spell -_Byzantium_ with two _y_'s, or with two _i_'s, or with one _y_ and one -_i_? It'll make Seab feel right good to be asked that before company, -and he certainly needs to feel good if he's going with that crowd." - -So, with a manuscript copy in my hand, I went hurriedly down the hall -and put the important question. Mr. Griffin was all politeness, but -not quite sure of the facts in the case. But he searched in his books -of reference, including the Geographical Gazette, until finally he was -able to give me the information I was supposed to stand in need of. - -While he was searching, Mr. Pulliam turned to me and inquired what day -the paper came out. When told that the date was Tuesday, he smiled and -nodded his head mysteriously. - -"That's good," he declared; "you'll be in time to ketch the news." - -"What news?" I inquired. - -"Well, ef you don't hear about it before to-morrer night, jest inquire -of Major Perdue. He'll tell you all about it." - -Mr. Pulliam's tone was so supercilious that I was afraid the Major -would lose his temper and come raging down the hallway. But he did -nothing of the kind. When I returned he was fairly beaming. The Major -took down the names in his note-book--I have forgotten all except -those of Buck Sanford and Larry Pulliam--and seemed to be perfectly -happy. They were all from the country except Larry Pulliam and the -young lawyer. - -After my visit to the room, the men spoke in lower tones, but every -word came back to us as distinctly as before. - -"The feed of the bosses won't cost us a cent," remarked young Sanford. -"Tom Gresham said he'd 'ten' to that. They're in the stable right -now. And we're to have supper in Tom's back room, have a little game -of ante, and along about twelve or one we'll sa'nter down and yank -that derned nigger from betwixt his blankets, ef he's got any, and -leave him to cool off at the cross-roads. Won't you go 'long, Seab, -and see it well done?" - - [Illustration: Inquired what day the paper came out.--Page 38.] - -"I'll go and see if the supper's well done, and I'll take a shy at -your ante," replied Mr. Griffin. "But when it comes to the balance of -the programme--well, I'm a lawyer, you know, and you couldn't expect -me to witness the affair. I might have to take your cases and prove an -alibi, you know, and I couldn't conscientiously do that if I was on -hand at the time." - -"The Ku-Klux don't have to have alibis," suggested Larry Pulliam. - -"Perhaps not, still--" Apparently Mr. Griffin disposed of the matter -with a gesture. - -When all the details of their plan had been carefully arranged, the -amateur Ku-Klux went filing out, the noise they made dying away like -the echoes of a storm. - -Major Perdue leaned his head against the back of his chair, closed his -eyes, and sat there so quietly that I thought he was asleep. But this -was a mistake. Suddenly he began to laugh, and he laughed until the -tears ran down his face. It was laughter that was contagious, and -presently I found myself joining in without knowing why. This started -the Major afresh, and we both laughed until exhaustion came to our -aid. - -"O Lord!" cried the Major, panting, "I haven't had as much fun since -the war, and a long time before. That blamed Pulliam is going to walk -into a trap of his own setting. Now you jest watch how he goes out -ag'in." - -"But I'll not be there," I suggested. - -"Oh, yes!" exclaimed the Major, "you can't afford to miss it. It'll be -the finest piece of news your paper ever had. You'll go to supper with -me--" He paused. "No, I'll go home, send Valentine to her Aunt Emmy's, -get Blasengame to come around, and we'll have supper about nine. -That'll fix it. Some of them chaps might have an eye on my house, and -I don't want 'em to see anybody but me go in there. Now, if you don't -come at nine, I'll send Blasengame after you." - -"I shall be glad to come, Major. I was simply fishing for an -invitation." - -"_That_ fish is always on your hook, and you know it," the Major -insisted. - -As it was arranged, so it fell out. At nine, I lifted and dropped the -knocker on the Major's front door. It opened so promptly that I was -somewhat taken by surprise, but in a moment the hand of my host was on -my arm, and he pulled me inside unceremoniously. - - [Illustration: "I was on the lookout," the Major explained.] - -"I was on the lookout," the Major explained. "Minervy Ann has fixed to -have waffles, and she's crazy about havin' 'em just right. If she -waits too long to make 'em, the batter'll spoil; and if she puts 'em -on before everybody's ready, they won't be good. That's what she says. -Here he is, you old Hessian!" the Major cried, as Minervy Ann peeped -in from the dining-room. "Now slap that supper together and let's get -at it." - -"I'm mighty glad you come, suh," said Aunt Minervy Ann, with a -courtesy and a smile, and then she disappeared. In an incredibly short -time, supper was announced, and though Aunt Minervy has since informed -me confidentially that the Perdues were having a hard time of it at -that period, I'll do her the credit to say that the supper she -furnished forth was as good as any to be had in that town--waffles, -beat biscuit, fried chicken, buttermilk, and coffee that could not be -surpassed. - -"How about the biscuit, Minervy Ann?" inquired Colonel Blasengame, who -was the Major's brother-in-law, and therefore one of the family. - -"I turned de dough on de block twelve times, an' hit it a hunderd an -forty-sev'm licks," replied Aunt Minervy Ann. - -"I'm afeard you hit it one lick too many," said Colonel Blasengame, -winking at me. - -"Well, suh, I been hittin' dat away a mighty long time," Aunt Minervy -Ann explained, "and I ain't never hear no complaints." - -"Oh, I'm not complainin', Minervy Ann." Colonel Blasengame waved his -hand. "I'm mighty glad you did hit the dough a lick too many. If you -hadn't, the biscuit would 'a' melted in my mouth, and I believe I'd -rather chew on 'em to get the taste." - -"He des runnin' on, suh," said Aunt Minervy Ann to me. "Marse Bolivar -know mighty well dat he got ter go 'way fum de Nunited State fer ter -git any better biscuits dan what I kin bake." - -Then there was a long pause, which was broken by an attempt on the -part of Major Perdue to give Aunt Minervy Ann an inkling of the -events likely to happen during the night. She seemed to be both hard -of hearing and dull of understanding when the subject was broached; or -she may have suspected the Major was joking or trying to "run a rig" -on her. Her questions and comments, however, were very characteristic. - -"I dunner what dey want wid Hamp," she said. "Ef dey know'd how -no-count he is, dey'd let 'im 'lone. What dey want wid 'im?" - -"Well, two or three of the country boys and maybe some of the town -chaps are going to call on him between midnight and day. They want to -take him out to the cross-roads. Hadn't you better fix 'em up a little -snack? Hamp won't want anything, but the boys will feel a little -hungry after the job is over." - -"Nobody ain't never tell me dat de Legislatur' wuz like de Free -Masons, whar dey have ter ride a billy goat an' go down in a dry well -wid de chains a-clankin'. I done tol' Hamp dat he better not fool wid -white folks' do-in's." - -"Only the colored members have to be initiated," explained the Major, -solemnly. - -"What does dey do wid um?" inquired Aunt Minervy Ann. - -"Well," replied the Major, "they take 'em out to the nearest -cross-roads, put ropes around their necks, run the ropes over limbs, -and pull away as if they were drawing water from a well." - -"What dey do dat fer?" asked Aunt Minervy Ann, apparently still -oblivious to the meaning of it all. - -"They want to see which'll break first, the ropes or the necks," the -Major explained. - -"Ef dey takes Hamp out," remarked Aunt Minervy Ann, -tentatively--feeling her way, as it were--"what time will he come -back?" - -"You've heard about the Resurrection Morn, haven't you, Minervy Ann?" -There was a pious twang in the Major's voice as he pronounced the -words. - -"I hear de preacher say sump'n 'bout it," replied Aunt Minervy Ann. - -"Well," said the Major, "along about that time Hamp will return. I -hope his record is good enough to give him wings." - -"Shuh! Marse Tumlin! you-all des fool'n' me. I don't keer--Hamp ain't -gwine wid um. I tell you dat right now." - -"Oh, he may not want to go," persisted the Major, "but he'll go all -the same if they get their hands on him." - -"My life er me!" exclaimed Aunt Minervy Ann, bristling up, "does -you-all 'speck I'm gwine ter let um take Hamp out dat away? De fus' -man come ter my door, less'n it's one er you-all, I'm gwine ter fling -a pan er hot embers in his face ef de Lord'll gi' me de strenk. An' ef -dat don't do no good, I'll scald um wid b'ilin' water. You hear dat, -don't you?" - -"Minervy Ann," said the Major, sweetly, "have you ever heard of the -Ku-Klux?" - -"Yasser, I is!" she exclaimed with startling emphasis. She stopped -still and gazed hard at the Major. In response, he merely shrugged his -shoulders and raised his right hand with a swift gesture that told the -whole story. - -"Name er God! Marse Tumlin, is you an' Marse Bolivar and dish yer -young genterman gwine ter set down here flat-footed and let dem -Ku-kluckers scarify Hamp?" - - [Illustration: "Dat's some er 'Nervy Ann's doin's, suh." Page 43.] - -"Why should _we_ do anything? You've got everything arranged. You're -going to singe 'em with hot embers, and you're going to take their -hides off with scalding water. What more do you want?" The Major spoke -with an air of benign resignation. - -Aunt Minervy Ann shook her head vigorously. "Ef deyer de Kukluckers, -fire won't do um no harm. Dey totes der haids in der han's." - -"Their heads in their hands?" cried Colonel Blasengame, excitedly. - -"Dat what dey say, suh," replied Aunt Minervy Ann. - -Colonel Blasengame looked at his watch. "Tumlin, I'll have to ask you -to excuse me to-night," he said. "I--well, the fact is, I have a -mighty important engagement up town. I'm obliged to fill it." He -turned to Aunt Minervy Ann: "Did I understand you to say the Ku-Klux -carry their heads in their hands?" - -"Dat what folks tell me. I hear my own color sesso," replied Aunt -Minervy Ann. - -"I'd be glad to stay with you, Tumlin," the Colonel declared; -"but--well, under the circumstances, I think I'd better fill that -engagement. Justice to my family demands it." - -"Well," responded Major Perdue, "if you are going, I reckon we'd just -as well go, too." - -"Huh!" exclaimed Aunt Minervy Ann, "ef gwine's de word, dey can't -nobody beat me gittin' way fum here. Dey may beat me comin' back, I -ain't 'sputin' dat; but dey can't beat me gwine 'way. I'm ol', but I -got mighty nigh ez much go in me ez a quarter-hoss." - - [Illustration: In the third he placed only powder.--Page 44.] - -Colonel Blasengame leaned back in his chair and studied the ceiling. -"It seems to me, Tumlin, we might compromise on this. Suppose we get -Hamp to come in here. Minervy Ann can stay out there in the kitchen -and throw a rock against the back door when the Ku-Klux come." - -Aunt Minervy Ann fairly gasped. "_Who? Me?_ I'll die fust. I'll t'ar -down dat do'; I'll holler twel ev'ybody in de neighborhood come -a-runnin'. Ef you don't b'lieve me, you des try me. I'll paw up dat -back-yard." - -Major Perdue went to the back door and called Hamp, but there was no -answer. He called him a second time, with the same result. - -"Well," said the Major, "they've stolen a march on us. They've come -and carried him off while we were talking." - -"No, suh, dey ain't, needer. I know right whar he is, an' I'm gwine -atter 'im. He's right 'cross de street dar, colloguin' wid dat ol' -Ceely Ensign. Dat's right whar he is." - - [Illustration: We administered to his hurts the best we could.--Page - 45.] - -"Old! Why, Celia is young," remarked the Major. "They say she's the -best cook in town." - -Aunt Minervy Ann whipped out of the room, and was gone some little -time. When she returned, she had Hamp with her, and I noticed that -both were laboring under excitement which they strove in vain to -suppress. - -"Here I is, suh," said Hamp. "'Nervy Ann say you call me." - -"How is Celia to-night?" Colonel Blasengame inquired, suavely. - -This inquiry, so suddenly and unexpectedly put, seemed to disconcert -Hamp. He shuffled his feet and put his hand to his face. I noticed a -blue welt over his eye, which was not there when he visited me in the -afternoon. - -"Well, suh, I speck she's tolerbul." - -"_Is she? Is she? Ah-h-h!_" cried Aunt Minervy Ann. - -"She must be pretty well," said the Major. "I see she's hit you a clip -over the left eye." - -"Dat's some er 'Nervy Ann's doin's, suh," replied Hamp, somewhat -disconsolately. - -"Den what you git in de way fer?" snapped Aunt Minervy Ann. - -"Marse Tumlin, dat ar 'oman ain't done nothin' in de roun' worl'. She -say she want me to buy some hime books fer de church when I went to -Atlanty, an' I went over dar atter de money." - -"_I himed 'er an' I churched 'er!_" exclaimed Aunt Minervy Ann. - -"Here de money right here," said Hamp, pulling a small roll of -shinplasters out of his pocket; "an' whiles we settin' dar countin' de -money, 'Nervy Ann come in dar an' frail dat 'oman out." - -"Ain't you hear dat nigger holler, Marse Tumlin?" inquired Minervy -Ann. She was in high good-humor now. "Look like ter me dey could -a-heerd 'er blate in de nex' county ef dey'd been a-lis'nin'. 'Twuz -same ez a picnic, suh, an' I'm gwine 'cross dar 'fo' long an' pay my -party call." - -Then she began to laugh, and pretty soon went through the whole -episode for our edification, dwelling with unction on that part where -the unfortunate victim of her jealousy had called her "Miss 'Nervy." -The more she laughed the more serious Hamp became. - - [Illustration: "I'd a heap rather you'd pull your shot-gun on me than - your pen."--Page 46.] - -At the proper time he was told of the visitation that was to be made -by the Ku-Klux, and this information seemed to perplex and worry him -no little. But his face lit up with genuine thankfulness when the -programme for the occasion was announced to him. He and Minervy Ann -were to remain in the house and not show their heads until the Major -or the Colonel or their guest came to the back door and drummed on it -lightly with the fingers. - -Then the arms--three shot-guns--were brought out, and I noticed with -some degree of surprise, that as the Major and the Colonel began to -handle these, their spirits rose perceptibly. The Major hummed a tune -and the Colonel whistled softly as they oiled the locks and tried the -triggers. The Major, in coming home, had purchased four pounds of -mustard-seed shot, and with this he proceeded to load two of the guns. -In the third he placed only powder. This harmless weapon was intended -for me, while the others were to be handled by Major Perdue and -Colonel Blasengame. I learned afterward that the arrangement was made -solely for my benefit. The Major and the Colonel were afraid that a -young hand might become excited and fire too high at close range, in -which event mustard-seed shot would be as dangerous as the larger -variety. - -At twelve o'clock I noticed that both Hamp and Aunt Minervy Ann were -growing restless. - -"You hear dat clock, don't you, Marse Tumlin?" said Minervy as the -chimes died away. "Ef you don't min', de Ku-kluckers'll be a-stickin' -der haids in de back do'." - -But the Major and the Colonel were playing a rubber of seven-up (or -high-low-Jack) and paid no attention. It was a quarter after twelve -when the game was concluded and the players pushed their chairs back -from the table. - -"Ef you don't fin' um in de yard waitin' fer you, I'll be fooled -might'ly," remarked Aunt Minervy Ann. - -"Go and see if they're out there," said the Major. - -"_Me_, Marse Tumlin? _Me?_ I wouldn't go out dat do' not for ham." - -The Major took out his watch. "They'll eat and drink until twelve or a -little after, and then they'll get ready to start. Then they'll have -another drink all 'round, and finally they'll take another. It'll be a -quarter to one or after when they get in the grove in the far end of -the lot. But we'll go out now and see how the land lays. By the time -they get here, our eyes will be used to the darkness." - -The light was carried to a front room, and we groped our way out at -the back door the best we could. The night was dark, but the stars -were shining. I noticed that the belt and sword of Orion had drifted -above the tree-tops in the east, following the Pleiades. In a little -while the darkness seemed to grow less dense, and I could make out the -outlines of trees twenty feet away. - -Behind one of these trees, near the outhouse in which Hamp and Aunt -Minervy lived, I was to take my stand, while the Major and the Colonel -were to go farther into the wood-lot so as to greet the would-be -Ku-Klux as they made their retreat, of which Major Perdue had not the -slightest doubt. - -"You stand here," said the Major in a whisper. "We'll go to the -far-end of the lot where they're likely to come in. They'll pass us -all right enough, but as soon as you see one of 'em, up with the gun -an' lam aloose, an' before they can get away give 'em the other -barrel. Then you'll hear from us." - -Major Perdue and Colonel Blasengame disappeared in the darkness, -leaving me, as it were, on the inner picket line. I found the -situation somewhat ticklish, as the saying is. There was not the -slightest danger, and I knew it, but if you ever have occasion to -stand out in the dark, waiting for something to happen, you'll find -there's a certain degree of suspense attached to it. And the -loneliness and silence of the night will take on shape almost -tangible. The stirring of the half-dead leaves, the chirping of a -belated cricket, simply emphasized the loneliness and made the silence -more profound. At intervals, all nature seemed to heave a deep sigh, -and address itself to slumber again. - -In the house I heard the muffled sound of the clock chime one, but -whether it was striking the half-hour or the hour I could not tell. -Then I heard the stealthy tread of feet. Some one stumbled over a -stick of timber, and the noise was followed by a smothered exclamation -and a confused murmur of voices. As the story-writers say, I knew that -the hour had come. I could hear whisperings, and then I saw a tall -shadow steal from behind Aunt Minervy's house, and heard it rap gently -on the door. I raised the gun, pulled the hammer back, and let drive. -A stream of fire shot from the gun, accompanied by a report that tore -the silence to atoms. I heard a sharp exclamation of surprise, then -the noise of running feet, and off went the other barrel. In a moment -the Major and the Colonel opened on the fugitives. I heard a loud cry -of pain from one, and, in the midst of it all, the mustard-seed shot -rattled on the plank fence like hominy-snow on a tin roof. - -The next instant I heard some one running back in my direction, as if -for dear life. He knew the place apparently, for he tried to go -through the orchard, but just before he reached the orchard fence, he -uttered a half-strangled cry of terror, and then I heard him fall as -heavily as if he had dropped from the top of the house. - -It was impossible to imagine what had happened, and it was not until -we had investigated the matter that the cause of the trouble was -discovered. A wire clothes-line, stretched across the yard, had caught -the would-be Ku-Klux under the chin, his legs flew from under him, and -he had a fall, from the effects of which he did not recover for a long -time. He was a young man about town, very well connected, who had gone -into the affair in a spirit of mischief. We carried him into the -house, and administered to his hurts the best we could; Aunt Minervy -Ann, be it said to her credit, being more active in this direction -than any of us. - -On the Tuesday following, the county paper contained the news in a -form that remains to this day unique. It is hardly necessary to say -that it was from the pen of Major Tumlin Perdue. - -"Last Saturday afternoon our local editor was informed by a prominent -citizen that if we would apply to Major Purdue we would be put in -possession of a very interesting piece of news. Acting upon this hint, -ye local yesterday went to Major Perdue, who, being in high -good-humor, wrote out the following with his own hand: - -"'Late Saturday night, while engaged with a party of friends in -searching for a stray dog on my premises, I was surprised to see four -or five men climb over my back fence and proceed toward my residence. -As my most intimate friends do not visit me by climbing over my back -fence, I immediately deployed my party in such a manner as to make the -best of a threatening situation. The skirmish opened at my -kitchen-door, with two rounds from a howitzer. This demoralized the -enemy, who promptly retreated the way they came. One of them, the -leader of the attacking party, carried away with him two loads of -mustard-seed shot, delivered in the general neighborhood and region of -the coat-tails, which, being on a level with the horizon, afforded as -fair a target as could be had in the dark. I understand on good -authority that Mr. Larry Pulliam, one of our leading and deservedly -popular citizens, has had as much as a quart of mustard-seed shot -picked from his carcass. Though hit in a vulnerable spot, the wound is -not mortal.--T. PERDUE.'" - -I did my best to have Mr. Pulliam's name suppressed, but the Major -would not have it so. - -"No, sir," he insisted; "the man has insulted me behind my back, and -he's got to cut wood or put down the axe." - -Naturally this free and easy card created quite a sensation in -Halcyondale and the country round about. People knew what it would -mean if Major Perdue's name had been used in such an off-hand manner -by Mr. Pulliam, and they naturally supposed that a fracas would be the -outcome. Public expectation was on tiptoe, and yet the whole town -seemed to take the Major's card humorously. Some of the older citizens -laughed until they could hardly sit up, and even Mr. Pulliam's friends -caught the infection. Indeed, it is said that Mr. Pulliam, himself, -after the first shock of surprise was over, paid the Major's audacious -humor the tribute of a hearty laugh. When Mr. Pulliam appeared in -public, among the first men he saw was Major Perdue. This was natural, -for the Major made it a point to be on hand. He was not a ruffler, but -he thought it was his duty to give Mr. Pulliam a fair opportunity to -wreak vengeance on him. If the boys about town imagined that a row was -to be the result of this first meeting, they were mistaken. Mr. -Pulliam looked at the Major and then began to laugh. - -"Major Perdue," he said, "I'd a heap rather you'd pull your shot-gun -on me than your pen." - -And that ended the matter. - - [Illustration] - - - - -THE SHIP OF STARS - -By A. T. Quiller-Couch - -(Q.) - - -XIV - -VOICES FROM THE SEA - -Before winter and the long nights came round again, Taffy had become -quite a clever carpenter. From the first his quickness fairly -astonished the Bryanite, who at the best was but a journeyman and soon -owned himself beaten. - -"I doubt," said he, "if you'll ever make so good a man as your father; -but you can't help making a better workman." He added, with his eyes -on the boy's face, "There's one thing in which you might copy 'em. He -hasn't much of a gift, _but he lays it 'pon the altar_." - -By this time Taffy had resumed his lessons. Every day he carried a -book or two in the satchel with his dinner, and read or translated -aloud while his father worked. Two hours were allowed for this in the -morning, and again two in the afternoon. Sometimes a day would be set -apart during which they talked nothing but Latin. Difficulties in the -text of their authors they postponed until the evening, and worked -them out at home, after supper, with the help of grammar and -dictionary. - -The boy was not unhappy, on the whole; though for weeks together he -longed for sight of George Vyell, who seemed to have vanished into -space, or into that limbo where his childhood lay like a toy in a -lumber-room. Taffy seldom turned the key of that room. The stories he -imagined now were not about fairies or heroes, but about himself. He -wanted to be a great man and astonish the world. Just how the world -was to be astonished he did not clearly see, even in his dreams; but -the triumph, in whatever shape it came, was to involve a new gown for -his mother, and for his father a whole library of books. - -Mr. Raymond never went back to his books now, except to help Taffy. -The Commentary on the Epistle to the Hebrews was laid aside. "Some -day!" he told Humility. The Sunday congregation had dwindled to a very -few, mostly farm people; Squire Moyle having threatened to expel any -tenant of his who dared to set foot within the church. - -In the autumn two things happened which set Taffy wondering. - -During the first three years at Nannizabuloe old Mrs. Venning had -regularly been carried downstairs to dine with the family. The sea-air -(she said) had put new life into her. But now she seldom moved from -her room, and Taffy seldom saw her except at night, when--after the -old childish custom--he knocked at her door to wish her pleasant -dreams and pull up the weights of the tall clock which stood by her -bed's head. - -One night he asked, carelessly, "What do you want with the clock? -Lying here you don't need to know the time; and its ticking must keep -you awake." - -"So it does, child; but, bless you, I like it." - -"Like being kept awake?" - -"Dear, yes! I have enough of rest and quiet up here. You mind the -litany I used to say over to you?--Parson Kempthorne taught it to us -girls when I was in service with him; 'twas made up, he said, by -another old Devonshire parson, years and years ago-- - - When I lie within my bed - Sick in heart and sick in head, - And with doubts discomforted, - Sweet Spirit, comfort me! - - When the house do sigh and weep-- - -That's it. You wouldn't think how quiet it is up here all day. But at -night, when you're in bed and sleeping, all the house begins to talk; -little creakings of the furniture, you know, and the wind in the -chimney, and sometimes the rain in the gutters running--it's all talk -to me. Mostly it's quite sociable too; but sometimes, in rainy -weather, the tune changes, and then it's like some poor soul in bed -and sobbing to itself. That's when the verse comes in: - - "When the house do sigh and weep - And the world is drowned in sleep, - Yet my eyes the watch do keep, - Sweet Spirit, comfort me! - -"And then the clock's ticking is a wonderful comfort. _Tick-tack, -tick-tack!_ and I think of you stretched asleep and happy and growing -up to be a man, and the minutes running and trickling away to my -deliverance----" - -"Granny!" - -"My dear, I'm as well off as most; but that isn't saying I sha'n't be -glad to go and take the pain in my joints to a better land. Before we -came here, in militia-time, I used to lie and listen for the buglers, -but now I've only the clock. No more bugles for me, I suppose, till I -hear them blown on t'other side of Jordan." - -Taffy remembered how he too had lain and listened to the bugles; and -with that he suddenly saw his childhood, as it were a small round -globe set within a far larger one and wrapped around with other folks' -thoughts. He kissed his grandmother and went away wondering; and as he -lay down that night it still seemed wonderful to him that she should -have heard those bugles, and more wonderful that night after night for -years she should have been thinking of him while he slept, and he -never have guessed it. - -One morning, some three weeks later, he and his father were putting on -their oilskins before starting to work--for it had been blowing hard -through the night and the gale was breaking up in floods of rain--when -they heard a voice hallooing in the distance. Humility heard it too -and turned swiftly to Taffy. "Run upstairs, dear. I expect it's -someone sent from Tresedder Farm; and if so, he'll want to see your -father alone." - -Mr. Raymond frowned. "No," he said; "the time is past for that." - -A fist hammered on the door. Mr. Raymond threw it open. - -"Brigantine--on the sands--half a mile this side of the lighthouse!" -Taffy saw across his father's shoulder a gleam of yellow oilskins and -a flapping sou-wester' hat. The panting voice belonged to Sam Udy--son -of old Bill Udy--a laborer at Tresedder. - -"I'll go at once," said Mr. Raymond. "Run you for the coast-guard." - -The oilskins went by the window; the side gate clashed to. - -"Is it a wreck?" cried Taffy. "May I go with you?" - -"Yes, there may be a message to run with." - -From the edge of the towans, where the ground dipped steeply to the -long beach, they saw the wreck, about a mile up the coast and, as well -as they could judge, a hundred or a hundred-and-fifty yards out. She -lay almost on her beam-ends, with the waves sweeping high across her -starboard quarter, and never less than six ranks of ugly breakers -between her and dry land. A score of watchers--in the distance they -looked like emmets--were gathered by the edge of the surf. But the -coast-guard had not arrived yet. - -"The tide is ebbing, and the rocket will reach. Can you see anyone -aboard?" - -Taffy spied through his hands, but could see no one. His father set -off running and he followed, half-blinded by the rain, at every fourth -step foundering knee-deep in loose sand or tripping in a rabbit hole. -They had covered three-fourths of the distance when Mr. Raymond pulled -up and waved his hat as the coast-guard carriage swept into view over -a ridge to the right and came plunging across the main valley of the -towans. It passed them close--the horses fetlock-deep in sand, with -heads down and heaving, smoking shoulders; the coast-guardsmen with -keen strong faces like heroes'--and the boy longed to copy his father -and send a cheer after them as they went galloping by. But something -rose in his throat. - -He ran after the carriage, and reached the shore just as the first -rocket shot singing out toward the wreck. By this time at least a -hundred miners had gathered, and between their legs he caught a -glimpse of two figures stretched at length on the wet sand. He had -never looked on a dead body before. The faces of these were hidden by -the crowd; and he hung about the fringe of it, dreading and yet -courting a sight of them. - -The first rocket was swept down the wind to leeward of the wreck. The -chief officer judged his second beautifully and the line fell clean -across the vessel and all but amidships. A figure started up from the -lee of the deckhouse and springing into the main shrouds grasped it -and made it fast. The beach being too low for them to work the cradle -clear above the breakers, the coast-guardsmen carried the shore end of -the line up the shelving cliff and fixed it. Within ten minutes the -cradle was run out, and within twenty, the first man came swinging -shoreward. - -Four men were brought ashore alive, the captain last. The other two of -the crew of six lay on the sands, with Mr. Raymond kneeling beside -them. He had covered their faces, and, still on his knees, gave the -order to lift them into the carriage. Taffy noticed that he was obeyed -without demur or question. And there flashed on his memory a gray -morning, not unlike this one, when he had missed his father at -breakfast: "He had been called away suddenly," Humility had explained, -"and there would be no lessons that day," and had kept the boy indoors -all the morning and busy with a netting-stitch he had been bothering -her to teach him. - -"Father," he asked as they followed the cart, "does this often -happen?" - -"Your mother hasn't thought it well for you to see these sights." - -"Then it _has_ happened often?" - -"I have buried seventeen," said Mr. Raymond. - -That afternoon he showed Taffy their graves. "I know the names of all -but two. The bodies have marks about them--tattooed, you know--and -that helps. And I write to their relatives or friends, and restore -whatever small property may be found on them. I have often wished to -put up some grave-stone, or a wooden cross, with their names. I keep a -book and enter all particulars, and where each is laid." - -He went to his chest in the vestry and took out the volume--a cheap -account book, ruled for figures. Taffy turned over the pages. - -_Nov. 3rd. 187-. Brig "James and Maria:" J. D., fair-haired, height 5 -ft. 8 in., marked on chest with initials and cross swords, tattooed, -also anchor and coil of rope on right fore-arm: large brown mole on -right shoulder-blade. Striped flannel drawers: otherwise naked: no -property of any kind. - -Ditto. Grown man, age 40 or thereabouts: dark; iron gray beard; -lovers' knot tattooed on right fore-arm, with initials R. L., E. W., -in the loops: clad in flannel shirt, guernsey, trousers (blue -sea-cloth), socks (heather-mixture), all unmarked. Silver chain in -pocket, with free-mason's token: a half-crown, a florin, and -four-pence_----and so on. On the opposite page were entered the full -names and details afterwards discovered, with notes of the Vicar's -correspondence, and position of the grave. - -"They ought to have grave-stones," said Mr. Raymond. "But as it is I -can only get about thirty shillings for the funeral from the county -rate. The balance has come out of my pocket--from two to three pounds -for each. From the beginning the squire refused to help to bury -sailors. He took the ground that it wasn't a local claim." - -"Hullo!" said Taffy: for as he turned the leaves his eye fell on this -entry:-- - -_Jan. 30th, 187-. S. S. "Rifleman" (all hands). Cargo, China-clay: W. -P., Age, about eighteen, fair skin, reddish hair, short and curled, -height 5 ft. 10¾ in. Initials tattooed on chest under a three-masted -ship and semi-circle of seven stars; clad in flannel singlet and -trousers (cloth): singlet marked with same initial in red cotton: -pockets empty_---- - -"But he was in the navy!" cried Taffy, with his finger on the entry. - -"Which one? Yes, he was in the Navy. You'll see it on the opposite -page. He deserted, poor boy, in Cork Harbor, and shipped on board a -tramp steamer as donkey-man. She loaded at Fowey and was wrecked on -the voyage back. William Pellow he was called; his mother lives but -ten miles up the coast; she never heard of it until six weeks after." - -"But we--I, I mean--knew him. He was one of the sailor boys on Toby's -van. You remember their helping us with the luggage at _Indian -Queen's_? He showed me his tattoo marks that day." - -And again he saw his childhood as it were set about with an enchanted -hedge, across which many voices would have called to him, and some -from near, but all had hung muted and arrested. - -The inquest on the two drowned sailors was held next day at the -_Fifteen Balls_, down in Innis village. Later in the afternoon, the -four survivors walked up to the church, headed by the Captain. - -"We've been hearing," said the Captain, "of your difficulties, sir: -likewise your kindness to other poor sea-faring chaps. We have liked -to make ye a small offering for your church, but sixteen shillings is -all we can raise between us. So we come to say that if you can put us -on to a job, why we're staying over the funeral, and a day's work or -more after that won't hurt us one way or another." - -Mr. Raymond led them to the chancel and pointed out a new beam, on -which he and Jacky Pascoe had been working a week past, and over which -they had been cudgelling their brains how to get it lifted and fixed -in place. - -"I can send to one of the miners and borrow a couple of ladders." - -"Ladders? Lord love ye, sir, and begging your pardon, we don't want -ladders. With a sling, Bill, hey?--and a couple of tackles. You leave -it to we, sir." - -He went off to turn over the gear salved from his vessel, and early -next forenoon had the apparatus rigged up and ready. He was obliged to -leave it at this point, having been summoned across to Falmouth, to -report to his agents. His last words before starting were addressed to -his crew. "I reckon you can fix it now, boys. There's only one thing -more, and don't you forget it: any man that wants to spit must go -outside." - -That afternoon Taffy learnt for the first time what could be done with -a few ropes and pulleys. The seamen seemed to spin ropes out of -themselves like spiders. By three o'clock the beam was hoisted and -fixed; and they broke off work to attend their shipmates' funeral. -After the funeral they fell to, again, though more silently, and -before nightfall the beam shone with a new coat of varnish. - -They left early next morning, after a good deal of handshaking, and -Taffy looked after them wistfully as they turned to wave their caps -and trudged away over the rise toward the cross-roads. Away to the -left in the wintry sunshine, a speck of scarlet caught his eye against -the blue-gray of the town. He watched it as it came slowly toward him, -and his heart leapt--yet not quite as he had expected it to leap. - -For it was George Vyell. George had lately been promoted to "pink" and -made a gallant figure on his strapping gray hunter. For the first time -Taffy felt ashamed of his working suit and would have slipped back to -the church. But George had seen him, and pulled up. - -"Hullo!" said he. - -"Hullo!" said Taffy; and, absurdly enough, could find no more to say. - -"How are you getting on?" - -"Oh, I'm all right." There was another pause. "How's Honoria?" - -"Oh, she's all right. I'm riding over there now; they meet at -Tredinnis to-day." He tapped his boot with his hunting crop. - -"Don't you have any lessons now?" asked Taffy, after awhile. - -"Dear me, yes; I've got a tutor. He's no good at it. But what made you -ask?" - -Really Taffy could not tell. He had asked merely for the sake of -saying something. George pulled out a gold watch. - -"I must be getting on. Well, good-by!" - -"Good-by!" - -And that was all. - - -XV - -TAFFY'S APPRENTICESHIP - -They could manage the carpentering now. And Jacky Pascoe, who in -addition to his other trades was something of a glazier, had taken the -damaged east window in hand. For six months it had remained boarded -up, darkening the chancel. Mr. Raymond removed the boards and fixed -them up again on the outside, and the Bryanite worked behind them -night after night. He could only be spied upon through two lancet -windows at the west end of the church, and these they curtained. - -But what continually bothered them was their ignorance of iron-work. -Staples, rivets, hinges were for ever wanted. At length, one evening -toward the end of March, the Bryanite laid down his tools. - -"Tell 'ee what 'tis, Parson. You must send the boy to someone that'll -teach 'er smithy-work. There's no sense in this cold hammering." - -"Wheelwright Hocken holds his shop and cottage from the Squire." - -"Why not put the boy to Mendarva the Smith, over to Benny Beneath? -He's a first-rate workman." - -"That is more than six miles away." - -"No matter for that. There's Joll's Farm close by; Farmer Joll would -board and lodge 'en for nine shilling a week, and glad of the chance; -and he could come home for Sundays." - -Mr. Raymond, as soon as he reached home, sat down and wrote a letter -to Mendarva the Smith and another to Farmer Joll. Within a week the -bargains were struck, and it was settled that Taffy should go at once. - -"I may be calling before long, to look you up," said the Bryanite, -"but mind you do no more than nod when you see me." - -Joll's Farm lay somewhere near Carwithiel, across the moor where Taffy -had gone fishing with George and Honoria. On the Monday morning when -he stepped through the white front gate, with his bag on his shoulder, -and paused for a good look at the building, it seemed to him a very -comfortable farmstead, and vastly superior to the tumble-down farms -around Nannizabuloe. The flagged path, which led up to the front door -between great bunches of purple honesty, was swept as clean as a -dairy. - -A dark-haired maid opened the door and led him to the great kitchen at -the back. Hams wrapped in paper hung from the rafters, and strings of -onions. The pans over the fireplace were bright as mirrors, and -through the open window he heard the voices of children at play as -well as the clacking of poultry in the town-place. - -"I'll go and tell the mistress," said the maid; but she paused at the -door. "I suppose you don't remember me, now?" - -"No," said Taffy, truthfully. - -"My name's Lizzie Pezzack. You was with the young lady, that day, when -she bought my doll. I mind you quite well. But I put my hair up last -Easter, and that makes a difference." - -"Why, you were only a child." - -"I was seventeen last week. And--I say, do you know the Bryanite, over -to Innis?--Preacher Jacky Pascoe?" - -He nodded, remembering the caution given him. - -"I got salvation off him. Master and mis'ess, they've got salvation -too; but they take it very quiet. They're very fond of one another; if -you please one you'll please both. They let me walk over to -prayer-meetin' once a week. But I don't go by Mendarva's shop--that's -where you work--though 'tis the shortest way; because there's a woman -buried in the road there, with a stake through her, and I'm a terrible -coward for ghosts." - -She paused as if expecting him to say something; but Taffy was staring -at a "neck" of corn, elaborately plaited, which hung above the -mantle-shelf. And just then Mrs. Joll entered the kitchen. - -Taffy--without any reason--had expected to see a middle-aged -house-wife. But Mrs. Joll was hardly over thirty; a shapely woman, -with a plain, pleasant face and auburn hair, the wealth of which she -concealed by wearing it drawn straight back from the forehead and -plaited in the severest coil behind. She shook hands. - -"You'll like a drink of milk before I show you your room?" - -Taffy was grateful for the milk. While he drank it, the voices of the -children outside rose suddenly to shouts of laughter. - -"That will be their father come home," said Mrs. Joll and going to the -side-door called to him. "John, put the children down; Mr. Raymond's -son is here." - -Mr. Joll, who had been galloping round the farmyard with a small girl -of three on his back, and a boy of six tugging at his coat-tails, -pulled up, and wiped his good-natured face. - -"Glad to see you," said he, coming forward and shaking hands, while -the two children stared at Taffy. - -After a minute, the boy said, "My name's Bob. Come and play horses, -too." - -Farmer Joll looked at Taffy shyly. "Shall we?" - -"Mr. Raymond will be tired enough already," his wife suggested. - -"Not a bit," declared Taffy; and hoisting Bob on his back, he set off -furiously prancing after the farmer. - -By dinner-time he and the family were fast friends, and after dinner -the farmer took him off to be introduced to Mendarva the Smith. - -Mendarva's forge stood on a triangle of turf beside the high-road, -where a cart-track branched off to descend to Joll's Farm in the -valley. And Mendarva was a dark giant of a man with a beard like those -you see on the statues of Nineveh. On Sundays he parted his beard -carefully and tied the ends with little bows of scarlet ribbon; but on -week days it curled at will over his mighty chest. He had one -assistant whom he called "the Dane;" a red-haired youth as tall as -himself and straighter from the waist down. Mendarva's knees had come -together with years of poising and swinging his great hammer. - -"He's little, but he'll grow," said he, after eying Taffy up and down. -"Dane, come fore and tell me if we'll make a workman of 'en." - -The Dane stepped forward and passed his hands over the boy's shoulders -and down his ribs. "He's slight, but he'll fill out. Good pair o' -shoulders. Give's hold o' your hand, my son." - -Taffy obeyed; not very well liking to be handled thus. - -"Hand like a lady's. Tidy wrist, though. He'll do, master." - -So Taffy was passed, given a leathern apron, and set to his first task -of keeping the forge-fire raked and the bellows going, while the -hammers took up the music he was to listen to for a year to come. - -This music kept the day merry; and beyond the window along the bright -high-road there was usually something worth seeing--farm-carts, -jowters' carts, the doctor and his gig, pedlars and Johnny-fortnights, -the miller's wagons from the valley-bottom below Joll's Farm, and on -Tuesdays and Fridays, the market van going and returning. Mendarva -knew or speculated upon everybody, and, with half the passers-by, -broke off work and passed the time of day, leaning on his hammer. But -down at the farm all was strangely quiet, in spite of the children's -voices; and at night the quietness positively kept Taffy awake, -listening to the pur-r of the pigeons in their cote against the -house-wall, thinking of his grandmother awake at home and listening to -the _tick-tack_ of her tall clock. Often when he woke to the early -summer daybreak and saw through his attic-window the gray shadows of -the sheep, still and long, on the slope above the farmstead, his ear -was wanting something, asking for something; for the murmur of the sea -never reached this inland valley. And he would lie and long for the -chirruping of the two children in the next room and the drawing of -bolts and clatter of milk-pails below stairs. - -He had a plenty to eat, and that plenty simple and good; and clean -linen to sleep between. The kitchen was his, except on Saturday -nights, when Mrs. Joll and Lizzie tubbed the children there; and then -he would carry his books off to the best parlor, or stroll around the -farm with Mr. Joll and discuss the stock. There were no loose rails in -Mr. Joll's gates, no farm implements lying out in the weather to rust. -Mr. Joll worked early and late, and his shoulders had a tell-tale -stoop--for he was a man in the prime of life, perhaps some five years -older than his wife. - -One Saturday evening he unburdened his heart to Taffy. It happened at -the end of the hay-harvest, and the two were leaning over a gate -discussing the yet unthatched rick. - -"What I say is," declared the farmer, quite inconsequently, "a man -must be able to lay his troubles 'pon the Lord. I don't mean his work, -but his troubles; and go home and shut the door and be happy with his -wife and children. Now I tell you that for months--iss, years--after -Bob was born, I kept plaguing mysel' in the fields, thinking that some -harm might have happened to the child. Why, I used to make an excuse -and creep home, and then if I see'd a blind pulled down, you wouldn't -think how my heart'd go thump; and I'd stand wi' my hand on the -door-hapse an' say, 'If so be the Lord have took'n, I must go and -comfort Susan--not my will but Thine, Lord--but, Lord, don't 'ee be -cruel this time!' And then find the cheeld right as ninepence and the -blind only pulled down to keep the sun off the carpet! After awhile my -wife guessed what was wrong--I used to make up such poor twiddling -pretences. She said, 'Look here, the Lord and me'll see after Bob; -and if you can't keep to your own work without poking your nose into -ours, then I married for worse and not for better.' Then it came upon -me that by leaving the Lord to look after my job I'd been treating Him -like a farm-laborer. It's the things you can't help He looks -after--not the work." - -A few evenings later there came a knock at the door, and Lizzie, who -went to open it, returned with the Bryanite skipping behind her. - -"Blessings be upon this here house!" he cried, cutting a sort of -double-shuffle on the threshold. He shook hands with the farmer and -his wife, and nodded toward Taffy. "So you've got Parson Raymond's boy -here!" - -"Yes," said Mrs. Joll; and turned to Taffy. "He've come to pray a bit; -perhaps you would rather be in the parlor?" - -Taffy asked to be allowed to stay; and presently Mr. Pascoe had them -all down on their knees. He began by invoking God's protection on the -household; but his prayer soon ceased to be a prayer. It broke into -ejaculations of praise--"Friends, I be too happy to ask for -anything--Glory, glory! The blood! The precious blood! O deliverance! -O streams of redemption running!" The farmer and his wife began to -chime in--"Hallelujah!" "Glory!" and Lizzie Pezzack to sob. Taffy, -kneeling before a kitchen chair, peeped between his palms and saw her -shoulders heaving. - -The Bryanite sprang to his feet, over-turning the settle with a crash. -"Tid'n no use. I must skip. Who'll dance wi' me?" - -He held out his hands to Mrs. Joll. She took them, and skipped once -shamefacedly. Lizzie, with flaming cheeks, pushed her aside. "Leave me -try, mis'ess; I shall die if I don't." She caught the preacher's -hands, and the two leapt about the kitchen. "I can dance higher than -mis'ess! I can dance higher than mis'ess!" Farmer Joll looked on with -a dazed face. "Hallelujah!" "Amen!" he said at intervals, quite -mechanically. The pair stood under the bacon rank and began to whirl -like dervishes--hands clasped, toes together, bodies leaning back and -almost rigid. They whirled until Taffy's brain whirled with them. - -With a louder sob, Lizzie let go her hold, and tottered back into a -chair, laughing hysterically. The Bryanite leaned against the table, -panting. - -There was a long pause. Mrs. Joll took a napkin from the dresser and -fell to fanning the girl's face, then to slapping it briskly. "Get up -and lay the table," she commanded; "the preacher'll stay to supper." - -"Thank 'ee, ma'am, I don't care if I do," said he; and ten minutes -latter they were all seated at supper and discussing the fall in wheat -in the most matter-of-fact voices. Only their faces twitched, now and -again. - -"I hear you had the preacher down to Joll's last night," said Mendarva -the Smith. "What'st think of 'en?" - -"I can't make him out," was Taffy's colorless but truthful answer. - -"He's a bellows of a man. I do hear he's heating up th' old Squire -Moyle's soul, to knack an angel out of 'en. He'll find that a job and -a half. You mark my words, there'll be Hamlet's ghost over in your -parish one o' these days." - -During work-hours Mendarva bestowed most of his talk on Taffy. The -Dane seldom opened his lips, except to join in the Anvil Chorus-- - - Here goes one-- - Sing, sing, Johnny! - Here goes two-- - Sing, Johnny, sing! - Whack'n till he's red - Whack'n till he's dead - And whop! goes the widow with a brand new ring! - -and when the boy took a hammer and joined in, he fell silent. Taffy -soon observed that a singular friendship knit these two men, who were -both unmarried. Mendarva had been a famous wrestler in his day, and -his great ambition now was to train the other to win the County belt. -Often, after work, the pair would try a hitch together on the triangle -of turf, with Taffy for stickler; Mendarva illustrating and -explaining, the Dane nodding seriously whenever he understood, but -never answering a word. Afterwards the boy recalled these bouts very -vividly--the clear evening sky, the shoulders of the two big men -shining against the level sun as they gripped and swayed, their long -shadows on the grass under which (as he remembered) the poor -self-murdered woman lay buried. - -He thought of her at night, sometimes, as he worked alone at the -forge: for Mendarva allowed him the keys and use of the smithy -overtime, in consideration of a small payment for coal, and then he -blew his fire and hammered with a couple of candles on the bench and a -Homer between them; and beat the long hexameters into his memory. The -incongruity of it never struck him. He was going to be a great man, -and somehow this was going to be the way. These scraps of iron--these -tools of his forging--were to grow into the arms and shield of -Achilles. In its own time would come the magic moment, the shield find -its true circumference and swing to the balance of his arm, proof and -complete. - -[Greek: en d' etithei potamoio mega sthenos Ôkeanoio antyga par' -pymatên sakeos pyka poiêtoio.] - - -XVI - -LIZZIE AND HONORIA - -His apprenticeship lasted a year and six months, and all this while he -lived with the Jolls, walking home every Sunday morning and returning -every Sunday night, rain or shine. He carried his deftness of hand -into his new trade, and it was Mendarva who begged and obtained an -extension of the time agreed on. "Rather than lose the boy I'll tache -'en for love." So Taffy stayed on for another six months. - -He was now in his seventeenth year--a boy no longer. One evening, as -he blew up his smithy fire, the glow of it fell on the form of a woman -standing just outside the window and watching him. He had no silly -fears of ghosts; but the thought of the buried woman flashed across -his mind and he dropped his pincers with a clatter. - -"'Tis only me," said the woman. "You needn't to be afeared." And he -saw it was the girl Lizzie. - -She stepped inside the forge and seated herself on the Dane's anvil. - -"I was walking back from prayer-meeting," she said. "'Tis nigher this -way, but I don't ever dare to come. Might, I dessay, if I'd somebody -to see me home." - -"Ghosts?" asked Taffy, picking up the pincers and thrusting the bar -back into the hot cinders. - -"I dunno; I gets frightened o' the very shadows on the road sometimes. -I suppose, now, you never walks out that way?" - -"Which way?" - -"Why, toward where your home is. That's the way I comes." - -"No, I don't." Taffy blew at the cinders until they glowed again. -"It's only on Sundays I go over there." - -"That's a pity," said Lizzie, candidly. "I'm kept in, Sunday evenings, -to look after the children while farmer and mis'ess goes to Chapel. -That's the agreement I came 'pon." - -Taffy nodded. - -"It would be nice now, wouldn't it--" She broke off, clasping her -knees and staring at the blaze. - -"What would be nice?" - -Lizzie laughed confusedly. "Aw, you make me say 't. I can't abear any -of the young men up to the Chapel. If me and you----" - -Taffy ceased blowing. The fire died down and in the darkness he could -hear her breathing hard. - -"They're so rough," she went on, "And t'other night I met young Squire -Vyell riding along the road, and he stopped me and wanted to kiss me." - -"George Vyell? Surely he didn't?" Taffy blew up the fire again. - -"Iss he did. I don't see why not, neither." - -"Why he shouldn't kiss you?" - -"Why he shouldn't want to." - -Taffy frowned, carried the white hot bar to his anvil and began to -hammer. He despised girls, as a rule, and their ways. Decidedly Lizzie -annoyed him: and yet as he worked he could not help glancing at her -now and then, as she sat and watched him. By and by he saw that her -eyes were full of tears. - -"What's the matter?" he asked, abruptly. - -"I--I can't walk home alone. I'm afeared." - -He tossed his hammer aside, raked out the fire, and reached his coat -off its peg. As he swung round in the darkness to put it on, he -blundered against Lizzie or Lizzie blundered against him. She clutched -at him nervously. - -"Clumsy! can't you see the doorway?" - -She passed out, and he followed and locked the door. As they crossed -the turf to the highroad, she slipped her arm into his. "I feel safe, -that way. Let it stay, co!" After a few paces, she added, "You're -different from the others--that's why I like you." - -"How?" - -"I dunno; but you _be_ diff'rent. You don't think about girls, for one -thing." - -Taffy did not answer. He felt angry, ashamed, uncomfortable. He did -not turn once to look at her face, dimly visible by the light of the -young moon--the Hunter's moon--now sinking over the slope of the hill. -Thick dust--too thick for the heavy dew to lay--covered the cart-track -down to the farm, muffling their footsteps. Lizzie paused by the gate. - -"Best go in separate," she said; paused again and whispered, "You may, -if you like." - -"May do what?" - -"What--what young Squire Vyell wanted." - -They were face to face now. She held up her lips, and as she did so, -they parted in an amorous murmurous little laugh. The moonlight was on -her face. Taffy bent swiftly and kissed her. - -"Oh, you hurt!" With another little laugh, she slipped up the -garden-path and into the house. - -Ten minutes later Taffy followed, hating himself. - - * * * * * - -For the next fortnight he avoided her; and then, late one evening, she -came again. He was prepared for this, and had locked the door of the -smithy and let down the shutter while he worked. She tapped upon the -outside of the shutter with her knuckles. - -"Let me in!" - -"Can't you leave me alone?" he answered, pettishly. "I want to work, -and you interrupt." - -"I don't want no love-making--I don't indeed. I'll sit quiet as a -mouse. But I'm afeared, out here." - -"Nonsense!" - -"I'm afeared o' the ghost. There's something comin'--let me in, co!" - -Taffy unlocked the door and held it half open while he listened. - -"Yes, there's somebody coming, on horseback. Now, look here--it's no -ghost, and I can't have you about here, with people passing. I--I -don't want you here at all; so make haste and slip away home--that's a -good girl." - -Lizzie glided like a shadow into the dark lane as the trample of hoofs -drew close, and the rider pulled up beside the door. - -"You're working late, I see. Is it too late to make a shoe for -Aide-de-camp here?" - -It was Honoria. She dismounted and stood in the doorway, holding her -horse's bridle. - -"No," said Taffy; "that is, if you don't mind the waiting." - -With his leathern apron he wiped the Dane's anvil for a seat, while -she hitched up Aide-de-camp and stepped into the glow of the -forge-fire. - -"The hounds took us six miles beyond Carwithiel: and there, just as -they lost, Aide-de-camp cast his off-hind shoe. I didn't find it out -at first, and now I've had to walk him all the way back. Are you alone -here?" - -"Yes." - -"Who was that I saw leaving as I came up?" - -"You saw someone?" - -"Yes." She nodded, looking him straight in the face. "It looked like a -woman. Who was she?" - -"That was Lizzie Pezzack, the girl who sold you her doll, once. She's -a servant down at the farm where I lodge." - -Honoria said no more for the moment, but seated herself on the Dane's -anvil, while Taffy chose a bar of iron and stepped out to examine -Aide-de-camp's hoof. He returned and in silence began to blow up the -fire. - -"I dare say you were astonished to see me," she remarked at length. - -"Yes." - -"I'm still forbidden to speak to you. The last time I did it, -grandfather beat me." - -"The old brute!" Taffy nipped the hot iron savagely in his pincers. - -"I wonder if he'll do it again. Somehow I don't think he will." - -Taffy looked at her. She had drawn herself up, and was smiling. In her -close riding-habit she seemed very slight, yet tall, and a woman -grown. He took the bar to the anvil and began to beat it flat. His -teeth were shut, and with every blow he said to himself "Brute!" - -"That's beautiful," Honoria went on. "I stopped Mendarva, the other -day, and he told me wonders about you. He says he tried you with a -hard-boiled egg and you swung the hammer and chipped the shell all -round without bruising the white a bit. Is that true?" - -Taffy nodded. - -"And your learning--the Latin and Greek, I mean; do you still go on -with it?" - -He nodded again, toward a volume of Euripides that lay open on the -work-bench. - -"And the stories you used to tell George and me; do you go on telling -them to yourself?" - -He was obliged to confess that he never did. She sat for awhile -watching the sparks as they flew. Then she said, "I should like to -hear you tell one again. That one about Aslog and Orm, who ran away by -night across the ice-fields and took a boat and came to an island with -a house on it, and found a table spread and the fire lit, but no -inhabitants anywhere--You remember? It began 'Once upon a time, not -far from the city of Drontheim, there lived a rich man----'" - -Taffy considered a moment and began "Once upon a time, not far from -the city of Drontheim----" He paused, eyed the horse-shoe cooling -between the pincers, and shook his head. It was no use. Apollo had -been too long in service with Admetus, and the tale would not come. - -"At any rate," Honoria persisted, "you can tell me something out of -your books: something you have just been reading." - -So he began to tell her the story of Ion, and managed well enough in -describing the boy and how he ministered before the shrine at Delphi, -sweeping the temple and scaring the birds away from the precincts; but -when he came to the plot of the play and, looking up, caught Honoria's -eyes, it suddenly occurred to him that all the rest of the story was a -sensual one and he could not tell it to her. He blushed, faltered, and -finally broke down. - -"But it was beautiful," said she, "so far as it went; and it's just -what I wanted. I shall remember that boy Ion now, whenever I think of -you helping your father in the church at home. If the rest of the -story is not nice, I don't want to hear it." - -How had she guessed? It was delicious, at any rate, to know that she -thought of him, and Taffy felt how delicious it was, while he fitted -and hammered the shoe on Aide-de-camp's hoof, she standing by with a -candle in either hand, the flame scarcely quivering in the windless -night. - -When all was done, she raised a foot for him to give her a mount. -"Good-night!" she called, shaking the reins. Taffy stood by the door -of the forge, listening to the echoes of Aide-de-camp's canter, and -the palm of his hand tingled where her foot had rested. - - -XVII - -THE SQUIRE'S WEIRD - -He took leave of Mendarva and the Jolls just before Christmas. The -smith was unaffectedly sorry to lose him. "But," said he, "the Dane -will be entered for the Championship next summer, so I s'pose I must -look forward to that." - -Everyone in the Joll household gave him a small present on his -leaving. Lizzie's was a New Testament, with her name on the fly-leaf, -and under it "Converted, April 19, 187-." Taffy did not want the gift, -but took it rather than hurt her feelings. - -Farmer Joll said, "Well, wish 'ee well! Been pretty comfiable, I hope. -Now you'm goin', I don't mind telling 'ee I didn't like your coming a -bit. But now 'tis wunnerful to me you've been wi' us less'n two year'; -we've made such progress." - -At home Taffy bought a small forge and set it up in the church, at the -west end of the north aisle. Mr. Raymond, under his direction, had -been purchasing the necessary tools for some months past; and now the -main expense was the cost of coal, which pinched them a little. But -they managed to keep the fire alight, and the work went forward -briskly. Save that he still forbade the parish to lend them the least -help, the old Squire had ceased to interfere. - -Mr. Raymond's hair was grayer; and Taffy might have observed--but did -not--how readily, toward the close of a day's laborious carpentry, he -would drop work and turn to Dindorf 's _Poetæ Scenici Græci_, through -which they were reading their way. On Sundays, the congregation rarely -numbered a dozen. It seemed that as the end of the Vicar's task drew -nearer, so the prospect of filling the church receded and became more -shadowy. And if his was a queer plight, Jacky Pascoe's was a queerer. -The Bryanite continued to come by night and help, but at rarer -intervals. He was discomforted in mind, as anyone could see; and at -length he took Mr. Raymond aside and made confession. - -"I must go away; that's what 'tis. My burden is too great for me to -bear." - -"Why," said Mr. Raymond, who had grown surprisingly tolerant during -the past twelve months, "what cause have you, of all men, to feel -dejected? You can set the folk here on fire like flax." He sighed. - -"That's azackly the reason--I can set 'em afire with a breath; but I -can't hold 'em under. I make 'em too strong for me--_and I'm afeard_. -Parson, dear, it's the gospel truth; for two years I've a been -strivin' agen myself, wrastlin' upon my knees, and all to hold this -parish in." He mopped his face. "'Tis like fightin' with beasts at -Ephesus," he said. - -"Do you want to hold them in?" - -"I do and I don't. I've got to try, anyway. Sometimes I tell mysel' -'tis putting a hand to the plough and turning back; and then I reckon -I'll go on. But when the time comes, I can't. I'm afeard, I tell 'ee." -He paused. "I've laid it before the Lord, but He don't seem to help. -There's two voices inside o' me. 'Tis a terrible responsibility." - -"But the people, what are you afraid of their doing?" - -"I don't know. You don't know what a runaway hoss will do, but you're -afeard all the same." He sank his voice. "There's wantonness, for one -thing--six love-children born in the parish this year, and more -coming. They do say that Vashti Clemow destroyed her child. And Old -Man Johns--him they found dead on the rocks under the Island--he -didn't go there by accident. 'Twas a calm day, too." - -As often as not Taffy worked late--sometimes until midnight--and blew -his forge-fire alone in the church, the tap of his hammer making -hollow music in the desolate aisles. He was working thus one windy -night in February, when the door rattled open and in walked a totally -unexpected visitor--Sir Harry Vyell. - -"Good-evening! I was riding by and saw your light in the windows -dancing up and down. I thought I would hitch up the mare and drop in -for a chat. But go on with your work." - -Taffy wondered what had brought him so far from his home at that time -of night, but asked no questions. And Sir Harry placed a hassock on -one of the belfry steps and, taking his seat, watched for awhile in -silence. He wore his long riding boots and an overcoat with the collar -turned up about a neck-cloth less nattily folded than usual. - -"I wish," he said at length, "that my boy George was clever like you. -You were great friends once--you remember Plymouth, hey? But I dare -say you've not seen much of each other lately." - -Taffy shook his head. - -"George is a bit wild. Oxford might have done something for him; made -a man of him, I mean. But he wouldn't go. I believe in wild oats to a -certain extent. I have told him from the first he must look after -himself and decide for himself. That's my theory. It makes a youngster -self-reliant. He goes and comes as he likes. If he comes home late -from hunting, I ask no questions; I don't wait dinner. Don't you agree -with me?" - -"I don't know," Taffy answered, wondering why he should be consulted. - -"Self-reliance is what a man wants." - -"Couldn't he have learnt that at school?" - -Sir Harry fidgeted with the riding-crop in his hands. "Well, you see, -he's an only son----. I dare say it was selfish of me. You don't mind -my talking about George?" - -Taffy laughed. "I like it." - -Sir Harry laughed too, in an embarrassed way. "But you don't suppose I -rode over from Carwithiel for that? You're not so far wrong, though. -The fact is--one gets foolish as one grows old--George went out -hunting this morning, and didn't turn up for dinner. I kept to my -rule, and dined alone. Nine o'clock came; half-past; no George. At ten -Hoskings locked up as usual, and off I went to bed. But I couldn't -sleep. After awhile, it struck me that he might be sleeping here over -at Tredinnis; that is, if no accident had happened. No sleep for me -until I made sure; so I jumped out, dressed, slipped down to the -stables, saddled the mare and rode over. I left the mare by Tredinnis -great gates and crept down to Moyle's stables like a house-breaker; -looked in through the window, and, sure enough, there was George's -gray in the loose box to the right. So George is sleeping there, and -I'm easy in my mind. No doubt you think me an old fool?" - -But Taffy was not thinking anything of the sort. - -"I couldn't wish better than that. You understand?" said Sir Harry, -slyly. - -"Not quite." - -"He lost his mother early. He wants a woman to look after him, and for -him to think about. If he and Honoria would only make up a match.... -And Carwithiel would be quite a different house." - -Taffy hesitated, with a hand on the forge-bellows. - -"I dare say it's news to you, what I'm telling. But it has been in my -mind this long while. Why don't you blow up the fire? I bet Miss -Honoria has thought of it too; girls are deep. She has a head on her -shoulders. I'll warrant she'd send half a dozen of my servants packing -within a week. As it is, they rob me to a stair. I know it, and I -haven't the pluck to interfere." - -"What does the old Squire say?" Taffy managed to ask. - -"It has never come to _saying_ anything. But I believe he thinks of -it, too, when he happens to think of anything but his soul. He'll be -pleased; everyone will be pleased. The properties touch, you see." - -"I see." - -"To tell you the truth, he's failing fast. This religion of his is a -symptom; all of his family have taken to it in the end. If he hadn't -the constitution of a horse, he'd have been converted ten years before -this. What puzzles me is, he's so quiet. You mark my words"--Sir Harry -rose, buttoned his coat and shook his riding-crop prophetically--"he's -brewing up for something. There'll be the devil of a flare-up before -he has done." - - * * * * * - -It came with the midsummer bonfires. At nine o'clock on St. John's -Eve, Mr. Raymond read prayers in the church. It was his rule to -celebrate thus the vigils of all saints in the English calendar and -some few Cornish saints besides; and he regularly announced these -services on the preceding Sundays; but no parishioner dreamed of -attending them. - -To-night, as usual, he and Taffy had prayed alone; and the lad was -standing after service at the church door, with his surplice on his -arm (for he always wore a surplice and read the lessons on these -vigils), when the flame of the first bonfire shot up from the headland -over Innis village. - -Almost on the moment a flame answered it from the point where the -lighthouse stood; and within ten minutes the horizon of the towans was -cressetted with these beacon-fires; surely (thought Taffy) with many -more than usual. And he remembered that Jacky Pascoe had thrown out a -hint of a great revival to be held on Baal-fire Night (as he had -called it). - -The night was sultry and all but windless. For once the tormented sands -had rest. The flame of the bonfires shone yellow--orange-yellow--and -steady. He could see the dark figures of men and women passing between -him and the nearest, on the high wastrel in front of Tredinnis great -gates. Their voices reached him in a confused murmur, broken now and -then by a child's scream of delight. And yet a hush seemed to hang -over sea and land: an expectant hush. For weeks the sky had not -rained. Day after day, a dull indigo blue possessed it, deepening with -night into duller purple, as if the whole heavens were gathering into -one big thunder-cloud, which menaced but never broke. And in the hush -of those nights a listener could almost fancy he heard, between -whiles, the rabbits stirring uneasily in their burrows. - -By and by, the bonfire on the wastrel appeared to be giving out specks -of light, which blazed independently; yet without decreasing its own -volume of flame. The sparks came dancing, nearer and larger; the -voices grew more distinct. The spectators had kindled torches and were -advancing in procession to visit other bonfires. The torches, too, -were supposed to bless the fields they passed across. - -The procession rose and sank as it came over the uneven ridges like a -fiery snake; topped the nearest ridge and came pouring down past the -churchyard wall. At its head danced Lizzie Pezzack, shrieking like a -creature possessed, her hair loose and streaming, while she whirled -her torch. Taffy knew these torches; bundles of canvas steeped in tar -and fastened in the middle to a stout stick or piece of chain. -Lizzie's was fastened to a chain, and as he watched her uplifted arm -swinging the blazing mass he found time to wonder how she escaped -setting her hair on fire. Other torch-bearers tossed their arms and -shouted as they passed. The smoke was suffocating, and across the -patch of quiet graveyard the heat smote on Taffy's face. But in the -crowd he saw two figures clearly--Jacky Pascoe and Squire Moyle; and -the Bryanite's face was agitated and white in the glare. He had given -an arm to the Squire, who was clearly the centre of the procession, -and tottered forward with jaws working and cavernous eyes. - -"He's saved!" a voice shouted. - -Others took up the cry. "Saved!" "The Squire's saved!" "Saved -to-night--saved to glory!" - -The Squire paused, still leaning on the Bryanite's arm. While the -procession swayed around him, he gazed across the gate, as a man who -had lost his bearings. No glint of torchlight reached his eyes; but -the sight of Mr. Raymond's surpliced figure, standing behind Taffy's -shoulders in the full glare, seemed to rouse him. He lifted a fist and -shook it slowly. - -"Com'st along, sir!" urged the Bryanite. - -But the Squire stood irresolute, muttering to himself. - -"Com'st along, sir!" - -"Lev' me be, I tell 'ee!" He laid both hands on the gate and spoke -across it to Mr. Raymond, his head nodding while his voice rose. - -"D'ee hear what they say? I'm saved. I'm the Squire of this parish, -and I'm going to Heaven. I make no account of you and your church. Old -Satan's the fellow I'm after, and I'm going to have him out o' this -parish to-night or my name's not Squire Moyle." - -"That's of it, Squire!" "Hunt' en!" "Out with 'en!" - -He turned on the shouting throng. - -"Hunt 'en? Iss fay I will! Come along, boys--back to Tredinnis! No, -no"--this to the Bryanite--"we'll go back. I'll show 'ee sport, -to-night--we'll hunt th'ould Divvle by scent and view. I'm Squire -Moyle, ain't I? And I've a pack o' hounds, ha'n't I? Back, boys--back, -I tell 'ee!" - -Lizzie Pezzack swung her torch. "Back--back to Tredennis!" The crowd -took up the cry, "Back to Tredinnis!" The old man shook off the -Bryanite's hand, and as the procession wheeled and re-formed itself -confusedly, rushed to the head of it, waving his hat-- - -"Back!--Back to Tredinnis!" - -"God help them," said Mr. Raymond; and taking Taffy by the arm, drew -him back into the church. - - * * * * * - -The shouting died away up the road. For three-quarters of an hour -father and son worked in silence. The reddened sky shed its glow -gently through the clear glass windows, suffusing the shadows beneath -the arched roof. And, in the silence, the lad wondered what was -happening up at Tredinnis. - - * * * * * - -Jim the Whip took oath afterward that it was no fault of his. He had -suspected three of the hounds for a day or two--Chorister, White, Boy, -and Bellman--and had separated them from the pack. That very evening -he had done the same with Rifler, who was chewing at the straw in a -queer fashion and seemed quarrelsome. He had said nothing to the -Squire, whose temper had been ugly for a week past. He had hoped it -was a false alarm--had thought it better to wait, and so on. - -The Squire went down to the Kennels with a lantern, Jim shivering -behind him. They had their horses saddled outside and ready; and the -crowd was waiting along the drive and up by the great gates. The -Squire saw at a glance that two couples were missing, and in two -seconds had their names on his tongue. He was like a madman. He -shouted to Jim to open the doors. "Better not, maister!" pleaded Jim. -The old man cursed, smote him across the neck with the butt-end of his -whip, and unlocked the doors himself. Jim, though half-stunned, -staggered forward to prevent him, and took another blow which felled -him. He dropped across the threshold of Chorister's kennel, the doors -of all opened outwards, and the weight of his body kept this one shut. -But he saw the other three hounds run out--saw the Squire turn with a -ghastly face, drop the lantern and run for it as White Boy snapped at -his boot. Jim heard the crash of the lantern and the snap of teeth, -and with that he fainted off in the darkness. He had cut his forehead -against the bars of the big kennel, and when he came to himself, one -of the hounds was licking his face through the grating. - - * * * * * - -Men told for years' after how the old Squire came up the drive that -night, hoof to belly; his chin almost on mare Nonesuch's neck; his -face like a man's who hears hell cracking behind him; and of the three -dusky hounds which followed (the tale said) with clapping jaws and -eyes like coach-lamps. - - * * * * * - -Down in the quiet church Taffy heard the outcry, and, laying down his -plane, looked up and saw that his father had heard it too. His mild -eyes, shining through his spectacles, asked, as plainly as words: -"What was _that_?" - -"Listen!" - -For a minute--two minutes--they heard nothing more. Then out of the -silence broke a rapid, muffled beat of hoofs; and Mr. Raymond clutched -Taffy's arm as a yell--a cry not human, or if human, insane--cut the -night like a knife and fetched them to their feet. Taffy gained the -porch first, and just at that moment a black shadow heaved itself on -the churchyard wall and came hurling over with a thud--a clatter of -dropping stones--then a groan. - -Before they could grasp what was happening, the old Squire had -extricated himself from the fallen mare, and came staggering across -the graves. - -"Hide me!----" - -He came with both arms outstretched, his face turned sideways. Behind -him, from the far side of the wall, came sounds--horrible shuffling -sounds, and in the dusk they saw the head of one of the hounds above -the coping and his fore-paws clinging as he strained to heave himself -over. - -"Save me! Save----" - -They caught him by both arms, dragged him within and slammed the door. - -"Save!----sa--!" - -The word ended with a thud as he pitched headlong on the slate -pavement. Through the barred door, the scream of the mare Nonesuch -answered it. - -(To be continued.) - - - - -THE FOREIGN MAIL SERVICE AT NEW YORK - -By E. G. Chat - - - [Illustration: Mail Arriving in Foreign Department. - On the left the Chief Clerk is checking off the returns from the - clerks, on the right, who have emptied sacks of mail. New loads are - coming in in the rear.] - -"Steamer's mail!!!" This loud call, echoing throughout the foreign -room in the Post-office Building, is the equivalent of the "Clear ship -for action" on the man-of-war. Instantly distributors leave their -separating cases, stampers abandon their "blocks," the electric -stamp-cancelling machine temporarily ceases its humming, buzzing -rattle, every available clerk or porter gets ready for the fray, and -the whole force charges with alacrity on the fast accumulating pile, -as sack after sack is dumped on a low, large table, at times entirely -hid from sight by bags with labels indicating their origin, thousands -of miles away, whether from the confines of Siberia, or the shores of -the Indian Ocean. - -The sight, even to men familiar with the work, is inspiring, -especially when at times two, and on certain occasions three, steamers -land their cargo of sacks at the same hour. Not infrequently this -happens when some one thousand and odd sacks have to be made ready for -an outgoing steamer, and then the foreign force is fairly on its -mettle, and may well be compared again to the crew of a battle-ship -when it has to fight fire inside and fire from the enemy outside. Here -again, as on the battle-ship, organization and years' training tell. -The wagon-loads of sacks melt before the vigorous and steady onslaught -as did the Spanish fleet before Dewey's guns, and in a short while the -room is cleared and the "field-day" over. - - [Illustration: Sea Post-office Room. - One clerk empties the sacks, and throws the letter packages to - another clerk at the case while he distributes the papers into - the sack rack.] - -It would be difficult, in this great cosmopolitan city of New York, to -find a person who does not make use of this foreign service, yet -strange to relate is the fact that, outside of the clerks immediately -handling these mails, hardly anyone can be found who knows, or even -has the slightest idea of the International Postal Union system. -Perhaps this is accounted for by the comparatively very recent -establishment of said system, and its growth so immediate and rapid -that the public has not so far "caught up" with it. - -The system was aptly described by Postmaster-General Gary at the -opening of the Washington Postal Congress, in 1897, as "one of the -grandest projects of the century." No other agency is responsible to -such an extent for the tremendous expansion of great ideals and the -exchange of views between nations characteristic of the last quarter -of this century. - -Previous to 1875, when the Treaty of Bern, assented to and ratified by -twenty-two nations, took effect, the exchange of mails between -separate nationalities was done under such difficulties, and subject -to delays and mishaps of so many kinds, that a normal growth and -improvement in keeping with the progress of civilization was out of -the question. In 1840 the foreign mail from England for the United -States, carried on the Great Western, consisted of two sacks of mail. -As late as 1873 a steamer from Europe with 20,000 letters on board was -considered a record breaker. To-day the Cunard steamers and other -transatlantic ships carrying what is called a "full European mail," -usually bring some two hundred thousand letters, and an average of -three hundred sacks of newspapers and printed matter for New York -City, not to mention the five hundred and odd sacks for Canada, -Mexico, and transpacific countries, and a few United States exchange -offices, which are now taken direct to the trains and not handled at -the New York office. - -The working unit of the International Postal Union system is the -"Exchange Office." Each postal administration selects these -despatching and receiving centres according to quantity of mail -handled at any particular point. In European countries many of these -offices are on trains from one important point to another, and are -called Travelling Exchange offices. They receive and despatch mails in -the same manner as offices located in large cities. There are also -exchange offices located on steamship lines, and they are called Sea -Post-offices. No matter where located, these offices all conduct -business on the same lines, and handle mail in the same manner -throughout the world. The rules and regulations of this service are -adopted by Postal Congresses, meeting about every six years and under -the general supervision of the International Bureau of the Postal -Union located at Bern, Switzerland, and supported by funds from all -governments represented in the Union according to the respective -importance of their mail service. - - [Illustration: Transferring Mails from an Ocean Greyhound to the - Post-office Boat, Postmaster General, through the Chutes.] - -Only through these exchange offices can correspondence go from one -country to another, as no other offices are provided with the clerical -force and system necessary to the handling of international mails. It -is at times difficult to explain to business people that a North -German Lloyd steamer calling at Gibraltar and Naples will carry mail -for Naples only, and that a letter addressed to Gibraltar by that -particular steamer cannot be delivered at that port, but will be -carried all the way to Naples, whence it will be re-despatched to -Gibraltar through a more or less circuitous route. This is because -Gibraltar is not an "exchange office" with New York, and "closed -mails" are not sent thereto from New York. A "closed mail," as the -name indicates, is a mail duly tied up, sealed, and labelled with the -name of the exchange office to which it is sent, and not to be opened -until it gets there, passing sometimes through four or five countries -before reaching its destination. No other kind of mails is carried by -steamers, yet the answer will often be made to inquiries, that a -certain letter would have been sent "in open mail" to London or -elsewhere. This does not mean that the mail in which the letter in -question would be sent is despatched "opened," but that it is sent in -the "closed" mail for London, there to be opened and disposed of by -the London clerks, just as if it had been mailed in London. This -course is followed with all correspondence for offices abroad, or even -entire countries, which is not in sufficient quantity to justify the -establishment of an exchange; and the mails for these offices or -countries is sent to the foreign exchange office with the best -facilities for disposing of it. Thus mail for Liberia will be sent -sometimes to Hamburg, Germany, and at other times to Liverpool, -England. - - [Illustration: On Board the Postmaster General, at the End of the - Chute--Receiving, Piling, and Checking Off Sacks.] - - [Illustration: Some Sample Labels from Abroad. - - Belgian label--string made fast through wooden block with - wax seal and a second block of compressed lead. - Paraguay label--plain linen. - Austrian label--wooden block, string sealed with wax. - German white leather label. - Argentine label--strong, ordinary leather. - Norwegian label--cardboard--string sealed on back with wax.] - -A closed mail consists of ordinary letters, printed matter, and other -articles, and of registered articles. Sometimes all these elements -will be enclosed in the same sack, or they may be despatched in -separate sacks, when in sufficient quantity. The registered mail is -tied up and sealed in distinctive red-striped sacks, and then these -sacks are enclosed in ordinary mail-sacks, tied up and labelled in -exactly the same manner as the sacks containing ordinary letters, so -that it is impossible to tell from the outside which sack contains -registered matter. A mail may consist of one sack only, containing all -classes of correspondence, or it may be composed of a large number of -sacks. In either case it is accompanied by a letter bill, enclosed in -one of the sacks. This letter bill is one of a series beginning on -January 1st of each year, being numbered with consecutive numbers to -each foreign exchange office. Thus when Naples receives a mail from -New York containing the letter bill numbered 65, and the previous mail -received at that office had Letter Bill No. 63, Naples knows that mail -with Letter Bill No. 64 is missing, and immediately notifies New York -of the fact in a form called "Bulletin of Verification." This form is -in use for official correspondence between all offices in the Postal -Union regarding irregularities of all sorts discovered in the mails of -one office for another. A record of the number of each mail and the -particulars of its despatch being kept by each office, the inquiry -from Naples in the above instance would immediately be investigated, -and that office notified that the missing mail had been sent on such a -date, by such a steamer, etc.; or, if more was known concerning its -fate, as in the case of the mails sent per La Bourgogne last July, -mention would be made of the fact. The Russian travelling exchange -office of Kibarty to St. Petersburg frequently receives the mails sent -from this office every Wednesday in inverted order, that is, the mail -sent by a fast White Star liner at noon on Wednesday, may be received -a few hours ahead of the mail sent by a slower American line steamer -which sailed at 10 A.M. on the same day. The occurrence is so often -repeated that one would think it would go unnoticed, and the Russian -office would wait a few hours anyway before notifying New York that a -mail is missing, but such is not the case, and the bulletin "Your mail -No. ---- is missing," is immediately sent to New York, followed next -day by another bulletin, "Your mail No. ---- has arrived." At the New -York office the first bulletin is always held until receipt of the -second, which is sure to follow and renders investigation unnecessary; -they are called "Katie didn't," and "Katie did." Many bulletins are -received subsequent to the holidays with best wishes for Christmas or -New Year from one office to another. They are mostly all in English, -French, or Spanish, and are, at times, more or less humorous, if not -pathetic, as was one received from Martinique about the time Cervera's -ill-fated fleet was hovering near that island. A mail from New York -had just been received at St. Pierre, and in one of the sacks the -horrified French Director of Posts had found a cat in the last stages -of decomposition. He had sent for the American Consul to view the -remains, and his bulletin to the New York office regarding this -irregularity was a model of official French. It stated how the smell -of that dead cat had penetrated every corner of his office, and one -could read between the lines that he suspected the whole affair to be -a joke played upon him by the Yankee postal clerks. The event was duly -investigated in the New York office, but beyond the fact that one -member of the numerous pussy tribe in the mail building was missing, -little else could be positively ascertained. That the cat could have -been sent in that bag as a joke was not to be thought of for an -instant, but it was presumed that in its wandering among the piles of -mail-sacks in the basement, pussy had found the sack for Martinique -awaiting to be sealed, and had concluded to take a nap therein. The -sack was probably tied up and sealed soon afterward, and the unwilling -stow-away had been sent to the steamer. Later on it was reported by -the purser of the steamer that he suspected there was something alive -in one of the mail-bags, but such is the respect for postal seals that -he never thought to open the sack in the presence of witnesses and -release the animal. Thrown in the mail-room with other sacks on top of -it, there could be no doubt that poor pussy had been smothered before -passing the Hook, and his condition when landed at Martinique must -have been such as to fully justify and explain the ill-disguised -indignation of the French officials. - - [Illustration: In the Newspaper Division. Throwing papers into boxes - for all parts of the world.] - -The letter bill describes minutely the mail it accompanies, states how -many sacks of letters, how many sacks of papers, and how many articles -registered, describing each registered article separately, except in -cases of heavy registered mails, when a separate descriptive list is -sent in addition to the letter bill. Thus it is easy for the office of -destination to verify the mail it receives and ascertain whether any -is missing. - -Small closed mails are at times enclosed inside of closed mails for -other offices; for instance, the mails made up at Paris for Guatemala -are in a sack duly sealed and labelled as aforesaid, but this sack is -put inside of one of the bags for the New York office, and in such -cases the fact is noted on the letter bill sent with the New York -mail. - - [Illustration: Samples of Ordinary Letters. - For Government of Simbursk, Russia. For Finland. For Hungary.] - -The business of the foreign clerks when a foreign mail is received in -the manner described in our first lines is to open promptly every sack -received, inspect and dispose of contents, and report to the chief -clerk the result from each sack thus opened. Each clerk takes hold of -one of the sacks piled on the table, and throws it on another table -used for opening the mails. He cuts open the fastenings, keeping the -label separate, and also the letter-bill, if he happens to find it in -the sack; if several classes of mail matter are found therein, he -pushes the ordinary letters over to one side, sweeps the newspapers -into large four-wheeled baskets near by, takes to another place the -smaller enclosed mails addressed to other offices, and lays the -registered sack on the chief clerk's desk, where a man from the -registry division will receive it and give a receipt for it. The clerk -then calls out to the chief clerk the result of his examination, -"Lisbon-Reg.-Bill and 1 Honolulu"--which means that in the sack just -opened he found the mail from Lisbon for New York with the -letter-bill, registered articles and a smaller closed mail for -Honolulu. Like the rattle of musketry these calls are fired at the -chief clerk, who marks everything on a tally-sheet, which will later -on be compared with the advices received from the foreign offices on -each letter-bill; and if any discrepancy is found it will be -investigated, resulting in a bulletin of verification to office of -origin, or in something worse for the foreign clerk who made an -erroneous announcement of the contents, if the fault is laid to him. -In a few minutes, sometimes an hour or more, an entire mail is opened -and the room cleared, the registry man getting away to his department -with all the registered mails, and the newspaper force wheeling away -the baskets full of newspapers and packages. The letters are then -divided into four parts--those for New York City proper, those for the -rest of the United States and Canada, those for foreign countries -which have been sent in open mail to New York, and those which are -unpaid or partially prepaid. Many foreign offices make a separation of -the mails for New York City from those for other places, but this is a -matter of accommodation and reciprocal arrangements between exchange -offices; and the work of separation is, strictly speaking, that of the -foreign clerks in any office. The newspapers are treated in the same -manner as the letters. All city mail is then sent to the city -department for final distribution and delivery, and that for other -parts of the United States and Canada is sent to the domestic mail -division for despatch. All letters and mail addressed to other -countries are retained in the foreign division, and included in the -next mail for these countries. The unpaid and short-paid mail is -"rated up" before delivery to other divisions. This mail is put up -under distinctive labels. The despatching offices have marked on each -article the amount of deficiency in prepayment. No matter where -originating, this amount is marked in French money (centimes). The -letter "T" (initial of French word "tax") is also stamped on covers. -The foreign clerks at the receiving office calculate, in the money of -their country, the amount of deficiency and double it up, stamping -this charge on the covers for collection by office of delivery. - - [Illustration: Despatching a Mail--Sacks Loaded on Trucks. - Despatching clerk, on the left, tallying off mails, sack by sack. - Foreign mails are delivered to trucks sent by the Steamship - Companies and are receipted for at the door of New York Post - Office.] - -This work, and also that of separating New York mail and mail for the -principal States and cities, is done by the sea post-offices in -steamers of the North German Lloyd, Hamburg-American, and American -Lines; and when mails are received by either of these steamers they -are ready for delivery in a much shorter time than when received by -other vessels. In addition to the sea post-office service, the -transfer service has also in the last two or three years materially -reduced the work at the foreign department in the New York office. - -No sooner has the "ticker" reported the Campania or other big liner -"off Fire Island" than a veteran of the transportation department, -accompanied by a few clerks and porters, hastens to the foot of -Cortlandt Street and boards the Postmaster-General, the flag-ship of -the post-office fleet. The boat was built for this service, and is -equipped with spacious mail-rooms, chutes for transboarding sacks, and -other expediting appliances. Steam is up, and she is off down the bay -to meet the big steamer. She makes fast to her sides, and the mails -are received aboard through the chutes, while the clerks check and -verify the number received on a sort of invoice called "way bill," -prepared by the London, Havre, or sea post-office. Frequently the -passengers are still awaiting the quarantine doctor while the mails -are speeding on their way to the Battery, where the New York City -sacks are landed; then to the Pennsylvania Railroad, then to the foot -of Forty-second Street, where wagons await the mails for the Grand -Central Depot. Thus a great saving in time is often made, while -formerly the whole mail went first to the docks of the several -transatlantic lines, then by wagons to the General Post-Office, then -again by wagons to the different depots. When the mails are handled by -sea post-offices during the sea-trip, they generally arrive ready for -the trains, and little but what is for New York City proper comes to -the general office; but the large and heavy mails on the Cunard and -White Star Lines, also on the French Line, are not thus assorted, and -fully two-thirds has to come to the foreign division to be handled as -previously described. - -We have explained to a great extent so far what seems to pertain to -the incoming mails only; but we said at the start that the foreign -mail is worked throughout the world in every exchange office very much -after the same pattern, and it will now be easier to explain the -handling of mail going from the United States to other countries. -There are in the United States several exchange offices besides New -York, but, with the exception of New Orleans and San Francisco, the -mails they make up consist only of matter originating at each of these -offices. Mail for some of the Central American republics is sent to -New Orleans, and mail for transpacific countries goes mostly to San -Francisco. All other mail, no matter where dropped in the letter-box, -comes to the New York office through the instrumentality of the -Railway Mail Service. Letters for abroad are tied up in bundles, and -labelled "New York Foreign." Some of the railway mail offices make a -preliminary separation by countries, and many bundles reach New York -labelled "Russia," "Switzerland," etc.; but as there are many exchange -offices in these foreign countries, these bundles have again to be -opened at New York, and assorted, although this first separation -facilitates the process. The bundles are cut open, and the letters are -all passed through the electric machine or stamped by hand, the -"back-stamp" thus impressed showing their date of arrival in New York. - -This is not done with letters originating in New York City, the date -and time of mailing being in that case shown in the stamp-mark -cancelling the postage-stamps, and being held sufficient for records. -The mail having been "back-stamped," goes on a low shelf in front of -each distributor, and is then assorted according to destination. The -"separating case" consists of nine rows of boxes, ten boxes in each -row. Many of the boxes bear the names of exchange offices in Europe or -those reached by steamers for Europe. There are also boxes for other -parts of the world, in which letters are deposited to be later on -taken to another special "separating case" for these countries. In -each separating case there is a box where unpaid or short-paid letters -are deposited. A special clerk takes them out, weighs them, marks -thereon the deficient postage, and stamps them "T," when they are -assorted on a separate case and tied up in bundles under labels -indicating that the contents of the bundles consist of short-paid -mail. They go in the same sacks as ordinary letters. When a box -bearing the name of an exchange office is full (about one hundred and -fifty letters), the contents are taken out, divided into two parts, -the largest letters being laid across both parts, and the whole is -tied up in a sheet of strong manila paper. String is not spared in -this process, and so securely and strongly are these packages tied -that they have been known to remain in the water for days and weeks at -times, and when found, with the exception of the top letters and the -edges, they were yet in a condition to permit delivery to persons for -whom they were intended. Many people, no doubt, some weeks after the -Elbe disaster, remember having received letters with a paster -attached, stating that the letter had been found in the North Sea, in -a bag originating in Norway and sunk with the Elbe. This was the only -sack of mail ever recovered from that steamer. The same was true of -the mail recovered from the Oregon, sacks being found far down the -Jersey coast days after the wreck of that steamer, and forwarded to -New York, where, after being dried, most of the letters were found to -be deliverable. - -The package thus wrapped and tied is labelled with the printed name of -the exchange office for which its contents are intended, and thrown -into a large basket. When the basket is full, it is wheeled over to -the pouching rack, an iron frame divided into sections, each section -bearing the name of an exchange office, and provided with four hooks -which hold open a mail sack. The pouching clerk takes the packages of -letters, reads the labels thereon, and throws them into the proper -sack. When full (about seventy-five pounds), the sack is taken down -and ready for tying and sealing up. The last sack taken down receives -the letter-bill for the exchange office of destination. The sack is -tied, and a label bearing the name of the office for which it is -destined is inserted in the string. After several turns have been -taken, both ends of the string are passed through the holes at the -bottom of a small tin cup which is subsequently filled with hot wax, -so that the string cannot be removed without its being cut open (see -illustration on page 71). In this country labels made of good Holland -linen are used fresh for each sack. In other countries other material -is employed, some using leather, some wood, some strong cardboard. The -return of labels of any value is generally requested, and they are -used over and over until worn out. Great Britain does not use labels -of any kind, but has the address of each sack stencilled on the sack -itself, thus: "London for New York." This, of course, renders the sack -useless for any other service. In the United States the labels are -white for letter sacks, buff for papers, and cardinal red for -registered mails. - -The newspapers are assorted in the basement of the Post-office, very -much in the same fashion as letters, but they are not tied up in -bundles. The separating cases into which they are thrown are so made -that a sack hanging at the lower end of the box receives the mail thrown -therein, and when full, it is ready for tying, labelling, and sealing -up. In this department are received the queerest odds and ends going -through the mails to foreign countries, newspapers especially being -selected to hide in their folds sundry articles of every description -sent to friends "in the auld country." Jewelry, from the penny kind to -really valuable articles, handkerchiefs galore, baby's dressing -outfits, rattlesnake skins, plugs of tobacco, cucumbers--these and -many other curios of every description are found and stopped. If the -address of the sender appears on the package, it is returned to him -direct. Otherwise it goes to the Dead Letter Office, where it is kept -a certain length of time awaiting to be claimed. The unclaimed part is -finally sold at auction. - -In the letter department there are also curiosities, but of another -kind. The greatest part of the letters addressed to Santa Claus in -Greenland, or other Northern lands, are treated by the foreign clerks. -There are also many mysteries to be unravelled in the queer -hieroglyphics which are supposed to be the addresses of letters, -especially those going to Russia, Turkey, Hungary, and even Italy. -Clerks of the foreign department are not linguists; but the same -characters recurring so constantly soon appear familiar, and they -experience no trouble in "boxing" the letters to the proper office. - -When a mail has closed, no more letters or papers are put in the -assorting boxes, but everything that was there is taken out, tied, -labelled, and sacked. The letter-bills are then prepared, and after -all the sacks are sealed the way-bills are made up in duplicate -copies. A full European mail _via_ Queenstown or _via_ Southampton -averages nine to twelve hundred sacks, fully two-thirds of which have -been made up in the New York office. The way-bill describes this large -mail only as so many letter-sacks and so many paper-sacks from the New -York office, or the Chicago, or other office of origin, for Paris, or -for Dublin, etc., and when the steamers land the mail at its port of -arrival, the way-bills are used to check and verify the number of -sacks landed. One copy of the way-bill is returned to New York with a -receipt from the official at the port of destination, and the -responsibility of this office for the mails ceases. Their further -transportation will be the business of the administration which has -received them. - -The Parcels Post system is also taken care of by the clerks of the -foreign department, but as it is a system based on special conventions -or agreements between any two countries, it is not within the sphere -of an article relating to the international mail service as regulated -by the Postal Union Conventions. The exchange of large parcels, -however, as well as of ordinary correspondence, is one of the -improvements which remain for future postal congresses to introduce in -the system. At present, the United States parcels' post exchange is -confined to the West Indies, Central America, Mexico, Hawaii, and -Newfoundland. Ordinary merchandise not exceeding eleven pounds can be -forwarded under that system for twelve cents a pound. - - [Illustration: United States System of Tying, Sealing, and Labelling - Sacks.] - -The general supervision over all American exchange offices is centred -in the Office of Foreign Mails, in Washington, but the fact that over -ninety per cent. of foreign mail matter is handled, or passes through -the New York office would make exceedingly advantageous, especially -for business interests all over the country, the transfer to New York -of the supreme direction of that service. Many times questions have to -be decided and steps taken at short notice, delay being the great -bugaboo of postal officials, and in such cases constant and daily -touch with a system ever increasing and improving would be of -incalculable benefit. The New York force, however, is so well trained, -its superintendents and clerks are so completely acquainted with every -detail of the system, that so far the business world has not suffered -from the present arrangement. It certainly has not gained. A -flattering testimonial of this efficiency of the New York foreign -force is found in a report to his government of the New Zealand Postal -Agent residing at San Francisco and in charge of the important -British-Australian Mail Service. "I find," says he, "that the New York -officials are extremely anxious to make the best connections and are -indefatigable in their efforts to expedite the transfer of mails. -Messrs. Maze and Boyle,[1] Superintendent and Assistant Superintendent -of mails in New York City, are particularly energetic and watchful, -and no stone is left unturned at that office to further our interests -in that direction, and the mails are often transferred to tugs and -sent after the Atlantic liners when late." - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] Lately appointed Post-office Inspector. - - - - -NEMESIS - -_"Vicisti, Galilæo"_ - - - I - - Above the fallen sculpture - Of the pantheon of the Past, - One haggard face looks heavenward - A challenge to the last. - Behold that levelling NEMESIS, - Who rears her balance still, - Scorning a Good that flowers - From roots of good and ill: - A Tonic from the mixture - Of mortal gall and balm! - A foam of their equation-- - Fume of waste and compensation, - Which the Cup of trituration - Wreathes with victory and calm! - - But oh, thou ruthless goddess, - With never-favoring eyes, - Is Heaven so poor that justice - Metes the bounty of the skies? - So poor that every blessing - Fills the debit of a cost! - That all process is returning, - And all gain is of the lost! - - How shalt thou poise the courage - That covets all things hard? - How pay the love unmeasured - That could not brook reward? - How prompt self-loyal honor-- - Supreme above desire, - That bids the strong die for the weak, - The martyr sing in fire? - Why do I droop in bower, - And sigh in sacred hall? - Why stifle under shelter, - Yet where through forest tall - The rime of hoary winter - In stinging spray resolves, - I sing to the northwind's fury, - And shout with the starving wolves? - - Up through a hundred tumults - I won to fields of peace: - A veteran scarred and grizzled, - On furlough, or release. - - I roam the heights of freedom, - And through the mists of death - I hail the thrones supernal - With bold and jovial breath. - - What of thy priests confuting - Of fate, and form and law-- - Of being and essence, and counterpoise - Of poles that drive and draw? - Ever a compensation-- - Some pandering purchase still! - But the vehm of achieving reason - Is the all-patrician WILL! - - - II - - Lo! where the world is quiet - That heeds not me, nor thee, - I watch while the healing planets - Refreshen the brackish sea; - My vision of hope and progress - Has passed with thin day-light, - And the SAME, in its ancient splendor, - Is new in the blooming night: - Then swathe thy locks with shadows, - And poppied wreaths entwine, - And steep in thy pagan nectar - The nightshade's 'trancing vine: - Yet a voice shall pierce thy stupor, - And thou shalt not forget: - "My locks, which the dews have laden, - With drops of the night are wet.... - Take thought for no to-morrow!... - Let the dead bury their dead!..." - What boots it that IMMANUEL hath - Not where to lay His head! - - - III - - Sorrow no more nor glory - Shall toss my even beam. - Rest, rest thy weary balance! - I am dreaming of the dream - Wherein neither pain nor pleasure-- - Wherein neither toil nor treasure-- - Wherein neither guess nor measure - May be, nor yet may seem,-- - A dream of life Ideal, - That knows its own control,-- - Whose ends are at the centre, - And whose balance is the whole. - - - - -DANIEL WEBSTER - -WITH UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPTS AND SOME EXAMPLES OF HIS PREPARATION FOR -PUBLIC SPEAKING - -By George F. Hoar - - -In one respect Daniel Webster is the most striking figure in our -history, and one of the few most striking figures in all history. That -is, in the impression he made on everybody--that, great as were his -achievements, he was himself greater than his greatest achievement. - -Franklin, Webster, and Emerson are the three great New Englanders. -Each of them was a great public teacher. If Webster did not lack, at -least he did not manifest, Franklin's wonderful common-sense, as -applied to common things and common life. He had not Emerson's -profound spiritual discernment or wonderful poetic instinct. But his -intellect seems like a vast quarry. When you have excavated the great -rocks at the surface, you know there is an inexhaustible supply left. -When he died, the people felt as if the corner-stone of the Capitol -had been removed; as if the elephant had died that bore the universe -on its back. - -Emerson's portraiture of Webster at Bunker Hill is made up of a few -strokes. But it reveals the whole secret. Great as were the things -that Webster said, profound as was his reasoning, lofty as are the -flights of his imagination, stirring as are his appeals to the -profoundest passions of his countrymen, there is a constant feeling -that Jove is behind these thunderbolts. That is the contrast between -him and so many other orators. Even in Choate and Phillips you are -admiring the phrase and the elocution, and not the men. In Webster you -are thinking of the man, and not the phrases. The best things that he -said do not seem to his listener to be superior, and rarely seem to -his listener to be equal, to the man who said them. There is plenty of -reserve power behind-- - - ... Half his strength he put not forth, but checked - His thunder in mid-volley. - -Emerson also said of him, "His strength was like the falling of a -planet; his discretion, the return of its due and perfect curve." - -Nothing certainly can be more profitable for youth who desire to -cultivate the capacity for public speaking for the purpose of -addressing juries, legislative bodies, or popular assemblies, than the -study of the style, the delivery, and the method of preparation of him -whom nearly all his countrymen think the foremost American orator, and -whom many of them think the foremost orator who ever spoke the English -tongue. Many admirable critics have dealt with these topics.[2] - -Mr. Winthrop has told,[3] in his own delightful way, the story of one -of Webster's compositions, famous at the time, now almost forgotten. - -Mr. Winthrop says also truly of Daniel Webster: - -"Daniel Webster, unlike Everett or Choate, was all deliberation, both -in matter and manner. I do not believe that it ever occurred to him -what gestures he should make, or that he ever remembered what gestures -he had made. His words seemed to flow spontaneously and often slowly, -whether from his lips or his pen, as from a profound and exhaustless -reservoir of thought. Of him it might be, and perhaps often has been, -said: - - "... Deep on his front engraven - Deliberation sat, and public care." - -He says of Webster's eloquence that it was the eloquence of clear, -cogent argument, and of occasional deep emotion, expressed in clear, -forcible Saxon words--sometimes adorned by most felicitous quotations -and sometimes by magnificent and matchless metaphors. - -James Parton says: - -"He discovered, he says, that the value as well as the force of a -sentence depends chiefly upon its meaning, not its language, and that -great writing is that in which much is said in a few words, and those -words the simplest that will answer the purpose. Having made this -notable discovery, he became a great eraser of adjectives, and toiled -after simplicity and directness." - -Edward Everett, who knew Mr. Webster very intimately, says: - -"Perhaps the noblest bursts--the loftiest flights, the last and -warmest tints of his discourses of this kind--were the unpremeditated -inspiration of the moment of delivery." - -I suppose, from all I can gather, that Mr. Webster, with very few -exceptions indeed, committed to writing nothing but the heads of his -speeches. But they were, nearly all of them, upon subjects constantly -in his thoughts. He had undoubtedly matured sentences and phrases -which came to his mind in leisure moments, and which came to his -memory under the stimulant of great occasions and great audiences, in -addressing juries or public assemblies or the Senate, with which he -ornamented his discourses, or strengthened his argument. Most of the -speeches we have only as they came to us in the imperfect reporting of -the time. Some of them, like the oration at Plymouth, he probably -revised carefully before they were published. We have his own -testimony that this was true of the well-known "morning drum-beat" -passage in the speech on the President's Protest. - -Still, the testimony is abundant that some of his best passages must -have come from an inspiration while he was upon his feet. Mr. Winthrop -gives an account of one; Mellen Chamberlain, a most accomplished -critic and observer, another. And there are plenty of others floating -about. Judge Chamberlain says one thing of him, which I dare say may -have been said before and since. It explains Webster's influence over -his auditors and over posterity. He says: - -"He was perfectly sane, and it may be the most perfectly sane orator -who ever spoke English." - - * * * * * - -I have in my possession a good many of Mr. Webster's manuscripts, -including his preparations for speeches, letters from him to intimate -friends and from his intimate friends to him, a good many bound -volumes of political pamphlets, some of them with the autographs of -famous authors, and some of his books. From these I select a few which -relate to important and interesting events in his life, or throw some -additional light upon his habit and method of preparation for public -speaking, adding some explanation and comment. - -One of the greatest debates in our parliamentary history, only -surpassed in importance in Mr. Webster's public life by the debate -with Hayne on Foot's Resolution and the debate on the Compromise -measures in March, 1850, is the debate on the Sub-Treasury in the -early part of the year 1838. Silas Wright introduced the Sub-Treasury -Bill January 16, 1838. January 30, 1838, the bill came on for a second -reading, and Mr. Wright made an elaborate speech in its support. The -next day Mr. Webster spoke. His speech, which is wholly a reply to -Wright, makes no allusion whatever to Mr. Calhoun. It is reported in -the fourth volume of his works, page 432. I have before me Mr. -Webster's notes of preparation for that speech. They constitute a mere -brief, all included on six pages of letter-paper, and mostly -consisting of mere catch-words. The first sentence or two, however, -indicate the difference between Webster and the supporters of the -Sub-Treasury: - -"Let the government attend to its own business; and let the people -attend to theirs." - -"Let the government take care of the currency for its own revenue; for -all other purposes, let it leave it to the States and to the people." - -"Ominous and disheartening sentences. Yet the whole spirit of the -Administration and of this bill." - -There is no hint in these notes, except the above, of any of the -eloquent and weighty sentences with which the speech abounds. - -February 15, 1838, Mr. Calhoun spoke on the Independent Treasury Bill. -(See, for this speech, his Works, vol. 3, page 202.) He makes an -allusion to one of Mr. Webster's arguments, viz., his claim that the -government should furnish paper currency. But the speech contains -nothing personal or calculated to excite challenge and reply. March -10, 1838, Calhoun makes a second speech on the same bill (reported, -Works, vol. 3, page 244). That speech, also, contains hardly any -allusion to Mr. Webster. It is devoted almost wholly to a reply to -Clay, between whom and Calhoun a very angry personal altercation had -arisen. March 12, 1838, Mr. Webster delivered his second speech on the -Sub-Treasury, which is reported in his Works, vol. 4, page 424. It -occupies seventy-six pages there. Of this, the last thirty-three are a -reply to Mr. Calhoun. Calhoun said in his answer, which was made on -the 22d of the same month, that Webster delivered this part of his -speech with great vehemence, and evidently considered it the most -important portion of his remarks. So much of the speech as is a reply -to Mr. Calhoun, however, deals chiefly with a speech made by him at -the extra session in September, 1837, and with a letter known as the -"Edgefield Letter," written by Mr. Calhoun to his constituents in the -vacation. I have Mr. Webster's entire preparation for this speech. It -is in Webster's handwriting, and consists of eight heads, all on one -page of a sheet of small note-paper, labelled on the back, in -Webster's handwriting, "Heads of my speech on the Sub-Treasury," and -is as follows: - -"No. 1. General state of the country and credit system." - -"No. 2. Our pecuniary condition and question of excess." - -"No. 3. Is the measure suited to the condition of the country?" - -"No. 4. Is it a just exercise of our powers?" - -"No. 5. Mr. C.'s speech, September 19." - -"No. 6. Mr. C.'s letter, November 3." - -"No. 7. Mr. C.'s speech, February 15." - -"No. 8. Identity of commerce." - -Besides this, Mr. Webster wrote out the concluding part of the speech -in twenty-one pages of a rather small letter-paper, of which I have -the last eight, which correspond to about three of the seventy-six -pages which the whole speech occupies in the printed report. This part -seems to have been corrected again and again. A fac-simile of a part -of one of these pages is here given, showing how careful was Mr. -Webster's revision and correction. The whole page runs: - -"Sir, the spirit of Union is particularly liable to temptation, & -seduction, in moments of peace & prosperity. In war, this spirit is -strengthened, by a sense of common danger, & by a thousand -recollections of ancient efforts, & ancient glory, in a common cause. - -"In the calms of a long peace, & the absence of all apparent causes of -great alarm, things near gain an ascendancy over things remote. Local -interests & feelings overshadow national sentiments. Our attention, -our regard, & our attachment, are ever more solicited to what touches -us closest, feel less and less the attraction of a distant orb. Such -tendencies, we are bound by true patriotism, & by our love of union, -to resist." - -Mr. Calhoun replied to this speech of Webster, March 22, 1838, in a -speech reported in his Works, vol. 3, pages 279-330. Calhoun had both -Webster and Clay on his hands in this debate. He certainly bore -himself with great courage and ability. The South had no reason to be -ashamed of her champion, so far as this was a struggle of pure -intellect. When Calhoun got through, Webster instantly rose and -answered him in the speech beginning with the famous passage about -carrying the war into Africa, reported in Webster's Works, vol. 4, -page 500, but not found in the _Globe_. The _Globe_ at that time was a -weekly paper, containing very imperfect reports of the daily debates -in the Senate. An appendix was published at the end of the session, -which had some of the more important speeches written out from the -reporters' notes or from other sources, probably under the supervision -of their authors. This speech ended the discussion between Calhoun and -Webster on this particular measure, although the debates on financial -and other questions for several preceding and succeeding years make, -in substance, but one long debate between these two famous champions, -in which the whole issue between North and South, slavery and freedom, -State rights and national powers, was under discussion. - - [Illustration: Fac-simile of a part of one of the concluding pages of - Webster's draft of his speech in reply to Calhoun, March 12, 1838.] - -One passage in this speech explains the following note here given in -fac-simile, from John Tyler to Mr. Webster, his Secretary of State, -written when Jackson broke the silence of the Hermitage: - - [Illustration: "The old Lion still roars. See Genl. Jackson's letter - among those which are sent. - J. T."] - -"On the broad surface of the country, Sir, there is a spot called 'the -Hermitage.' In that residence is an occupant very well known, and not -a little remarkable both in person and character. Suppose, Sir, the -occupant of the Hermitage were now to open that door, enter the -Senate, walk forward, and look over the chamber to the seats on the -other side. Be not frightened, gentlemen; it is but fancy's sketch. -Suppose he should thus come in among us, Sir, and see into whose hands -has fallen the chief support of that administration, which was, in so -great a degree, appointed by himself, and which he fondly relied on to -maintain the principles of his own. If gentlemen were now to see his -steady military step, his erect posture, his compressed lips, his -firmly knitted brow, and his eye full of fire, I cannot help thinking, -Sir, they would all feel somewhat queer. There would be, I imagine, -not a little awkward moving and shifting in their seats. They would -expect soon to hear the roar of the lion, even if they did not feel -his paw." - -This speech Mr. Everett declared to be the ablest and most effective -of Mr. Webster's speeches on the currency. Lord Overstone, than whom -there was never a higher authority upon finance in England, produced a -copy of it before a committee of the House of Commons, by whom he was -examined, and said it was one of the ablest and most satisfactory -discussions of these subjects he had ever seen. He afterward spoke of -Mr. Webster as a master who had instructed him upon these matters. - -There are notes of a speech on the currency which occupy two pages and -three and one-half lines of common letter-paper. The two sentences at -the close sum up not only Webster's final conclusion after a life of -reflection upon the subject, but, I believe, the final conclusion of -the country as to the great doctrine of protection. "The sacrifice -made by reducing prices must necessarily fall on labor." - -"If price of cotton reduced, at home, may be not abroad. So other -articles. - -"But labor is fixed down to the place. If you reduce its price, it has -no escape. The whole result, then, of reducing cost of production -comes merely to this--that the capitalist shall manufacture at a less -price, and deduct the loss in price from the labor of his workmen. -This is the whole of it. - -"I am for protecting labor. I am for enabling it to clothe itself -well, feed itself well, and educate itself. I am desirous of giving to -labor here, in its competition with capital, advantages which it does -not possess elsewhere. - -"Every man, who contemplates reduction, must survey the condition of -other countries, with which we have great intercourse." - -Mr. Webster went to Washington to attend the session of December, -1832, under the burden of a great responsibility. He had borne his -share in the great debate in which he established the authority of the -Union against the doctrine of nullification in a manner which had won -for him the undying regard of the vast majority of his countrymen. -President Jackson had done his part in asserting his determination to -uphold the Constitution at all hazards and against all enemies. In all -that, the President and Mr. Webster were in thorough accord. But he -had no sympathy with President Jackson's desire to overthrow the -banking system, to provide simply instrumentalities for the government -to transact its business, leaving the business of the country to look -out for itself. On the other hand, a considerable portion of his own -party, led by Mr. Clay, desired to compromise with nullification, and -so to modify the tariff as to leave South Carolina a substantial -victory, and save her pride from being compelled to submission to the -superior strength of the government. With this element Mr. Webster had -no sympathy. Again, Jackson claimed to be the direct representative of -the people, desired to extend the power of the executive and to -circumscribe the legislative power, especially that of the Senate. In -resisting that encroachment Webster and Calhoun were in complete -accord. So Mr. Webster could have no permanent alliance or -co-operation either with Jackson, Calhoun, or Clay. - - [Illustration: Fac-simile of the First Paragraph of Webster's - "Principles."] - -Mr. Webster prepared for himself the following statement of the -principles which were to govern his own course in this great -emergency. Some of its language is found in his speech in the Senate -of February 8, 1833. But with that exception, it has never, I believe, -been made public until now. It is the chart which governed his course -in that part of his public life of far greatest public importance, and -the part of his public conduct on which his own fame must rest: - - "PRINCIPLES. - - "1. To sustain the administration, in executing the laws; to - support all measures, necessary to supply defects in the - existing system; & to counteract the proceedings of South - Carolina; to limit all their measures, & all this support, to - the fair purpose of executing the laws, with moderation & - temperance, but with inflexible firmness;--to share this - responsibility with the Administration, frankly & fairly, - without expressing any want of confidence, & without mingling - other topics, with the consideration of these measures. - - "2. Not to give up, or compromise, the _principle of - protection_; nor to give any pledges, personal or public, for - its abandonment at any time hereafter. - - "3. To bring down the revenue to the just wants of the Govt.: - but this not to extend so far as to prevent Congress from - making, for a limited time, a distribution of the proceeds of - the sales of the public lands among the States, if Congress - shall see fit to make such distribution: nor so far as to - prevent appropriations to such objects of Internal improvement, - as Congress may think deserving of national aid. - - "4. To revise the Act of last session, with close scrutiny, & - entire candor; & to reduce duties, in all cases, where such - reduction can, with any fairness, be asked, & with any safety, - granted; having just regard, to the necessities of the Country - in time of war, to the faith plighted by existing & previous - laws to the reasonable protection of capital, & especially to - the security of the interests of _labor & wages_. - - "5. If Congress shall not, before the end of the next session - of Congress, pass a law for the distribution of the proceeds of - the public lands, among the States, those proceeds to be - regarded as so much general revenue, applicable to the ordinary - purposes of Government; & the duties on imports to be so much - farther reduced as may, by this means, become necessary. - - "6. Provision to be made to direct the framing of proper issues - in law, feigned or real, with a view to submit to the judgment - of the Supreme Court of the U. S. the question, whether - Congress possesses the Constitution to lay & collect duties on - articles imported, for the avowed and only purpose of - protecting & encouraging domestic products & manufactures. - - "7. If the land bill shall pass, then some measure to be - adopted to limit, practically, grants by Congress to objects of - Internal Improvement, to such as in their nature transcend the - powers & duties of separate States. - - "8. A Comee. of the Senate to sit in the recess to take into - consideration the law of the last session (according to Art. - 4),--to make a detailed Report, the first day of next session; - accompanied by such a bill, as they may recommend, for the - purpose of adjusting the Revenue to the necessities of - Government. - - "NOTE.--My idea would be, that this Comee. should meet in - Boston, Oct. 1, & prosecute its inquiries, in Boston, - Providence, N. Y., Philadelphia & Pittsburg, if thought - necessary. - - "The Comee. to consist of one N. E. member - - one from Middle States, - one from N. W. States, - one from S. W. States, - one from Southern States." - -It is very unpleasant to think that the great sentences of the Reply -to Hayne, which the country knows by heart, were never delivered by -Mr. Webster in the Senate chamber as we have them. Yet so it is. The -speech was taken down in short-hand by Joseph Gales, one of the -editors of the _National Intelligencer_, and one of the best -stenographic reporters of that day. He was requested by Mr. Webster -beforehand to report his speech, which he did. He wrote out his -short-hand report at length. That report was submitted to Mr. Webster, -and he, with it in his possession, wrote out in his own hand a revised -version of the speech. Mr. Everett says, in the Life prefixed to his -edition of Mr. Webster's Works, that Mr. Webster had Gales's report -but a part of a day. But it is absolutely impossible that Mr. Everett -is correct, although the statement was published in Mr. Webster's -lifetime. The short-hand notes, and the speech as written out from -them by Gales, and the speech in Mr. Webster's handwriting, are now -all in the possession of the Boston City Library. They were purchased -of Mrs. Gales, widow of Joseph Gales, for the sum of $575 by Robert C. -Winthrop, acting in behalf of himself and twenty-two other subscribers -who gave $25 each for the purpose. Mr. Webster wrote out the whole of -it, although about a third of his manuscript is missing, not, however, -the most important or the best known portion. The draught itself shows -traces of revision and reconsideration by Mr. Webster in the matter -of the structure of some important sentences. He changes Gales's -report a great deal, and then in revision makes corrections again and -again of his own draught. We give the famous passage about -Massachusetts, and the noble peroration, as they are reported by the -accurate short-hand writer, doubtless literally as they were spoken, -and the passages as finally composed by Mr. Webster and now familiar -to the world. The sentences actually spoken well account for the great -impression made upon the auditors. They are such as Webster would have -been likely to utter on a great occasion and great theme. But we do -not like to think that any word or syllable among those that have -stirred our hearts from our earliest boyhood did not, in fact, come -from the inspired lips of the great patriot and orator. The emotion is -like that felt when a lover of Milton sees the manuscript of Comus or -Lycidas in the library at Cambridge, and learns that any other than -the fit word and perfect phrase could ever have occurred to the poet -to express his thought. The exquisite beauty of the verse still -abides. But the sense that it was an inspiration is gone. - -It is said that when Milo in his exile read Cicero's speech in his -defence, he exclaimed, "O Cicero, hadst thou spoken thus, Milo would -not be now eating figs at Marseilles." We cannot say that of the Reply -to Hayne. Its grandeur is there as it came unpremeditated and fresh -from heart and brain. But it is a little unpleasant to think that the -phrases that all Americans know by heart differ so much from those -which commanded the applause of the listening Senate on that great day -which settled in the tribunal of reason the fate of the Republic. - - -_The Passage about Massachusetts as Actually Spoken_ - -"Sir, I shall be led on this occasion into no eulogium on -Massachusetts. I shall paint no portraiture of her merits, original, -ancient or modern. Yet, sir, I cannot but remember that Boston _was_ -the cradle of liberty, that in Massachusetts (the parent of this -accursed policy so eternally narrow to the West), etc., etc., etc. I -cannot forget that Lexington, Concord and Bunker Hill _are_ in -Massachusetts, and that in men and means and money she _did_ -contribute more than any other State to carry on the Revolutionary -war. There was not a State in the Union whose soil was not wetted with -Massachusetts blood in the Revolutionary war, and it is to be -remembered that of the army to which Cornwallis surrendered at -Yorktown a majority consisted of New England troops. It is painful to -me to recur to these recollections even for the purpose of -self-defence, and even to that end, sir, I will not extol the -intelligence, the character and the virtue of the people of New -England. I leave the theme to itself, here and everywhere, now and -forever." - - -_As Written Out by Mr. Webster and Printed_ - -"Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts. She -needs none. There she is. Behold her, and judge for yourselves. There -is her history; the world knows it by heart. The past, at least, is -secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill; -and there they will remain forever. The bones of her sons, falling in -the great struggle for Independence, now lie mingled with the soil of -every State from New England to Georgia; and there they will lie -forever. And Sir, where American Liberty raised its first voice, and -where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives, in -the strength of its manhood and full of its original spirit. If -discord and disunion shall wound it, if party strife and blind -ambition shall hawk at and tear it, if folly and madness, if -uneasiness under salutary and necessary restraint, shall succeed in -separating it from that Union, by which alone its existence is made -sure, it will stand, in the end, by the side of that cradle in which -its infancy was rocked; it will stretch forth its arm with whatever of -vigor it may still retain over the friends who gather round it; and it -will fall at last, if fall it must, amidst the proudest monuments of -its own glory, and on the very spot of its origin." - - -_Peroration as Actually Spoken_ - -"When my eyes shall be turned for the last time on the meridian sun, I -hope I may see him shining bright upon my united, free and happy -country. I hope I shall not live to see his beams falling upon the -dispersed fragments of the structure of this once glorious Union. I -hope I may not see the flag of my country with its stars separated or -obliterated; torn by commotions, smoking with the blood of civil war. -I hope I may not see the standard raised of separate State rights, -star against star, and stripe against stripe; but that the flag of the -Union may keep its stars and its stripes corded and bound together in -indissoluble ties. I hope I shall not see written as its motto, -'_First_ liberty, and _then_ union.' I hope I shall see no such -delusive and deluded motto on the flag of that country. I hope to see, -spread all over it, blazoned in letters of light and proudly floating -over land and sea, that other sentiment, dear to my heart, 'Union -_and_ Liberty, now and forever, one and inseparable.'" - - -_Peroration as Written Out by Mr. Webster and Printed_ - -"When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in -heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored -fragments of a once glorious Union; on States dissevered, discordant, -belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, -in fraternal blood! Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather -behold the gorgeous ensign of the republic, now known and honored -throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies -streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe erased or polluted, -nor a single star obscured, bearing for its motto, no such miserable -interrogatory as 'What is all this worth?' nor those other words of -delusion and folly, 'Liberty first and Union afterwards'; but -everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on -all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, and -in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to -every true American heart, Liberty _and_ Union, now and forever, one -and inseparable!" - -The family of one of Mr. Webster's colleagues have a story which has -been repeated to me several times, but, so far as I know, has never -been published, that the delegation were somewhat anxious lest Mr. -Webster did not fully appreciate the strength of Hayne's attack, and -the grave responsibility he had to bear in the reply. One of them at -the request of his associates called on Mr. Webster that morning at -his boarding-house, to communicate to him their great anxiety. He -found him alone in the parlor of his dwelling, walking up and down, -and humming to himself the refrain of the old English hunting-song: - - Tantivy, tantivy, - This day a stag must die. - -He concluded there was no occasion for any further alarm. - -When Mr. Webster went to the Senate next morning, as he made his way -through the crowded chamber to his seat, John M. Clayton, of Delaware, -said to him: "Mr. Webster, I hope you are primed and loaded this -morning." "Five fingers, sir," was the reply, with a gesture as if -pointing to a gun-barrel. - -Mr. Winthrop says: "Of his emotions he said himself not long -afterward, 'I felt as if every thing I had ever seen or read or heard -was floating before me in one grand panorama, and I had little else to -do than to reach up and cull a thunderbolt and hurl it at him.'" - -What he said to Hiram Ketcham, of the Reply to Hayne, is true of -nearly all his great speeches: - -"In one sense I had no preparation whatever, but in another sense I -was fully prepared. I did not know what words I should use when I rose -to my feet, nor the order of argument in which I should proceed. These -came to me under the excitement of debate. But I understood the -subject as well as I was capable of understanding it. I had studied -it; I had often urged similar arguments before other tribunals, and in -this sense of the term I was thoroughly prepared." - -It is clear that there was absolutely no time for the preparation of -the language of Webster's Reply to Hayne. He had made an -extemporaneous reply to Hayne--to an elaborate speech of Hayne's--the -morning after it was delivered. Hayne replied to him, and Webster, -after a single night's interval, made in two successive days the most -famous speech in American history. - -We may sum up what we know of Mr. Webster's habit of preparation and -composition as follows: - -First. He spoke always upon great subjects. - -Second. They were subjects upon which he had long meditated with the -expectation that he would be called upon to discuss them in public. - -Third. He had matured in his mind the arguments on great public -questions, and also eloquent thoughts and sentences which had occurred -to him during such meditations, ready for use when such occasion came. - -Fourth. With these exceptions his speeches were usually -unpremeditated, both as to language and order of arrangement, except -so far as he jotted down some points or heads just before he spoke. - -Fifth. In some few instances he wrote out his speeches beforehand, -making occasional corrections and interlineations, which in general -did not seriously change or improve his first expression. - -Sixth. Many of the speeches we have, especially those made in the -Senate or made to political assemblies, are as taken down by the -reporters, and not revised by him. - -Seventh. Some few, as for example, the Plymouth Oration and the Reply -to Hayne, were carefully revised and largely written out by him -afterward. - -Eighth. He was quite susceptible to the stimulant of the audience or -the occasion, which not infrequently excited him to the very loftiest -and most effective eloquence. - -Ninth. In general, Webster's style was not a Saxon style. It was of a -somewhat ponderous latinity. But on a few occasions, when his mind -rose to a white heat, all the resources of our language, whatever -their origin, were at his command in amplest measure. - -Tenth. In general he mastered his subjects; his subject did not master -him. Solidity, sincerity, gravity, self-restraint, characterized his -every thought and every utterance. But sometimes the volcano poured -out its molten lava. - -Mr. Webster made an impression upon the people of Massachusetts, in -his time, as of a demi-god. His magnificent presence, his stateliness -of manner, his dignity, from which he never bent, even in his most -convivial and playful moments, his grandeur of speech and bearing, the -habit of dealing exclusively with the greatest subjects, enabled him -to maintain his state. His great, sane intelligence pervades every -thing he said and did. But he has left behind few evidences of -constructive statesmanship. There is hardly a great measure of -legislation with which his name is connected, and he seems to us now -to have erred in judgment in a great many cases, especially in -undervaluing the great territory on the Pacific. He consented readily -to the abandonment of our claim to the territory between the -forty-ninth parallel and that of fifty-four forty, which would have -insured our supremacy on the Pacific, and have saved us from the -menace and rivalry there of the power of England. He voted against the -treaty by which we acquired California. That, however, is a proof of a -larger foresight than that of any of his contemporaries. Alone he -foresaw the terrible Civil War, to which everybody else of his time -was blind. What even he did not foresee was the triumphant success of -the Union arms. It is hardly to be doubted that if the Civil War had -come in 1850 or 1851 instead of 1861 its result would have been -different. But Mr. Webster's great service to the country, a service -second to that of Washington alone, is that he inspired in the people -to whom union and self-government seemed but a doubtful experiment, -the sentiment of nationality, of love of the flag, and a passionate -attachment to the whole country. When his political life began, we -were a feeble folk, the bonds of the Union resting lightly upon the -States, the contingency of disunion contemplated without much -abhorrence by many leading men, both North and South. Mr. Webster -awoke in the bosom of his countrymen the conception of national unity -and national greatness. It has been said more than once that the guns -of our artillery in the great battles of the Civil War were shotted -with the Reply to Hayne. - -A few years ago the State of New Hampshire presented to the United -States for the Memorial Hall a statue of Webster--a ceremonial in -which I had some part. After it was over, I got a letter from a brave -Union soldier, who told me he had been stationed as a sentinel in a -place in the woods where several sentries had been killed within a -short time by a shot from the thicket. As he paced up and down on his -midnight watch, thinking that at any moment his death-shot might ring -out from the darkness and gloom about him, he kept up his heart by -repeating to himself, over and over again, the great closing sentences -of the Reply to Hayne, ending with the well-known words, "Liberty and -Union, now and forever, one and inseparable." - - * * * * * - -History has not yet settled the question of the motive that inspired -the 7th of March speech.[4] Doubtless there were good and patriotic -men, men who had loved him till that hour, who went to their graves -believing that Webster fell--fell like Lucifer, Son of the Morning. -There are doubtless men living who think so to-day. To the thought of -these men Whittier gave voice in his terrible Ichabod, which is said -to have wounded the great heart of its subject more than any other -stroke that ever smote his mighty forehead. But the general judgment -of his countrymen, first mellowing and softening into the belief which -Whittier himself expressed in his later and tender poem, "The Lost -Opportunity," seems gradually coming to the conclusion that Webster -differed from the friends of freedom of his time, not in a weaker -moral sense, but only in a larger and profounder prophetic vision. -When he resisted the acquisition of California, he saw what no other -man saw, the certainty of the Civil War. It was not given even to him -to foresee its wonderful and victorious result. When he compromised he -saw in like manner the danger he tried to avert. He did not see the -safety only to be attained through the path of danger and strife. I -was one of those who in the conceit and presumption of youth, a lover -of the liberty to which he then seemed to me to be recreant, judged -him severely. But I have learned better in my old age. I think of him -now only as the best type of the farmer's boy of the early time; as -the great example of the New England character of the day of his -earlier manhood; as the great defender and lover of Massachusetts, as -the orator who first taught his country her own greatness, and who -bound fast with indissoluble strength the bands of union; as the first -of American lawyers, the first of American orators, the first of -American statesmen, and as the delightful citizen and neighbor and -friend, of whom the people of his town said when he was laid in the -grave: - -"How lonesome the world seems;" and of whom his nearest friend said, -when he died: - -"From these conversations of friendship no man--no man, old or -young--went away to remember one word of profanity, one allusion of -indelicacy, one impure thought, one unbelieving suggestion, one doubt -cast on the reality of virtue, of patriotism, of enthusiasm, of the -progress of man--one doubt cast on righteousness, or temperance, or -judgment to come." - -[A second paper to follow.] - -FOOTNOTES: - -[2] Among them are: - - Edward Everett. See Life of Webster prefixed to his - works. - - Article in _North American Review_, October, 1830, Vol. - 31, p. 463. - - Article in _North American Review_, July, 1835, Vol. 41, - p. 231. - - Article in _Littell's Living Age_, 1859, Vol. 63. - - Eulogy, "Daniel Webster Speeches," Vol. 4, p. 186. - - Robert C. Winthrop, SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE, January, - 1894, Vol. xv., p. 118. "Speeches," Vol 4, p. 377. - - Rufus Choate, "Speeches," pp. 479, 493. - - Edwin P. Whipple. "Webster's Great Speeches," Introduction, - _North American Review_, July, 1844. - - Mellen Chamberlain, in _Century Magazine_, September, - 1893, p. 709. - - Henry Cabot Lodge, in _Atlantic Monthly_, Vol. 49, February, - 1882. - - Julius H. Ward, in _International Review_, February, - 1882, p, 124. - - General S. P. Lyman, "Daniel Webster," 2 Vols., D. - Appleton & Co., 1853. - - James Parton, in _North American Review_, January, - 1867, Vol. 104, p. 65. - - J. H. B. Latrobe, in _Harper's Magazine_, February, - 1882, Vol. 64, p. 428. - - Charles W. March, "Reminiscences of Congress." - -[3] SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE, 1894, Vol. xv., p. 118. - -[4] When I came into the House of Representatives in 1869, one of the -reporters told me that he had the manuscript of Mr. Webster's 7th of -March speech, which Mr. Webster gave him. It contained a few sentences -carefully composed, but which were spoken almost exactly as they were -written. But the larger part of the speech, according to this -reporter, seemed to be extempore. - -Perhaps, however, I ought to say that I told this story to Mr. -Winthrop, who told me he thought it could not be accurate, because he -called at Mr. Webster's house the evening before the 7th of March, and -as he went in heard Mr. Webster reading aloud to his son, Fletcher, -parts of the speech which he delivered the next day, and when he was -shown into the room he found Mr. Webster with a considerable pile of -manuscript before him, which he had no doubt was the speech for the -next day. - - - - -THE CELEBRANTS - -By Carolyn Wells - - - With a shout of joy the rocket stars - Shot up through the evening air, - Triumphantly they reached the sky - And the stars of God were there. - "Make way!" the rocket stars cried out. - "Make way, and give us place; - We have a mission to perform, - We've travelled leagues of space. - We're sent up here to celebrate - A glorious country's birth-- - Make way! But a moment we can stay, - Ere we die and fall to earth." - - Then spake the old and kindly stars, - "Ye be bright, oh rocket-spawn, - But we are here since the morning stars - Sang at Creation's dawn. - By the Master Hand we were hurled on high - To celebrate the day. - We, too, but shine for the moment Time, - And then we fade for aye. - But have your way, oh tiny sparks, - And while ye may, shine on." - Ere the kindly voices ceased to speak, - The rocket stars were gone. - - - - - [Illustration: Entrance to Havana Harbor, showing Mud-dunes in the - Foreground.] - -HAVANA SINCE THE OCCUPATION - -By James F. J. Archibald - - - [Illustration: Milk Vender.] - -It is six months since the American administration in Havana began, -and in that time many important changes have been made and many more -are well under way; and the new ideas that are eventually destined to -supplant the customs of the last century are fast taking a firm hold -on the country. Even for those who have tried to follow this progress -in detail in the newspapers it is not easy to realize the full extent -of what has been accomplished, or of the steady hard work that is -going on. Very few bear in mind the fact that a comparatively large -section of our regular army is engaged in it here and elsewhere in -Cuba. Without the blare of trumpets and without the inspiring strains -of music the same heroes that came home fever-stricken, wan, and worn -from that terrible struggle before Santiago are again facing a more -subtle danger and fighting none the less hard and all in the same -cause, but now there are no flaring headlines in our daily press, no -bulletins to tell of the fight, because it is only against an unseen -foe and there is no noise--but the hard work is there. Regiment after -regiment of the volunteers goes home, but these men who "serve for -pay" are sent down to the island again before they have rid themselves -of the fever contracted while standing knee-deep in water in the -trenches around Santiago. Now, it is hard work all day long under a -burning tropical sun and many nights of weary patrol in the pest-hole -of all creation--plain hard work to start a republic on the list of -nations, to teach a people how to govern themselves who have before -known nothing but the lash. All honor is due to these men who are -doing this work; and our people are too prone to forget it, simply -because the actual results are not immediately and always in evidence. - -I saw the Eighth United States Infantry, just plain regulars from -nowhere, before El Caney, and again I saw them in Havana patrolling -the streets night and day, with two nights a week in bed. The -regiment had by no means recovered from the Santiago campaign, and -every day some one would be taken with that bone-racking fever that -burns the life slowly out unless checked by a transfer to a Northern -clime. But with it all there was no complaining, and they were -soldiers in these times as well as in the field. Every private seemed -to have the success of the commanding general at heart, and every -officer watched with pride the daily improvement in the capital city. - - [Illustration: The Lieutenant-Governor's Palace. - Two of the largest sewers of the city empty into the harbor at this - point.] - -The staff shares the danger with the line, and their work is the same -steady, uninteresting grind. The engineers face death just as surely -constructing sewers as they do digging trenches during an advance, the -aides whether carrying despatches to a brigade on the firing line or -reporting on some infested quarter in the city, and the surgeons -whether attending the wounded at the front or Yellow Jack in some -charity hospital. There is no glory for them if they succeed in this -fight against death and disease, and they will get no thanks, for it -is simply their duty. - - [Illustration: Poultry Vender.] - -The work has been going steadily on and is now well in hand, but it -will be a long time before we shall be able to turn the island over to -the Cuban people, and we cannot withdraw our forces until every detail -of the new government has been thoroughly tested. A generation of -education seems to be the only solution of the Cuban problem that -confronts the American people, that they may keep the promise made to -the civilized world to establish a stable form of government for an -excitable little nation that does not know its own mind, and that is -so divided that internal strife is always inevitable. Not merely an -education of letters is needed, but an education in cleanliness, in -religion, and in respect for superior knowledge of affairs; and it is -that education that the American army officer has been giving since -the first day of January, in the face of obstacles thrown in the way -by the very people who will eventually reap the benefits of his -labors. That the American people should for any other object than -personal gain want to cleanse their city, organize their government, -and teach them how to rule themselves, does not seem possible to them, -and it is on account of this distrust that the work of establishing -order is made difficult and at many times disagreeable. - - [Illustration: A Street Corner.] - -During the sovereignty of Spain no Cuban was ever consulted on any -part of the administration of the affairs of the island, and for this -reason they are largely ignorant of all the requirements of -organization, unmindful of the necessity of proper municipal sanitary -arrangements, and incompetent to cope with the suffering of their own -people. - -When our forces first occupied Havana the city was in a state of -chaos, without the restraint of law, and the officers and men of the -evacuating army had virtually an officially recognized license to do -their will, no matter what it might dictate. Some Spanish officials -had destroyed nearly all of the records of the island in the archives -of the public buildings; and the result of this work, apparently done -merely from spite, will be felt for many years to come, especially in -the matter of the records of real-estate transfers, as at the present -time it is almost impossible to obtain a clear title to any piece of -property. In some cases the records were totally destroyed or carried -away, and in others they were hopelessly disarranged so as to render -them quite useless; the work showing that it was done by someone who -understood the records and knew just what papers would be missed the -most. An instance of this mischief may be given in the Department of -Engineers, where they either destroyed or carried away every map or -plan showing the location or construction of the sewers of the city; -and by the loss of those plans the American engineers are compelled to -hunt out the different mains, and it more than doubles their labor. In -the matter of the real-estate records it will take years to get them -in a condition that will be satisfactory to the demands of legal -evidence in the transfer of property. - -General Ludlow is doing excellent work in the matter of bringing -Havana out of the unhealthful condition it was in when he took -command, and it is a work that will take many months of hard labor and -in which, in all probability, many lives will be sacrificed. He is -greatly hampered in his work by not being able to make his department -reports direct to Washington, as the course through division military -channels is exceedingly slow. - - [Illustration: A Typical Street.] - -The condition of Havana in December, when the first of our Army of -Occupation arrived, was filthy beyond all possibility of description. -There being no sanitary arrangements for the poor or in the abodes of -the poorer classes, the streets and the court-yards of some of these -houses were in a disgusting condition. The most surprising feature was -the total lack of all modesty; and these people really considered it -in the light of a great oppression, and as a direct infringement upon -their liberty and upon their rights, that the Americans should compel -them to obey sanitary laws. The people of all classes were in the -habit of throwing refuse of all sorts into the street, and there was -no attempt made to carry it away, the rains being depended upon to -clean the streets. There were carcasses of animals that had reached -such a state of decay that it was possible to detect the terrible odor -for many blocks, and yet the presence of this nuisance did not seem to -annoy, in the slightest degree, those at whose door it lay, while to -an American it was almost impossible to pass in the vicinity. - - [Illustration: Columbus Market, showing Street Cleaners in the - Distance.] - -The lack of a proper sewerage system is the cause of nearly all the -disease and pestilence that have made Havana one of the most dreaded -ports of the world. There are more and better sewers than is generally -supposed, but the cause of their breeding sickness is the fact that -they are, in many cases, open to the street by man-holes, and they all -empty into the harbor immediately in front of the city. Two of the -main sewers flow into the channel of the harbor directly under the -Lieutenant-Governor's Palace, in which General Ludlow lives and in -which he has his head-quarters; one empties under the Maestranza de -Artilleria, in which some of the troops were quartered; and from these -mains flow all the filth of Havana, that pest-hole of disease, while -at all times there arises a sickening odor, and it will be the -greatest of wonders if there is not much sickness among our troops, -who are accustomed to cleanliness at home. The one thing that always -is the most noticeable to Americans on their arrival in any of the -towns or cities of Cuba is the offensive odor that is ever present. - -The public buildings were in such a condition that not one of them -could be used until they had been thoroughly cleaned. General Brooke -made his head-quarters in the Vedado, a charming suburb, on account of -the condition of the Captain-General's Palace, which, although it was -occupied at the time of the evacuation by the Captain-General, was in -such a condition that there were over thirty wagon-loads of filth -hauled out of it. - -All of the prisons, except the Presidio of Havana, were in a -disgusting state of filth, but the same hard work has turned them into -healthy buildings. - - [Illustration: The New Havana Police, Organized Under the Supervision - of Ex-Chief McCullagh, of New York, Parading in the Prado. - - Chief McCullagh and Chief-of-Police Menocal on the sidewalk to the - right of the picture.] - -Under the direction of Lt-Colonel W. M. Black, an officer of the -regular Engineer Corps, the city has already become clean, and the -death-rate is decreasing every month; and if the dreaded plague is -averted this summer it will be owing to his labors, although he would -in no wise be at fault were it to appear. Colonel Black has had most -of the undesirable work, for in his department is included all of the -street cleaning, sewers, harbor dredging, and cleaning all of the -public buildings. Havana must remain in the same unhealthful condition -as long as the main sewers empty into the harbor, as this is almost -tideless and is little better than a stagnant pond; and although the -water at the surface does not appear to be very foul, its condition is -seen when a steamer moves along in the harbor and her screw stirs up -the bottom, which creates the usual vile odor. It is the plan of the -new administration to turn all of the sewers into the sea several -miles from the city, the natural grade making the work comparatively -easy, and in this way the greatest fault will be remedied--that of -pouring the refuse into the harbor. When the dredging of the harbor -commences in earnest and the narrow streets are dug up to lay the -sewers, then will probably come a terrible sickness; and as a great -portion of the labor must come from the United States we are surely -destined to pay still more dearly for the freedom we are establishing -for the Cuban people. - - [Illustration: General Ludlow, Military Governor of Havana.] - -Surface street cleaning has done more to make Havana cleanly than -anything else, and it was but a short time after the occupation that -the city began to show the effects of this work. It was amusing to -note the astonishment of many of the inhabitants when the first few -squads of sweepers commenced work; and the idea of cleaning an unpaved -street seemed to amuse them more than to impress them, as the majority -did not know what it meant to sweep even their houses. Large gangs of -native labor were given work in this department at good wages, not -only for the sake of the work that was to be done, but also to allow -them to earn their support; and among these street workmen were many -gentlemen of standing in society who embraced the first opportunity to -earn bread for starving families. The residents of Havana did not fare -badly during the war, but the planter from the interior, whose estate -had been burned and devastated, whose stock had been killed, by both -the Cuban and the Spanish forces, and who had been compelled to move -into the city by an edict from the Spanish, although there had been no -arrangement made for his maintenance, suffered terribly. - - [Illustration: Captain General's Palace and the Mayor's Office. - Camp of the Second United States Artillery in the foreground.] - -The employment of these large numbers of men will also solve the -problem of ridding the island of the depreciated Spanish currency, for -all of this labor is paid in American money, and already the merchants -are showing their preference for it. - -One of the most interesting features of the change in affairs in Cuba -is the Church, and the change that must be made in the administration -of the affairs of that body. The Church being a part and department of -the state and entirely dependent upon the government for its support, -suddenly finds itself compelled to find other means of revenue. The -Church of Cuba is not one that Catholicism could be proud of, except -in the orders of women, for nearly all of the men's orders live in old -monasteries a picturesque but inactive life of comparative comfort. -Here are the same monks that one sees in Spain, the brown garb of the -Franciscan with the sandalled feet, or the white and black of the -Dominicans. Captain E. St. J. Greble, of General Ludlow's staff, has -had charge of the poor of the Havana province and has worked night and -day, with his heart in the work, to relieve the suffering; and he -called at all of the churches to see what they needed, but none of -them seemed in need, and yet their people were dying of want. Not so, -however, with the women of the Church, for they had worked faithfully -to accomplish what had been left undone. The Sisters of Mercy, the -Sisters of Charity, the Order of the Sacred Heart, and several others -had their convents filled with women and children of all ages and in -all conditions of want, caring for them and many times denying -themselves to feed their charges. One sister told us that they had not -expected any help from us, as we were considered a Protestant nation -and they dreaded our coming; and great tears rolled down her cheeks as -we unloaded food and medicines for her charges. These noble women -assist our officers in their work and are a marked contrast to the -monks. There seems to be a total lack of any religious feeling; and on -Sundays very few ever enter the churches, but the day is spent in -pleasure and revel. Each Sunday of the Carnival which takes place -during Lent, crowds of maskers throw flour and _confetti_ all day and -spend the night in dancing. Many pounds of flour were thus thrown away -every Sunday, while thousands were suffering from hunger, yet great -indignation was raised when the waste was prohibited, much of the -flour used being what had been issued to Cuban Relief Committees for -the poor. - - [Illustration: The Cathedral of Havana. - In the foreground can be seen one of the sewer openings, and to the - right of the picture a second one appears.] - -Organizing the police and the courts for the city was one of the most -difficult tasks that were accomplished during the reconstruction; and -although it is well started it will take many months to perfect these -departments. Major John Gary Evans, U.S.V., a former Governor of -South Carolina, has had this portion of the work under his care and -has organized a creditable force from the material at hand. Major -Evans has been recently mustered out of the service, and Captain W. L. -Pitcher, of the Eighth Infantry, has been put in charge of the work, -and being a thorough soldier and a man of great diplomatic tact, he is -just the man for the position at this critical period. - -Always having been governed, the Cubans here again showed their lack -of power to govern. The officers seemed to think their duties -consisted of wearing a smart uniform and sitting over some liquid -refreshment in a café; and only as they realize the importance of -their office under American teaching will they cease to be dismal -failures. - - [Illustration: Street in the Poor Quarter, showing Sunday Decoration - of Flags.] - - [Illustration: Beggars at a Church Entrance.] - -Cuban politics also enter into the difficulty. When the Assembly -deposed Gomez from the head of the army, and the parade and mass -meeting in his honor were called, General Ludlow gave orders that they -should be allowed to have their celebration as long as they were -orderly; but in direct violation of this order, Chief Menocal -instructed the police, who had only been patrolling a few days, to -stop the parades, and in this way the rioting was caused. There is a -total disregard for keeping the rolls, although they are told about it -every day. One of the police officers was found dead in the grounds of -the Summer Palace, where Gomez and his followers were living, having -been shot through the head and having been dead several days; yet at -police head-quarters they had not noticed that he was absent from -duty, from the fact that no roll was kept. It is this sort of thing -that it is well for the persons to know who will very soon commence to -demand that we withdraw our forces and allow the Cubans to govern -themselves. - -Two of the most characteristic and at the same time unpleasant -features, may be noted among those that have disappeared during the -new administration of affairs. One is the ever-present professional -street-beggar who infested the streets, invaded the cafés, and stood -guard at every church-door; the other is the horrible bone-pit in the -Cristobal Colon Cemetery. There are few prettier places allotted to -the resting of the dead than this cemetery, on the outskirts of the -city. - - [Illustration: Harbor Boats.] - - [Illustration: A Court-yard in the Tenement District.] - -The entrance to the enclosure is superb, the chapel is impressive, and -the monuments are costly works of art, but away off in a far corner of -the unused part of the cemetery was an enclosure about seventy-five -feet square and fifty feet deep, with ghastly skulls and bones in all -conditions of preservation, and piles of burial cases of all degrees -from a costly casket down to a cracker-box or an oil-can. This is the -inhuman manner of disposing of the bodies buried in a plot upon which -the rental is not renewed every three years. There is ample room that -is unused, so it is not the lack of space that causes the disturbing -of the rest of the dead; it must be merely for gain for the cemetery -corporation. In many cases the bodies of the poor are never buried at -all, but at one side of the cemetery is a building, called the -"Dead-house," in which arrangements are made for burning the bodies -with lime until there is nothing left but the bones, which are then -thrown into this pit. Thousands upon thousands were here in a pile -that was fully forty feet deep and as large as the area of the pit. - -The residents of Havana did not seem to know of the presence of this -place, and if any did they seemed to take it as a matter of course, -and no notice was taken of the horrible custom; but when the Americans -took charge it was the most talked-of place in Havana, and became one -of the sights of the city, creating such an amount of adverse -criticism that the cemetery authorities caused dirt to be thrown in -the pit to cover the bones. - - [Illustration: A Franciscan Monk.] - -Not only in Havana have reforms been going on, but all over the island -the same work is being done by the American officers and men. Under -General Fitzhugh Lee the province of Havana has seen the same radical -changes, and all of the little towns have been washed and fed and -begin to live anew. - - [Illustration: Court-yard of the Carcel, the City Prison.] - -The entire island is a great park that needs no artificial training to -enhance its beauty, and it is destined to become the winter resort of -all the Eastern States. But great administrative improvements in the -ports, besides the police and material ones noted, will be necessary -before this can happen. For instance, it would do much for the island -if the port of Havana could be freed from the high pilot fees, -anchorage fees, docking fees, and fees of all sorts that make it -impossible for small craft to enter. Even the large steamers do not -dock, but cargo has to be lightered out and passengers are compelled -to use the small boats that swarm the harbor. - -The people have not even begun to realize that the soldiers are there -to help them in the establishment of their republic; to them a soldier -means oppression, and the presence of armed troops gives them the idea -that we are trying to keep the territory that we have paid so dearly -to conquer. Not only must the Cubans realize what our troops, both -officers and men, are doing, but our own people should realize it in -the same sense. It is easy to criticise, but a nation cannot be built -in a day; and whether they are establishing stable government in Cuba -and Porto Rico by diplomacy, or by the sword in the Philippines, -Americans should feel, concerning these new duties, that those on the -spot often know best the needs of the situation; that the regular army -are American soldiers, and that of what they are doing the nation will -be proud in years to come. - - - - -THE WHITE BLACKBIRD - -By Bliss Perry - - -Mid-afternoon in August; a scarcely perceptible haze over the line of -hills that marched northward into the St. Lawrence valley; and here, -under the fir balsams back of the great dingy Morraway Hotel, coolness -and quiet. Through the lower boughs of the balsams gleamed the lake, -blue-black, unsounded, reticent. Behind their slender cone-darkened -tops glistened the bare shoulders of Morraway Mountain in full -sunlight; and overhead hung one of those caressing, taunting, -weather-breeding skies that mark the turning point of the brief -northern summer. - -Curled up at one end of a broken rustic seat under the shadow of the -balsams was a strenuous little woman of thirty-five, conscientiously -endeavoring to relax. The habitual distress of her forehead was -mitigated by a negligent, young-girlish manner of doing up her hair; -she was carelessly dressed, too, and as she read aloud to her -companion from _The Journal of American Folklore_ she kept swinging -one foot over the edge of the seat until the boot-lacings were -dangling. The printed label upon the cover of the _Journal_ bore the -name of Miss Jane Rodman, Ph.D. - -Miss Rodman's niece was stretched on the brown, fragrant, -needle-covered slope, pretending to listen. Her face was turned -dreamily toward the lake. Her head rested upon her left hand, which -was long, sunburned, and bare of rings. In the palm of her right hand -she balanced from time to time a little silver penknife, and then with -a flash of her wrist buried the point in the balsam-needles, in a -solitary and aimless game of mumble-the-peg. She was not particularly -attracted by what her learned aunt was reading to her about the -marriage rites of the Bannock Indians. In fact she buried the knife -with a trifle more spirit than usual when the article came to an end. - -Miss Rodman pencilled some ethnological notes upon the margin of the -_Journal_. "There's another valuable article here, Olivia," she said, -tentatively. "It's upon Blackfeet superstitions. Don't you think I'd -better read that too?" - -The younger woman nodded assent, without looking up. She was -gloriously innocent of any scientific interest, and yet grateful for -her aunt's endeavor to entertain her. Miss Rodman began eagerly, and -Olivia Lane silently shifted her position and tried to play -mumble-the-peg with her left hand. Ten minutes passed. - -"Then there's a footnote," Miss Rodman was saying, mechanically. -"Compare the Basque legend about the white blackbird whose singing -restores sight to the blind." - -The girl looked up suddenly. "What was that?" she asked. - -"The white blackbird whose singing restores the sight to the blind," -repeated Miss Rodman, in a softer voice. - -Olivia moved restlessly and then sat up, with fingers clasped about -her knees. There was a red tinge upon her round sun-browned cheek, -where it had nestled in the palm of her hand. "A--white--blackbird?" -she inquired, with the incredulous inflection of a child. - -The elder woman nodded--that kindly pitying nod with which a -science-trained generation recognizes and, even in recognizing, -classifies, the old poetic superstitions of the race. But her pity was -really for the tall, supple, low-voiced girl at her feet: this brave, -beautiful creature who was slowly growing blind. - -Olivia glanced at her, with great brown eyes that betrayed no sign of -the fatal web that nature was steadily weaving in their depths. There -was a slight smile upon her lips. Each of the women knew what was in -the other's mind. - -Miss Rodman laid down the _Journal_. "I shouldn't have read it, dear," -she said, at last. "I didn't know what was coming." - -"But it is such a pretty fancy!" exclaimed Olivia. "I shall be looking -for white blackbirds under every bush, Auntie." - -She drew a long breath--too long, alas! for a girl of twenty--and then -with a sort of unconscious feminine instinct patted her heavy hair -more closely into place and began to brush the balsam-needles from the -folds of her walking-skirt. - -Miss Rodman made no answer. There seemed to be nothing to say. In this -matter of Olivia's eyes nature was playing one of her countless petty -tragedies; science, the counter-player, stood helpless on the stage, -and Olivia herself was outwardly one of the coolest of the few -spectators. - -She had done all that could be done. Dr. Sands, the rising specialist, -an intimate friend of the Lanes and the Rodmans, had sent her to -London to consult Watson, and Watson's verdict was not reassuring. -Then he had sent her to Forget, at Paris, and Forget had shaken his -head. Finally Dr. Sands had advised her to come here to the Morraway -region for the air and the perfect quiet. Once a month he dropped -everything in New York and came up himself to make an examination and -give his brief report. At the end of June he had told Miss Rodman that -Olivia had perhaps one chance in five of keeping her eyesight. A month -later he pronounced it one chance in fifty. Dr. Sands stayed three -days at the Morraway Hotel that time, before giving his opinion, and a -more difficult professional duty he had never had to perform. If she -were only some girl who walked into his office and out again, like the -hundreds of others, it would have been different, but to tell Olivia -Lane seemed as brutal as it would have been to strike her. And on this -August evening he had promised to come again. - -By and by Miss Rodman slipped down from the rustic bench and seated -herself by her niece. The girl stroked her aunt's shoulder lightly. -Everything that could be said had been said already, when the horror -of that great darkness had not drawn quite so near. - -And yet there was one question which Olivia longed to ask, though she -feared the answer; trembling either way, as a child that asks whether -she may run to snatch a glistening shell upon the beach even while -another wave is racing to engulf it. Olivia's blindness was that -black, all-engulfing wave. And the treasure which she might catch to -her bosom, childlike, ere the dark wave fell? - -"Auntie," demanded Miss Lane, abruptly, "have you told Mr. Allan about -my eyes?" - -Miss Rodman hesitated a moment. "Yes, dear," she replied; and she -added, with an aunt's prerogative, "Why?" - -"I wished him to know," answered Olivia, simply. "And I preferred not -to speak of it myself. I am glad you told him." - -Miss Rodman flushed a little. She was about to speak, apparently, but -her niece interrupted her. - -"He's coming to take us over to the Pines before supper, if he -finishes his map. It seems to me that a government geologist has a -very easy time, Auntie. Or isn't Mr. Allan a serious-minded -geologist?" - -Her tone was deliciously quizzical; she was conscious of a secret -happiness that made her words come fast and sure. - -"I should think the field work would always be interesting," replied -Miss Rodman, with more literalness than was demanded by the occasion. -"The preparation of the maps seems to me purely mechanical drudgery. -If the Survey had a respectable appropriation, Dr. Allan would be left -free for other things. Some of his work has been very brilliant." - -The girl laughed. It always amused her to hear Miss Rodman, Ph.D., -give Elbridge Allan his Munich title. It was like that old story of -the Roman augurs bowing solemnly to each other with a twinkle in the -eye. - -_"Hoho! hahei! hoho!"_ sang a big, boyish voice from the direction of -the Morraway Hotel. - -_"Hoho! hahei! Hahei! hoho!"_ - -Olivia turned and waved her hand toward the voice. "He doesn't get the -intervals of that Sword-song exactly according to Wagner," she -commented. "But what a Siegfried he would make for size!" - -He came striding down the woodland path, shouting out the Sword-song -and waving his pipe; a superb, tan-faced fellow of twenty-five, -clean-built, clean-shaven, clear-eyed. His heavy hob-nailed field -shoes were noiseless upon the moss. The loose, gray golf suit--with -coat unbuttoned--showed every line of his athlete's figure, as he kept -time to the rhythm of that splendid chant. When he neared the ladies, -he lifted his cap, and all the sunlight that strayed through the -balsam branches seemed to fall upon his face. - -Miss Rodman gazed at him admiringly. "Isn't he magnificent!" she -murmured. - -Olivia did not hear her. "He knows!" she kept saying to herself. "And -yet he is coming!" - -"Hail!" cried Allan, waving cap and pipe together. "O ye idle women!" - -"But we've been reading," explained Miss Rodman. - -He picked up the _Journal of Folklore_ and flung it down again. "Worse -yet!" he insisted. "You ought to be tramping. Come, let's go over to -the Pines." - -"Is the map finished?" asked Olivia. - -"Done, and despatched to an ungrateful government. I'm going to strike -work for two days, to celebrate; then we begin triangulations on the -north side of the lake. Well, aren't you coming?" - -He put out his hand and swung Miss Rodman to her feet. Olivia had -risen without assistance and was looking around for her hat. Allan -handed it to her. - -"I have some letters to write," said Miss Rodman. "I believe I won't -go." - -The geologist's face expressed polite regret. Olivia was busied with -her hat-pins. - -"But Miss Lane may go," continued her aunt. "You might take Dr. Allan -over in the canoe, Olivia. That would save time." - -The girl nodded, outwardly demure, inwardly dancing toward that -bright, wave-thrown shell. "Very well," she said, "if Mr. Allan will -trust himself again to the Water-Witch." - -"Either of us could swim ashore with the Water-Witch in our teeth," -laughed the geologist. "Come ahead!" - -They started down the steep, shadowy path to the lake, the two tall, -lithe figures swaying away from each other, toward each other, as they -wound in and out among the trees. - -Miss Rodman felt a trifle uncomfortable. She had not been altogether -honest when Olivia asked her if Mr. Allan knew about her eyes. In fact -she realized that she had been rather dishonest. She had indeed told -the geologist--what he might have guessed for himself--that Miss -Lane's eyes gave her serious trouble, and that she had been forbidden -to use them. But she had not told him that Olivia was going blind. It -was obvious that he liked the girl, and Miss Rodman shrank from -letting the tragic shadow of Olivia's future darken these summer -months unnecessarily. She recognized instinctively that the -geologist's attitude toward her ward might be altered if he were -conscious of the coming catastrophe. She wanted--yes, she owned to -herself that she wanted--to have Elbridge Allan so deeply in love with -Olivia that even if the worst came true he would but love her the -better for her blindness. But to tell him prematurely might have -spoiled everything. So reasoned Miss Rodman, Ph.D. - -Yet, as she stood watching the disappearing pair, she was conscious of -a certain irritation. If only he had not come singing through the -woods at just the moment when she was about to explain to Olivia that -she had not told him the worst! For she felt sure, now, that she would -have explained, if they had not been interrupted. Well, she would -confess to Olivia after supper! And Miss Rodman gathered up the -_Journal of Folklore_ and the other reviews, and sauntered back to the -hotel. Ethics, after all, had been only her minor subject when she -took her doctor's degree; she felt strongest in ethnology. - -Meanwhile old Felix, at the boat-house, sponged out the tiny birch -canoe, and scowled as Allan stepped carelessly into the bow with his -big hob-nailed shoes. Miss Lane tucked up the cuffs of her shirt-waist -to keep them from the drip of the paddle, and Allan pocketed her -sleeve-buttons. Then old Felix pushed them off. He had rented boats -there for thirty years, ever since those first grand seasons of the -Morraway Hotel, when the Concord coaches ran, and before the railroad -had gone up the other valley, and left the Morraway region to a mild -decay. Thirty years; but he had never seen a girl whom he fancied as -much as Olivia Lane. He had pushed so many couples off from the old -wharf in his time, and never a finer pair than this, yet he liked -Olivia better alone. He did not know why he disliked the geologist, -except that Allan had broken an oar in June and had forgotten to pay -for it. - -The pair in the Water-Witch grew rather silent, as the canoe crept -over the deep, mountain-shadowed water. Allan smoked his pipe -vigorously, his eyes upon Miss Lane; she seemed wholly occupied with -her paddling. As they neared the shore he warned her once or twice -when the canoe grazed the sharp edges of protruding basalt; but each -time she avoided them with what appeared to him extraordinary skill. -In reality she could not see them, and thought he understood. - -She gave him her hand as she stepped ashore, and was conscious that he -retained it a moment longer than mere courtesy demanded. He kept close -to her side as they breasted the steep mountain-path. Whenever they -stopped to rest, each could hear the other's breathing. Now and then, -at a rock-strewn rise, he placed his fingers beneath her elbow, to -steady her. He had never done it before. - -"He knows!" she kept saying to herself, deep down below all words. "He -knows! And he wants me to feel that it makes no difference!" It -thrilled her like great music. Let the dark wave break, if it must; it -could not rob her of the shining treasure. She could yet be loved, -like other women. The darkness without would not be so dreadful, if -all those lamps that Heaven meant to be lighted in a woman's soul were -glowing! - -They reached the crest of the knoll, where a dozen ragged white pines -towered. Beneath them curved the lake, growing darker already as the -western sky began to blaze. Olivia seated herself against one of the -pines, and, removing her hat, leaned back contentedly. It was so good -to breathe deep and free, to feel the breeze at her temples, to have -the man who loved her reclining at her feet. All this could yet be -hers, whatever happened! - -And all at once, upon one of the lower branches of the pine, she was -aware of a white blackbird. The utter surprise sent the color from her -face; then it came flooding back again. In a tumult of unreasoning -joy, of girlish superstition, she bent forward and caught Allan by the -shoulder, pointing stealthily at the startled bird. - -"The white blackbird!" she whispered, rapturously. - -He glanced upward indifferently, wondering at Miss Lane's ecstatic -face. He did not know that she cared particularly for birds. - -"It's an albino," he remarked. "I've seen him three or four times this -summer. They have one in the museum at St. Johnsbury." - -"Hush!" exclaimed, Olivia, with a low, intense utterance that almost -awed him. "It may sing!" - -But the bird fluttered its cream-white wings, and disappeared into the -upper branches of the pine. - -"It's too late," said the geologist. "Blackbirds don't sing after -midsummer." - -"Oh, you don't understand!" she cried, half-starting from her seat and -peering upward into the dusky, breeze-swept canopy. "The white -blackbird is the Restorer of Sight!" - -He looked puzzled. - -"There's a legend!" she exclaimed. "Auntie and I learned it this very -afternoon. The singing of a white blackbird restores sight to the -blind!" - -"Well," he said, carelessly, rapping the ashes out of his pipe, "what -of that?" And he looked up in her face again, thinking that her -luminous brown eyes had never been so lovely. - -He saw them change and grow piteous, even as he spoke. - -"Didn't Auntie tell you?" she demanded. - -He shook his head. - -She grew white, and a moan escaped her lips. The truth dawned, clear -and pitiless. Aunt Jane had failed to tell him plainly, and Elbridge -Allan--her lover, as she had believed--was yet in ignorance of her -fate. - -But the girl had had a long training in courage, and she spoke -instantly. "Mr. Allan, I am in all probability going to be absolutely -blind. They said that in Paris and London last summer, and they gave -me a year. Dr. Sands told me a month ago that I had but one chance in -fifty." - -Her voice was quiet and even, but she did not trust herself to look at -Elbridge Allan. She gazed out over the gloomy lake toward the -sun-tipped peak of Morraway Mountain, and waited. She would know, now. -So many times had she waited, like this, for a verdict from the -doctors, but her heart had never seemed to stop quite still before. -She heard him make a surprised movement, but he did not speak. - -"I knew Billy Sands in college," he said awkwardly at last. "He was -too lazy then to walk across the yard when the bell rang." - -"He is an old friend of ours," she replied, in swift loyalty. "No one -could have been more kind----" - -She stopped, realizing that he was embarrassed. - -"Miss Lane," he broke out, "it's terrible! I had no idea it was as -serious as that. I'm sorrier than I can say. Is Billy Sands really the -best man to go to? There used to be a wonderful oculist in Munich. By -Jupiter, it's too bad! Do you know, I think you're immensely brave. -I--I wish I might be of some service." - -Slowly she turned her eyes from the mountain-top, and looked straight -into his face. It was a handsome face, full of boyish trouble, of -genuine sympathy, of tenderness, even. And that was all there was -there. His eyes fell. The stillness was so great that she could hear -overhead the sleepy flutter and chirp of the white blackbird, the -Restorer of Sight. And she was blind no longer: she comprehended, in -that one instant, that he did not love her. - -"I am so sorry----" he began again. - -"I am sure of that, Mr. Allan," she interrupted. "But it is really -better not to talk about it. It cannot be helped. And Auntie and I -seldom speak of it." She wished to be loyal to her aunt, through all. - -Allan nodded his head. He was thinking that it was a little unfair in -Miss Rodman to let a young fellow go on--well, yes, liking a -girl--without telling him that she was liable to be blind. - -Olivia found herself trembling. Oh, if he would only go away! She -could bear it, if she were alone! If he only would not lie there and -look regretful and pathetic! - -From far up the valley to the southward floated the faint whistle of -the evening express. "Mr. Allan," said Olivia, suddenly, "you _can_ do -me a great service. Dr. Sands is coming on that train, and I promised -Auntie to have a carriage sent for him. I forgot it. Would you mind -attending to it? You might take the footpath down to Swayne's, and -telephone, and I'll bring over the canoe." - -Allan rose, with a look of relief which he could not quite disguise. -"You're sure you don't mind going back alone?" he asked. - -"Not at all." - -With a long troubled look at the girl's downcast face he turned away -and hurried down the slope toward Swayne's. His own dream-castle was -in ruins, too; for a month past he had begun to picture Olivia's tall -charming figure in the castle entrance. She had all that he could -possibly have desired in a woman: beauty, grace, humor, wealth--and -she had seemed to like him--and now she was going blind! It was too -bad--too bad. He felt very hard hit. He stopped to light his pipe, and -then strode on, discontentedly. - -Olivia threw herself face downward upon the soft, sun-warmed -pine-needles, and lay there sobbing. It was hard to give him up; -harder still to feel that he had never loved her at all. She had -simply been mistaken. Childlike, she had fancied it was the sea-shell -that was singing, when in reality the music was only the echo from her -own pulse-beats. Wave after wave of maidenly shame throbbed to her -cheeks and throat. She had wanted to be loved, before that pall was -flung over her life, and while she could still be to her lover as -other women were to theirs. But she had had no right--no right! - -Moment by moment her girlhood seemed to slip away from her, like some -bright vision that flees at day-break. She felt already the terrible -helplessness of her doom, the loneliness of a blind woman who is -growing old. High overhead the solitary, mateless white blackbird -smoothed his creamy wings and settled himself to rest among the -soughing branches. Morraway Mountain grew gray and distant. The mist -began to rise from the swarthy lake. Between the trunks of the ancient -pines the sunset glowed more and more faintly. The wind began to -whisper solemnly in the woods. And still the girl lay prostrate -between the roots of the great pine, praying to be forgiven for her -selfishness. - - * * * * * - -It was quite dusk when she arose. With some difficulty she found the -path and hurried downward, stumbling often and once falling. But her -courage rose with the very play of her muscles. She had to grope with -her hands to find the canoe, so thickly hung the mist already above -the lake. There were lights moving at old Felix's boat-house, but -Olivia could not see them. She seated herself in the Water-Witch, took -her bearing from the vague masses of mountain shadow, and began to -paddle with long, firm strokes. As the canoe shot into deep water, she -was conscious that something scraped its frail side. In another moment -the water was pouring over her ankles and knees. She stopped paddling -to feel for the leak, and instantly the canoe began to settle. - -With a powerful effort the girl freed herself from it as it sank, -although she went under once and lost her hold upon the paddle. But -she was a practised swimmer, and though the water chilled her through -and through she struck out in what she fancied was the right -direction. After a dozen strokes the shore seemed farther away, and -she swam back in growing fear to the spot where she thought the canoe -had sunk, in the hope of picking up the paddle. Round and round she -swam, with a slow side-stroke, trying to find it, but it had drifted -away. - -She was getting bewildered in the mist, and the huge shadows that -loomed above the lake seemed all alike. She called once or twice, and -then remembered that Felix had probably gone home, and that no one -could possibly hear her at the hotel. She turned on her back and -floated awhile, to collect herself, and then, keeping her eyes on a -certain shadowy outline in the fog, she struck out again with -desperate coolness. Even if she were quite wrong, the lake was only -half a mile wide here, and she had made a half mile so often. - -If only her clothing did not pull her down so terribly! She had to -turn over and float, in order to rest, and in so doing she lost her -wavering landmark. A cry of terror escaped her, and with that the -water slapped over her face for the first time. She shook it out of -her nostrils and began to swim in a circle, peering vainly through the -curtain of fog. The shadows had all melted again into one vast shadow. -Her strength was going now; every stroke was an agony. She called--not -knowing that she did so--all the life-passion of youth vibrating in -the clear voice; then she turned on her back to float once more, -making a gallant, lonely, losing fight of it to the very last.... - -She felt quite warm now, and all of a sudden she ceased to have any -fear. This was the way God was taking to keep her from growing blind; -she had been as brave as she could, but now that nightmare of -life-long helplessness was over. It was not to be Blindness, after -all. Death, beautiful, silent-footed, soft-voiced Death had -outstripped Blindness, and was enfolding her--murmuring to -her--murmuring---- - -And as she closed her eyes contentedly, old Felix, swearing -tremulously, leaned out of his boat and drew her in. - - * * * * * - -But it was the two men in the other boat who carried Miss Lane up to -the Morraway Hotel. One of them was Elbridge Allan, pale and -disconcerted; the other a dark, quick-eyed, square-lipped man, who -dismissed the geologist rather abruptly, after Olivia had been taken -to Miss Rodman's room. - -"But she's my friend, Dr. Sands," he pleaded. - -"And mine. And my patient besides, Mr. Allan," pronounced Dr. Sands. - -"Then, Doctor," said Allan, nervously, "you must let me ask you a -question. Miss Lane told me three hours ago that she was going blind. -I was--I don't mind saying--very much upset by it. Is it true?" - -"Miss Lane's eyes are in a very serious condition," replied Dr. Sands, -in his slightly bored, professional voice, while he measured the other -man from head to foot. - -"There is no chance?" - -"I would not say that," was the brusque answer. "There is always a -chance. You will of course pardon me for not discussing my patient?" - -There was a quiet finality about this query which did not invite -conversation, and Allan turned irresolutely away. - -It was in the middle of the next forenoon before Dr. Sands allowed -Olivia to talk. She lay on the couch in her aunt's room, a fire of -maple logs roaring on the hearth, a cold fine rain whistling against -the shaking windows. The turn of the year had come. Miss Rodman had -gone off to get some sleep. The famous young oculist was poking -determinedly at the fire and calling himself hard names. He might have -known that that handsome geologist would make himself obnoxious to -Olivia Lane! - -"Doctor," spoke Olivia. - -"Yes, Miss Lane." He was at her side in a moment. - -"Do you know," she said, "I saw a white blackbird yesterday, just as -clearly! It restores sight by its singing, only it was too late in the -year for it to sing." There was a gentle irony in her voice, like the -echo of her old bravery. - -"Was it you who took me out of the water?" she asked, after a pause. - -He shook his head. "I wasn't lucky enough. It was Felix." - -"Last night," said Miss Lane, slowly, "I didn't want to be taken out. -The water seemed just the place for me. But this morning I feel very -much stronger--Oh, very strong indeed!" She lifted one hand, to show -how powerful she was, but it fell back upon the rug that covered her. - -The doctor nodded. He was wondering about Elbridge Allan. - -"I can bear anything," she went on. "You see I have had to think it -all through. You are going to tell me that there is no chance, are you -not? There was but one in fifty, you said." It was not hope, but only -a great patience, that shone softly in her eyes. - -"If you have held your own for the last month, we'll call it one in -forty-nine," he replied. "But you see I don't know yet whether you -have held your own. I don't know anything to-day, Olivia, except that -I love you. I have loved you ever since I sent you to London." - -She moved her head wearily, as if she could not comprehend. - -"Of course it's very stupid in me to say so this morning," he -exclaimed, ruefully. "But I have waited too long already." He was -still thinking of Elbridge Allan. - -"But I am going blind!" she cried, flinging out her hands. - -"Very likely, dear," he replied. "Yet that has nothing to do with -this." - -She gave him a long, long look, the tears starting. - -"It is _you_ that I am in love with," he said, slowly. "But of course -we will keep on making a good fight for the eyes." - -"I--can't--think," cried Olivia. And indeed she seemed to be back in -the unsounded water again, shrouded by shadowy forms, surrendering -herself helplessly to a power mightier than her own. Only it was not -Death that was murmuring now; it was Life, gallant, high-hearted, -all-conquering Life, whose most secret name is Love. And as in that -other supreme moment it was awe that the girl felt rather than fear. -"Not--now--," she whispered. "Not--yet. I--can't--think." - -"Well, don't!" he exclaimed, eagerly, "I don't wish you to think. If -you stop to think, you'll refuse me." - -Olivia smiled faintly. - -"I want you to go to sleep again," he declared. In an instant he had -drawn down the shades and placed the screen before the fire. "And when -you wake up," he continued, "I shall be right here, Olivia;--and -always--right--here.--I think that's about what I want to say," he -added, with a curious husky little laugh. - -The room was too dark for him to see the delicate color surge into -Olivia's pale face. But her eyelids closed slowly, obediently, and he -went softly out. - - - - -THE ENDURING - -By James Whitcomb Riley - - - A misty memory--faint, far away - And vague and dim as childhood's long-lost day-- - Forever haunts and holds me with a spell - Of awe and wonder indefinable:-- - A shoeshop-wall.--An ancient temple, drawn - Of crumbling granite, sagging portico - And gray, forbidding gateway, grim as woe; - And o'er the portal, cut in antique line, - The words--cut likewise in this brain of mine-- - _"Would'st have a friend?--Would'st know what friend is best? - Have GOD thy friend: He passeth all the rest."_ - - Again the old shoemaker pounds and pounds - Resentfully, as the loud laugh resounds - And the coarse jest is bandied round the throng - That smokes about the smoldering stove; and long, - Tempestuous disputes arise, and then-- - Even as all like discords die again; - The while a barefoot boy more gravely heeds - The quaint old picture, and tiptoeing reads - There in the rainy gloom the legend o'er - The lowering portal of the old church door-- - _"Would'st have a friend?--Would'st know what friend is best? - Have GOD thy friend: He passeth all the rest."_ - - So older--older--older, year by year, - The boy has grown, that now, an old man here, - He seems a part of Allegory, where - He stands before Life as the old print there-- - Still awed, and marvelling what light must be - Hid by the door that bars Futurity;-- - Though ever clearer than with eyes of youth, - He reads with his old eyes--and tears forsooth-- - _"Would'st have a friend?--Would'st know what friend is best? - Have GOD thy friend: He passeth all the rest."_ - - - - -SEARCH-LIGHT LETTERS - -LETTER TO A YOUNG MAN WISHING TO BE AN AMERICAN - -By Robert Grant - - -I. - -I wrote this once as a definition of Americanism: "It seems to me to -be, first of all, a consciousness of unfettered individuality coupled -with a determination to make the most of self." In short, a compound -of independence and energy. To you, in the earnest temper of mind -which your letter of inquiry suggests, this definition may seem a -generality of not much practical value; declarative of essential -truth, yet only vaguely helpful to the individual. Yet I offer it as a -starting-point of doctrine, for to my thinking the people of the -United States who have impressed themselves most notably on the world -have possessed these two traits, independence and energy, in marked -degree. And to you, whatever your condition in life, if you consider, -it must be apparent that manly self-respect and enterprising force are -essential to character and good citizenship, and that the prominence -accorded to these qualities by those who have analyzed the component -parts of our nationality is a distinction which should be perpetuated -and reinforced by succeeding generations. - -Nevertheless, the counsel seems to approximate a glittering generality -for the reason that the opportunities for acting upon it no longer -sprout on every bush as in the forties, fifties, sixties, and seventies -of the present century when we were a budding nation and much of our -territory was still virgin soil. I write "seems to approximate" -advisedly, for the opportunities are just as plenty, merely less -obvious. Yet here again I must make this qualification--one which -recalls doubtless the favorite aphorism employed to meet the plea that -the legal profession is over-crowded--that there is always an -abundance of room on the top benches. Indisputably the day has passed -when the ambitious and enterprising American youth could have fruit -from the tree of material fortune almost by stretching out his hand. -Now he has to climb far, and the process is likely to be slow and -discouraging. The conditions peculiar to a sparse population in a new -country rich in resources have almost ceased to exist, and, though a -young nation still, we are face to face with the problems which -concern a seething civilization where almost every calling seems full. -Now and again some lucky seeker for fortune still finds it in a brief -twelve-month, but for the mass of American young men the opportunities -for speedy, dazzling prosperity have ceased to exist. Those who win -the prizes of life among us nowadays owe their success, in all but -sporadic cases, to unusual talents, tireless zeal and unremitting -labor, almost as in England, and France, and Germany. So also, with -the passing of the period when enterprise and ambition were whetted by -the promise of sudden and vast rewards, have disappeared many of the -traits, both external and psychological, which were characteristic of -our early nationality. The buffalo is nearly extinct, and with him is -vanishing much of the bluff, graceless assertiveness of demeanor which -was once deemed essential by most citizens to the display of native -independence. Our point of view has changed, broadened, evolved in so -many ways that it were futile to do more than indicate by a general -description what is so obvious. Partly by the engrafting and adoption -of foreign ideas and customs, partly by the growth among us of new -conditions beyond the simple ken of our forefathers, our national life -has become both complex and cosmopolitan. If we, who were once prone -to believe our knowledge, our manners, and our customs to be -all-sufficient, have been borrowing from others, so we in our turn -have been imitated by the older nations of Europe, and the result is -an approximation in sympathies and a blurring of distinctions. -Political differences and race superficialities of expression seem a -larger barrier than they really are, for in its broader faiths and -vision the civilized world is becoming homogeneous. The ocean cable -and the facilities for travel have palsied insular prejudice and -lifted the embargo on the free interchange of ideas. The educated -American sees no resemblance to himself in the caricatures of -twenty-five years ago, and rejoices in the consciousness that the best -men the world over are essentially alike. This, perhaps, is only -another way of reasserting that human nature is always human nature, -but this old apothegm has a clearer significance to-day than ever -before. - -Yet the opportunities for the display of enterprise and independence -remain none the less distinct because we are becoming a cosmopolitan -community and the old spectacular flavor has been kneaded out of the -national life. Much of our free soil has been appropriated by an army -of emigrants from Europe, and in connection with this fact the saying -is rife that every foreigner seems infused with a new dignity from the -moment that he becomes an American. This may be bathos in individual -cases, yet it is the offspring of truth. Still it remains equally true -that we have an enormous foreign population whose ideas and standards -are those which they brought with them. Proud as these men and women -may be of their new nationality, and eager as they may be to aid in -the promotion of good citizenship, their very existence here in large -numbers has altered the conditions of the problem of Americanism. The -problem involved is no longer that of the winning of a new land by a -free, spirited people under a republican form of government, but the -larger equation of the evolution of the human race. Americanism to-day -stands in a sense more accurate than before as the experiment of -government of the people, for the people, and by the people, and for -the most complete amalgamation of the blood of Christendom which the -human race has ever known. We have lately been celebrating our -centennial anniversaries. Already the great figures of our early -history seem remote. The struggle with which we are concerned is more -intense and broader than theirs: It is the progress of human society. -You, whom I am addressing, find yourself a unit in a vast, -heterogeneous population and a complex civilization. You live in the -midst of the most modern aspirations and appliances, and cheek by jowl -with the joy and sorrow, the comfort and distress, the virtue and vice -of a great democracy. Your birthright of independence and energy finds -itself facing essentially the same perplexities as those which -confront the inhabitants of other civilizations where the tide of -existence runs strong and exuberant. If our nationality is to be of -value to the world, Americanism must stand henceforth for a -rectification of old theories concerning, and an application of fresh -vitality to the entire problem of human living. - -Love of country should be a part of the creed both of him who counsels -and him who listens, yet I deem it my duty, considering the nature of -our topic, to suggest that there are not a few in the world, -foreigners chiefly, who would be disposed to answer your inquiry how -best to be an American, by citing _Punch's_ advice to persons about to -marry, "don't!" It does credit to your love of country that you have -assumed a true American to be a consummation devoutly to be emulated. -Humility on this subject has certainly never been a national trait, -and I cannot subscribe to any such doubt myself. But yet again let me -indicate that across the water the point is at least mooted whether -the seeker for perfect truth would not be nearer success if incarnated -under almost any other civilized name. Let me hasten to add that I -believe this to be due to national prejudice, envy, and lack of -intelligent discrimination, especially the latter, in that the -foreigner is mistaken as to the identity of the true American. It -behooves you therefore to ascertain carefully who the true American -is, for even my defence seems to hint at the suggestion that all -Americans are not equally admirable. Forty years ago an intimation -that all Americans were not the moral and intellectual, to say nothing -of the physical, superiors of any Englishman, Frenchman, German or -Italian alive would have subjected a writer to beetling criticism; -but, as I have already intimated, we have learned a thing or two since -then. And it is not a little thing to have discovered that, though -their hearts were right and their intentions good, our forefathers -were not so abnormally virtuous and wise as to entitle them or us to -an exclusive and proscriptive patent of superiority. We glory in them, -but while we revere them as the fosterers and perpetuators of that -fine, energetic, high-minded, probing spirit which we call the -touch-stone of Americanism, we are prepared, with some reluctance, yet -frankly, when cornered, to admit that they did not possess a monopoly -of righteousness or knowledge. - -I shall assume, then, that you, in common with other citizens, have -reached this rationally patriotic point of view and are willing to -agree that we are not, as a nation, above criticism. If you are still -inclined to regard us, the plain people of these United States, as a -mighty phalanx of Sir Galahads in search of the Holy Grail, the -citation of a few facts may act aperiently on your mind and wash away -the cobwebs of hallucination. For instance, to begin from the -political standpoint, our acquirement of Texas and other territory -once belonging to Mexico suggests the predatory methods of the Middle -Ages rather than an aspiring and sensitive national public temper. The -government of our large cities has from time to time been so -notoriously corrupt as to indicate at least an easy-going, shiftless, -civic spirit in the average free-born municipal voter. It is a matter -of common knowledge that in the legislative bodies of all our States -there is a certain number of members whose action in support of or -against measures is controlled by money bribes. From the point of view -of morals, statistics show that poverty and crime, drunkenness and -licentiousness in our large cities are little less rife than in the -great capitals of Europe; and you have merely to read the newspapers -to satisfy yourself that individuals from the population of the small -towns and of the country districts from the eastern limit of Maine to -the southwestern coast of California are capable of monstrous murders, -rank thefts, and a sensational variety of ordinary human vices. It -were easy to illustrate further, but this should convince you that the -patriotic enthusiast who would prove the people of the United States -to be a cohort of angels of light has verily a task compared with -which the labors of Sisyphus and other victims of impossibility fade -into ease. Even our public schools, that favorite emblem of our -omniscience, have been declared by authority to merit interest, but by -no means grovelling admiration, on the part of the effete peoples of -Europe. - -We will proceed then on the understanding that, whatever its past, the -present civilization of the United States reveals the every-day human -being in his or her infinite variety, and that the true American must -grasp this fact in order to fulfil his destiny. If our nation is to be -a lamp to the civilized world, it will be because we prove with time -that poor human nature, by virtue of the leaven called Americanism, -has reached a higher plane of intelligent virtue and happiness than -the world has hitherto attained. Who then is the true American? And -what are the signs which give us hope that the people of the United -States are capable of accomplishing this result? What, too, are the -signs which induce our censors and critics to shake their heads and -refuse to acknowledge the probability of it? - - -II - -I will begin with the inverse process and indicate a list of those who -are not true Americans, and yet who are so familiar types in our -national community that the burden of proof is on the patriot to show -that they are not essentially representative. - -No. 1. _The Plutocratic Gentleman of Leisure who Amuses -Himself._--Here we have a deliberate imitation of a well-known figure -of the older civilizations. The grandfather by superior ability, -industry, and enterprise has accumulated a vast fortune. His -grand-children, nurtured with care, spend their golden youth in mere -extravagant amusement and often in dissipation. There are many -individuals in our so-called leisure class who devote their lives to -intelligent and useful occupation, but there is every reason for -asserting that the point of view of the child of fortune in this -country is significantly that of the idler--and a more deplorable -idler than he of the aristocracies of Europe whom he models himself -on, for the reason that the foreigner is less indifferent than he to -intellectual interests. Is there any body of people in the world more -contemptible, and anybody among us more useless as an inspiring -product of Americanism, than the pleasure-seeking, unpatriotic element -of the very rich who, under the caption of our best society, arrogate -social distinction by reason of their vulgar ostentation of wealth, -their extravagant methods of entertainment and their aimless -pleasure-loving lives? To vie with each other in lavish outlay, to -visit Europe with frequency, to possess steam-yachts, to bribe -custom-house officers, to sneer at our institutions and, save by an -occasional check, to ignore all the duties of citizenship, is an -off-handed epitome of their existence. And in it all they are merely -copy-cats--servile followers of the aristocratic creed, but without -the genuine prestige of the old-time nobilities. And in the same -breath let me not forget the women. - -(_Note._--"I was afraid you were going to," said my wife, Josephine. -"Women count for so much here, and yet their heads seem to become -hopelessly turned as soon as they are multi-millionnaires.") - -Women indeed count for much here, and yet it is they even more than -the men who are responsible for and encourage the mere pleasure-loving -life among the leisure class. A ceaseless round of every variety of -money-consuming, vapid amusement occupies their days and nights from -January to January, and for what purpose? To marry their daughters to -foreign noblemen? To breed scandal by pursuing intimacies with other -men than their husbands? To demonstrate that the American woman, when -she has all the opportunities which health, wealth, and leisure can -bestow, is content to become a mere quick-witted, shallow voluptuary? - -You will be told that these people are very inconsiderable in number, -that they really exercise a small influence, and that one is not to -judge the men and women of the United States by them. It is true that -they are not very numerous, though their number seems to be -increasing, and I am fain to believe that they are not merely out of -sympathy with, but alien in character to, the American people as a -whole; and yet I cannot see why an unfriendly critic should not claim -that they are representative, for they are the lineal descendants of -the men from every part of the land who have been the most successful -in the accumulation of wealth. Their grandfathers were the pioneers -whose brains and sinews were stronger than their fellows in the -struggle of nation-building; their fathers were the keenest and not -presumptively the most dishonest men of affairs in the country. Not -only this; but though the plain people of the nation affect to -reprobate this class as un-American and evil, yet the newspapers, who -aim to be the exponents of the opinions of the general mass and to -cater to their preferences, are constantly setting forth the doings of -the so-called multi-millionnaires and their associates with a -journalistic gusto and redundancy which reveals an absorbing interest -and satisfaction in their concerns on the part of the everyday public. - -Undeniably there are no laws which prohibit the wealthy from -squandering their riches in futile extravagance and wasting their time -in empty frivolities, nor is our leisure class peculiar in this when -compared with the corresponding class in other countries, unless it be -in a more manifest bent toward civic imbecility. But, from the point -of view of human progress, is it not rather discouraging that the most -financially prosperous should aspire merely to mimic and outdo the -follies of courts, the heartless levity and extravagance of which have -been among the instigators of popular revolution? Surely, if this is -the best Americanism, if this is what democracy proffers as the flower -of its crown of success, it were more satisfactory to the sensitive -citizen to owe allegiance to some country where the pretensions to -omniscient soul superiority were more commensurate with the results -produced. - -No. 2. _The Easy-going Hypocrite._--Here is another slip from the tree -of human nature, which flourishes on this soil with a sturdy growth. A -large section of the American people has been talking for buncombe, -not merely since years ago the member of Congress from North Carolina -naïvely admitted that his remarks were uttered solely for the -edification of the town of that name, and so supplied a descriptive -phrase for the habit, but from the outset of our national -responsibilities. To talk for effect with the thinly concealed purpose -of deceiving a part of the American people all of the time has been -and continues to be a favorite practice with many of the politicians -of the country. Yet this public trick of proclaiming sentiments and -opinions with the tongue in the cheek is the conspicuous -surface-symptom of a larger vice which is fitly described as -hypocrisy. There is a way of looking at this accusation which deprives -it of part of its sting, yet leaves us in a predicament not very -complimentary to our boasted sense of humor. It is that the free-born -American citizen means so well that he is habitually dazzled by his -own predilections toward righteousness into utterances which he as a -frail mortal cannot hope to live up to, and consequently that he is -prone to express himself in terms which none but the unsophisticated -are expected to believe. In other words, that he is an unconscious -hypocrite. However harmless this idiosyncrasy may have been as a -preliminary trick of expression, there is no room for doubt that the -plea of unconsciousness must cease to satisfy the most indulgent moral -philosopher after a very short time. Yet we have persevered in the -practice astonishingly, until it may be said that hyperbole is the -favorite form of public utterance on almost any subject among a large -class of individuals, in the expectation that only a certain -percentage will not understand that the speaker or writer is not -strictly in earnest. In this manner the virtuous and the patriotic are -enabled to give free vent to their emotions and to set their -fellow-citizens and themselves highest among the people of the earth -without other expenditure than words, resolutions, or empty laws. The -process gently titillates the self-esteem of the performer so that he -almost persuades himself for the time being that he believes what he -is saying: He appreciates that his hearers like better to have their -hopes rehearsed as realities at the expense of veracity than to be -reminded of imperfections at the expense of pride: And he rejoices in -those whom he has fooled into believing that their hopes have been -realized, and that all the virtue which he tremendously stands for is -part and parcel of the national equipment. Under the insidious -influence of this mode of enlightenment the everyday keen American -citizen goes about with his head in the air, knowing in his secret -heart that one-half of what he hears from the lips of those who -represent him in public is buncombe, but content with the shadow for -the substance, and wearing a chip on his shoulder as a warning to -those who would assert that we are not really as virtuous and as noble -as our spokesmen have declared. - -For instance, to return to the concrete, consider the plight of a -police commissioner in most of our large cities. Those interested in -the suppression of vice appear before the legislature and urge the -maintenance of a vigorous policy. Acts are passed by the law-makers -manifesting the intention of the community to wage vigorous war -against the social evil and the sale of liquor, and prescribing -unequivocal regulations. The appointing power is urged to select a -strong man to enforce these laws. Supposing he does, what follows? -Murmurs and contemptuous abuse. Murmurs from what is known as the -hard-headed, common-sense portion of the community, who complain that -the strong man entrusted with authority does not show tact; that what -was expected of him was judicious surface enforcement of the law -sufficient to beguile reformers and cranks, and give a semblance of -improvement, not strict, literal compliance. They will tell you that -the social evil can no more be suppressed than water can be prevented -from running down hill, and that the explicit language of the statutes -was framed for the benefit of clergymen, and that no one else with -common sense supposed it would be enforced to the letter by any -intelligent official. The very legislators who voted to pass the laws -will shrug their shoulders rancorously and confide to you the same -thing; yet in another breath assert to their constituents that they -have fought the fight in defence of white-robed chastity and the -sacred sanctity of the home. - -Now, is this Americanism, the very best Americanism? Surely not. It -has an Anglo-Saxon flavor about it which it is easy to recognize as -foreign and imported. Englishmen have been asserting for centuries -that they were fighting the fight in defence of white-robed chastity -and the sanctity of the home, to the amusement of the rest of the -world, for in spite of the fact that the laws demand a vigorous policy -and the British matron and the Sunday-school Unions declare that the -home is safe, those familiar with facts know that London is one of the -most disgustingly impure cities in the world, and that the youth let -loose upon its streets is in very much the same predicament as Daniel -in the den of lions, without the same certainty of rescue. And why? -Because the hard-headed, common-sense British public sanctions -hypocrisy. They tell you that they are doing their utmost to crush the -evil. This is for the marines, the British matron, and the -Sunday-school Unions. But let a strong man attempt to banish from the -streets the shoals of women of loose character, and what an -unmistakable murmur would arise. How long would he remain in office? - -It may be that the social evil can no more be suppressed than water -can be prevented from running down hill. That is neither here nor -there for the purposes of this illustration. But to demand the passage -of laws, and then to abuse and undermine the influence of those who -try to enforce them is a vice more subversive to national character -than the fault of Mary Magdalene and her unpenitent successors, both -male and female. - -Take, again, our custom-house regulations concerning persons returning -home from abroad. The law demands a certain tariff, yet it is -notorious that a large number of so-called respectable people are able -to procure free entry for their effects by bribes to the subordinates. -And why? Because those who passed the law devised it to cajole a -certain portion of the community; but those charged with the -enforcement of it, in deference to its unpopularity, are expected to -make matters at the port smooth for travellers with easy-going -consciences. Hence the continued existence at the New York -Custom-house of the shameless bribe-taker in all his disgusting -variety. Authority from time to time puts on a semblance of integrity -and discipline, but the home-comer continues to gloat over the old -story of double deceit, his own and another's. Is this the best -Americanism? Yet these are American citizens who offer the bribe, who -pocket it, and who allow the abuse to exist by solemnly or -good-naturedly ignoring it. Consider the diversity of our divorce -laws. It is indeed true that opinions differ as to what are and what -are not suitable grounds for divorce, so that uniformity of -legislation in the different States is difficult of attainment; yet -there is reason to believe that progress toward this would be swifter -were it not for the convenience of the present system which allows men -and women who profess orthodoxy a loop-hole of escape to a less -rigorous jurisdiction when the occasion arises. Similarly, in the case -of corporation laws, it is noticeable that not far removed from those -communities where paid-up capital stock and other assurances of good -faith are required from incorporators, some State is to be found where -none of these restrictions exist. Thus an appearance of virtue is -preserved, self-consciousness of virtue flattered, a certain number -deluded, and yet all the conveniences and privileges of a hard-headed, -easy-going civilization are kept within reaching distance. - -No. 3. _The Worshipper of False Gods._--It is a commonplace of foreign -criticism that the free-born American is insatiate for money, and that -everything else pales into insignificance before the diameter of the -mighty dollar. That is the favorite taunt of those who do not admire -our institutions and behavior, and the favorite note of warning of -those who would fain think well of us. No one can deny that the -influence and power of money in this country during the last thirty -years have been enormous. One reason for this is obvious. The -magnificent resources of a huge territory have been developed during -that period. Men have grown rich in a night, and huge fortunes have -been accumulated with a rapidity adapted not merely to dazzle and stir -to envy other nations, but to turn the heads of our own people. We -have become one of the wealthiest civilizations, and our -multi-millionnaires are among the money magnates of the world. Yet -popular sentiment in public utterance affects to despise money, and -inclines to abuse those who possess it. I write "affects," for here -again the point of hypocrisy recurs to mind, and even you very likely -would be prompt to remind me that, according to our vernacular, to -make one's pile and make it quickly is a wide-spread touch-stone of -ambition. True enough it is that there has been, and is, room for -reproach in the aggressiveness of this tendency, and yet the seeming -hypocrisy is once more unconscious in that the popular point of view -intends to be sincere, but the situation has been too dazzling for -sober brains and high resolves. For let it be said that keenness of -vision and a capacity for escaping from the trammels of conventional -and inveterate delusions are essentially American traits, and as a -consequence no one more clearly than the American citizen appreciates -the importance of material resources as a factor of happy living, and -none so definitely as he refuses to be discouraged by the priestly -creed that only a few can be comfortable and happy in this life and -that the poor and miserable will be recompensed hereafter for their -earthly travails. His doctrine is that he desires, if possible, to be -one of that comfortable and happy few, and in the exuberance of his -consciousness that human life is absorbing, he fortifies the capacity -to make the most of it by the quaint, convincing statement that we -shall be a long time dead. His quick-witted, intelligent repugnance to -the old theory that the mass should be cajoled into dispensing with -earthly comforts has helped to give a humorous, material twist to his -words; and yet, I venture to assert, has left his finer instincts -unperverted, except in the case of the individual. This combination of -an extraordinary opportunity and a shrewd intelligence has, however, -it must be admitted, produced a considerable and sorry crop of these -individuals guided by the principle that wealth is the highest good, -and should be sought at the expense of every scruple. Their many -successes in the accomplishment of this single purpose have served to -create the impression that the whole nation is thus diseased, and have -done the greater harm of dwarfing many an aspiring nature, spell-bound -by the cloud-capped towers and gorgeous palaces which sheer -money-making has established. As a result the best Americanism is -menaced both by the example of accumulation without conscience, and -the dangerous public atmosphere which this generates, in that the -common eye is caught by the brilliance of the spectacle, and the -common mind lured to meditate imitation at every sacrifice. So they -say of us that the American hero is the man of material successes, -"the smart man" who "gets there" by hook or crook, and that we are -content to ask no embarrassing questions as to ways and means, -provided the pecuniary evidences of attainment are indisputable. The -patriotic American resents this as a libel, and maintains that this -type of hero-worship is but a surface indication of the public soul, -just as the horrors of the divorce court are but a surface indication -of the general conditions of married life. Yet the patriot must admit -that there is danger to the noble aspirations which we claim to -cherish as Americans from the bright, keen, easy-going, metallic, -practical, hard-headed, humorous citizen, male and female, whose aim -is simply to push ahead, at any cost, and who in the process does not -hesitate to part with his spiritual properties as being cumbersome, -unremunerative and somewhat ridiculous. The materialist is no new -figure in human civilization. "Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow -we die," is but the ancient synonyme for "we shall be a long time -dead." A deep, abiding faith in the serious purposes of humanity has -ever been obvious to us Americans as a national possession, however -foreigners may deny it to us, but the American nature is at the same -time, as I have suggested, essentially practical, level-headed, and -inquiring, and is ever ready with a shrewd jest to dispute the sway of -traditions founded on cant or out-worn ideas. It behooves you then, if -you would be a true American, to beware overstepping the limit which -separates aspiring, intelligent, winsome common-sense from the -philosophy of mere materialism. There lies one of the great perils of -democracy; and unless the development of democracy be toward higher -spiritual experiences, Americanism must prove a failure. Keen -enjoyment of living is a noble thing, so too is the ambition to -overcome material circumstances, and to command the fruits of the -earth. A realization of the possibility of this, and an emancipation -from dogmas which foreordained him to despair, has evolved the alert, -independent, progressive American citizen, and side by side with him -the individual whom the less enlightened portion of the community have -enshrined in their hearts under the caption of a smart man. This -popular hero, with his taking guise of easy-going good nature, -assuring his admirers by way of flippant disposition of the claims of -conscience and aspiration that "it will be all the same a hundred -years hence" is the kind of American whom every patriot should seek to -discredit and avoid imitating. - - -III - -The foregoing suggestions will suffice, I think, to demonstrate to you -that we are not uniformly a nation of Sir Galahads, and that certain -types of Americanism, if encouraged and perpetuated, are likely to -impair the value and force of our civilization. But having dispelled -the hallucination that we are uniformly irreproachable, I would remind -you that, in order to be a good American, it is even more necessary -for you to appreciate the fine traits of your countrymen than to be -keenly alive to their shortcomings. There are two ways of looking at -any community, as there are two ways of looking at life. The same -landscape may appear to the same gaze brilliant, inspiring, and -interesting, or flat, homely, and unsuggestive, according as the eye -of the onlooker be healthy or jaundiced. It is easy to fix one's -attention on the vulgar and heartless ostentation of the rich, on the -cheapness and venality of some of our legislators, on the evidences of -hypocrisy and false hero-worship, materialism, and superficiality of a -portion of our population, and in doing so to forget and overlook the -efficacy and finer manifestations of the people whose lives are the -force and bulwark of the state. It is easy to go through the streets -of a large city and note only the noise and smoke and stir, coarse -circumstance and coarser crime, neglecting to remember that beneath -this kernel of hard, real life the human heart is beating high and -warm with the hopes and desires of the spirit. It is not necessary for -a human being, it is essentially not necessary for an American, to -look at life from the point of view of what the eye beholds in the -hours of soul-torpor. True is it that Americanism stands to-day as -almost synonymous with the struggle of democracy, and that the equal -development of the life of the whole people for the common good is -what most deeply concerns us; but this does not mean that it is right -or American to adhere to what is ordinary and low, because it is still -inevitable that the ideals and standards of the mass should not be -those of the finest spirits. It was an American who bade you hitch -your wagon to a star, and you have only to reflect in order to recall -the spiritual vigor, the righteous force of will, the strength of -aspiring mind, the patriotic courage, the tireless soul-struggle of -the early generations of choicely educated, simply nurtured Americans. -Their thought and conscience, true and star-seeking even in its -limitations, laid the foundations of law and order, of civic liberty -and private welfare, of national honor and domestic repute. Their -enterprise and perseverance, their grit and suppleness of intelligence -wrested our broad Western acreage from the savage and-- - - * * * * * - -(_Note._--I was here interrupted in the fervor of this genuine -peroration by my wife Josephine's exclamation, "Oh, how atrociously -they abused and persecuted those poor Indians, shunting them off from -reservation to reservation, cheating them out of their lands and -furs!" - -It is not agreeable to be held up in this highwayman fashion when one -is warming to a subject, but there is a melancholy truth in -Josephine's statement which cannot be utterly contradicted. Still this -is what I said to her: "My dear, I had hoped you understood that I had -referred sufficiently to our national delinquencies, and that I was -trying to depict to my correspondent the other side of the case. -However just and appropriate your criticism might be under other -circumstances, I can only regard it now as misplaced and unfortunate." -I spoke with appropriate dignity. "Hoity, toity, toity me!" she -responded. "I won't say another word.") - - * * * * * - ---wrested our broad Western acreage from the savage, and in less than -half a century transformed it into a thriving, bustling, forceful -civilization. Their ingenuity, their restless spirit of inquiry, their -practical skill, their impatience of delay and love of swift decisive -action have built countless monuments in huge new cities in the -twinkling of an eye, in the marvellous useful inventions which have -revolutionized the methods of the world, the cotton-gin, the -steamboat, the telegraph, the telephone, the palace-car--in the eager -response made to the call of patriotism when danger threatened the -existence of their country, and in the strong, original, -clear-thinking, shrewdly acting, quaint personalities which have -sprung from time to time from the very soil, as it were, in full -mental panoply like the warriors of the Cadmean seed. Their stern -sense of responsibility, their earnest desire for self-improvement, -their ambitious zeal to acquire and to diffuse knowledge have founded, -fostered, and supported the system of public schools and -well-organized colleges which exist to-day in almost every portion of -the country. The possessors of these qualities were Americans--the -best Americans. Their plan of life was neither cheap nor shallow, but -steadfast, aspiring, strong, and patient. From small beginnings, by -industry and fortitude, they fought their way to success, and produced -the powerful and vital nation whose career the world is watching with -an interest born of the knowledge that it is humanity's latest and -most important experiment. The development of the democratic principle -is at the root of Americanism, but whoever, out of deference to what -may be called practical considerations, abates one jot the fervor of -his or her desire to escape from the commonplace, or who, in other -words, forsakes his ideals and is content with a lower aim and a lower -outlook, in order to suit the average temper, is false to his -birthright and to the best Americanism. - -It has been one of the grievances of those whose material surroundings -have been more favorable and who have possessed more ostensible social -refinement than the mass of the population, that they were regarded -askance and excluded from public service and influence. There used to -be some foundation for this charge, but the counter plea of the -complainants of lack of sympathy and distrust of country was still -more true, and an explanation and, in a large measure, a justification -of the prejudice. True strength and refinement of character has always -in the end commanded the respect and admiration of our people, but -they have been roughly suspicious of any class isolation or assumption -of superiority. It has been difficult accordingly for that type of -Americans who arrogated tacitly, but nevertheless plainly, the -prerogatives of social importance, to take an active part in the -responsibilities of citizenship. They have been mistrusted, and -sneered at, and not always unjustly, for they have been prone to -belittle our national institutions and to make sport of the social -idiosyncrasies of their unconventional countrymen for the -entertainment of foreigners. And yet the people have never failed to -recognize and to reverence the fine emanations of the spirit as -evidenced by our poets, historians, thinkers, or statesmen. Our -forceful humanitarian and ethical movements, our most earnest reforms -found their most zealous and untiring supporters among the rank and -file of the people. Abraham Lincoln was understood last of all by the -social aristocracy of the nation. Emerson's inspiration found an -answering chord in every country town in New England. True it is that -on the surface the popular judgment may often seem superficial and -cheap in tone, but the wise American is chary of accepting surface -ebullitions as the real index of the public judgment. He understands -that mixed in with the unthinking and the degenerate is a rank and -file majority of sober, self-respecting men and women, whose instincts -are both earnest and original, and who are to be depended on in every -serious emergency to think and act on the side of civilizing progress. -It is the inability to appreciate this which breeds our civic censors, -who are led by their lack of perspective to underestimate the -character of the people and to foretell the ultimate failure of our -experiment. - -The increase of wealth and a wider familiarity with luxury and comfort -through the country has made a considerable and more important class -of those whose material and social surroundings are exceptional. The -participation of the citizens of this class in the affairs of -government is no longer discouraged--on the contrary, it is welcomed -by the community. Indeed, many men have secured nomination and -election to office solely because of their large means, which enabled -them to control men and caucuses in their own favor. - -(_Note._--An appearance of spontaneity is preserved in these cases by -the publication of a letter from leading citizens requesting the -candidate to stand for office. He thereupon yields to the overwhelming -invitation of the voters of the district, and his henchmen do the -rest.) - -But though the possession of wealth and social sophistication are no -longer regarded as un-American, the public sentiment against open or -tacit assumption of social superiority, or a lack of sympathy with -democratic principles, is as strong as ever. It is incumbent, -therefore, on you, if you would be an American in the best sense, to -fix your ideal of life high, and at the same time to fix it in -sympathy with the underlying American principle of a broad and -progressive common humanity, free from caste or discriminating social -conventions. It is not necessary for you to accept the standards and -adopt the behavior of the superficial and imperfectly educated, but it -is indispensable that you accept and act on the faith that your -fellow-man is your brother, and that the attainment of a freer and -more equal enjoyment of the privileges of life is essential to true -human progress. We have, as I have intimated, passed through the -pioneer stage of national development; we have tilled our fields, -opened our mines, built our railroads, established our large -cities--in short, have laid the foundations of a new and masterful -civilization; it now remains for us to show whether we are capable of -treating with originality the old problems which confront complex -societies, and of solving them for the welfare of the public and the -consequent elevation of individual character. - -The originality and clearness of the American point of view has always -been a salient national characteristic. Hitherto its favorite scope -has been commercial and utilitarian. Yankee notions have been -suggestive of sewing-machines, reapers, and labor-saving contrivances, -or the mechanism of rushing trade. Now that we have caught up with the -rest of the world in material progress and taught it many tricks, it -remains for the true American to demonstrate equal sagacity and -clear-headedness in dealing with subtler conditions. To be sure the -scope of our originality has not been entirely directed to things -material, for we have ever asserted with some vehemence our devotion -to the things of the spirit, squinting longingly at them even when -obliged to deplore only a passing acquaintance with them because of -lack of time. The splendid superficiality of the army of youth of both -sexes in the department of intellectual and artistic exertion, which -has been one of the notable features of the last thirty years, has -shown clearly enough the true temper and fibre of our people. To -regard this superficiality as more than a transient symptom, and -thereby to lose sight of the genuine intensity of nature which has -animated it, would indicate the shallow observer. Our youth has been -audacious, self-confident, and lacking in thoroughness because of its -zeal to assert and distinguish itself, and thus has justly, in one -sense, incurred the accusation of being superficial, but it has -incurred this partially because of its disposition to maintain the -privileges of individual judgments. - -Our young men and women have been blamed for their lack of reverence -and their readiness to form conclusions without adequate knowledge or -study in the teeth of venerable opinion and convention. Indisputably -they have erred in this respect, but indisputably also the fault is -now recognized, and is being cured in the curriculum of education. -Yet, evil as the fault is, the traits which seem to have nourished -it--unwillingness to accept tradition and a searching, honest -clearness of vision--are virtues of the first water, and typical of -the best national character. There are many persons of education and -refinement in our society who accept as satisfactory and indisputable -the old forms and symbols which illustrate the experience, and have -become the final word of the older civilizations in ethics, politics, -and art. They would be willing that we should become a mere complement -to the most highly civilized nations of Europe, and they welcome every -evidence that we are becoming so. As I have already suggested to you, -the nations of the world are all nearer akin in thought and impulse -than formerly, but if our civilization is to stand for anything, it -must be by our divergence from the conclusions of the past when they -fail to pass the test of honest scrutiny, not by tame imitation. -Profoundly necessary as it is that we should accept with reverence the -truths of experience, and much as our students and citizens may learn -from the wisdom and performance of older peoples, it behooves the -American to prize and cherish his birthright of independent judgment -and freedom from servile adherence to convention. Almost everything -that has been truly vital in our production has borne the stamp of -this birthright. - -The American citizen of the finest type is essentially a man or woman -of simple character, and the effect of our institutions and mode of -thought, when rightly appreciated, is to produce simplicity. The -American is free from the glamour or prejudice which results from the -conscious or unconscious influence of the lay figures of the old -political, social, or religious world, from the glamour of royalty and -vested caste, of an established or dominant church, of aristocratic, -monkish, or military privilege. He is neither impelled nor allured to -subject the liberty of conscience or opinion to the conventions -appurtenant to these former forces of society. For him the law of the -state, in the making of which he has a voice, and the authority of his -own judgment are the only arbiters of his conduct. He accords neither -to fineness of race nor force of intellect the right of aristocratic -exclusiveness which they have too often hitherto claimed. To the -cloistered nun he devotes no special reverence; he sees in the haughty -and condescending fine gentleman an object for the exercise of his -humor, not of servility; he is indifferent to the claim of all who by -reason of self-congratulation or ancient custom arrogate to themselves -special privileges on earth, or special privileges in heaven. This -temper of mind, when unalloyed by shallow conceit, begets a quiet -self-respect and simple honesty of judgment, eminently serviceable in -the struggle to live wisely. - -To the best citizens of every nation the most interesting and vital of -all questions is what we are here for, what men and women are seeking -to accomplish, what is to be the future of human development. For -Americans of the best type, those who have learned to be reverent -without losing their independence and without sacrifice of -originality, the problem of living is simplified through the -elimination of the influence of these symbols and conventions. Their -outlook is not confused or deluded by the specious dogmas of caste. -They perceive that the attainment of the welfare and happiness of the -inhabitants of earth is the purpose of human struggle, and that the -free choice and will of the majority as to what is best for humanity -as a whole is to be the determining force of the future. To those who -argue that the majority must always be wrong, and that as a corollary -the will of the cheap man will prevail, this drift of society is -depressing. The good American in the first place, recognizing the -inevitability of this drift, declines to be depressed; and in the -second, without subscribing to the doctrine that the majority must be -wrong, exercises the privilege of his own independent judgment, -subject only to the statute law and his conscience. - -There is a noble strength of position in this; there is a danger, too, -in that it suggests a lack of definiteness of standard. Yet this want -of precision is preferable to the tyranny of hard and fast -prescription. It is clear, for instance, that if the men and women of -civilization are determined to modify their divorce laws so as to -allow the annulment of marriage when either party is weary of the -compact, no canon or anathema of the church will restrain them. Nor, -on the other hand, will the mere whim or volition of an easy-going -majority force them to do so. The judgment of men and women -untrammelled by precedent and tradition and seeking simply to -ascertain what is best and wisest for all will settle the question. -Though the majority will be the force that puts any law into effect, -the impulse must inevitably come from the higher wisdom of the few, -and that higher wisdom in America works in the interest of a broad -humanity, free from the delusions of outworn culture. The wisdom of -the few may not seem to guide, but in the end the mass listens to true -counsel. Honesty toward self and toward one's fellow-man, without fear -or favor, is the leavening force of the finest Americanism, and, if -persevered in, will lead the many, sooner or later, with a compelling -power far beyond that of thrones and hierarchies. The wise application -of this doctrine of the search for the common good in the highest -terms of earthly condition to the whole range of economic, social, and -political questions is what demands to-day the interest and attention -of earnest Americans. The problems relating to capital and labor, to -the restraint of the money power, to the government of our cities, to -the education of all classes, to the status of divorce, to the -treatment of paupers and criminals, to the wise control of the sale of -liquor, to equitable taxation, and to a variety of kindred matters are -ripe for the scrutiny of independent, sagacious thought and action. To -the consideration of these subjects the best national intelligence is -beginning to turn with a fresh vigor and efficiency, but none too -soon. Though democracy and Americanism have become largely identical, -the spread of the creed of a broader humanity in the countries of -civilization where autocratic forms of government still obtain, has -been so signal and productive of results that the American may well -ask himself or herself if our people have not been slovenly and -vain-glorious along the paths where it seemed to be their prerogative -to lead. Certainly in the matter of many of the civic and humanitarian -problems which I have cited, we may fitly borrow from the recent and -modern methods of those to whom we are apt to refer, in terms of -condescending pity, as the effete dynasties of Europe. They have in -some instances been more prompt than we to recognize the trend of ours -and the world's new faith. - - -IV - -In this same connection I suggest to you that in the domain of -literary art an Englishman--a colonist, it is true, and so a little -nearer allied to us in democratic sentiment--has more clearly and -forcibly than anyone else expressed the spirit of the best -Americanism--of the best world-temper of to-day. I refer to Rudyard -Kipling. Human society has been fascinated by the virility and -uncompromising force of his writings, but it has found an equal -fascination in the deep, simple, sham-detesting sympathy with common -humanity which permeates them. He has been the first to adopt and -exalt the idea of the brotherhood of man without either condescension -or depressing materialistic realism. He has interpreted the poetry of -"the trivial round and common task" without suggesting impending soup, -blankets, and coals on earth and reward in heaven on the one hand, or -without emphasizing the dirtiness of the workman's blouse on the -other. His imagery, his symbols and his point of view are essentially -alien to those of social convention and caste. Yet his heroes of the -engine-room, the telegraph-station, the Newfoundland Banks, and the -dreary ends of the earth, democratic though they are to the core, -appeal to the imagination by their stimulating human qualities no less -than the bearers of titles and the aristocratic monopolists of culture -and aspiration who have been the leading figures in the poetry and -fiction of the past. Strength, courage, truth, simplicity and -loving-kindness are still their salient qualities--the qualities of -noble manhood--he expounds them to us by the force of his sympathy, -which clothes them with no impossible virtues, yet shows them, in the -white light of performance, men no less entitled to our admiration -than the Knights of King Arthur or any of the other superhuman figures -of traditional æsthetic culture. He recognizes the artistic value of -the workaday life in law courts and hospitals and libraries and mines -and factories and camps and lighthouses and ocean steamers and -railroad trains, as a stimulus to and rectifier of poetic imagination, -negativing the theory that men and women are to seek inspiration -solely from what is dainty, exclusive, elegantly romantic, or -rhapsodically star-gazing in human conditions and thought. This is of -the essence of the American idea, which has been, however, slow to -subdue imagination, which is the very electric current of art, to its -use by reason chiefly of the seeming discord between it and common -life, and partly from the reluctance of the world to renounce its diet -of highly colored court, heaven and fairy-land imagery; partly, too, -because so many of the best poets and writers of America have adopted -traditional symbols. The school of great New England writers which has -just passed away were, however, the exponents of the simple life, of -high religious and intellectual thought amid common circumstance. They -stood for noble ideals as the privilege of all. Yet their mental -attitude, though scornful of pomp and materialism, was almost -aristocratic; at least it was exclusive in that it was not wholly -human, savoring rather of the ascetic star-gazer than the full-blooded -appreciator of the boon of life. Their passion was pure as snow, but -it was thin. Yet the central tenet of their philosophy, independent -naturalness of soul, is the necessary complement to the broad human -sympathy which is of the essence of modern art. The difficulty which -imagination finds in expressing itself in the new terms is natural -enough, for the poet and painter and musician are seemingly deprived -of color, the color which we associate with mystic elegance and -aristocratic prestige. Yet only seemingly. Externals may have lost the -dignity and lustre of prerogative; but the essentials for color -remain--the human soul in all its fervor--the striving world in all -its joy and suffering. There is no fear that the tide of existence -will be less intense or that the mind of man will degenerate in -æsthetic appreciation, but it must be on new lines which only a master -imbued with the value and the pathos of the highest life in the common -life as a source for heroism can fitly indicate. There lies the future -field for the poet, the novelist, and the painter--the idealization of -the real world as it is in its highest terms of love and passion, -struggle, joy, and sorrow, free from the condescension of superior -castes and the mystification of the star-reaching introspective -culture which seeks only personal exaltation, and excludes sympathy -with the every-day beings and things of earth from its so-called -spiritual outlook. - - - - -ANNE - -By Fanny V. de G. Stevenson - - -Anne was walking down the slope of a hill at the time of the first -stirring of dawn on a spring morning. She was an old woman, now, her -youth lying years behind her; but she had not been one to fall easily -into the sere and yellow leaf. Though frail in health, she had kept -her manifold interests sharp and lively; pictures gave her pleasure -keen as of yore, and there was no critic of literature more quick than -she to detect a lapse in taste or art, nor with a readier appreciation -of style, originality, or even intention. She was, at last, however, -forced to believe that she was growing old. She _was_ old, and the -days were flying past her with an incredible rapidity. She rebelled -with passionate fierceness against the inevitable, approaching end. As -bitterly as for herself (she was sixty and past), she resented the -fact that John, her husband, stood even nearer the final catastrophe -than she; John, whom, though ten years her senior, she had petted and -spoiled like a child. Hers had always been the dominant mind. John, -older and aging more rapidly than she, had now become absolutely -dependent on her, almost for his thoughts. Their marriage was blessed -with no children, wherefore all the motherly instincts of the wife had -been lavished on the husband. "My very love has made him helpless," -thought Anne; "pray God he be called before me." - -She walked more quickly, in time with her thoughts, which now wandered -along devious pathways through the past. The scenes she recalled were -nothing in themselves, no more than most elderly people keep stored in -their memories; but to her, who had played the principal parts, they -were of the liveliest interest. The day she and John took possession -of the house that had been their own ever since was as vivid as -yesterday. Nay, more vivid, for she was not at all sure concerning -yesterday; she had had a headache, and was stupid, and had slept a -good deal; and John dozed in his chair; there was nothing to remember -in yesterday. - -But that first day in the new house, both so proud, so fond, so full -of plans; and it was all over. The plans matured or failed, and they -were only two old people, conscious of ever-failing strength, careful -of draughts, easily tired--well, no, not so very easily tired after -all, at least not Anne, or at least not to-day. It must be the early -morning, or the spring weather. She had heard of old people who -recovered their faculties in a sort of Indian summer, possibly her -Indian summer was about to burst into a mature blossoming. She felt so -light on her feet, so uplifted as with a wholesome, altogether -delightful intoxication. The sensation carried her far back to her -childhood, to a first day in the garden after a winter's illness. How -she skipped, and ran, and laughed. She was conscious to-day of the -same pure joy in living. It was like being a child again. And those -sad, querulous days, yesterday, and the days and years before--that -was the child's illness; such a long illness, ever-increasing, with -but one terrible cure. - -But not even that fancy could depress Anne to-day, glorious to-day, -this day of ten thousand! She laughed aloud, pretending, as children -pretend, that she had, unknowing, drunk of the golden elixir; her eyes -should be unclouded, her cheeks flower-fresh, her scant, white locks -changed to rings of softest brown; a tall, slim slip of a girl, as -John first met her. At the foot of the meadow where she kept tryst -with John there used to be a still pool where she preened her feathers -while waiting for her gallant. She looked about for a pool, smiling at -this vanity in an old woman; but suppose--suppose--? - -Of course she was always properly dressed and coifed as became one of -her station and fortune, with a certain well-bred deference to the -prevailing modes, and she owned to a nice taste in lace and jewels. -Jane, her maid, had been very much remiss when she laid out the gown -her mistress wore this morning. It must be a new one, by the way, or -an old one remodelled; it was not in her usual style, but of a -singular cut, stiff, plain, and ungraceful in its prim folds. However, -it was white, and white was still Anne's color. And what matters a -gown when one is in so high a humor? - -The valley below was everywhere covered with a white rime which ran in -sparkles as the sun touched it. It should be sharply cold, Anne -thought, but she felt no chill. Frost generally passed over the high -ground, while it nipped the lower. She hoped it had spared the tender -plants in her garden, and the budding peaches. Already the crocuses -were in bloom, and the lilacs showed a few timid, scented leaves. Anne -was very fond of her garden, and it was one of her grievances against -time that she could no longer tend it in person. - -She had forgotten why she searched for the pool; she was a little -confused, doubtless the effect of yesterday's headache--nothing -unpleasant, rather a delightful, dizzy jumbling of thoughts, ideas, -remembrances. At any rate, here was the pool, clear and unruffled; new -grass was springing on its banks, and here and there woolly brown -bosses showed where ferns were sprouting. She would fetch John here -one day--if he were able to walk so far. John used to like a pool when -his sight was stronger; not in Anne's way; her liking was innocent and -sentimental. John would bring his microscope and discover the most -wonderful things in water that appeared absolutely pure. Decidedly she -must manage to fetch John. - -Anne leaned over and looked into the pool. She leaned farther, lower, -turned her head this way and that, and then drew back in utter -bewilderment. There was no reflection of her face in the water! She -was overwhelmed with disappointment. This enchanting rejuvenation, -then, was only a dream. She could almost have wept; not quite, for the -dream still held her as in an embrace of joyousness. She wondered what -her body looked like, lying on its bed while its soul was roaming the -fields. She pitied it, the worn, frail, old body, as though it were a -thing separate from herself. It had suffered in its fairly long life, -and had endured many contrarieties, but there had been more than -compensating happinesses, and no great sorrows. She hoped it slept -well. John's dear, white head would be lying on the pillow beside it. -"Oh," she thought, "I wish I could give my dream to John. Well, it -shall be the best dream in the world if John is only to have it at -second hand." - -In the certainty that she was dreaming, Anne now gave her imagination -a free rein. False shame is out of place in a dream. She gambolled -like a prisoned kid set free, and sang--softly, lest the dream should -be shattered. As the day advanced wild things came out of the wood; -squirrels, and other animals so shy by nature that she had only seen -them, heretofore, at a distance, stopped beside her and conversed -together in their own language. She saw what no naturalist has ever -beheld, God's creatures at home and unafraid. She laid her hand on the -head of a doe as it drank at a pool, and ran with it feather-footed. -She spurned the earth and took long, smooth flights over the -undergrowth like a bird sailing on the wing. - -Suddenly she became aware of a voice, clear and penetrating, that -spoke the name--_Anne_. A face was before her, vaguely familiar, a -face of her childhood. - -"Marian!" she cried; "my mother's cousin, Marian." - -"You remember me, dear Anne." - -"You--you went to India," murmured Anne in a maze; "I thought--mother -talked of you to us children--your portrait in the school-room----" - -"Yes, I went to the Indies; I died there when you were a little child. -You were always much in my mind, for I loved your mother, and you were -her favorite. So she did not allow my name to be forgotten? She talked -of me to her children, and she kept my portrait." - -"Did you say--died!" repeated Anne, who had given an involuntary start -at the word. "I wonder if I am really meeting your spirit in a dream? -It might be. Why should it not?" - -"You certainly are meeting my spirit, which is myself, but not in a -dream, dear." - -Anne felt a thrill of terror. What if this were not a dream? "_I_ am -not dead?" She looked at Marian with frightened, questioning eyes. - -"You must be dead," was the answer, "else how should you be here? Your -mother used to write me that you had unusual powers; I never had. You -might, as a mortal, possibly see me, but I could not be conscious of -you unless you were as real as myself." - -Anne stared hard at her companion. "I have, it is true," said she, -"imagined I saw spirits, but they were not like you; they were -phantoms, ghosts, immaterial." She hesitated, and then took Marian's -hand in hers. "This hand is as solid as my own. If I believed you were -dead--if I thought I was--dead--myself, oh, it would be appalling!" - -"My dear Anne," said Marian, "we are both spirits; we were always -spirits, only in the body we were chained spirits. Material or -immaterial only means a point of view, not a difference." - -"I am no spirit," said Anne. "I am of the earth, and the flesh; all my -thoughts are with, and on the earth, and of the earth. As to you, -Marian, I don't know. There is an uncertainty in my mind--no, I mean -an enlightenment; I don't know what to call it--an apprehension. -Marian, do you mind? I thought heaven was a very different place. I -should expect something more serious, more solemn. The idea of an -everlasting sabbath used to depress me. I have no desire for such a -state----" - -"Heaven! Heaven! Did you think you were in heaven? Oh, no, this is not -heaven. I trust there may be a heaven, and a future life, but this is -not heaven. I only _know_ about this world in which I exist, and that -it is immeasurably better than that other world we have both happily -left." - -"It is all so different from one's dreams," said Anne. "Dreams," she -repeated; "dreams. Marian, did you long for those you left behind? -Were you lonely without them? Or were you with them, following all -their affairs with sympathy and understanding?" - -"No," replied Marian, "I knew no more of my loved ones in the past -life than they knew of me. That is the worst of it, both now and -before; the separation, the waiting. I wish I had had more faith in -the old days. I wish my faith were greater now. My dearest ones left -me when I was no more than thirty, and I was eighty when I died. It -was a long waiting. You were a little child, then, and you must have -been well in years when----" - -"Don't, don't!" cried Anne; "don't repeat that dreadful word! I am -not, I cannot be! And yet I know, and hate the knowledge, that it must -come to me very soon, for I am, as you say, an old woman. Let me enjoy -this beautiful dream wherein I am still young. But is this youth? When -I look at you, Marian, you are not old, but you are not young. My -intellect will not conceive it what it is." - -"If you would only believe me," said Marian, "that we are both -relieved of the burden of the flesh with all its infirmities and -limitations. It is that, only that. There can be no pain where there -is no flesh to suffer." - -"And no sorrow?" asked Anne. - -"Sorrow," replied Marian, "that is of the mind, and the mind is part -of ourselves." - -"Separation is the worst," replied Anne. "Separation." "Suppose," she -thought, "that I am really in another existence, where then is my -dear, old John, my husband?" - -"Marian," she cried out, "I must go home; at once!" - -"But my dear," said Marian, "you cannot; as a mortal you could not -come here; how then can you now go there? Oh, Anne, there are many -loved ones waiting for you here. Many who loved you. We knew you would -arrive suddenly; we were warned of that; I came first--it was thought -best--to prepare you for the great meeting." - -"I tell you," said Anne, sharply, "I am going home. John will miss me. -I have been too long away already." - -"Your mother, Anne, she is coming," pleaded Marian. - -"Not mother, nor father, nor friends beloved can come between John and -me. I must see John first. Something may have happened." - -She looked about her. "I don't quite know where I am. There should be -people about. I see no one to put me on the road." - -"Anne," said Marian, "neither you nor I can find that road." - -"Oh, come with me," cried Anne, "help me to find John; I must find -John." - -The two women moved together hand in hand down the hill into the -valley. - -"I can make out nothing in this bewildering fog," said Anne, peering -out from under her hand. "Whenever I seem just about to recognize a -familiar place or object, it is to be blotted out by the fog. There -was no fog before. Oh, Marian, it should be hereabouts; our house -should be here!" - -Marian withdrew her hand from Anne's. - -"You disturb me," she said; "what you are doing is unlawful. Come -away; something mortal might appear. If you will not, Anne, you drive -me from you; I dare not stay." - -Anne stood alone, trying to pierce with her gaze the fog which grew -perceptibly thinner. The elm, and then the shrubbery of her garden -began to show darkly, like shadows. She drew closer, for now the house -itself loomed up, large and imposing, but in some intangible way -different. The walls, the doors, the windows, all were there, all in -their appointed places. What, then, was the indefinable change? It -used to be considered such a pleasant house, so cheerful, so gay with -its hanging creepers, and the bright curtains at the windows. Two -years running a bird had nested in the cornice over the porch. But -to-day it presented an aspect of gloom that was forbidding in the -extreme. It gave the impression of a house to be avoided, a place -where wrong things had happened, or might happen. Anne, now that she -was so near that a word spoken aloud would reach her husband's ear, -and she had only to lift the knocker and enter her own door, shrank -back with an odd reluctance. She would walk round to the study first, -and look through the window. Perhaps John would be there, reading, or -writing a letter, and, without doubt, wondering what had become of his -wife. The blinds were closed. How like John not to think of opening -them. With all the blinds down like that, people would think there was -a death---- - -John was sitting by the table, leaning forward, apparently asleep. He -was so still, so quiet. Oh, if anything had happened to John! No; he -raised his head as though he heard someone call, looking straight in -his wife's eyes. Why did he not speak? What ailed him to look like -that? Anne remembered that she was behind the closed blinds. His eyes -had a strained look as though he almost saw her. - -"John! John!" she cried. - -The old man shivered and looked vaguely round him. Anne noticed that -he had no fire. The hoar-frost of the morning, that looked so -beautiful, he would feel that; he was very sensitive to changes of -temperature and weather. His clothes, too, looked thinner than he was -in the habit of wearing--and with a great black patch on one sleeve! -Anne must see to this at once. John was less fit than ever to take -care of himself. He looked so feeble, so old, so much older than she -had thought. Ah, what would John do without her? Her heart yearned -over him with the tender compassion of the strong for the weak, the -deep affection that belongs to the habit of a lifetime--stronger than -the love of youth. - -"John, John, my husband!" - -Again he turned his face toward the window, a leaden gray face. Slow -tears ran down his furrowed cheeks and fell on his breast. - -"Oh, what is it? Oh, my poor old husband!" - -Anne flew to the closed door and snatched at the knocker. Her hands -closed on vacancy. Her own house, her home, John's home, and she could -not get in! Back she ran to the window. He was still there, his head -lying on his clenched hands. As though from a long distance, thin and -faint, his voice came to Anne, broken with weeping. He was calling on -her name--"_Anne, Anne!_" - -"Oh, my dear old husband, do you miss me so sorely? John, John, open -the window and let me in!" - -He moved, as though in answer, but sank back again with a weary shake -of his head. Anne lifted her arms and struck at the wall. That it -should prove "such stuff as dreams are made on" gave her no surprise. -She was beside John; nothing else was of importance. A shadowy -serving-maid opened a door, looked wildly round, shuddered, and fled. -John seemed conscious of her presence; oh, why not, then, of Anne's? - -She knelt beside him, she laid her hands on his, she murmured all the -foolish endearing phrases that were their own; but he saw nothing, he -heard nothing. - -"Oh, my dear old husband," she said; "husband of my youth and of my -old age; we are one; we cannot be parted. I will not leave you. I -shall wait beside you." - -John turned with seeing eyes. "_Anne!_" he cried, with a loud voice, -as his head fell on her breast. - -Together they passed out of the house, paying no heed to what was left -behind, nor to the terrified call of the serving-maid, "Help, help, -master is dead!" - - - - -HUSH! - -By Julia C. R. Dorr - - - O hush thee, Earth! Fold thou thy weary palms! - The sunset glory fadeth in the west; - The purple splendor leaves the mountain's crest; - Gray twilight comes as one who beareth alms, - Darkness and silence and delicious calms. - Take thou the gift, O Earth! on Night's soft breast - Lay thy tired head and sink to dreamless rest, - Lulled by the music of her evening psalms. - Cool darkness, silence, and the holy stars, - Long shadows when the pale moon soars on high, - One far, lone nightbird singing from the hill, - And utter rest from Day's discordant jars; - O soul of mine! when the long night draws nigh - Will such deep peace thine inmost being fill? - - - - -THE POINT OF VIEW - - -It is more than a full generation, it is going on for half a century, -since Thackeray, lecturing on Charity and Honor, in New York, paid the -street-manners of the city the pretty compliment that all readers -ought to remember: - -[Sidenote: American Urbanities] - - I will tell you when I have been put in mind of the courteous - gallantry of the noble knight, Sir Roger de Coverley, of - Coverley Manor, of the noble Hidalgo Don Quixote of la Mancha: - here, in your own omnibus-carriages and railway-cars, when I - have seen a woman step in, handsome or not, well-dressed or - not, and a workman in hob-nailed shoes, or a dandy in the - height of the fashion, rise up and give her his place. - -"Omnibus-carriages" have given way altogether to the horse-car; and -the horse-car has ceded to the elevated train, to the cable-car, to -the under-ground trolley. These vehicles subsist, but in what one of -them could the admiring tourist see repeated as a rule what was, -without question, the rule in 1852? - -"The age of chivalry is gone" from the public conveyances of New York. -Apparently it has gone farther from New York than from any other -American city. At least that is the conclusion to which a New Yorker -is reluctantly driven who has occasion to visit other American cities. -The boorishness of New York is now what impresses the British tourist. -Stevenson made his first appearance in New York a matter of seventeen -years after Thackeray's last appearance, and he in turn recorded his -observation. It was that he was received in casual places where he was -personally unknown with a surprising mixture of "rudeness and -kindness." But what struck him first, struck him in the face, so to -say, was the rudeness. The healing kindness came after, and the final -conclusion was that New Yorkers (he was careful not to say Americans) -were well-meaning and kind-hearted people who had no manners. The good -intentions and the kind hearts may be questioned by any spectator of -the scramble at a station of any one of the elevated roads during the -crowded hours, where male creatures may be seen using the superior -strength of their sex to arrive at seats in advance of women. Even -where this is not put too grossly in evidence, it is plain to the -spectator of the scramble that the age of chivalry is gone. - -The travelling New Yorker becomes aware that this is largely local. A -Southern newspaper man, writing from New York to his paper, not long -ago, noted its manners with even a touch of horror. "When I saw a man -sitting in a car in which a woman was standing," he says, "I knew that -I was far from home." A very recent British observer, the clever -author of "The Land of The Dollar," proceeding from New York to -Philadelphia, recorded his refreshment at happening upon an American -town where the inhabitants were not too busy, when the stranger -thanked them for a piece of information, to answer "You're very -welcome." - -When the New Yorker goes abroad at home, he finds unwelcome -confirmation of the suggestion that his own city is the most -unmannerly of all. The New Englander has undoubtedly a way, as Anthony -Trollope noted, of giving you a piece of information as if he were -making you a present of a dollar. But for all that, the sensitive -stranger finds himself much less rasped at the end of a day in Boston, -than at the end of a day in New York. As you go Southward, the level -of manners rises in proportion almost to the respective stages of -social culture reached in the colonial times, when Josiah Quincy found -in Charleston a degree of "civility" and "elegance" such as the good -Bostonian recorded that he had never seen, nor expected to see, on -this side of the Atlantic. One is driven, in view of the Southern -courtesy, to wonder whether there may not be something in Goethe's -defence of the duello, to the effect that it is more desirable that -there should be some security in the community against a rude act than -that all men should be secure of dying in their beds. - -But this explanation does not account for the fact that in whatever -direction the New Yorker goes from home he finds better manners of the -road, manners of the street-car, manners of the elevator, than those -he left. Western cities, unless they be Southwestern also, have not -the soothing softness and deference of Southern manners, but there is -in these a recognition on the part of the human brother whom you -casually encounter, of your human brotherhood which you are by no -means so sure of eliciting from the casual and promiscuous New Yorker. -The Chicagoan will tell you in detail what you want to know, even -though, as Mr. Julian Ralph has remarked, he makes you trot alongside -of him on the sidewalk while he is telling it. And in an elevator in -which there is a woman, the Chicagoan hats are as promptly and -automatically doffed as the Bostonese, while in this regard it is New -York and not Philadelphia that is the Quaker city. - -"Ethnic" explanations of the bad manners of New York will occur to -many readers, which "it may be interesting not to state." These mostly -fall to the ground before the appalling fact that Chicago is -better-mannered. The elevated roads are great demoralizers. It is -barely that primitive human decency escapes from the "Sauve qui peut" -and "Devil take the hindmost" of that mode of transit, to say nothing -of the fine flower of courtesy. Let us hope it is all the doing of the -elevated roads. - - * * * * * - -[Sidenote: The Public Manners of Women] - -It is painful to have to say that inquiry among males for an -explanation of the degeneration just mentioned reveals yet another -lamentable decline in chivalry. For it is a fact that the current -masculine hypothesis attributes it to the women themselves. This is a -reversion to a state of things which prevailed long before the age of -chivalry had come. The scandalous behavior of Adam, in devolving upon -the partner and fragment of his bosom the responsibility for his -indulgence in the "_malum prohibitum_" of Eden, has been frequently -cited in assemblages of Woman in proof of the innate and essential -unchivalrousness of Man. It is there regarded as, to say the least of -it, real mean. - -The citation may not appear germane to an appeal for merely equal -rights, which is the professed object of the "woman-women," but it is -surely pertinent to the male contention that woman would get more by -throwing herself upon the mercy of man than by appealing to his -justice. If we take a more modern view of the origin of the relations -of the sexes, it is evident that only that minimum of courtly -consideration for the weaker vessel which was needful for the -preservation of the species was to be expected from a gentleman whose -habits had only just ceased to be arboreal, and that the age of -chivalry must have been a very long time in coming. - -It is, all the same, a fact that, when a son of Adam of the younger -generation is asked how, in a public conveyance, he can retain both -his seat and his equanimity while a daughter of Eve is standing, he is -apt to recur to the third chapter of Genesis, and to put the blame on -"the woman thou gavest to be with me." "You don't even get thanked for -it," he will say. His father, and much more his grandfather, would -have been ashamed to offer that excuse. It would have been ruled out -as invalid, even if accurate; and the heir of all the ages who makes -it does not put it to the proof often enough to know whether it is -accurate or not. - -But it must be owned that there is too much truth in it. Woman's -inhumanity to man is a good deal in evidence. The late Senator Morton, -of Indiana, was, it will be remembered, an invalid and a cripple. He -came into a company at the capital one day in a state of great -indignation because, in a street-car crowded with young women, not one -had offered him a seat, and he had been compelled to make the journey -painfully and precariously supported upon his crutches. The like of -this may very often be seen. Humanity, consideration for weakness and -helplessness, is the root of which chivalry is the fine flower. The -Senator's experience was not unique, was not even exceptional. It is a -startling proposition that man's inhumanity to man is less than -woman's, but the time seems to give it some proof. At any rate, a man -evidently disabled would not be allowed to stand in a public -conveyance in which able-bodied men were seated, even in the most -unchivalrous part of our country, which I have given some reasons for -believing to be the city of New York. And, if that be true, it seems -that the assumption of the right of an able-bodied woman to remain -seated while a disabled man is standing is an assumption that the -claims of chivalry are superior to those of humanity. On the other -hand, it may fairly be said that the selfishness of women with regard -to the wayfaring man is more thoughtless and perfunctory than the -selfishness of men with regard to the wayfaring woman. In this -country, at least, this latter is in all cases felt to be a violation -of propriety and decency. The native American feels himself to be both -on his defence and without defence, when he is arraigned for it. This -was illustrated one day in a car of the New York elevated road, in -which a middle-aged woman was standing in front of a young man who was -sitting. Fixing him with her glittering eye, she said, calmly but -firmly, "Get up, young man, I want that seat." The conscience-stricken -youth rose meekly and automatically at the summons, and left his seat -the spoil of the Amazonian bow and spear. - -However it may be with woman's inhumanity to man, there can be no -question about her inhumanity to woman. It does "make countless -thousands mourn." And this not alone in the familiar sense in which - - Every fault a tear may claim, - Except an erring sister's shame. - -Whatever male has assisted at a function at which males are not -supposed to assist, and at which the admixture of males is so small as -to be negligible, has seen sights as astonishing in their way as the -sights witnessed by the rash males who, at the peril of their lives, -smuggled themselves into those antique mysteries from which they were -expressly excluded. Nowhere in the gatherings of men does shameless -selfishness find so crude an expression as, say, at a crowded matinée. -It could not be exhibited at a prize-fight, for the exhibitor would -subject himself to prompt personal assault. But the female bully is -without fear as without shame. She elbows her way through and past her -timid sisters, takes tranquil possession of the standing-places they -have reserved by occupation, and scatters them to flight as the fierce -hawk the pavid doves. Of course the bullies are a small minority, but -one hawk suffices to flutter the most populous dove-cote, and to -characterize the assemblage which it dominates. The young man who -excuses his own bad manners by blaming "the woman" only emphasizes his -want of chivalry; but the validity of his plea is more deniable than -its accuracy. - - * * * * * - -[Sidenote: The English Voice on the American Stage] - -In the play of "Pudd'nhead Wilson," made out of Mark Twain's book by -Frank Mayo, the evil genius combines in his veins the bad blood and -craven instincts of two races. The _rôle_ was given, when first -presented, a remarkable impersonation in which there was a subtle -mingling of a white man's presumption and a negro's animalism. But the -creator of the part was the brother of a leading English poet! An -American actor essayed the _rôle_ in the second season with decidedly -less success. In "The Heart of Maryland," a strenuous developing of -Civil War emotions and events, the fate of the hero, a soldier whose -devotion to the North alienates him from father and sweetheart, was -given in both its first two seasons to actors of good schooling -indeed, but distinctly English. The "leading juvenile," supposedly a -Confederate officer with all a Southron's manner of speech, was also -most pronouncedly a Briton in tongue, build, and carriage. In that -exciting coil about a lovable spy--"Secret Service"--not exactly the -villain, but the chief meddler with the hero's plans, was on the -programme a Virginia gentleman, but on the stage entirely British. - -Multiplying examples is unnecessary; there is enough food for -reflection in these three recent plays. They are all marked with -particular Americanism, and a prominent share of that Americanism is -entrusted to actors foreign-born and foreign-bred. - -We are so used here to accepting certain mannerisms of speech as -indigenous to, and proper to, the theatre, and so many of our actors -follow British pronunciation and inflection, that we hardly see the -extent to which the natively English voice prevails on our stage. Once -the thing gets on one's nerves, however, it is most noticeable. -Indeed, the presence of English actors on the American stage is so -pervasive of everything, from farce-comedy to society-tragedy, that -they fairly invest our national drama. - -Now of all insularities the most abominable, the one most to be -shunned by this country is artistic insularity. It is an excellent -cosmopolitanism that gives our patronage so generously to the greatest -foreign stars, although it is bald snobbery that often leads us to -favor mediocre importations over native genius. But it is surely -carrying our worldliness too far when we accept and approve the -hopeless incapacity of foreigners to enact _rôles_ demanding American -local color. This may substantiate our proverbial patience, but it -deals hard with our boasted sense of the incongruous. So much have -unlike environments in a hundred years differentiated the two races -that an English impersonation of an American character can never be -acceptable to real criticism. - -The reason for the sway of English actors over our stage is not far to -seek. It is not that the best of them can act better than our best, -for we have in our little day produced a very few of the greatest -actors, tragic and comic. And we still have an excellent array of the -plebs of the stage. It is the middle class--which is ever the grand -average and backbone of any organization--that is not satisfactory and -must draw on foreign aid. The average middle-class actor in England -supplies the demand, for he is far above our similar caste in training -and finish, and for good reason. In England the stage is taken more -seriously than here, at least by the players. There an actor enters -upon his career with the same desire for the thoroughness that comes -from humble beginnings and complete experience as anyone entering upon -any other profession. He may cherish vague hopes of greatness--as -every American lawyer hopes to be President--but he is content if his -lot is cast in respectable places, where the labor is agreeable and -the compensation decent. The result is an army of thoroughly drilled -actors that can do almost anything well, though they may do nothing -brilliantly. - -In the United States, however, where opinion still maligns the -business of the actor, he is likely to look on his career as a mere -trade or as a too, too high art. Our actor is either one whose -ambitions lead him to hitch his wagon to a star and scorn all -sublunary things, or one stolidly content to please--not the -aristocratic groundlings, but the skylings. Of these two sorts of -actor, the former thinks a legitimate minor part too far beneath him -to justify serious preparation, the latter thinks it too far above -him. There is, consequently, an inadequate list of native actors -sufficiently prepared in technic to do well anything that comes to -hand. The tendency, too, of an American actor, having hit upon a -success in one kind of character, to make an exclusive specialty of it -and devote a lifetime to one range of parts, is both due to the -besetting commercialism of our stage and responsible for much of its -lack of versatility. The manager, finding no well-equipped, highly -adaptable rank-and-file at home, turns naturally to the one source of -unfailing supply--England. - -In the few stock companies that survive the old _régime_, the English -voice is particularly prevalent. For the English origin of these -actors essaying American _rôles_ is discoverable by the voice almost -more than by the bearing. Though we of the United States and they of -the United Kingdom approximate considerably in language, we are -radically different in speech. The British actor rather modifies than -accentuates the arpeggios of Piccadilly, but it is only a long life in -America and a plasticity uncommon in his race that can disguise him. -His curious scale-singing is an unfailing wonder to the American. In -the American play it can never be anything but a hopeless incongruity. - - - - -THE FIELD OF ART - - [Illustration: Venetian Balcony. Close of Fifteenth Century: Modern - Arcade.] - - -_ONE WAY OF DESIGNING A MODERN HOUSE_ - -This is set forth in a monograph, the title of which may be translated -and abbreviated thus: Drawings of the house of the brothers Bagatti -Valsecchi in Milan at No. 7 Via di Santo Spirito. One very general, -very abstract, very little detailed ground-plan explains what the -house is, considered as a building occupying a piece of ground, and -doing certain definite work. Evidently it was thought that more should -not be allowed the public, concerning a house of habitation. From this -it appears that the house is a single very large dwelling of which the -dimensions on the ground may be taken at one hundred feet of frontage -by sixty feet or rather less of depth. This, however, is the -measurement of the whole plot of ground; for the house covers it all, -and light for the rearmost rooms and corridors is obtained by three -separate courts surrounded by arcades. The front on the street is -deeply recessed so as to give a façade of some fifty-five feet at the -bottom of the court; with two projecting wings of different widths; -the projection, or depth of the court, being of about eighteen feet. -And now comes the essential thing--that which forms the peculiarity of -the building, and the immense and radical diversity between the scheme -proposed by its designer and that adopted by any Parisian -master-workman who may have a _hotel privé_ to build. The Milan house -is in every respect, in its general design and in the minutest detail, -that which might have been built about 1475 in the same town and on -the same street. The front is of brick and terra-cotta, except that -the door-piece in the middle of the recessed façade, the podium, so to -speak, or sub-wall of the basement story, standing some four feet -high, is of stone; and that a part of one of the wings where it is -opened up in the large doorway below communicating with a kind of shop -or business-room, and, above, into arcades with a projecting balcony, -is also of cut stone. This stone would have been taken to be marble -but that the legends expressly speak of _pietra_, and it is probable -that Istrian or some other hard white or light gray stone is used. Of -stone also are the pillars which carry the vaulting of the cloisters, -or galleries, which surround the courts within, and many pilasters, -jamb-pieces, dadoes, parapets, and balustrades of the interior; as -well as the columns of the _logetta_ which crowns one of the wings -projecting on the street, and a similar and larger one on the court -within. The walls of the courts, except for the stone work above -described and for certain cornice bands which are evidently of -terra-cotta, are entirely finished in _sgraffito_; or scratched -decoration on hard plaster, fit to bear the moderate climate of Milan, -together with certain modelling in very low relief, which is -intermingled with the scratched or incised work, and closely -harmonizes with it. One interesting detail of the undertaking must be -mentioned here: pieces of ancient work have been built into the -structure rather freely, and these are so perfectly in the style that -they do not attract attention to themselves. They need, in fact, the -legends which announce their presence. This is one way of saying that -the collected fragments of antiquity have been carefully chosen with -the view to being of one style, of one epoch, of one character, and -that the building has been built in the style so fixed. At the -principal doorway there are four ancient medallions of the character -which sculptors of the fifteenth century enjoyed; that is to say, they -are enlargements of Roman coins. The secondary or wing doorway, spoken -of above as communicating with what seems to be a kind of shop, is -entirely antique, with pilasters filled with carving in the sunken -panels. In the spandrels of the arch above are two more antique -medallions, and an antique pilaster in marble from Mantua is set in -the small reëntrant angle formed between this piece of the front and -the adjoining house, which projects slightly beyond the Casa Bagatti. -Ancient iron work is used for the two windows which flank the central -doorway, and by way of emphasis the other windows on that story are -without grilles. Iron work in the head of the side doorway already -described as antique is announced as made up of ancient parts; and it -may be admitted here that all this wrought iron is of somewhat earlier -date than the structure generally; a breach of that harmony which has -been insisted on above, but one which might easily be considered as -quite characteristic of good, fine, imaginative fifteenth century -work, when the Renaissance builders would have rejected carvings in -the Gothic spirit, but would have admitted iron work of that character -without trouble. Above this ancient doorway an ancient Venetian -balcony, also of stone, is worked into the double arcade, of which -mention has been made. Two large and elaborate wooden ceilings are -used in the open cloisters which surround the courts, and it is worthy -of commendation that they seem to have been put in place without -restoration, with nothing more than necessary repairs or necessary -strengthening, and that no attempt has been made to give them a -freshly finished modern look. An ancient doorway of carved wood opens -upon one of these porticoes; an ancient _vera di pozzo_, or cistern -head, from Venice stands in the middle of that court; an ancient -marble fountain and basin; an ancient triple tabernacle with -sculptured figures of saints; another tabernacle with an Adoration, -and a multiplicity of minor pieces of carving, are worked into the -building, including an admirable lion, of heraldic character and -supporting a shield of arms, set upon a newel at the foot of the great -staircase; and, finally, a very great amount of ancient ironwork in -the way of hinges, door-handles, knockers, awning-rings, and the -like, is used in the work. - - [Illustration: Graffito: the Certosa near Pavia. Unfinished; from an - Old Picture.] - -The use of this ancient material suggests the true solution of the -difficulty which every one must feel; how such a thing as this can be -fine when we generally find such imitative work rather mean, rather -lazy, rather expressive of the disposition to shirk one's duty than a -thing to be commended. It might be objected in the first place that -here evidently there has been no reluctance to undertake hard work, -for the fitting of old and new details into the same general design, -while the character of the old decoration has not been marred in the -least, is difficult work enough for any workman. This, however, it is -not necessary to urge. The essential thing in the whole situation is -this: The reproduction of the fifteenth century house is practicable -where the real fifteenth century house might have stood. In Milan, on -a quiet by-street of the old city, we can imagine this house having -remained intact and unaltered from some time in the second half of the -fifteenth century until now. Had any family been rich enough and -possessed of the spirit of continuity, that building would have been -so preserved. The climate allows of it; the habits of the people would -make it easy; one family, or, as perhaps in this case, the families of -two brothers, may inhabit such a mansion, and might have inhabited it -at any time from 1575 onward for three hundred years. Moreover, there -is no time when such a house might not have been built. At least, if -we admit that the artists of earlier days were incapable of deliberate -and faithful copying of details--that is all that would separate a -house built on these lines in the eighteenth century from this one of -to-day. The traditions have remained, the masons have worked on these -lines, the stone-cutters have wielded the chisel just as their -forefathers did before them; nothing but a deliberate resolve to call -into prominence the traditional knowledge and the traditional habits -which have lingered among the workmen has been necessary in order to -call into existence this memory of the past. - - [Illustration: Largest Inner Court with Graffiti; Vestibule with - Ancient Wooden Ceiling.] - -You could not build in that way in another country. This house on the -streets of Paris would have been an absurdity. In Milan it represents -the wholesome feeling of national and local sentiment, family pride -perhaps, a sense of what is fitting, a sense of continuity, all that -is noble and dignified in the sentimental or theoretical side of fine -art--it is this and nothing worse or lower than this which has -directed this interesting piece of work. In France, as we have said, -and still more strongly in the United States, such a piece of work -would have been a mere _tour de force_, a mere piece of deliberate -copying, and, still more, a deliberate avoidance of the critical -problem--how to plan and build an American city house. In north Italy -it is the legitimate and wholly sensible scheme of building an -old-fashioned Milanese house to serve new Milanese purposes--and -anyone may respect and sympathize with such an undertaking as that. - - [Illustration: Smaller Inner Court: Graffiti and Stucco Ornaments in - Low Relief.] - -The full title of the work above-mentioned is as follows: - - QUI SI CONTENGONO LE TAVOLE RAPPRESENTANTI LI DISEGNI DE LA - CASA DE LI FRATELLI BAGATI VALSECHI CHE RITROVASI IN MILANO AL - Ñ. 7 DE LA VIA DE SAN SPIRITO FEDEL RIPRODOTTI DAL VERO CON LA - NUOVA INVENTIONE DE LA ELIOTIPIA. - - Fausti et Iosephi Frarum de Bagatis Opus An. Dei. MDCCCXCV. - -The reader will note in the Italian title the difference in spelling, -as of the proper names, caused by the antique form in which it is -cast. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Scribner's Magazine, Volume 26, July -1899, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE, JULY 1899 *** - -***** This file should be named 41871-8.txt or 41871-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/8/7/41871/ - -Produced by Victorian/Edwardian Pictorial Magazines, -Jonathan Ingram, Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://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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